Elysium tide, p.12
Elysium Tide, page 12
“Lisa.” Jenny emerged from the closet holding something the size and shape of a TV remote, but with its own screen and a heavy-duty cord hanging from one end.
Lisa closed her eyes. I knew it. “Anything else?”
Jenny showed her a white cardboard box with no markings. “Key fob blanks. I’m guessing they fit the port on the side of this thing.”
“Okay. I think it’s time to go.” Lisa guided Edena out into the living room, heading for the door. “We’re going to borrow that device and the box to help us find out what happened. In the meantime, you call my mom, okay? She’ll come over anytime you want. Ikaia will cook you something—take care of you.”
The instant she said it, the old couch, the drapes, even the smells rolled back fifteen years. They were all there together. Her brothers. Her mom. Jason. Koa. Kelly was playing with a doll on the floor, oblivious. Edena had been the strong one then. We gotta stick together, okay? All of us. We’ll get through this.
“Lisa, why do you want that thing?”
Edena’s question snapped Lisa back to the present. She’d found the door—pushed it open. The sun was blinding.
“Lisa? Why are you taking that thing your friend found? What is it?”
Lisa let Jenny squeeze past her, then stood on the stoop and faced this person she should have kept in touch with—this woman she should have loved like they’d all promised so long ago. “I’m sorry, Edena. It’s a device used for stealing cars.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE ELYSIUM GRAND
A LITTLE SHOPPING TRIP in the resort’s overpriced shops helped Peter replace his waterlogged mobile. The proprietor helped him restore his contacts and such from the cloud, and his first call went to a rental company. Ubers and cabs didn’t seem the right mode of transportation for snooping about Maui to retrace Kelly’s steps. The rental place said they’d be happy to bring him a car. To remain inconspicuous, he selected a Ford Focus.
A half hour later, Peter received an automated text telling him the car was arriving. But when he walked out to the Grand’s circle drive, he saw only a cherry-red Cadillac pulling in among the fountains. It stopped directly beside him, and Peter backed up, expecting either a Saudi dignitary or a cocaine dealer to step out.
Instead, a red-haired, pimply young man climbed out of the driver’s side, wearing a jacket with the rental company logo. “Dr. Chesterfield?” The kid made a ta-da sign with both hands, as if he’d pulled the Cadillac out of a hat. “Here’s your car.”
“But I ordered an economy vehicle.”
“Yes, sir. This is an upgrade.”
“I chose a Ford Focus.”
The kid nodded, adding emphasis to his words. “And the manager upgraded you to a Cadillac CT5-V Blackwing, part of our prestige series.”
“I don’t want an upgrade.”
“But it’s free.”
“I don’t care.”
The kid’s smile dropped. He dipped his spiky hair into the car for a moment and reemerged with a key fob and a clipboard. He flipped up the top page, reading the document underneath. “Looks like you paid with an Ultabank Diamond card, sir. That entitles you to a free upgrade. Part of their perks program or something.” He dropped the page and shrugged. “Says here, there’s no extra charge.”
Whether Peter believed that or not was immaterial. He’d wanted something that blended in on Maui, not in the valet line at a Monaco casino. Why couldn’t rental companies ever just give you the car for which you’ve asked? He didn’t want to waste the morning arguing and demanding a different car. If he sent the Cadillac back, the kid might return with a Lamborghini. “Fine. I’ll take it.”
“Awesomesauce.” The kid turned the clipboard around and clicked a pen open for him. “Sign here.”
The Cadillac’s navigation system accepted the address the attendant had acquired from Kelly’s driver and identified the location as the Maui Central Baseyard. On the display it looked to be out in the wasteland of the former cane fields, almost two-thirds of the way between the resort and the island’s main urban hub of Kahului and Wailuku. What could a young freediving star desire that was out there in the empty valley?
