Off the Grid, page 16
“You’re making a mistake,” Christopher repeated.
Koa stopped, turned slowly toward the agents. “You threaten me on my turf, I’ll put you behind bars.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“WHY THE HELL didn’t you keep me in the loop?” Chief Lannua’s words hung like a quivering arrow in the air. Koa faced his immaculately uniformed chief across the chief’s wide desk. “Why the hell did you act on your own? That’s what I want to know.” Koa generally enjoyed a decent rapport with Chief Lannua, but deep anger now flared in the chief’s eyes.
“Those two guys disrupted a crime scene. I acted in accordance with police regulations.” Koa struggled to keep his voice respectful.
“They identified themselves as federal agents, didn’t they?” The chief’s voice had a hard edge.
“Yes, but they had no right to break into a posted crime scene.”
“You could have called me from the Campbell house,” the chief said, raising his voice. “You could have asked for instructions.” The chief almost never involved himself in the details of cases unless they became political. So, Koa thought, there had to be a political angle to the two DIA boys.
“They acted weird, refusing to explain, and began threatening—”
“They’re federal agents, for God’s sake!”
The normally soft-spoken chief’s anger puzzled Koa. He couldn’t figure out why the chief cared so much. What was it about these two so-called federal agents? “Chief,” he said, trying to calm his boss down, “they didn’t act like federal agents. They didn’t coordinate with us, and they went around taking evidence and threatening witnesses. The FBI always—”
“They’re not FBI. They’re Defense Intelligence officers. You saw their credentials.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“They didn’t have a warrant.”
“Law enforcement officers don’t always need a warrant, especially under the Patriot Act.”
“I talked with Zeke Brown and he confirmed—”
Koa realized his mistake before the chief began screaming.
“You briefed the fuckin’ prosecutor, but you didn’t think to tell your boss! Who do you think you work for?”
Koa coordinated with Zeke all the time on warrants, investigations, and criminal trials. He didn’t brief the chief every time he talked to Zeke. “I wanted to check them out. There’s something off, unreal—”
“They’re real.” The chief slammed his fist down on his desk. “Too damn real. Their boss called the mayor and burned his ass.”
So that was it. Christopher had warned him, but Koa hadn’t been impressed. Apparently, the asshole had clout. Stranger and stranger. “Their boss?”
“The deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. He threatened to send military police in here.”
That revelation stunned Koa. “Threatened military action?”
“They warned you. They told you they were dealing with a sensitive national security matter.” The chief lowered his voice, but it still had an icy edge.
Koa wasn’t backing down. “And we’re dealing with two murders, one where the killers tortured the victim and another involving the theft of a county vehicle and a bomb that nearly killed a county firefighter.”
“Give it up. They’re taking over the Arthur Campbell case.”
“What’s their jurisdiction?” Koa asked.
“They’re federal officers. Hawai‘i is part of the United States. National defense is a federal matter with nationwide jurisdiction.”
“But we have jurisdiction over killings committed in the county,” Koa argued.
“Well, we’re not going to exercise it.”
What the hell? “Chief, we’re talking about murders. Two murders, here in Hawai‘i. In our jurisdiction. With all due respect, I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Well, I don’t, and it’s my decision to make.”
“And so, nobody stands up for these two victims?”
“You’ve identified the killers, these two Indonesians.”
“They’re just contract killers—”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve got a tape of them talking about their kepala, their boss, the guy who ordered the killings.”
“If that’s true,” the chief responded, “the DIA agents will get him.”
“So I’m supposed to give up the investigation, give up any effort to prove the Indonesians were working for someone?”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, and you’re going to give them everything you have on the Arthur Campbell case. Everything. That’s an order.”
Koa felt his heart rate spike and his face get red. He bore the scars of the exploding car and had been face-to-face with Arthur’s tortured body. He owned the case, and the chief was wrong to shut him down. Pissed as hell, Koa got up to leave the office, but the chief stopped him. “I’m not done yet.” Koa kept his face stern, though his anger wanted to burst through his skin. “Don’t let me catch you meddling in departmental personnel affairs again.”
Koa felt his brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”
“A delegation of patrolmen came to see me about reinstating Smithy down in dispatch.”
“What’s that have to do with me?” Koa asked.
“Don’t play games. I know about your meeting with Smithy. You and your chum Basa better stop agitating for him.”
“I haven’t done a thing, Chief, except meet with him when he came to see me,” Koa said, regaining his calm. As least with Smithy he knew the lay of the land. The chief was playing politics, and with the upcoming election, Lannua’s lickspittle behavior was out of control. He was sacrificing the department for his own political gain. Koa couldn’t resist even in the face of the chief’s anger. “You could boost morale and make points with the troops, by reinstating Smithy.”
“Butt out. Don’t tell me how to run this department,” Lannua said without a hint of compassion. “And one other thing. I told you Raul Oshoa had big-time political connections. You were supposed to handle him with a light hand.”
“That’s what I did, and he cooperated.”
“That’s not what Chavez, his ranch manager, said when he complained to the mayor.”
