CHAPTER 48

I wasn’t placed under arrest. And Watanabe’s appeal for a mistrial was denied. I wrote a check for my contempt citation and assured Judge Narita that I would back up every allegation I’d made with hard evidence and corroborating testimony. In other words, I lied. Not that it mattered. An hour later we resumed proceedings and I took another crack at cracking Detective Irvine. I asked whether he or any of his team removed evidence from the Pearl City crime scene, specifically a bullet casing from Detective Bristol’s service weapon. I asked whether he or any of his team had discovered a bullet in the bumper of a navy-blue Honda Civic parked at the end of the cul-de-sac. I asked whether he or any of his team had the Honda Civic removed from Kolohe Street, whether the owner of that Civic, Max Guffman, was bribed or otherwise coerced to say that the Civic never existed. I asked whether he or any of his team switched out Bristol’s service weapon for another so that it appeared that Bristol never fired a shot. I asked him why in his experience Detective Kanoa Brostol would have been wearing a Kevlar vest while off duty at that time of night.

And I got nowhere. Detective Ray Irvine proved much more slippery than I ever anticipated.

Later, after Narita adjourned for the day, Jake and I sat in the Lawyers Room at the courthouse.

“Mind taking the state’s ballistics expert tomorrow?” I said, loosening my tie. “I think this judge and jury have seen enough of me for a while.”

“I’ll handle Denis Ritchie, son. I’ll handle Charlie Tong, too. ME’s not going to have much to add in this case.”

It was late, and we were the only two lawyers in the room. “So what did you think?” I said.

“It was either brilliant or it was a disaster. Maybe both.”

I leaned back in the plastic chair, took a sip from a warm can of Diet Pepsi. “Wouldn’t be my first brilliant disaster.”

“You need John Tatupu. And you need one of the feds.”

“The feds will deny everything. All I have is one shitty Queen for a Day agreement signed by Boyd. Besides, we don’t know that they have anything besides what Tatupu told them. And even that will be struck down as hearsay.”

“Maybe the feds have conducted more of an investigation than we think. Maybe they have photos and wiretaps. For all we know, they may be waiting for this trial to be over to indict half the department.”

I thought about it. I thought about what Tatupu had told me at Chinaman’s Hat, that the feds had hinted that a dirty cop had recently decided to come clean and cooperate. If there was an ongoing investigation into the HPD’s corruption, it wouldn’t be the DEA doing the investigating. It would be the FBI.

“Slauson,” I said aloud.

“You might be able to make a trade,” Jake said.

I was thinking the same thing. “The location of Lok Sun for Slauson’s testimony at Turi’s trial.”

“Problem is, soon as Slauson knows that you know where Lok Sun is, he doesn’t have to bargain. He can simply arrest you for obstruction of justice and haul you before Platz, who will lock you up until you talk. Platz will probably have you share a cell with SoSo.”

I had been receiving letters from SoSo just about every other day since mid-August. SoSo blamed me for the additional fifteen years Justice Platz slapped him with at his sentencing. It was my fault, SoSo said, because I should have warned him that insulting the judge could have negative ramifications. At the conclusion of each letter, SoSo promised that he would visit me at my home the very day he left prison. SoSo had a new lawyer working on his appeal, and his lawyer was confident that his conviction and/or sentencing would soon be overturned and SoSo would be a free man. Luckily for me, SoSo’s new lawyer was Mickey Fallon, one of the dumbest attorneys ever to be spit out of an American law school. And that was truly saying something.

“By the same token,” I said, “if I can prove Slauson has information relevant to Turi’s trial, I can subpoena him.”

“Sounds like a Mexican standoff,” Jake said. “Only there’s no way you can prove Slauson has information without having someone on the inside. And I highly doubt Flan can pull off impersonating a federal agent.”

“I don’t necessarily need an agent. Just a member of the Justice Department.”

“A lawyer?”

“A lawyer,” I said.

“She’ll never go for it.”

Jake was right, but then again, you never know until you try.

*   *   *

“Not a chance,” she said before I could even finish the question.

We were seated in the back of Big City Diner at Ward Center, out of earshot of any other patrons. We had just seen the latest Seth Rogen movie, and until this point in the evening she’d been in a great mood.

“Just hear me out,” I said. “All I need to know is whether there is an official investigation into corruption at the Honolulu Police Department, and if so, what evidence the feds have.”

“What am I supposed to do? Walk into FBI headquarters, flash my badge, and demand to see the file? It doesn’t work that way, Kevin, and you know it.”

“I know exactly how it works, Audra, and all I’m asking you to do is have a frank discussion with Special Agent Slauson. Before Turi was arrested for shooting Bristol, you told me the feds knew everything—about the protection, missing evidence, police couriers, solicitation of sex. You even implied they knew about cops performing Masonet’s wet work.”

“It was all rumor and conjecture, Kevin. I haven’t seen a shred of physical evidence.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t any. If Tatupu squawked and the feds did nothing, they’d be derelict in their duty, and Slauson doesn’t seem like the type of guy who sits on his ass and waits for something worse to happen.”

“But if Slauson didn’t engage the US Attorney’s Office, that means the investigation is ongoing, and there is no way he or any other agent is going to speak to me about an investigation that’s still pending.”

“He will if you have something to offer him.”

She stared at me for a moment, then said, “How dare you, Kevin.”

I held up my hand. “Easy. Not sex. I’m talking about the location of Lok Sun.”

Her eyes fell on the half-eaten portobello-mushroom sandwich in front of her.

I knew right away. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, looking down at my own empty plate. “You’ve already told him, haven’t you?”

“What choice did I have?”

“I trusted you.”

“I’m a prosecutor.”

“So what are they doing?”

“They’re watching him, just like you. You know how the feds work. They don’t move in until they have enough evidence for a conviction. Right now, all they have is the Pharmacist’s MO and Zhi Zhu’s testimony.”

“They arrested Zhi Zhu?”

“It was all very quiet. Zhu’s back on the street as though nothing’s ever happened. And if Lok Sun contacts him again for more strychnine, he’s agreed to wear a wire.”

“When are the feds moving in?”

“They’re in no hurry,” she said. “As long as they know where Lok Sun is, he can’t harm anybody.”

“And what about whoever hired him to murder Oksana Sutin?”

“Slauson is certain it’s the governor, and he knows, win or lose the election, Omphrey isn’t going anywhere.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Slauson is waiting, hoping Omphrey wins reelection before the FBI takes him down. Not only will it be a bigger story, but the lieutenant governor will take Omphrey’s seat and keep the party of law enforcement in office.”

“This isn’t political, Kevin.”

I smirked. “Don’t be naïve. Everything is political.”