As the navigation system counted down the last miles, an old concrete drainage ditch came in from the east to parallel the road. The ditch, dried out and half filled with red dirt, terminated at an industrial complex—a few acres of concrete covered in prefab metal warehouses, chain-link fences, and converted shipping containers. Clearly once part of the cane mill’s complex, the place had been taken over by garages, storage, and junkyards.
“You’ve arrived at your destination.” The navigation computer made its declaration the moment Peter turned off the highway. Too soon. There might have been a dozen or more businesses in the complex, spread out on a jumble of roads and alleys that made little sense, even with the bird’s-eye view of the Cadillac’s map. He slowed to barely more than a coast.
The entry road passed between a body shop and a junkyard full of old hulks, from rusted Chevys and Mazdas to a full-size fishing trawler that listed on the gravel in eternal distress. An older Hawaiian in a stained white undershirt stared Peter down as he drove past. From the suspicion in the man’s glare, Peter guessed this place—well removed from the city and the resort villages—was an appointment-only location.
He cruised the tangled streets, trying to guess which place Kelly might have visited. A boat mechanic. A stonemason. A solicitor—some ambulance chaser with a shop the size of a London street toilet. The island’s garbage truck parking lot. There was a grand total of six auto body shops with a variety of declared specialties.
Near the center of the complex, he found a flimsy corrugated steel cantina-slash-bar. That was what the sign said. No name. Just CANTINA/BAR. Interesting. He hated to think this was the place Kelly had forsaken her free villa to visit, but it made more sense than any of the other businesses. He parked across the street at the front of a lot filled with shipping containers and shut the engine down to wait and watch.
THE THREE MEN had approached from behind, among the containers, as best Peter could surmise, like Lawrence at Aqaba catching the Turks by surprise. Peter had been there less than fifteen minutes, and with his attention focused on the bar, he didn’t see them until he heard the thump of a hand slapping the Cadillac’s roof.
After gaining his attention, the apparent leader—wearing board shorts and an LA Clippers jersey and covered in tattoos—signaled for Peter to step out.
He should have stayed in the car and driven off.
Instinct told him to flee, but Peter wanted information. He needed to know what prior events had transpired to place Kelly Alana in his path, destined to die despite all his skill and knowledge. He climbed out, locking the doors and giving them a boisterous greeting to cover the sound. “Good morning, gentlemen. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
One of the men, a little younger than the leader and about the same size, lifted his chin. “You lost or somethin’, Ese?”
“You got a nice ride,” the other subordinate added—a great bulging bear of a man. “But this ain’t no place for a Sunday drive.”
The leader let out a huff. “You been sittin’ outside the cantina for a while now. Why don’t you man up and go have a drink. In fact”—he glanced at his two friends, then back at Peter—“I’m thinkin’ you should buy all of us a round.”
In Afghanistan, as a naval surgeon assigned to a special unit of the Royal Marines, Peter had endured negotiations with the worst kind of men—warlords who had shed innocent blood and were proud of it. They all carried the same darkness behind their gaze, what a religious person like Tuna might call demonic. The leader and the smaller of his two friends had it. Not the big bear, though. Interesting.
“Thank you, but it’s pretty early in the day. And early or late, I’m not a drinker.”
The leader took a step forward.
Peter backed up an equal distance, bumping into the Cadillac. He tried the direct approach. “To be honest, I’m looking for information. Perhaps you can help.”
“Information, eh?” The leader’s slow grin told Peter that if he had any, there’d be a charge. There was probably going to be a charge either way. “What kinda information?”
“It’s about a young woman.”
“Oh, Ese,” the smaller of the two subordinates said with a chuckle. “If you’re lookin’ for a girl, we can tell you which streets to cruise in Happy Valley. But this ain’t the place.”
“A specific girl, I mean. She was in this area yesterday. I’m trying to find out why.”
The leader shifted his stance and narrowed his eyes. “This girl got a name?”
The question gave Peter pause, but only for an instant. Kelly was dead. What harm could sharing her name do? “Kelly Alana. The rising freediving star, if you follow that sort of thing.”
