Ichiru Tagama sat with Ryan at the breakfast table. Lara had left and Ryan was having a giant cup of coffee, but he’d made his father green tea.
Tagama gave his son a grateful look. The boy was the best thing he’d ever done. He’d told Yasuko, and she agreed, though she hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know him. Tagama was about to start that process last night.
“Can you meet our clients in Wailuku?” he asked Ryan.
“Dad, we can cancel. They’ll understand.”
“I don’t want to cancel. These are important investors.” Tagama sipped from his tea. “Give them my apologies.”
Tagama could feel his son’s scrutiny, but he was also certain that Ryan would listen. For one thing, the boy was sensitive. And Tagama wanted time alone; Ryan would know that.
“Eat something,” Ryan said.
Tagama knew he’d won this round. He nodded, but stared at the steaming surface of his tea.
Ryan toasted English muffins, buttered the halves, and set them in front of the old man. “If I’m going to be on time, I’d better get going. I’ll call you after the meeting.”
“Thank you, son.”
Tagama sent a prayer after the boy, nibbled on the crunchy edges of the muffins for long enough to let his son get on the road, and then left the apartment. He knew that the digital nature of cellular phones made them hard to tap, but he didn’t trust a conversation in Ryan’s place. Obake’s people were likely to have a bug in place, or a directional microphone set up in an adjacent apartment.
Tagama strolled into town, found a park bench next to a playground full of boisterous elementary school students, and dialed a number on his cell phone.
“Maui Police Department, Major Lekziew’s office.”
“Good morning, is the Major in? This is Stan Driver calling.”
“Mr. Driver, he’s in a meeting. May I take a message?”
“Sure, tell him Green Sands Golf Club has moved our tee time up. It’s for 4:30 instead of five.”
Tagama sat on the bench and watched the children play. If he had it to do over, he’d have had another child or two. Hell, he’d have done a lot differently. Ten minutes passed, and his phone rang.
“Ichiru, I’m sorry for your loss.” Lek Lekziew’s voice was private, compassionate.
“Thank you.”
“We don’t have much yet.”
“What do you know?”
“A witness has retracted a statement. Says he made a mistake because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.”
“What did he see before he forgot he wasn’t wearing glasses?”
“A black Land Rover.”
“Ah.”
“There are other black Land Rovers. They’re fairly common.”
“Okay. How about the tissue samples under her nails?”
“No matches.” Lek exhaled slowly. “We’re looking at the FBI’s CODIS, but if they haven’t shown up in the local database, they’re not going to show up nationally.”
“This is going to be tough,” Lek said. “They’re going to be hard to identify.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Tagama disconnected. He sat for a while longer. The first group of students went inside—recess over—and a second group blasted out the double doors. He turned his face toward the warm sun and smiled at the children’s unrestrained delight.
A few minutes later, he walked back to the apartment, went to the living room, and sat on the most-used piece of furniture, a comfortable sofa situated before the TV set. For several minutes, he sat and considered his timing. Then he speed-dialed a number on his mobile phone.
“Ramirez, I need you to meet me.”
“Now?” asked Ramirez.
“Olowalu Wharf in a half hour.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, Boss.”
Tagama disconnected and stood up as if his knees hurt. He looked around the apartment slowly and gave the room a sad smile, though no one could see it. It was a smile of reminiscence.
He walked out the front door and didn’t look back. At the front door he asked a security guard to call a taxi for him and went outside to sit down. When he was sure he was alone, he hit the same speed dial button.
“Where is Storm now?” Tagama asked.
“She got Keiko and the kid. They’re at the hospital in Wailuku, and Storm just left.”
“She’s in a rush to make her appointment with Lara.”
“Looks that way.”
“Obake’s at home?”
“Waiting for another call from Japan.” Ramirez chuckled. “My man tells me he’s wearing a towel, pacing back and forth.”
“Good. When’s the next call from Japan?”
“About an hour.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”