CHAPTER 23

A half-moon lit the north end of Kaneohe Bay, the immense body of water that surrounds the offshore island commonly known as Chinaman’s Hat. The island earned its unusual name because of its odd cone shape, which resembles the peasant’s hat worn in rural China.

Chinaman’s Hat sits 614 yards offshore from Kualoa Beach Park on the windward side of Oahu, which meant I would have to swim the equivalent of six football fields in the dark of night to meet my whistle-blower, who, for all I knew, might put a bullet into my head and let my body drift off to sea.

But, the way I figured it, I owed Turi at least that.

I stepped onto the empty beach wearing only a pair of swim trunks and a swim mask, not that I’d be able to see anything underwater. Everything beneath the surface would be pitch-black, and I didn’t dare risk bringing an underwater flashlight. If I was followed, picking me off in the water would be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

I had made the swim to Chinaman’s Hat once before. During the day, of course, when I was surrounded by other swimmers and kayakers who might save my life if something went horribly wrong. The bay was normally calm, but strong currents were not unheard of. And they invariably arrived without warning. Tourists often reported sharks in the bay, most frequently in the early morning, which suggested they entered the bay and sought their prey only in the dead of night. A comforting thought as I entered the water.

In the years since I’d arrived in Hawaii, I had indeed become a much stronger swimmer. I had become stronger in general, going so far as to maintain a regular workout regimen, including hundreds of sit-ups and push-ups, and miles of running and jogging each week. It had nothing to do with vanity or even maintaining a healthy lifestyle. But after being shot at, stabbed, and nearly beaten to death, I realized physical fitness could prove vital to my survival as a defense attorney.

Tonight it paid off. I made it to Chinaman’s Hat in under forty-five minutes, even fighting against the current. I was tired, but not nearly as exhausted as I was when I swam here just a few years ago.

When I came ashore, I scrambled up the sharp rocks, wishing I’d worn a pair of reef shoes. I felt along and finally found a trail that led to the back of the island, where a small beach was surrounded on either side by tiny sea caves.

The silhouette of a large man stood against the moonlight.

“Glad you could make it, Counselor.”

I immediately recognized the voice and could have kicked myself for not figuring it out sooner. It had just seemed too obvious. But I could have saved myself a lot of trouble simply by approaching John Tatupu on the streets of downtown Honolulu.

“Detective,” I said, having already caught my breath.

“I’m sorry about the location, Corvelli, but I really saw no other choice.”

“No worries. I swim six hundred yards just about every night.”

“Twelve hundred,” he said. “Unless you don’t plan on swimming back.”

The thought of sleeping on the island had crossed my mind, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead I said, “We might as well get right to it then. What can you tell me about the Narcotics Intelligence Unit?”

Tatupu bowed his head. “The NIU was formed to investigate organized narcotics manufacturing and trafficking in the islands. But in practice, the unit quickly became just another arm of Hawaii’s criminal underworld. The unit shared information with Orlando Masonet’s people, tipping them off to raids and working with them to eliminate competing criminal enterprises.”

“How the hell do they get away with it? From everything I’ve read, the unit reports directly to the chief of police.”

“That’s right,” Tatupu said. “Chief McClusky knew exactly what was going on within that unit. McClusky got a cut just like everyone else. Eighteen months ago I threatened to expose him.”

“Just as the Honolulu Police Commission was about to reappoint him.”

“That’s right. And in his place, we got Chief Edward Attea, a cop who’s been dirty since day one. That’s why I finally went outside the department. The feds assured me that my identity would be kept secret and that no information I provided them would be leaked.”

The trade winds picked up, and I brushed off the chill, trying to decide how to ask Tatupu if he’d testify without scaring him off. But first I wanted to know what the feds were doing to clean up the NIU.

“Every step they’ve taken thus far has failed,” Tatupu said. “The unit is smart, tough, and extremely careful. The feds tried placing an undercover agent in the unit, and he disappeared. They tried recruiting criminal informants with sweetheart deals, but everyone’s too scared. Better to live in prison than die on the street, they say.”

“What about Internal Affairs?”

Tatupu shook it off. “Counselor, this corruption runs far deeper than just the NIU and the chief of police.”

“You’re saying the entire department, including IA, is on the take? Forgive me, John, but I find that hard to believe.”

“Let me put it this way, Counselor. Ice is a billion-dollar-a-year industry in the Hawaiian Islands. A billion dollars a year. And that’s not counting money from prostitution, gambling, or selling guns and other drugs. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you, I don’t know a single cop on Oahu besides myself who has ever turned down an envelope.”

“How do you know all this? You have to have some concrete evidence I could use to corroborate your story. Where’s your proof?”

Tatupu frowned. “Counselor, you see a carton of milk in the refrigerator that expired three months ago, you don’t need to open it up to know that it stinks.”

“So there’s nothing to back you up?”

“The feds hinted that there was a dirty cop who had recently decided to come clean and cooperate, but I don’t know who that cop is. For all I know, the feds were blowing smoke up my ass so that I’d keep talking.”

I sighed. “What do you know about Orlando Masonet?”

Tatupu shook his head. “Same as you, Counselor. I’ve heard hundreds of stories and read dozens of different descriptions of him, but I don’t know anyone willing to say they’ve actually met him. The feds have a voluminous file, complete with a sixty-page psychological profile, but not a single photograph. He’s a ghost.”

I gazed out over the calm waters. “Kanoa Bristol,” I said quietly. “Was he one of the bad apples?”

Tatupu nodded. “Rotten to the very core.”

It was time for the moment of truth. “Will you testify, John?”

He hesitated. “Without finding Masonet I’m useless to you at trial. No one’s going to take the word of a washed-up cop with not a single friend in the entire department.”

“But we can try.”

Tatupu took a step forward and looked me in the eyes. “I’ll feed you any information I can, just as I’m doing tonight. But I can’t go any further than that. Corvelli, it’s common knowledge around the department that you already have a target on your back. I can’t let you put one on mine, too. I have a family, Counselor. I have kids.”

“And is this the Hawaii you want to see your keiki grow up in, John?”

“If I do anything more, Corvelli, I may not see them grow up at all.” Tatupu turned toward the water and started walking away.

“Is that why you’re not working the Bristol homicide case, Detective? Because you’re scared?”

Tatupu spun back around. “I’m not working the Bristol homicide case because I’m not assigned to the Homicide division anymore. After your little press conference for the governor, Corvelli, in which you mentioned my name and stated that I provided you information on a pending investigation, I got transferred to the Auto Theft division. So if someone steals your Jeep Wrangler, Counselor, you be sure to let me know.”