CHAPTER 12

Special Agent Neil Slauson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation met with us in his office on Ala Moana Boulevard late that afternoon, accompanied by a younger female agent named Wendy Chan. Once introductions were made, Chan remained silent as Slauson, with his slicked-back gray hair, launched into a needless preamble as to why the FBI was involved in the Oksana Sutin homicide investigation.

“We’re concerned about certain individuals within the Honolulu Police Department,” Slauson said matter-of-factly. “And this particular investigation involves a number of sensitive issues, not the least of which is the governor’s apparent relationship with the deceased.”

I sat forward in my chair, hoping to cut short another long-winded diatribe on the FBI’s national efforts to combat public corruption on all levels. “Governor Omphrey understands why you’ve requested this meeting, and he wishes to assist your investigation in any way that he can. Unfortunately, the governor’s knowledge of the victim is exceedingly limited, and his knowledge of the circumstances surrounding her death is practically nil. So with that in mind, we’d ask that you commence your questioning so that the governor can continue his day’s itinerary with as brief an interruption as possible.”

Slauson bobbed his head slowly. “Understood, Mr. Corvelli.” He made a show of shuffling some papers around on his neatly arranged desk, then planted his elbows and folded his hands together just below his chin. “Governor, are you familiar with the name Lok Sun?”

Omphrey’s cheeks puffed up and a smug smile played on his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at Chan, “is that a restaurant of some sort?”

I bit down hard on my lower lip and let Slauson field the question.

“No, sir,” Slauson said without humor. “Lok Sun is a name.”

“Either way,” Omphrey said, “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it.”

“How about your wife, Pamela? Might she know the name?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

A brief silence followed. Not for the first time I wondered what the hell I was doing sitting next to Wade Omphrey. Surely the state of Hawaii would be better off without him at the helm, his guilt or innocence aside.

Slauson said, “I was made to believe by your attorney that you would prefer to keep your wife out of this investigation, if at all possible.” He paused a moment. “Considering the circumstances.”

Omphrey glanced at me, then said, “Of course, of course.” His jowls trembled as he shook his head. “No, I’m certain Pamela has no knowledge of…”

“Lok Sun,” Slauson said again. “He may also use the name Park Wu.”

“I’m sorry,” Omphrey said. “Again, no knowledge.”

“Maybe if you put these names into some context,” I suggested.

“At this point, I suppose there is no compelling reason not to,” Slauson said. “The evidence gathered thus far suggests that Ms. Sutin was murdered using the colorless, crystalline alkaloid called strychnine. It is a very well-known poison but it is very seldom seen in homicide cases.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” I said, “strychnine is commonly used to cut cocaine and heroin. Is it possible Ms. Sutin’s death was accidental?”

Slauson shook his head. “There was no evidence of any street drugs found at the victim’s residence, and by all accounts Ms. Sutin was not a recreational drug user.”

“No,” the governor said. “Oksana was a social drinker but she didn’t dabble in drugs.”

The way Omphrey said it, it sounded as though he’d tried to get her to partake on an occasion or two.

“Toxicology tests are pending,” Slauson said, “but we think the poison was slipped into one of Ms. Sutin’s food or beverage items in the home. Maybe a strong black tea she was known to drink.”

“And this Lok Sun you mentioned,” I said, “you believe he was the delivery mechanism.”

“Lok Sun,” Slauson said, “is a world-renowned hitman high on Interpol’s wanted list, though I know of no country with enough evidence to convict him. He’s known to most in the underworld as the Pharmacist, and poisons such as strychnine are part of his MO. Lok Sun is typically out of a country before a body is ever found. But this time, we got lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“As part of an unrelated investigation, the Drug Enforcement Administration has been watching all airports, all harbors, and all military installations since Sunday evening. Late Monday night, shortly before Ms. Sutin’s body was discovered, a Chinese national named Park Wu missed his flight back to Beijing. We have reason to believe that Park Wu is actually Lok Sun. We think he caught wind of the lockdown on Oahu and purposefully missed his flight. Logic would dictate that he is presently lying low in Chinatown.”

I immediately understood Slauson’s reasoning behind bringing us in, knowing damn well the governor—savvy enough and lawyered up—would not be forthcoming with any useful information. The sole purpose for the meeting was to feed us this information, hoping the information would make its way over the tapped phone lines and ever-watched Internet service providers of Hawaii. Slauson’s aim was to flush out Lok Sun, and he made no effort to mask his objective.

“We will find him,” Slauson said flatly an hour later when the meeting finally ended. “And we will find out which party is responsible for hiring him.”