A Concealed Universe, page 7
“No, you don’t.”
“Good. I didn’t want one. To recap, we’re partners. If I screw the pooch, I’ll be walking the sand in Kekoa style,” she said with a hip sway.
“Please don’t hula. Partners? Yes, on a moment by moment basis.”
1:15 PM Tuesday
Honolulu HI
Her tiny apartment near the Bishop Museum was all Kiele could afford. Many cops worked two jobs to have a bigger place, and she’d taken the occasional security gig at a UH Football game or a rock concert at the Blaisdell, but she didn’t like working sixteen-hour days. She also liked her privacy and didn’t want a roommate. Because she didn’t date other cops and didn’t meet many other men, she could veg in her birthday suit or binge TV on her day off. Besides, she needed to save for graduate school. That degree would help her advance in the HPD or work for the FBI or Secret Service.
A glance at her wall clock showed she’d be late in three minutes. “It’s Kiele, sir. I’m reporting for duty in less than thirty,” she added with her cell phone jammed against her ear. She needed to find pants and her holster, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m looking pretty detective-y.”
“My name is Malu. Where are you?”
“I’m home. You said to change.”
He interrupted with his down to business voice. “Our day started when we found Dr. Sheila Gould under the Nimitz. The Feds are protecting her but none of our other vics at the Alakea building. Anything to add?”
In her white panties she could reach the pen in her uniform shirt pocket but not the notebook in her pants. The closest thing was an envelope from a phone bill she’d paid yesterday.
“No. That’s a good summary, Malu. Sir,” she said like an experienced detective would.
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Corporal. I’m all weepy. To continue, if we knew why this happened today, we’d have a start on motive. Matthew Travis is Doctor Travis over at Queen Emma. I’ll interview him. If I get nothing, we’ll take a run at the Travis woman.”
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. It’s close to my apartment. Yes, the wife, Andy Travis. I’m thinking a husband and wife team mighta killed our victims.”
“The data suggests doctors aren’t hit men, but they have the kālā to hire somebody to do it for them. I tried to contact Andy Travis, but no joy. If she is missing, too, she might be victim number five. Since husbands are the best suspects, he fits for everything – including Andy Travis.”
“Since there’s no more puke to scrape or dog kaka to pick up, what’s my job, Boss?”
“Stop. Forensics from the Alakea shootings are more important than joining me at the hip, so see the crime scene techs. After that, get the ME, ballistics, and the Fire Marshal’s reports.”
“If they are doggin’ it, can I use the magic phrase?”
“Somehow, Kiele, I’m afraid. What is the magic dogging phrase?”
“Lieutenant Kekoa says.”
“Excellent. Before you finish, go to Dr. Gould’s address. Don’t stop until you’ve talked with as many neighbors as possible. Do you have everything?”
The envelope was full, but she did. “Sir-yes-sir.”
“When I work a homicide, Corporal, nobody puts in for overtime. If we are following a lead, we work it until we chase it down. Time doesn’t matter, and there’s no clock. Before I turn you loose on the unsuspecting public, do you have a problem with that?”
“Sir-no-sir.”
“Now, I’m more afraid.”
“The one who asks questions doesn't lose his way.” - African Proverb
1:15 PM Tuesday
Honolulu HI
Queen Emma and King Kamehameha IV founded Honolulu’s Queen's Medical Center in 1859 to halt the tide of unknown diseases foreigners brought to their pristine islands. From that day, their bequeath to improve the well-being of all people of Hawai’i, to perpetuity, turned O’ahu’s original, small, single building into the largest private hospital in Hawai’i.
With a quick call to his nephew, a nursing supervisor there, Kekoa learned where to find Dr. Matthew Travis. He also got an insider’s tip on where to park among the urban chaos that was the hospital’s massive grounds.
Ten minutes later he made the final turn into that narrow backstreet. Stopping his car, he smiled.