* * *
Word of Koa’s confrontation with the chief went viral through the department. Sergeant Basa appeared in Koa’s office minutes later, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry, boss. I heard the chief shit all over you.”
Koa grimaced. “Yeah, he did. Worst I’ve seen from him.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. Some jerk in the Pentagon—the Pentagon, for chrissakes—called the mayor and crapped all over him. Shit flows downhill, so the chief got burned, and I got dumped straight into the toilet.”
“You gonna be okay? I mean, he didn’t ask for your badge or anything, did he?”
“No. He just ordered me to give up the Arthur Campbell case.”
“Jesus!”
Basa looked concerned. They’d worked together for years. He’d been with Koa on politically sensitive cases, going toe to toe with the mayor and the chief. And he knew how tenaciously Koa pursued criminals. Koa wasn’t surprised when Basa asked, “You’re not giving up, are you?”
“No. I’m not giving up the Campbell murders, not to those two DIA assholes. I talked to them out at the Campbell place. They’re amateurs—obnoxious, heavy-handed amateurs. And they’re not here to solve murders; they’re here for something else, something I don’t understand.”
“Be careful,” Basa advised. “The chief is already climbing the walls.”
“Hey, I’m good at my job. I can get another one by making a few phone calls.”
“Christ, you can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious. My gut says there’s something smelly about these DIA spooks. A man gets tortured and a woman burned to death. Whether they were good people or bad, no one deserves to die that way. But these DIA goons don’t give a rat’s ass. They aren’t looking for justice. I don’t know what they’re doing, but it has nothing to do with finding the truth. Someone needs to find justice for Arthur and Gwendolyn, whoever they were.”
Basa, loyal as ever, offered, “I’ll cover your back anytime you need me.”
“Thanks.” When Koa thought about it, every officer on the force knew what was right and wrong in this case. “You can do one thing.”
“Name it.”
“When Christopher and his sidekick show up, cooperate but stick to the hard facts. No speculation, no guesses, no volunteering. Let them figure out the Oshoa connection and the orchid farm all by themselves.”
The sergeant grinned. “It’ll be a friggin’ pleasure.”
“Thanks, Basa.” Koa patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, and be careful. The chief thinks the two of us are agitating for Smithy. He warned me off.”
Basa wasn’t cowed. “He can go fuck himself.”
They were interrupted by a door-rattling knock. Koa rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, summoning reserves of energy and adrenaline. After a moment, he opened the door to see Agent Christopher with his partner standing in the hallway. Koa wanted to punch the son of a bitch in the jaw but restrained his rage. He’d play nice until he found an opportunity to shaft the assholes.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, we were just finishing up.”
Basa left and Koa dropped into the chair behind his desk. The two agents took the chairs opposite. Koa expected Agent Christopher to be overbearing, but the man took a softer tone.
“We got off on the wrong foot. Can we let bygones go and do this professionally?”
“Sure,” Koa said, but he didn’t trust these dudes and wasn’t conned by their “soft-shoe” routine. He had no intention to forgive and every intention to even the score.
“I assume your chief has put you in the picture?”
So that’s why they were being nice. Well, he’d cooperate while pursuing his own agenda. Koa, aware the federal criminal code made it a crime to lie to a government agent acting in an official capacity, made only truthful statements, albeit limited ones. He outlined the call from the rangers, the location of the body, and the forensic evidence at the crime scene. He described the fieldwork leading to the Campbell house, and the identification of Arthur Campbell based on the bedroom portrait and DNA matching the samples found in the house. Because they had already confiscated Shizuo’s files, Koa left out the discovery of Mo’s “Chinese house.” They had the body. Let them figure out the cigarette burns and the missing left hand.
Koa gave them as little as possible beyond what they already knew. They didn’t ask, and he didn’t volunteer information about the ownership of the Campbell house, the existence or ownership of the adjoining 240-acre orchid farm, or his conversations with the South Mauna Loa Farms people. Most important, he never mentioned the staged accident that killed Gwendolyn Campbell, Mrs. Furgeson’s descriptions of the Indonesians, her recording, or the visit from Alderson, the CIA agent.
In the end, Koa gained more information than he gave. The two national security agents asked no questions designed to identify Arthur Campbell’s killer. Every question focused on a single topic—the search of Arthur Campbell’s property. Had police thoroughly searched the house? Inside and out? Including the crawl space? The attic? The shed? What had they found? Did Arthur Campbell have a safe deposit box? Where did he work? Who were his friends?
Koa had never been so happy to be behind on paperwork. The bare-bones file he turned over to Agent Christopher lacked almost a full week of updates. It contained none of the information Koa had withheld. He’d just make a new file—for his own use.
When the agents left, frustrated, Koa smiled. Plainly, they thought their boss’s call to the mayor had relegated Koa to the sidelines, leaving the DIA agents an open field. More to the point, their questions confirmed what he suspected. Arthur Campbell, aka Elian Cervara or whoever hid beneath that alias, had secreted something the DIA agents wanted desperately to recover.
* * *
After the DIA agents left, Koa went to see Zeke. He found the prosecutor with his feet up on his desk and a law book in his lap.
“I’ve been expecting you.” Zeke sported a half grin that told Koa the prosecutor already knew about the blowup with the chief.
