CHAPTER 33

When I stepped into the conference room on the fourteenth day of September, Jake and Flan were already huddled together with the contents of two files spread across the long mahogany table. One was labeled Oksana Sutin Investigation, the other State versus Turi Ahina.

“Does this mean what I think it means, Jake?”

“The partnership papers are drawn up, awaiting your signature, son.”

I sighed with relief. “Mahalo,” I said, as I took a seat. “I’m going to need you to second-seat me at Turi’s trial next month. I’m not going to be able to handle this one on my own.”

“Well, Josh Leffler’s adoption is going smoothly, and Miles Flanagan’s will is drawn up, so you’re looking at a free man. I’d be honored to stand at your side, son.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s start with the governor.”

Governor Omphrey was losing some ground in the polls with rumors about his affair and possible involvement in the murder of Oksana Sutin spreading around the island like the flu. The Honolulu Star-Advertiser had him eight points up with a margin of error of plus-or-minus four. The governor was growing uncomfortable. He wouldn’t survive an October surprise.

“Priority one is finding Lok Sun,” I said, the name dripping like acid from my tongue.

The strychnine in the red wine was meant for me, no question about that. No one could have known that Audra Karras was coming back to my villa with me following the governor’s fundraiser. Nor could anyone have known that I was allergic to red wine; it wasn’t something I advertised. And the timing was right. The poisoning immediately followed my conversation with Iryna Kupchenko, who after that night had either gone underground or gone missing.

I had considered that the bottle might have been poisoned before the night of the fundraiser, but evidence suggested that someone had been in my villa that evening. Most notably, a memory stick that had been sitting in my laptop had disappeared and the hard drive had been erased. On both were documents that contained copious notes on the Oksana Sutin murder investigation, including the name Gavin Dengler. At that point I hadn’t mentioned the name Gavin Dengler to a single person. So if I had died of strychnine poisoning that night, the name would have been gone for good.

Flan said, “How do we go about finding the Pharmacist when we don’t even know what he looks like? The feds can’t nail him down; what makes you think we can?”

“Chances are he’s lying low in Chinatown. That’s not a large area to cover.”

“Not if you’re Charlie Chan,” Jake said. “But if you haven’t noticed, the three of us are all Caucasian.”

I leaned back in my chair. “We don’t need a Chinese detective. We’ve got lawyers, we’ve got guns, and we’ve got money.”

“You plan on busting up an entire city?”

“Just a few square blocks of it, for now.”

“What’s our second priority?” Flan said.

“Finding Gavin Dengler. Oksana Sutin’s apartment building has been quiet as a morgue these past couple weeks. No Lincolns, no limos, no nothing in or out. So we start with the devil we know—Yoshimitsu Nakagawa.”

Jake chuckled. “Something tells me we’re not gonna have much luck bribing a billionaire, or hauling him into court, for that matter.”

“The thing about billionaires,” I said, “is that they typically have a lot to lose.”

I stared out at the Koolau Mountain Range, a thick rainbow stretching across its highest points.

“Lok Sun, Gavin Dengler, and Yoshimitsu Nakagawa,” I said, pushing aside the Oksana Sutin file. “That takes care of the governor. Now let’s move on to Turi Ahina.”

One week after Audra was released from the Queen’s Medical Center, Turi found his way to the infirmary with a busted eye socket. He’d been attacked in his cell in the middle of the night while he slept. The guard charged with making certain all relevant doors were locked was currently on paid leave. I raised all kinds of hell, but it got me as far as I expected. Bottom line was, I needed to get Turi acquitted of the state charges or he wouldn’t make it to Thanksgiving.

Since the attack on Turi in jail, my dreams about Brandon Glenn and his rape and murder at Rikers Island had increased, and I’d been losing night after night of sleep.

I looked at Flan. “Where are we with the Honda Civic?”

“Nowhere. Still no luck finding the car. I paid a visit to Meredith Yancy’s daughter and son-in-law in Mililani, and they deny any knowledge of the existence of a Honda Civic owned by Max Guffman. If you ask me, they had been trained to say exactly that. I didn’t believe either one of them.”

“Any luck locating Mrs. Doris Ledford in Arizona?”

“Negative. I got a phone number for one of her kids living in a suburb of Phoenix. He said, yes, Mama had come to visit briefly. But only on her way to Nevada. Apparently Mrs. Ledford won an all-expense-paid trip to fabulous Las Vegas just before she left Hawaii. The son had no idea what hotel she was staying at and he hadn’t been given a telephone number.”

Jake said, “Sounds like the prize came courtesy of the HPD.”

I frowned. “That leaves us with Detective Tatupu. I need to convince him to testify.” I pulled part of Turi’s file toward me. “Even with a busted eye socket, Turi’s not talking about what he was doing in Pearl City in the first place. That means we have to pound the pavement again and find out for ourselves.”

Flan rose from his chair. “Is that where you want to start today?”

I thought about it then nodded. “Sounds like as good a place as any.”