Blood Orchids Page 2

  Keiki burst through the unlocked dog door. She skidded to a stop as Lei held up her hand. The dog plunked her hindquarters on the floor, grinning. Lei squatted in front of her and rubbed her wide chest.

  “Good girl. Mama’s home.”

  Keiki snorted, burying her nose in Lei’s armpit.

  “Yeah, I know I’m ripe,” she said, getting up and dumping food into Keiki’s bowl. “You pour the wine and I’ll be out in a minute.”

  The dog buried her nose in the bowl. Lei had grabbed a burger on the way home—food was not something she liked to spend time on—just fuel for the body. She went into the linoleum-floored bathroom and took the cowry out of her pocket, setting it on the sink as she stripped the filthy uniform off her lean muscular body, dropping it into the laundry hamper.

  She’d picked up the smooth little domed shell with its ridged base at the beach the last time Aunty Rosario visited, and rubbing it was one of the ways she’d learned to manage anxiety. She stepped into the shower, luxuriating in hot water pouring over her petite frame, washing away mud and aches as she mulled over what was being called the Mohuli`i case.

  She’d asked around about Stevens, the lead detective. He had a solid reputation, and as a seasoned big-city cop his experience was going to be important on a double homicide that was looking complicated and inflammatory. His partner, Jeremy Ito, was a local boy whose biggest case prior to the girls was a homeless guy beaten to death in a park.

  It was a good thing Stevens was there to take the lead—South Hilo Police Department seldom had homicides, let alone this kind of case.

  Lei scrubbed mud off her legs and out from under her short, unpainted nails, trying to keep her mind from wandering back to images of the drowned girls. Her eyes lighted on the note thumbtacked to the peeling drywall above the shower surround: Well-behaved women rarely make history. —Laurel Ulrich.

  Haunani Pohakoa hadn’t been well behaved when Lei met her at the high school.

  “I nevah going show you notting.” Her dark eyes flashed defiantly as she spoke pidgin English—thick as burnt sugar in the cane fields that spawned it, the language of choice among ‘locals’ in Hawaii. The dialect had evolved as the many races brought over to work the plantations learned to communicate.

  “Open up the backpack,” Lei said. “Your principal called me and we already know you’re carrying.”

  “Haunani, no give the officer hard time.” The principal, Ms. Hayashi, wore a muumuu over athletic shoes with a jangling bunch of keys on a lanyard around her neck. The older woman shook her head and the keys rattled. Per protocol, Haunani had already been searched in the library conference room by the principal and a teacher before the police were called. No one had answered at the girl’s parents’ numbers.

  “I don’t have to,” Haunani insisted. Lei rolled her eyes. The girl shoved the backpack over abruptly, refolding her arms across a shapely chest that spelled out HOTTIE in rhinestones.

  Lei opened the backpack. Inside a rolled up pair of socks were a baggie of pot and a glass pipe.

  She pulled a plastic evidence bag out of the snapped pouch on her duty belt and put the marijuana and pipe in, labeling them with a Sharpie marker.

  Pono stuck his head in the door. “What’s the story?”

  “Got some pakalolo and a pipe here.” Lei held the bag up.

  “All right. Let’s go.” Pono gestured. “We’ll try your parents again at the station.”

  For the first time, a ghost of fear stole across the girl’s face. “I going be in so much trouble,” she whispered.

  Lei took her by an elbow and escorted her past staring and gossiping students to the cruiser and put her in the back. She got in front and waited as Pono finished up paperwork with Ms. Hayashi, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Haunani curled up with her knees beneath her chin and tears tracking down her cheeks through dark makeup.

  She felt a pang for the girl. She’d been that miserable once.

  “It’s not going to be so bad,” Lei said. “You’re a juvenile so you’ll probably get community service or something.”

  “It’s too late now,” Haunani whispered. “He’s going to be so mad I got busted.”

  Lei knew what it was like to be abused—by a mother whose drug use ruled her life, by a father who’d abandoned her when he was incarcerated.

  “We can help you.”

