CHAPTER 16

A few minutes later Audra and I moved from the bar to a booth. Something about being in a bar after closing made me feel criminal. Still, I realized, I’d rather deal with a bad case of guilt than a bad case of death.

“So,” Audra said once we were settled, “you handle many federal cases?”

“Jake and I took on a few CJA appointments. But there aren’t many federal cases here in Hawaii to handle.” I watched for her reaction. “That is, until recently.”

Audra looked away, but in an empty bar there was little to look away at. “I suppose it’s no secret, but Honolulu PD’s Internal Affairs unit has had their hands full recently.”

“So that’s why the feds are getting their hands dirty looking for Orlando Masonet.”

She shook her head. “Masonet has been on the DEA’s radar for a long time. But it’s just recently they realized he and his organization may be getting a good deal of cover from the HPD, and very possibly authorities on the Big Island and Maui as well.”

This hardly came as a shock, but I wanted to hear more, so I raised my brows and motioned with my hand for her to expand.

“In addition to meth,” she said, “it’s believed Masonet controls Hawaii’s four G’s—girls, gambling, guns, and ganja.”

“Well, we both know how you feel about that last one.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry about that, Kevin. I really am. It’s been sixteen years; can we forget about it?”

I stared at her with my best poker face.

“And, no,” she added, “I couldn’t give a shit about weed. Personally, I think it should be legalized. I’m pretty sure most young AUSAs secretly do.”

“But not Billy F. Boyd.”

“No, not William. He’s a complete asshole with absolutely no sense of reality.”

“Some friendly fire,” I said.

“Sure, I’ll give you this. I can’t stomach working with Boyd but I have no choice. I was transferred here from the Southern District of New York because of the upswing in federal cases in Hawaii. Not that I fought the transfer. I’d just gone through my divorce and I’d wanted to put as much distance between me and Marty as I could.”

“But you kept the name.”

“Just for the time being. In fact, I was going to ask Jake Harper if he could handle the name change along with my closing. I want to go back to being Audra Karras as quickly as possible. At the time, I just didn’t want to deal with the extra hassle and explaining things away at the office.”

“It’s just a few forms. I’ll prepare them for you and you can sign and file them yourself.” I’d already looked into legally changing your name three years ago when I fled New York following the Brandon Glenn fiasco.

“Thanks,” she said. “So back to the fabulous Hawaii Five-O. Word is, John Tatupu is one of the few cops on Oahu we can trust. That’s why he’s still on the Oksana Sutin case. Not everyone at HPD is dirty, of course, but there are enough bad apples that you wouldn’t want to take a chance by sticking your head in the barrel and taking a bite.”

“What exactly are we talking about? Protection bribes?”

“Protection bribes, sure. But it doesn’t stop there. Dirty HPD cops are said to have alerted targets to raids by joint task forces, getting at least one federal agent killed and allowing countless gun- and drug-runners to get away. A few officers have been pegged as couriers, bringing meth in from Mexico and the mainland. Evidence—tens of thousands of dollars and more than that in drugs—has allegedly gone missing after it was recovered in successful raids. A number of officers have been accused of soliciting sex from female meth dealers and even a number of women who were simply pulled over on the freeway. And from what we understand, any time any gang offers any sort of competition to the Masonet Organization, members of that gang either go missing or are found dead off the shores of Wai‘anae.”

“And you think it’s cops doing the wet work?”

She shrugged. “Who knows?”

I frowned. “But there haven’t been any reports, any arrests involving police corruption, on Oahu in the past six years. Not since Ken Kamakana sued the department, prompting the last federal probe. Trust me, I’ve looked. I’ve searched every time I had to face an HPD officer on the witness stand over the past few years.”

Audra nodded. “Since that probe a new set of rules apply. The dirty cops who weren’t exposed in that probe laid down the law, constructed a new blue wall of silence that no one’s been able to penetrate.”

Blue wall of silence referred to a code among police officers that was similar to the Italian Mafia’s omertà: the categorical prohibition of cooperation with authorities. The code was adopted by Sicilians long before the emergence of Cosa Nostra. Violation of the code was punishable by death.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I said.

But I thought I knew. Audra Levy—soon to be Audra Karras again—was lonely. Recently divorced. Recently transferred thousands of miles away from her closest friends. She didn’t like Boyd, and me, well, she knew me at least casually from way back when.

But that’s not what she said. “I admire you, Kevin. I know what happened three years ago following the Shannon Douglas murder. I know you were the one to discover the real killer and that it must have been difficult to turn her in. And I know why you’re doing what you’re doing for Turi Ahina, and I admire that, too. You’re putting your life on the line for your client and friend. I don’t know many lawyers who would do that.”

I didn’t describe for her the elaborate measures I’d taken so that I didn’t get myself killed aiding Turi. This bar, for instance, was presently being watched from the outside by no fewer than four private security agents.

“And I read Paradise on Fire,” she continued. “I know that you loved and lost Erin Simms. And that you saved that boy Josh’s life not once but twice. And that you killed in order to protect him.” Audra’s eyes were moist. “What I said to you today, about having not changed in sixteen years, I couldn’t have said something less true.”

The horribly awkward moment was mercifully interrupted by the buzz of my cell phone. I reached into my pocket and pulled it free. Opened it without bothering to check the caller ID.

“Kevin, it’s Scott,” Damiano said urgently.

Quickly I rose to my feet, my stomach filling with dread. “What is it?”

“It’s Turi.”

Instantly I froze. Scott was watching Turi. He’d only call me if he lost his subject or if Turi was dead.

“He’s been arrested. By the Honolulu PD.”

“Arrested?” I immediately experienced a sensation of relief that would prove to be short-lived. “Arrested for what?”

“Murder. They’re charging him with gunning down a cop in Pearl City.”