“I thought I knew this area, but I never noticed this lane before now. Somebody needs to clean up the palm fronds and sweep the seedpods from the gutters, but this block is a quaint, clean, ‘40’s throwback,” he said, sliding into the last open space on the small, side street. With his sport coat over one arm, the sun warmed his back as he turned onto Vineyard toward the Foster Botanical Gardens. Unlike the alley, the gardens were a place he knew well.
As a new Detective Sergeant, the pace and horror were wearing him down. His Captain, an ornery, jaded cop without a sympathetic bone didn’t care. To old Conklin, Detective Sergeants were disposable, especially when they couldn’t hack his definition of real police work. Soon, Detective Sergeant Kekoa had enough of the Conklin’s tactics. Skirting the law when it was inconvenient wasn’t what Malu signed up for, and he was a day away from requesting a career-killing transfer back to uniform patrol. Ready, that was until Shirley Jackson – the over-brash unit secretary, saved him.
“Let’s get us a cigarette, Cocoa,” she’d said, using the nickname he hoped she’d forgotten. Outside, she diagnosed his problem better than any Department shrink could.
“You got yourself a future, baby, but you need a hobby – something that’ll take your mind off this Conklin shit.” Handing him a slip of paper after her yellowed fingers pulled the spark off the always-present unfiltered cigarette, she aimed the same stained and calloused digit toward his face. “Call this guy. If you don’t, the Wrath of Shirley will descend down on your beautiful head.” Crushing the butt into the concrete, she spit a stray tobacco grain to the ground. “See ya’ ‘round, Cocoa.”
The man was the Chief Botanist at the Gardens, and from the next Saturday on, Malu volunteered there. Three days each month he raked or shoveled, and when he learned how, he planted and pruned. But his best times were the days he served as a guide for visiting school children.
In his dark green apron with Mr. Malu stenciled below the garden’s crest, he found balance. The children were life, and that was something that often came to mind as he faced a day’s grim deaths.
No one in the department knew of his passion for the Gardens until he heard old Conklin’s voice one sunny, Saturday morning. He always thought he would confront the man if he got the chance, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t be angry. The gardens gave him inner peace.
“I need to find Shirley,” he said as he entered the unique Queen Emma Tower’s triangular shape. Flashing his badge to front desk security with a smile he knew was uncop-like, he rode the elevator to the seventh floor.
~
“Dr. Travis? Good, you’re out of surgery. A police officer is here to see you. He asked for a private place, so I put him in the lounge. I hope that was okay.”
The doctor’s lounge was a small room where physicians relaxed, crashed, or slept. The green-painted walls, rumpled bed, and mismatched chairs and table weren’t ideal, but it was private.
“Thanks, Jennifer. I believe it’s about a boy I treated last week. He was a sad one. Probable child abuse.”
The tall, native Hawaiian stood as Matt entered the lounge, and a firm, dry voice came from an expressionless glare that screamed tension.
“Dr. Matthew Travis? I’m Lieutenant Kekoa with HPD.”
Matt returned his own, cool smile. “Follow-up interviews with police officers are always friendly, Lieutenant, but this is different. Is this about the boy we treated last week?”
“No, Doctor, it isn’t. There was an incident at the offices of your wife’s therapist. People died. Your wife isn’t among the victims, but her minivan exploded at the same time. We can’t find her. Where is she?”
Fumbling under Kekoa’s gaze, his brain moved in slow motion. This was Kristen’s retribution.
“Dr. Travis? Did you hear me?”
“Yes. Yes, Lieutenant, I heard you.”
“Did you expect this?”
“No. She had an appointment with Dr. Gould this morning, but they changed it.”
“She isn’t answering your home phone. There’s a cell, but someone has a block on her line. We’ll need a court order to get that number. Did you talk with her before ten this morning?”
“We don’t talk when I work. My four-year-old sons went to the appointment with her. They’re identical twins – Matthew and Joshua.”
“The doctor’s office changed her appointment?”
The lieutenant dragged a molded, plastic chair across the faded vinyl floor. Sitting, he took a small notebook from a pocket. After reading a page. he scrawled a few lines on the next blank one before adding the boys’ names.
“Sorry. Please continue.”