  “No you can’t. Not that I want help from cops anyway.” More tears belied this statement but Lei couldn’t get another word out of her, and in the end no one answered at any of the numbers they called. Pono and Lei would have sent Haunani home with Child Welfare Services, but the worker said there was nowhere to put her.

  Lei remembered Haunani’s stony stare as the teen walked out of the police station, thumbing her phone to call someone. It had seemed there was no one who cared about the girl—but now, with shower water cooling around her, Lei wondered if someone in Haunani’s life had been angry enough to kill her.

  Lei rubbed the scars on the inside of her arms with a washcloth—thin silvery threads left from days when she’d been desperate to express her pain. She was glad to have those reminders of how far she’d come, and wished she could have shared them with Haunani somehow. Maybe it would have made a difference.

  Later, Lei moved through the house, checking the sturdy hasps on the windows. She locked the dog door and rechecked the locks on the both entrances, arming the alarm. Even without her duty belt, she knew she still walked like a cop, energy coiled, arms away from her sides to keep them from catching on her sidearm.

  Lei’s bed was a king, with an old-fashioned, curly iron frame and a canopy draped in filmy voile. She dove in, dressed in her usual boxers and tank top, enjoying the silky sheets. She patted the ratty handmade quilt at the foot of her bed, and Keiki leapt up with a graceful lunge, turned in a circle, and stretched herself out with a doggy sigh of content.

  But even physically exhausted, with her dog at her feet and the boxy black Glock on the bedstand, Lei didn’t sleep well. Long black tendrils of hair tried to wrap around her and pull her under in dreams of clouded eyes.

  Chapter 4

  Too early the next morning while brushing her teeth, Lei glanced at the mirror where she’d taped a 3x5 card: Be the change you want to see in the world—Gandhi. Across from the toilet, precariously stuck to the pebbled-glass shower door: God has a plan for every living thing.

  The “affirmations” were part of the cognitive behavior therapy she’d done in California while doing her AA degree. They were meant to remind her of positive truths and be replacement thoughts when memories dragged her into a dark place. Still, it was hard to believe God had a plan when she’d spent the day looking for the crime scene where two young girls were drowned.

  She’d been so tired last night she’d forgotten to get her mail. She put on her rubber slippers and tripped down the cement steps to the aluminum mailbox, listing on its steel pole. She took out the handful of bills and circulars and flipped through them as she headed back to the porch. An envelope caught her eye, LEI TEXEIRA printed on it.

  She ripped it open and pulled out a piece of plain computer paper. Bold capitals spelled out:

  YOU LOOK PRETTY WHEN YOU SMILE

  I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU CRY.

  She looked at the envelope again. No address, no postmark, no stamp. Someone had personally delivered it.

  The hairs on her neck rose, along with a surge of adrenaline. Her head flew up as she scanned the empty sidewalk, heart kicking into overdrive. The row of modest homes on her street were deserted except for her neighbor at the end of the block. The guy had no life. He was always either working in his immaculate yard or washing his car. This morning it was washing his car.

  She bounced down the steps and ran down the street to talk with him, rubber slippers slapping against her heels.

  “Hey. I got this weird message,” she said, waving the envelope. “Seen anybody messing with my mailbox?”

  The man straightened
, the big sponge in his hand dripping. He was younger than she’d assumed, with an angular, handsome Japanese face. The pale early-morning sun caught in glossy black hair.

  “No. I haven’t seen anyone but the paperboy.”

  “Well, it’s a weird note, and someone hand-delivered it. Can you remember anything unusual?”

  He stared at her, and she remembered she was in the thin tank top she slept in and tiny boxers. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look casual.

  “Aren’t you a police officer?” he asked.

  “Yeah—maybe that’s why I’m a target. Can you keep an eye out?”

  He seemed to relent, tossing the sponge into the bucket and approaching her with his damp hand outstretched.

  “Tom Watanabe,” he said. “Water Department Inspector.”

  “Lei Texeira. Police officer,” she said, with an awkward laugh. She shook his hand.

  “I’ll certainly keep a look out. When did you check your mail last?”

  “Not since day before yesterday. I guess it could have been dropped off any time since then.”