“You heard already?” It was like Zeke had eavesdropping devices in every county office, but Koa still marveled at the speed with which news reached the prosecutor’s ears.
Zeke nodded. “Tell me the gory details.”
“First, we’re gonna have to go to plan B on Smithy.”
“Oh, why?”
“The chief accused Basa and me of agitating to get Smithy’s pink slip withdrawn, and when I suggested he could improve morale by reinstating him, he told me to butt out.”
Zeke’s grimace conveyed his opinion of that staffing decision. “Some people are their own worst enemies.”
Koa outlined his confrontation with the two DIA agents at the Campbell house and Chief Lannua’s angry reaction. “I’m not giving up the Arthur Campbell investigation,” he ended. “Those two Indonesian goons are contract killers. They have to be, and I’m going to nail whoever hired them. The chief can fire me if he doesn’t like it, but I am not caving to political pressure, not from some bureaucratic asshole in Washington.”
“There’s something weird going down,” Zeke said.
Koa felt a surge of relief. “Then you agree with me?”
“Yeah, I agree, but we can’t have you exposed. Lannua’s let politics scramble his brains, but he still runs the police department.”
“So you think I should drop it?”
“Hell, no.” Zeke stood, dumping the law book onto the desk. “But we need to give you some cover.”
“Like what?” Koa asked.
Zeke gave Koa a conspiratorial smile. “The county charter gives me the power to investigate any crime coming to my attention and the power to appoint such deputies as may be necessary. I’m appointing you a deputy to investigate the murders of both Arthur and Gwendolyn Campbell.” Zeke picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to Koa. “It’s official.”
Koa studied the paper. “The chief will go ballistic,” he warned.
“I’ll handle the chief when the time comes. In the meantime, he doesn’t need to know about this. That way he won’t report it back to the DIA spooks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KOA MADE ANOTHER sweep of Wailoa Park, hoping political tempers had cooled, but the marches, speech-making, and vitriol had only increased as the date of the Nihoa rally approached. The event was going to be a nightmare. What, he wondered, had happened to negotiation and compromise, the indispensable ingredients for governing a diverse society. Yet, he appeared to be alone in that belief.
He had just completed a circuit of the park when Basa called. Koa knew something was up from the excitement in the sergeant’s voice. “We’ve got a line on those two Indonesian goons.”
“Where?” Koa demanded.
“Ka‘ū district, off Ka‘alāiki Road north of Na‘ālehu and south of Pāhala. After we put out the ABP, patrol officers down in the Ka‘ū district started hittin’ gas stations. One of the operators spotted the rental SUV, and our boys followed up. Looks like those dudes are holed up in a farmhouse.”
An image of Arthur’s tortured body flashed through Koa’s mind. The Indonesians were deadly. “The Ka‘ū cops haven’t tried to make an arrest, have they?”
“No. I told ’em to stay back but keep a tight watch.”
“Good,” Koa said, calculating strategy. The chief notwithstanding, he had all the authority he needed. Zeke had seen to that. Besides, the chief was on his way to Honolulu, probably for another campaign appearance with Nihoa. Koa focused on tactics, thinking about the location and the brutality of the two murders. “They’ll be armed. We’re gonna need firepower. Call out a tactical group and have ’em meet us down there.”
“What about the bomb guys?” Basa asked.
Koa hesitated, thinking through the probabilities. Sure, the Indonesians still had more acetylene, but they’d have no idea the police knew their location. Once the police showed up, they’d have no time to rig a complicated bomb. “I don’t think we’ll need them, but let’s put ’em on standby just in case.”
“You got it,” Basa said and left.
Koa kept the Explorer at seventy for nearly the whole sixty-five-mile stretch down south past Pāhala. At the Punalu’u Bake Shop in Na‘ālehu, where Ka‘alāiki Road turned off the Belt Road, Koa met up with Basa, tactical team leader Sergeant Awani, and three other officers from the SWAT team. Awani, formerly a police official in Egypt, had fled his native country after a falling-out with the Islamic government then in power. A wiry man with Middle Eastern coloring, jet-black hair, matching eyes, and a neatly trimmed mustache, he had a wickedly irreverent sense of humor. Koa guessed his blasphemy had contributed to his difficulties.
Koa led the group of police vehicles north on Ka‘alāiki Road for several miles and then toward the ocean on an unmarked dirt road until they spotted a patrol car off the verge in the shade of several ‘ōhi‘a trees. Everyone got out and Basa led the group up the side of a small hill. The two Ka‘ū patrol officers had staked out a position in the cover of several boulders atop the rise overlooking the farmhouse in the distance.
They were southwest of the Ka‘ū desert, downwind from the Kīlauea volcanic vents in a semi-desert area. Sulfurous gases mixed with a hint of smoke from faraway lava fires, creating a noxious smell and irritating the eyes. The omnipresent gases turned the infrequent rains acidic, leaving the ‘ōhi‘a shrubs stunted and twisted into demonic shapes. Along with occasional ‘ama‘uma‘u ferns, they provided the only splashes of grayish-green on the otherwise barren landscape.