The name had meaning to them. The leader didn’t show it, but the big one did, darting a glance at his boss.
“Don’t know her,” the leader said. “She go missin’?”
“She’s dead.”
The first tidbit he’d given them had triggered interest. The second—the fact that Kelly had died—triggered action. All three advanced, hemming Peter against the Cadillac. The leader cocked his head left and right, cracking his neck. “If you’re here askin’ ’bout a dead girl, I’d say that makes you some kind of cop or cop wannabe. And guessin’ by that ain’t-from-around-here accent, I’m favoring wannabe. It’s time you bought us those drinks.” He made a pointed glance toward the cantina. “Inside.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
MAUI CENTRAL BASEYARD
PETER HAD NO INTENTION of entering the cantina with his new friends, where he’d likely be surrounded by more—an Abu Saʹid dining with the Castilians. “As I said, I’m not a drinker. Thanks for your kind invitation, but I think I’ll be on my way.”
“It wasn’t an invitation.” The smaller of the two subordinates caught Peter’s wrist. “He gave you an order.”
Peter wheeled his forearm and cracked the young man’s knuckles against the Cadillac’s doorframe, causing him to let go. He cringed and raised both hands. “Sorry. Sorry about that. Pure instinct. No offense. Don’t like to be grabbed, that’s all.”
The other two tightened the circle. “Don’t like to be touched, eh?” their leader asked. “Then I’m afraid what’s about to go down ain’t gonna be too pleasant.” He nodded to the bear, who gave Peter a look that said It didn’t have to be this way, and grabbed the front of his shirt.
Peter whipped both hands up, striking the median nerve in both forearms of his attacker. The bear grunted and let go, then growled. A flurry of punches from all three followed.
Peter deflected most of the strikes with his raised arms, pulling his elbows close to protect his organs. But one painful shot made it through to his liver. In a regrettable counterattack, he struck the leader’s nose with the base of his palm. He heard a crack.
“That’s it!” The leader backed up, nose bleeding, and pulled a knife from his waistband. He flicked out the blade. “You’re done.”
A siren stopped his advance.
The leader shook his head at Peter and fled with his subordinates an instant before a black Toyota 4Runner with flashing grill lights skidded to a stop on the storage lot’s gravel.
Detective Kealoha leapt out with her gun drawn, tracking the men with her aim. “Peter, are you hurt?”
“Not really.”
“Too bad. Get in that ridiculous car and follow me. If you turn off or fall so much as two car lengths behind, I’ll bury you so deep in a Maui detention center that you won’t see daylight for weeks. Understand?”
“You’re not going to chase them?”
“Shut up and get in the car!”
The detective led him to a shopping center three miles away and parked next to the dumpsters in the asphalt alley between a hardware store and a mega mart. She stormed over to the Cadillac and slapped the roof, not unlike the thug from a few minutes before. “Out, you! Out of the car!”
Peter cracked the door. “You seem upset. Perhaps we should drive around a bit more so you can calm down.” He shot a glance at the dumpsters. “This isn’t an ideal place to talk. I’ve been in cadaver labs that smelled better.”
“Get out!”
He obeyed, hands up, but not so high she wouldn’t be able to reach them if she wanted to cuff him. The detective was far from the tallest of women, and he’d have hated to upset her more by playing keepaway with his wrists.
“Put your hands down. This isn’t an arrest.”
“Whatever you say. But if that’s true, would you mind putting your gun away?”
The detective followed his gaze and seemed surprised to see the weapon in her hand. She slipped it into a holster at her waistband. “What were you thinking?”
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
The tilt of her head gave him the impression she wanted to draw the gun again. “Driving out there. Following Kelly’s trail. What was that supposed to be? A stakeout?” She looked past him to the Cadillac. “In that? And you claim to be brilliant?”
“This car was not my—” Peter winced. What was the point in explaining? “Never mind. Thank you for the rescue, however unnecessary. How did you know where I was?”