  “Well, here’s my number,” he said, opening the car door and reaching inside. It was a new Acura, charcoal with a silver flake. He handed her his card.

  “I should be the one giving you my card, but I just rushed over here . . . I was so hoping you had seen something.”

  “Nope, sorry. Drop your number by . . . I’ll call you,” he said, smiling.

  “Sure will.” She backed up, uncomfortable. Was he hitting on her? “See ya.”

  She turned and speed-walked back to her house, conscious of his eyes on her ass. She looked back as she went inside, and sure enough he was still staring, the hose pouring unnoticed from his hand. She gave a little wave and he jerked his chin upward in ‘local style’ acknowledgement.

  She slammed the door, whistling for the dog. Keiki came skittering in and she re-alarmed the house. She was rattled by the creepy way Watanabe had checked her out and his anal-retentive habits didn’t help. She stood there for a minute and did some relaxation breaths. Her eyes fell on one of her notes, stuck to the bottom of the living room lamp.

  Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace. —Amelia Earheart. She felt calm move up and over her. She could handle this, freaky as it was.

  She put the stalker letter in a Ziploc bag in her freezer between the stacks of Hot Pockets, and that seemed to neutralize the threat of it.

  She called Pono at home. His phone was off so she left a message, changed into shorts and a ratty old Hilo Police Department t-shirt. This time she put on a shoulder holster and loaded her Glock .40 into it under a thin nylon running jacket, clipped her cell phone onto her shorts. Keiki lunged and bounced ecstatically as they went down the cement steps. Tom Watanabe and his charcoal Acura were gone, she noted with relief.

  Her phone rang as they jogged through her neighborhood toward Hilo Bay. She stopped to answer it, stretching her hamstrings.

  “Lei, what’s up?” Pono asked.

  She told her partner about the note.

  “We should check it for prints.”

  “I have a feeling he didn’t leave any, but I guess we should anyway when I come in.”

  “Keep your gun close until then.”

  “How’d you know?” she asked, patting the Glock.

  “I know you. Just don’t shoot anybody you don’t have to.”

  “Aw, stealing all my fun. You’re such an old lady.” She shut the phone and slipped it in her pocket.

  They picked up some real speed after that as Lei worked off the adrenaline the note had brought on. The sidewalk around the Bay was buckling, pushed upward by huge banyan tree roots. Coconut palms stood sentinel around the park, their arching fronds shimmering in the light breeze. Mynah birds hopped and chattered on the mowed grass. Keiki seemed to enjoy the briny scent of Hilo Bay, tossing her head and snorting.

  Lei ran all out, the emptiness of total effort blocking out intrusive images of the dead girls brought up by the smell of the water. Keiki’s ears flattened back as they thundered through the park and made their way through the town back to the cottage. She took Keiki into her small fenced backyard and hosed the dog off, then misted her collection of orchids.

  A delicate purple blood orchid, a veined variety of phalaenopsis, was blooming. Raising orchids was a pastime she’d shared with Aunty Rosario, her guardian, and working with the plants never failed to comfort and calm her. She took the orchid inside and set it on the table.

  Lei showered and did the beauty routine—a handful of gel in her hair to tame it and a swipe of gloss on her full mouth. She didn’t know what accident of nature had landed her with the sprinkle of cinnamon freckles over her nose—a Portuguese, Hawaiian and Japanese heritage was full of genetic surprises. She buttoned into the stiff navy-blue uniform, buckled on her loaded duty belt, grabbed the stalker note out of the freezer and hurried out the door to her little white Honda Civic.

  “Hey, babe,” said Sam, the watch officer behind the front desk, as Lei pushed through the aging glass doors of the South Hilo Police Station.

  “Hey babe, yourself.”

  Sam chuckled and went back to his crossword puzzle as she passed the second glass door into the bull pen and went straight back into the lab, where Pono waited at one of the workstations. She handed him the note and he sprayed it with ninhydrin.

  “Gotta let it set for at least 12 hours, but usually something pops right away.” He slid the paper under the portable arc lamp but nothing fluoresced. “No dice. Let’s come back and check at the end of the day.”

