CHAPTER 3

After stopping at the Federal Detention Center to meet with Turi Ahina that evening, I headed home to my villa in Ko Olina on the leeward side of the island. Boxes littered the hardwood floors, the walls were stripped bare, and most of my furniture had already been donated to Goodwill. I set a plate of yellowfin tuna on the kitchen floor for Grey Skies, then nuked a leftover slice of pizza from Boston’s North End for myself. I ate quickly from a paper plate over the counter, washed it down with a cold bottle of Kona Longboard, then turned out the lights.

I wanted to move. Even though Erin Simms had never once set foot in my villa, she’d opened her veins in a lagoon just a short walk from my door. I could no longer frequent my favorite bars or restaurants in the resort community because they each boasted views of that azure lagoon. Erin’s blood no longer diluted the salt water, of course; her naked body no longer floated along the surface. But for me, it seemed, she would always be there.

And I wanted to be somewhere else.

The problem was I didn’t know where. Three years ago I’d fled New York following the death of Brandon Glenn, an innocent client who had been raped and murdered at Rikers Island after I blew his defense. Here I was in a tropical paradise and—albeit for entirely different reasons—ready to flee again.

I had disappointed my New York mentor, Milt Cashman, and now I was about to let down my Honolulu law partner, Jake Harper. But just as it was three years ago, it felt as though I didn’t have a choice.

I lay down on my bare mattress in the middle of the living room and fondled the softcover book at my side. Ostensibly, it was a work of nonfiction: true crime. The author was a lover I picked up here in Ko Olina more than a year ago. Sherry Beagan. Ironically, at one point I couldn’t even remember her name. It’s now etched into my memory, as vivid as the blue-white corpse of Erin Simms.

I held the book above my eyes and squinted through the darkness at the title: Paradise on Fire: The True Story of an Innocent Young Bride and the Lawyer Who Saved Her Life. A bullshit subtitle if ever there was one. And not only because Erin Simms suicided before any verdict was ever read.

I sat up on the mattress and flung the paperback across the room. The book smacked into the sliding-glass door like a blind pigeon, the racket frightening Skies, sending him scampering out of the kitchen before finishing his meal, his claws scratching the hardwood as he skidded into a turn. I tried to call him back with a soothing voice, to no avail.

Time for a move. But to where? Another island? Another state? Another country?

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the obnoxious peal of my cell phone, and I felt a sudden rush of empathy for the court officer I’d nearly cursed out earlier. I stood and searched the cluttered kitchen counter for my cell.

The caller ID read RESTRICTED.

“Speak,” I said into the phone.

“Is this Mr. Corvelli?”

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Corvelli, my name is Jason Yi and I’m calling on behalf of the governor.”

The clock on the microwave read 11:02 p.m.

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “You’re soliciting votes at this time of night four months before the election? Good luck with that.”

As I searched for the PWR button, the voice on the other end protested, “No, sir, you misunderstand. I’m Governor Omphrey’s chief aide. I’m not calling to secure your vote, Mr. Corvelli. I’m calling to secure your services.”

“I’m a criminal defense attorney. Not an election lawyer.”

“The governor is well aware of the type of law you practice, Mr. Corvelli. And of how well you practice it.”

I smirked. Wade Omphrey was up for reelection this year, and according to the polls and the pundits, he had an incredibly slim chance of losing the governor’s mansion. But that could all change with a single headline.

“The governor has been charged with a crime?”

“Not charged, Mr. Corvelli. At least not yet. And probably he never will be charged. That’s what we want to make certain of, and that is why we’re getting you involved so early in the investigation.”

“What type of investigation are we talking about?”

Jason Yi hesitated, swallowed audibly. “Murder, Mr. Corvelli. Your specialty.”