“I didn’t. A tip from an FBI contact merged with information we gained from an attendant at the resort. But I’m guessing you talked to that same kid, because it’s the only way you found your way out here.”
Right. Tuna had said he’d make sure the young man passed on the message. “Well, your arrival was poorly timed. I was just beginning to get somewhere with those gentlemen.”
The detective’s jaw dropped. She took a couple of steps as if she might walk away, muttering under her breath, “Unbelievable,” then turned to face him again. “Did you talk to those men about Kelly?”
“I might have mentioned her name.”
“Of course you did. Why can’t you let this go?”
“I . . .” Peter didn’t want to explain—wasn’t even sure he could. “I want to help. That’s all.”
“You’re not helping, okay? Get it through your thick skull that you’re not an investigator or a consultant, or whatever you think you are. I had the jump on a known thug with possible ties to this case. Now he’s seen me coming. You’ve probably killed the best lead this investigation was ever going to get.”
Peter puffed himself up, tired of being the subject of her accusations. “I killed the lead? Who found your thug first, hmm? I did. Without your FBI contact. You’re the one who came flying in with siren wailing and let them get away.”
He’d gone too far, and he knew it. Another Barbara of Seville moment. The shade the detective’s cheeks turned, a deep red, strong enough to be visible behind her Polynesian complexion, confirmed it.
She poked him in the chest. “I let them get away because my primary responsibility was to keep you safe. You have no idea who those men are. I do. Had I pursued them, one or more could have doubled back to come after you. They would have killed you without a second thought.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t have the luxury of making that assumption. I saw you punch the one in the Clippers jersey. By putting yourself in harm’s way, you left me no choice. I had to let them go and remove you from danger.” She showed him the badge clipped to her belt. “Every morning, the act of putting on this shield makes me accountable for the lives and safety of those around me. Every move I make will be judged if someone gets hurt or killed. Do you understand the weight of that kind of responsibility?”
“Do I understand the weight?” Nigel’s voice in his head told Peter to be quiet. He saw Carol warning him to back down. He ignored them both. “I hold lives in my hands on a weekly—sometimes daily—basis to a level you can’t begin to comprehend. I held Kelly’s life in my hands. I knew every step required to save her. I knew every tissue to repair, every drug to administer, every vessel to stitch. But I couldn’t do it.” He balled his fists. “You want to know why I need to be part of this investigation? That weight is crushing me. Bringing Kelly’s killer to justice is the only remaining thing I can do for her. You don’t want to let me in? Fine. I’ll keep at this without you. And I’ll beat you to every clue the way I did today. So help me, Detective, I’ll remain a thorn in your side until you have no choice but to lock me up.”
They stared at each other for a long time, both red-faced and breathing hard, until the detective finally relaxed her posture and nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay? Meaning you’ll let me join you in the investigation?”
“Nope.” She pulled a set of cuffs from behind her back and spun him around. “Okay, meaning I believe you when you say you won’t stop. I’m skipping to the end and locking you up.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
MAUI PD CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIVE DIVISION
“HE’S BRITISH.” Jenny Fan sat on the edge of a small desk in the observation chamber next to the CID’s primary interrogation room, scrunching her brow at the man handcuffed to the interview table on the other side of the one-way mirror. “And he’s a doctor—the one who pulled Kelly from the water.”
Lisa closed her eyes and nodded. “Correct.” She knew where this was going.
“And you hauled him in because you think he killed her?”
“No. I hauled him in because he won’t stop trying to help.”
This bought her a slow nod. “Right. Too helpful. That must be one of those LA laws.”
“I didn’t say he was helpful. I said wouldn’t stop trying to help. Thanks to him I lost our best suspect at the Central Baseyard.”
“The Baseyard? You’re kidding, right? You think heading over there in an unmarked and looking all coppish was going to get you anywhere?”
“I guess we’ll never know. But I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t do any more harm. The captain says I can keep him in there stewing for another three hours if I want. After that, I either have to let him go or book him.”