  “I expected as much. Damn.”

  “Well, let’s open a case for you. In case this isn’t the last we hear from this kook.”

  “It better be.”

  Lei signed the complaint Pono had filled out under Harrassment/Stalking. They were late for the morning’s briefing and hurried back to the conference room, where Stevens and Ito were clipping pictures of the girls from Mohuli`i Pond onto the whiteboard on the back wall. Lieutenant Ohale had already taken up a stance behind the battered lectern, his broad build dwarfing it. She and Pono slipped into empty molded plastic chairs, trying to be unobtrusive, but Lei felt Ito’s stare-down from the corner of the room. The rest of the current shift officers were already seated.

  “Today’s priority is the Mohuli` case. We have a few more facts since yesterday.” The Lieutenant shuffled through some notes. “The blonde girl is identified as Kelly Andrade, aged fifteen, the brunette is Haunani Pohakoa, aged sixteen. Approximate time of death is sometime late evening on Tuesday; the girls were discovered Wednesday 10:00 a.m. Preliminary tox screens came back positive for Rohypnol. There was sexual activity prior to drowning but little premortem bruising.”

  He looked up, his deep brown eyes intense, ridiculously tiny reading glasses perched on his wide nose. “I can’t stand this sick shit happening in my town. Detectives Stevens and Ito are primary on the case; I’m requesting more backup from Hilo District. Stevens will be asking for additional support from you as it’s needed. Detective Stevens?”

  Stevens came up and took the lectern. “Our top priority is interviewing the girls’ parents. In fact, early this morning we heard from Kelly Andrade’s parents who called in to report her missing. Ito and I did a quick trip to the house to inform them. Mother was too upset to talk so we set up an interview for this afternoon.” He looked down at his notes. “We haven’t talked to Haunani’s parents yet and we need a female officer. Texeira? Can you come do the interview with me?”

  Lei went rigid, eagerness warring with apprehension, but her voice was steady as she answered.

  “Of course.”

  Chapter 5

  Lei and Stevens got into the unmarked Bronco he drove. Lei’s stomach cramped around the granola bar she’d eaten on the way into the station, and with a panicky feeling she realized she’d forgotten the tiny cowrie shell. She’d only been on one death notification before and it honestly wasn’t some
thing she’d ever wanted to do again.

  “So you wanted a female officer—why?”

  Stevens’ jaw bunched as he turned the key and the Bronco roared into life. The vehicle smelled of Mohuli`i Pond. Lei glanced into the backseat and saw muddy boots on a pile of plastic evidence bags from yesterday’s crime scene.

  “Kelly’s mom, Stacie, did a lot of screaming, ran into the bathroom and took a big handful of sleeping pills. Not enough to send her to Emergency for stomach pumping, but I’m doubting she’s going to make it into the station this afternoon for the interview. The stepdad, James Reynolds, was cool as a cucumber. Blamed us for upsetting her.” He shook his head. “Ito’s a good partner but he just froze up when it got emotional, left the room. I was thinking if you talked to Haunani’s mom, you know, woman to woman, it might help us get a little more out of them.”

  “Not sure why you thought I’d be any better at this than Ito.” Lei gave a short laugh.

  “You said you wanted to help. This is all I got right now.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks for giving me a shot.”

  She looked out the mud-speckled window into morning light that failed to brighten the shabby low-income neighborhood they’d entered. Tiny tin-roofed cottages leaned into each other, draped in flapping laundry, lawns decorated with decrepit cars and scratching chickens.

  Stevens peered over at the navigator bolted onto the dash. “This is it.”

  They pulled onto a scrap of grass in front of a dwelling made of multicolored plywood shaded by a rusting tin roof. A broken Big Wheel leaned against a cement stoop where a thin brown woman sat, wreathed in cigarette smoke that did little to soften the haggard planes of her face. A flagrantly blooming plumeria tree shaded the doorway above her, and as Lei got out, a single pinwheel blossom spiraled down and landed on long black hair that reminded her of Haunani like a punch to the gut.