“I . . . Yes. The secretary called last Friday. Another doctor was taking Dr. Gould’s place. She wanted to make sure the change was okay. Andy wasn’t comfortable with a new therapist, but I encouraged her to go. I couldn’t stay home today. She took our sons with her.”
“You recommended she go even though she wasn’t comfortable? Why was it important that she go? Why was today important to you?”
“Lieutenant, I’m not sure I want to share that with you.”
Kekoa paused before looking up from his notes. “Was the new doctor named Charles, and when did they call?”
“They called after dinnertime. I asked, but Andy didn’t know the new doctor’s name. Wait. What else do you know?”
Expressionless, the lieutenant wrote another cryptic note he couldn’t read.
“Nothing. I didn’t know about your sons until now. Before we talk about them, have you ever met Dr. Gould or her secretary, Ms. Ho’okano?
“No. Is that important?”
“It is to me. They’re dead.”
“No, sorry. I never met them.”
“How about a lawyer named Sims?”
“Is he dead, too?”
“How about Dr. Charles, the replacement? No need, I suspect you don’t know him, either, huh? Let’s talk about things you will admit you know. The Federal Government is blocking you and your wife’s cell phones. Why? And, where have you been since six this morning?”
He ignored the twisting cross-examination. Picturing his innocent sons under Kristen’s control enraged him. Without a plan, he made a mistake.
“I’m sorry those people are dead, but I didn’t kill them. I’ve been observing surgery from seven this morning until fifteen minutes ago, and I certainly didn’t kidnap my children.”
Kekoa leaned away. “You may have an alibi, but that’s an odd way of interpreting my words. I didn’t use the word kidnapped. I said I can’t locate your wife. You came back worried about a kidnapping I never mentioned, involving children I didn’t know about, for an appointment you . . . Let’s just say you coerced your wife into taking for a reason you won’t explain.”
“I don’t like those implications or that threat, Lieutenant.”
“It isn’t a crime, but you also glossed over the deaths of four people without a single question. Last, you never asked about your wife. For now, let’s stay with your children. If you believe someone kidnapped them, tell me why.”
Before he could answer, the lieutenant’s phone chirped. He hoped for news, but Kekoa’s expression showed nothing as he walked from the room.
“I had nothing to do with this,” he shouted after the tall police officer. “Nothing!”
~
The excited stream of information blew into his ear as soon as the call connected.
“Boss? It’s Kiele. I finished with the neighbors already. The lots are large, the homes are exclusive, and there are only a few on that street. It’s nice to be rich. I’d like to try it sometime.”
In the hallway, he was free to talk. “Slow down and start again.”
“’K. At the last house on the street, I got a hit from a helpful grandmother. She’s not a busybody, but she keeps a logbook about everything that happens. She even has a nifty set of twenty power binocs set up on a tripod to help her old eyes. Anyway, her log can even tell if somebody two houses away passes gas. Well, maybe not. She’s eighty, at least . . .”
“Corporal Nishimura? If you would, please tell me what tutu said.”
“Sure. Last Friday night, just after Dr. Gould got home, my snoopy, kuku wahine saw a group of overfed haoles in business suits – that’s her direct quote – drive up in a black SUV and stay less than two minutes before they hustled Dr. Gould away. She said a second black SUV came back late that same night for Gould’s computers and a file cabinet. We’ll need a warrant for Dr. Gould’s house. I can start the paperwork this afternoon. I’ve done them before.”
“I tried, Kiele, but the Feds clamped the house down. Bravo for Mrs. Kravitz. Did she write the plate numbers in her log?”
“Yeah. Three CCTV cams triangulate near Dr. Gould’s home. My friend in tech services helped me get vid caps on the plates as they passed within grandmother’s time window, but I lost them in a CCTV dead zone.”
“Did you get those plate numbers legally, Corporal?”
“Legal? Mostly. Boss? The old lady’s name was Johnson, not Kravitz. How’s it going with Dr. Travis?”
“Mrs. Kravitz was ‘70’s TV character. Wiggle your nose? Bewitched? You’re too young. A group, huh? That’s pricy talent, the kind a doctor could afford. Travis is hinky. He’s either involved or hiding something, I just don’t know what or why. I’ll push him for another mistake.”
