CHAPTER 25

Sitting along the north shore of Pearl Harbor is Pearl City. Tourists won’t find any lengthy descriptions of the city in a travel guide nor any elaborate brochures touting its beaches or nightlife. Pearl City is simply a middle-class town with a diverse makeup, thirty thousand souls with a median income of $60,000. Pearl City’s greatest claim to fame is its Little League team, which won the Junior League World Series a few years back.

But Flan and I weren’t in Pearl City to catch a baseball game this morning. We were here to investigate the crime scene in the case of State versus Turi Ahina.

I pulled my Jeep to the curb and told Flan, “This is the street.”

Kolohe Street was lined with average ranch-style houses and ended in a cul-de-sac. A dead end, so to speak. As I exited the Jeep, I grabbed a file folder full of photographs from the backseat.

“Turi claims Kanoa Bristol shot first,” I said. “But nothing in discovery corroborates that fact.”

“You think he’s lying?”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time Turi’s lied to me.”

“Did he tell the police that Bristol shot first when they arrested him?”

“He told them nothing. I taught him well.”

We walked down the street, side by side, Flan examining one of the photographs I’d just handed him.

“Turi claims Bristol’s bullet struck a car parked in the cul-de-sac,” I told Flan. “A navy Honda Civic with a Jesus fish on the bumper and a KEIKI ON BOARD sticker in the rear window.”

Flan shook his head. “There’s nothing like that in these pictures.”

“I know. And I showed Turi the photographs, but he insists.”

“It’s not possible. These photos are time-stamped. They were taken just a few minutes after the shooting, as soon as police arrived on the scene.”

“That’s what I told him. But Turi’s not budging on this.”

“How about Bristol’s gun? Did Ballistics run tests?”

“Of course,” I said. “Bristol’s gun came back clean. At least that’s what it says in discovery.”

“But our forensics expert has the right to examine the weapon himself, right?”

“Right. But if what Turi suggests is correct—if police went so far as to alter the crime scene—what chance do you think there is that the weapon they hand over to us will be the same weapon Kanoa Bristol was holding the night of the shooting?”

“Where does that leave us?” Flan said, once we’d reached the end of the street.

“We have to find a navy Honda Civic that once had a bullet lodged in its bumper.” I pointed to the house Turi claimed the Honda was parked in front of. “And that’s where we have to start.”

The man who answered the door was in his midfifties and didn’t seem too pleased to see us. His face was long, his head topped with a buzzcut. When he barked, “What can I do for you?” I pegged him as former military.

I introduced myself and Flan.“We’re trying to gather some facts about the shooting that occurred here a few weeks ago.”

“Well, you’re going to have to gather them somewhere else, Mr. Corvelli. I wasn’t around here that night.”

“May I ask where you were that night?”

“I was in Waipahu, visiting a lady friend.”

“And your lady friend,” I said, glancing back at his mailbox, “what is her name, Mr. Guffman?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I’m just trying to avoid having to subpoena you at trial,” I said affably. “We can do this in front of a judge, but frankly, I don’t want to waste your time, or mine.”

Guffman sighed. “Her name is Meredith. Meredith Yancy.”

I smiled casually, said, “See? That’s about all I need. And your first name?”

“Max.”

“Well, thanks, Max. I appreciate your assistance.” We turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, was anyone else in your home that night?”

“I live alone.”

“I see. And what kind of car do you own?”

Guffman hesitated, searched Flan’s eyes, then mine. “I don’t own a car. I take the bus.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work from home. I’m a marketing consultant for companies on the Web.”

“Did you know Detective Bristol?”

Guffman shook his head. “Just in passing.”

I made a show of looking over at his garage. He followed my eyes but didn’t say anything.

I reached into my pocket and fished out a business card. “If you hear anything or remember anything that might be relevant to this case, would you do me a favor and give me a call?”

“Sure.”

Guffman snatched the card from my hand, turned, and closed the door before I could say another word.

I turned to Flan. “What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to have a quick look in his garage.”