Motive Read online

  “When do you need the next delivery by?” Danilo asked, waiting just long enough to make sure their transaction was completed before taking a step away, leaving the scientist with his new toy.

  Without taking his eyes from the bag or its contents, Saiki said, “As soon as you can get it here of course.”

  “Of course,” Danilo muttered, turning and pushing himself back out through the laboratory door.

  Chapter Twelve

  A thin mist of rain beaded up on the plastic windows of the Jeep, forming a haphazard design stretched in a lazy diagonal line that started at the top and worked its way down toward the bottom. A moment before they had moved in a pattern that was almost horizontal, now taking a much more downward trend as the car sat motionless.

  Kalani twisted the keys in the ignition to off and pulled them out, the loose clump jangling in the palm of her hand. She sat them in her lap, staring out through the front windshield at the Palm View apartment building.

  “Good thing I zipped the windows in last night, huh?” Kalani asked without looking over at Rip in the passenger seat.

  Rip lowered his head a few inches to stare up at the building before them, a half sneer crossing his lips. “This time of year, it’s a pretty safe bet.”

  “Yeah,” Kalani agreed, tracking Rip’s gaze at their destination before them.

  “I think I just got tetanus looking at this place.”

  “Yeah,” Kalani echoed, the same thought crossing her mind.

  Built sometime in the middle part of the century, the Palm View had clearly seen better days. The entirety of the structure seemed to have been made from concrete block, the dingy grey stones slapped with a quick coat of paint that had long since faded from white to yellow. Standing three stories high, a series of stairwells were screwed tight into either end of the building, all of the units featuring outward facing doors.

  From where they sat they could see debris lining the hallways, ranging from bicycles and hibachi grills all the way to discarded food wrappers and smashed beer cans. A smattering of dilapidated autos dotted the parking lot, none younger than fifteen years in age.

  “Shall we?” Kalani asked, her voice relaying more dread than she would have liked.

  Rip answered with an indiscernible grunt, pushing the door open with a mighty squeal of metal on metal. Kalani joined him on the front side of the Jeep and together they walked through the door of the administrative office at three minutes after nine.

  The stench of body odor and stale cigarette smoke enveloped them both as they entered, scratching at the back of Kalani’s throat. A veneer of moisture glossed over her eyes as she stood in place, allowing her sight to adjust to their darkened surroundings.

  Four potted palm trees stood bunched tight on either side of the room, their oversized leaves occupying much of the space and choking out any residual light from the windows behind them. Three dated plastic chairs sat in a cluster in the middle of the remaining area, offset by a sagging wooden counter.

  Behind it stood a middle aged man of Middle Eastern descent, an unwelcoming gaze aimed at them both. A mop of thinning curls was twisted into a mess on his head and a bushy goatee encased his mouth, a three day beard not far behind on his cheeks. A large paunch rested itself on the counter beneath a white ribbed tank top, his arms and hands covered with dark hair.

  “You cops?” he spat out at them without preamble.

  “Why? You do something wrong?” Rip countered, matching the man’s gaze, making no effort to answer his question.

  “People that look like you two don’t come here otherwise,” the man said, palms still pressed flat into the counter in front of him.

  Kalani reached into the rear pocket of her jeans and extracted her badge, flashing it at the man. On leave or not, it still served the purpose it was designed to.

  “Good morning, Mr...” Kalani began, waiting for him to answer the open ended question.

  The man clocked his gaze from Kalani to Rip and back again, a deep sniff drawing up his nose into a snarl. “Mister will be fine.”

  Kalani forced herself not to roll her eyes at the unnecessary show of machismo and tucked the badge back into her pocket. “Okay, Mister, I’m Detective Lewis, this is Detective Ripowski with HPD. We’d like to ask some questions about a tenet of yours.”

  “I don’t know nothing about nothing,” Mister said, the hostility in his tone unmistakable. His nostrils flared a bit as he pushed out a heavy breath, his gaze aimed at Kalani.

  “Didn’t say you did,” Kalani said, opening the file Tseng had given her and stepping over towards him. She pulled the picture inside from it and placed it on the dirty countertop. Using her thumb and forefinger she twisted the picture around so it was facing Mister and slid it over towards him.