“You’re a hard-ass? That takes my breath away. Do we meet later, or do your old bones need the night off?”
Concentrating on his moves with Matt Travis, her dig didn’t register. “Tomorrow, Corporal, but early.” Closing the call, he leaned against the beige painted, block wall.
“Unless we get a solid lead, this case will race away.”
Every time this happened, he wanted a cigarette. It had been five years since he quit, but the curling smoke always separated the fluff from the facts. It gave him a clean start.
“No, I don’t need it. Kiele’s information is good, but Travis is my clean start. He’s only worried about his sons. What about his wife? He seems afraid, but not of me.”
~
He didn’t sit when he entered the room. Gazing down from six and one-half feet intimidated suspects perched in a chair, and that was how he wanted Dr. Matthew Travis.
With his hands on his hips, he knew Travis could see the Smith and Wesson pistol on his hip. People always concentrated on the gun. Sometimes it shook them.
“Thank you for allowing us to tap your phones. You will also give me those cell phone access codes.”
“What?”
Pulling his handcuffs from behind his back, he dropped them on the table. It was Hollywood, but the metallic clank scared Travis. He saw it in his eyes.
“No, this isn’t right. I never allowed anything.”
“Yes, you did. You’re like anyone else who claims they’re innocent of four murders, a missing spouse presumed to be a victim of foul play, arson, and kidnapping your children. You are my prime suspect for all of those, so cooperating is the smart thing. I believe you are lying, but your lawyer can use your cooperation to convince a jury that a guilty man would never be this helpful.”
He aimed a finger at Travis’ chest. “Until then, listen up. Your house is a crime scene – my crime scene, so you need somewhere else to stay. That way, you won’t destroy my evidence. If you have nowhere else, I will take you into custody. You aren’t going off this island, either.”
Matt Travis leaned forward, but that wasn’t part of his plan. Shooting his arms out, his firm wrists were inches from Travis’ face. “Sit.”
Travis folded back into his chair. “If I’m a suspect, you’re a fool. I had nothing to do with kidnapping my children or any of those other crimes.”
“You still fly right over four murders and your wife and say kidnapped, Doctor. I’ll prove everything, but if this really is a kidnapping and my loved ones paid the price for my silence, I’d regret that for the rest of my life.”
When Travis’ head fell to his chest, he knew he was chipping toward the truth.
“Our friends Kevin and Liz. I’ll use their home. They live on the North Shore, but they’re on sabbatical.”
“I’ll need that address. We will monitor those phones, too.”
“No. Without a court order your wiretaps are illegal, Lieutenant. I’ll get an attorney.”
The threat had no fire. He brushed it aside with a dismissive wave. “You’ll do nothing. You’re lucky I haven’t cuffed you already. Look,” he said, sitting to reduce the tension. “You’re a bright guy. I have enough evidence to convince a judge that this is a kidnapping because you say it is. Since it includes children, I have seventy-two hours to get a court order. The rest, including your wife’s disappearance, still makes you my prime suspect.”
“Find my family, Lieutenant.”
“I’m confused. Not one specific question about your wife? Okay, I’ll issue an Amber Alert and inform the FBI.” Shrugging, he fished a business card from his pocket. With a few pen strokes, he wrote Kiele’s cell number on the back. “Call this number. Give my partner the new address and codes for those cells. We’ll also want descriptions of your wife and boys, including recent photos.”
“We’re not done, Lieutenant. You’d better find them first. You don’t want to know what I’ll do if I find them.”
“Then tell me what you know. We can work together. For the sake of your children . . . And your wife. Be honest.”
“Goodbye, Lieutenant. This case is your only priority.”
Minutes later Matt called the telephone number. After passing the information Kekoa wanted, he emailed Andy and the boys’ pictures from his phone. Calling Kevin and Liz was hard, and after telling his supervisor he needed to go home, he settled into his friends’ beachfront house. He had no faith left, but before they tapped his phone, he needed to make one more call.
