CHAPTER 55

Seated in the passenger seat of my Jeep, in the glow of the tiki torches lining Kalakaua Avenue, Iryna Kupchenko appeared ragged, her long blond hair now unkempt and unclean, her tight black skirt and blouse disheveled, her makeup smeared, mascara running from both eyes down her cheeks. The smell of cigarette smoke mercifully masked her body odor.

“We thought you were dead,” I told her.

“I moved from Diamond Head to Kahala, but I have not been home in three days,” she said. “Not since I saw Dengler’s body.”

“There was a woman’s body…,” I said gently.

“In Lake Wilson, yes. She was my friend. Her name was Hannah.”

“Who killed her?”

Iryna placed her face against the passenger-side window and wept. “One of the drivers. They are killing everybody they think will talk.”

Scott had chosen to walk back to his apartment on Tusitala. Now we were headed back to my villa in Ko Olina because Iryna refused to stay alone in a hotel.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” I said as I turned up Paki Avenue. “But we might be close to bringing all this death to an end. You saw Dengler’s killer. And Dengler’s killer may well have been Orlando Masonet.” At the end of Paki Avenue, I made a left onto Ala Wai Boulevard, speeding alongside the canal. “Tell me what he looked like.”

“He was tall. Dressed very well. But I did everything I could to avoid looking at his face.”

My chest heaved with disappointment. “Tell me you caught a glimpse at least, Iryna.”

“I glanced back as I left the elevator, just to be sure he wasn’t following me. I saw him just quickly before the doors closed. He had a hard, handsome face.”

“How old was he?”

“It was difficult to tell. Young forties, I would have to guess. Not heavy but very well fed.”

Our half-hour drive on H1 West was silent as I contemplated my next move. I needed a sketch artist but I couldn’t exactly bring Iryna to police headquarters. The only cop I knew I could trust was John Tatupu—and he’d threatened my life just a few hours ago.

As I pulled into my driveway, it finally struck me. I leapt out of the Jeep, helped Iryna out, then took her inside through the front door. Skies greeted us immediately. He didn’t like strangers but he did indeed adore beautiful women. Even when they looked and smelled as though they hadn’t bathed in days.

“Something to drink?” I said as Iryna stared in wonder at the mattress on my living room floor. “Beer, scotch, soda, Red Bull, bottled water?”

“Do you have red wine?”

“No,” I told her emphatically. “I no longer keep red wine in the house.”

“Then water will be fine.”

I double-checked the cap before I handed her an ice-cold bottle of FIJI. Then I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Audra’s number. As it rang, I stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.

“I need a favor,” I said when she picked up.

“If it has to do with Slauson, the answer is no. He kicked me out of FBI headquarters this morning after accusing me of sleeping with the enemy. He said he should have me fired and prosecuted for treason.”

“I may not need him. What I do need is access to a forensic artist. FBI, if at all possible.”

The FBI did good work. Without that notorious sketch of the Unabomber, which will be forever ingrained into America’s collective memory, the Bureau might never have captured Ted Kaczynski.

“What’s this for?”

“I have Iryna Kupchenko here in my villa. She may have seen Orlando Masonet.”

“You have a call girl at your place? Isn’t one charge of prostitution enough for one year?”

“You would think, but no. I’m going for the record.”

“I’ll call Mike Jansen. He’s the one who’s been after Masonet from the beginning anyway.”

“Special Agent Jansen of the DEA? It was his stupid fucking plan that got us into this mess to begin with.”

“Look, he’s the only one I can go to, Kevin. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.”

*   *   *

After she showered, Iryna passed out naked in the center of my bed. I threw a sheet over her, then sat outside on my lanai and waited for Audra to call back. My thoughts carried me back to July and SoSo’s sentencing, Boyd’s warning that a Waialua meth lab had been raided, Turi’s frantic plea from the FDC, the late-night call from Jason Yi, and the gruesome sight of Oksana Sutin’s corpse at the Diamond Head crime scene. Had that all really happened in a single day and night? Could I have somehow avoided it all by marching back down the courthouse steps before the sentencing, returning home, shutting my phone off, and going to sleep?

At some point in the night, as the trade winds blew through my hair and the geckos chirped, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep in the wicker chair. I woke to the bell of my cell phone just as the sun began to rise over the Pacific.

“Eight a.m.,” Audra said. “At the DEA’s Honolulu District Office.”

“No go,” I said groggily. “Have Jansen send the sketch artist here. Last thing we need is to have someone spot Iryna visiting with the DEA.”

“Jansen can arrange for protection.”

“I’ve experienced Jansen’s protection firsthand. Iryna came to me; I’ll protect her.”

“I’ll call him back,” Audra said, annoyed. “If you don’t hear from me, Jansen and the sketch artist will be at your home at eight.” She disconnected.

Without closing the clamshell I dialed Jake’s number.

He picked up on the sixth ring. “Getting revenge for me calling you so early yesterday morning, son?”

“Yes, but I also need to ask a favor. I need you to cover for me in court this morning. Call our ballistics expert to the stand. Keep him up there until Narita breaks for lunch, then cut him loose. I’ll be there this afternoon to toss Guffman around the courtroom.”

Jake didn’t ask any questions. “You got it.”

I ended the call and dialed Flan. Casey picked up.

“Sorry, Casey,” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh, no probs, Kev. Actually, I just got home. Don’t tell Dad.”

I heard a door creak open, I heard Flan snoring, then I heard Casey yell, “It’s for you!” just before the door slammed closed again.

Flan picked up the phone.

I said, “I need you to head to Pearl City this morning, Flan. Make sure Max Guffman makes it to court today. If he gives you any trouble, tell him if he doesn’t testify, I’ll put his lady friend, Meredith Yancy, on the stand. And her daughter, Karen Haak. And I’ll subject them all to charges of perjury. And if none of them show, the whole family, baby Kyle included, will be thrown in jail for contempt.”

“Can a baby be held in contempt?” Flan asked, mid-yawn.

“Hey, if I could convince a judge to allow a four-year-old to testify in a murder trial like I did in the Erin Simms case, I figure I can pull off just about anything.”

“Let’s hope for Turi’s sake you’re right.”