  “Do you recognize this girl?” Kalani asked.

  “No,” Mister said without glancing down at the picture.

  “Eighteen months ago she was arrested and gave this as her home address,” Kalani said.

  “I don’t know her. Never seen her before in my life,” Mister said, his gaze never once looking down at the picture.

  Kalani met the stare a long moment before sliding the picture back off the edge of the counter. Pinched between her thumb and forefinger she raised it up in front of Mister’s gaze, the image no more than a couple inches from his nose. “How about now? Recognize anything?”

  “Ever heard the name Lauren Mann?” Rip added, taking a half step closer to Kalani.

  Mister rotated his head two inches to the side so the picture was no longer in his line of vision. His grim visage now aimed at Rip, he blinked a single time and said, “I never seen her before. And I’m not so good with names.”

  “Not so good with names?” Rip asked, the corner of his mouth rising up in a smile. He took another half step forward. “That’s fortunate, because most of the guys in prison aren’t either. You know what they call illegals like you there?”

  Kalani could heard the anger in Rip’s voice, could sense it charging the air inside the tiny room. Despite feeling exactly the way he did, and wanting nothing more than to wait another minute or two to see where the conversation was going, she stepped between them. She slid the picture back into place and said, “Okay, Mister, I think that’s all we need. You’ve been a great help.”

  “Feel free to come back any time,” Mister said, his voice still deadpan, his attention on Rip.

  Kalani retreated away from the counter, grabbing Rip by the wrist and pulling him back with her. He stood his ground a long moment, staring back at Mister, before allowing Kalani’s grasp to lead him towards the door.

  The cool, damp morning enveloped them as they stepped out from the office, moisture droplets clinging to their skin as they moved away from the door and stopped side by side.

  “Another two minutes I’d have cracked him,” Rip said. A sliver of animosity remained in his voice as he raised his face towards the sky, letting the water vapor and breeze cool him.

  “Another two minutes and you’d have cracked his skull,” Kalani countered, turning and staring back at the apartment building.

  “Would that have been a bad thing?” Rip asked.

  “Not for this investigation,” Kalani said, her gaze traveling the length of the building, searching for signs of life. In the distance a television with the volume turned up loud could be heard, though nobody was visible from where they stood. “But on orders from the governor we’re supposed to be invisible. Beating the hell out of someone probably wasn’t what he had in mind.”

  “Hmm,” Rip replied, opening his eyes and lowering his face back to shoulder level. In front of him a rusted out Dodge Neon rounded into the parking lot, an elderly Chinese woman with white hair behind the wheel. She stared over with intense interest as she pulled past, Rip matching the look and nodding once at her. “Hold on, we might have something here.”

  Kalani turned away from the building and watched the Neon roll by, pulling to a stop in a stall half
way down the lot. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because she either wants to talk or has the worst case of rubberneck I’ve ever seen,” Rip said. He started towards the car and said, “Come on, and bring that picture.”

  Oblivious to the heavy mist that bathed them, Kalani and Rip strode across the barren parking lot as the woman climbed from her car. The movement took great effort as he wrestled her bulk out from behind the steering wheel, pushing the door closed with her backside and resting her body against it.

  Standing at full height she measured a couple inches above five feet tall, almost exactly the same in width. A thick shock of graying hair was tied into a bun behind her head. A sleeveless muumuu encased her body, the floral print faded from years of wear.

  “Aloha,” Rip said, he and Kalani closing the gap to the woman. “How are you?”

  “Aloha,” the woman replied, her breath coming in fast wheezes. “I’m fat and old. How are you?”

  The comment drew a laugh from both Rip and Kalani as they pulled to a stop a couple feet from her.

  “My name is Jon and this is Kalani,” Rip said, motioning to himself and Kalani. “We’re looking into the disappearance of a young girl and we wondered if you would mind taking a look at a picture to see if you recognize her?”

  A sour look passed over the woman’s face. “Let me guess. Haole girl, blonde hair, big pregnant.”

  Without realizing it, Kalani’s eyebrows rose and her eyes bulged a touch. She glanced over at Rip and nodded her head in the affirmative. “Yes, how did you know?”

