CHAPTER 11

“We’re in,” Jake tells me when I return to the office from my two-scotch lunch at Sand Bar, “but we’ve gotta be able to handle other cases as well. We don’t turn clients away, and we don’t pour every available man-hour into the Simms case, okay?”

“Deal,” I say, as I move through the reception area toward the conference room.

“And one more thing,” Jake says, following me.

“What’s that?”

“I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when all this is over.”

When we enter the conference room, Flan is sitting there, his chair turned toward the mammoth windows, his eyes set on the Ko’olau Mountains. Clearly he’s still in a daze.

I tear a blank page from my yellow legal pad, crumple it up, and hurl it at the side of his face. Direct hit.

“I’m heading over to SID to request the file on the Simms case,” I say. “Barb Davenport there is a doll; she’ll give me everything they have right away, so we can get to work.”

SID is the Screening and Intake Division of the Prosecuting Attorney’s Office. The division chief, Barbara Davenport, shocked me the first time I met her during the Gianforte murder case by handing me the full file with no hassle whatsoever. Kind as a Girl Scout, generous as a grandmother. Meeting Barb marked the first time I fully realized I was no longer practicing law in the Big Bad Apple.

Barb and I have had a splendid professional relationship ever since.

“Before I return with the file,” I say, looking at Flan, “I’d like you to get down to the Kapolei fire station, have a talk with some of the guys. Spread some of that magical Irish charm and get some answers. I want to know how and why investigators determined this was a case of arson as quickly as they did.”

I turn to Jake. “Head over to the Kupulupulu Beach Resort. Start with Maintenance and work your way up. I want to know why the sprinkler system didn’t go off. And why I couldn’t get my cougar a cup of water from the bathroom sink just about an hour before the fire.”

Flan perks up. “Sounds like the water main was shut off.”

I point to him. “If so, we should know today whether or not the valve was dusted for prints. If it wasn’t, we’ve found our first hole in their case.”

“How about the guest list for the Simms-Downey wedding?” Jake says. “We have that yet?”

“It’s a short list. Erin’s mother is e-mailing it to me today. Once I have it, I’m going to go over every name with Erin herself. Then we’ll divvy the list up and begin interviews.”

Flan’s cell phone starts blowing up on his belt, and I give him a look. He knows how I feel about those things in the office, especially during a crucial meeting.

He silences the cell, then glances at the display. “Casey,” he says, sighing. “I’ll take this, then head right over to the fire station in Kapolei.” He opens the phone, says “Hi, sweetheart,” then he’s out the conference room door and it’s just me and Jake.

“You gonna be okay with all this?” Jake says, leaning back against a wall-length bookshelf. “I mean the media and all. Been a slow summer on the twenty-four-hour cable news networks. No presidential election, the economy’s getting old. Betcha Gretchen Hurst and Marcy Faith are licking their chops already about this Hawaii hotel fire.”

“They’re like pit bulls,” I say. “Ignore ’em and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Or maul you to death.”

I shrug, glance at my watch. I want to make it to SID by two o’clock, catch Barb right after she returns from lunch.

I buzz Hoshi. “Have a name and number of a detailer for me yet?”

“Not yet,” she says back. “But you do have a couple of guests.”

“Guests?” I look at Jake, who shrugs. “Wanna give me a hint who?”

“Well,” Hoshi says quietly, “one of them is about three feet tall. And he’s picking his nose.”