  The look of disdain stayed on the woman’s face as she shook her head, the car behind her rocking a few inches from her movement. “The first year or two she was here, that girl was trouble with a capital T. Men coming and going all the time, drinking, you name it. Once she go hapai though, she straightened up.”

  The woman paused for a moment, looking at Rip and Kalani. They both matched the gaze, waiting for her to continue.

  “I talked with her a time or two, told her she needed to do right by the baby. At first she seemed angry, resentful. Didn’t want anybody telling her what to do. After a while though, she started to stop by from time to time. She knew I’d raised three babies myself, wanted to know what it was like, what she should do.”

  “So how did you know we were here to ask about her?” Rip asked, rubbing his palms together in front of himself. “By all accounts, it sounds like she was doing better.”

  “She was,” the woman said, her eyes opening wide for emphasis. “She really was. But you know how people in that life can be. They always seem to have that one thing they can’t leave behind.”

  Kalani thought back to the tox screen in the file in her hand, but said nothing about it. She didn’t want to steer the woman in any particular direction, hoping she might volunteer something new.

  “And what was that for her?” Rip asked.

  “Not a what, a who,” the woman said, the same sour look as before returning to her features as she said it.

  Rip ran his tongue over bottom lip and glanced over to Kalani. “Okay, who was it?”

  With great effort she shook her head from side to side, the gesture a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I don’t know his name, but I’d know him if I saw him. Little guy, Filipino, or Hispanic maybe. Always had his head shaved, wore gold chains around his neck.”

  Rip and Kalani both nodded, taking in every word.

  “Oh,” the woman said, raising a single finger towards them, “and he drove a truck. A big truck. Yellow, with shiny wheels.”

  “Yellow, with shiny wheels,” Rip said, nodding. “Okay. And what makes you think this guy was bad for her?”

  “Don’t think, know,” the woman corrected. “Could hear them yelling all the time. Fights at random hours. That kind of thing.”

  “Was he the father of the child?” Kalani asked.

  “Don’t this so,” the woman said, twisting up the side of her face in the negative. “I don’t think she knew exactly who it was, but I’m pretty positive it wasn’t him.”

  Silence fell for a moment as Rip glanced over to Kalani. Overhead the skies began to open up, the water moving from mist into drizzle.

  “We should let you get out of this rain,” Rip said, slowly pushing his gaze back to the woman. “Thank you so much for this though, it has been very helpful.”

  “You’re very welcome,” the woman said, shoving herself forward off the door of her car. “Once she got herself cleaned up, I really started to like her. I figured when she didn’t show for a few days that something must be wrong.

  “I’m telling you, you find that truck, you’ll find that girl.”

  The woman waved a farewell at them, walking with a stiff legged march towards the cover of the awning extended above the first floor. Rip and Kalani stood motionless until she was out of the rain before turning and heading back towards the Jeep, neither one of them saying a word.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sound of a pair of forklifts accelerating drifted out from the open roll-top doors of the warehouse, carried through the misty morning by a slight island breeze. The noise started low and even, rising in rapid fashion, tinged with the whine of rubber against brushed concrete. Just as fast it receded, disappearing back into the cavernous building.

  Kimo Mata waited until the cacophony had receded to a dull hum before stepping from the parking lot onto the concrete at the base of the open doorway. He stood silhouetted against the outside light, his five-five frame just over half of the ten foot door’s height, and waited for his eyes to adjust. Bit by bit the room came into focus, the yellow fluorescent bulbs taking the place of the milk colored sky overhead.

  Stretched out wide in front of Kimo was the shipping headquarters for the Takamini Pineapple Plantation. A far cry from the international business conducted by Dole just down the road, the entirety of the Takamini operation was housed within this single warehouse. Foregoing the prohibitive costs of international shipping, it focused on providing fruit for the island communities, specializing in the local resort market.

  By providing for a select clientele that serviced frivolous tourists, the Takamini’s were able to charge a premium that provided a healthy annual surplus independent of oil prices. As one of the oldest family-run operations on the island, it even allowed for an annual profit share amongst all workers, making it one of the most envied employers in the state.

  It wasn’t their status as a company that had drawn Kimo to the north end of the island on a rainy morning though, but rather someone currently drawing a paycheck from the Takamini’s.

  Kimo stood with his satchel thrown across his chest, his hands gripping the canvas strap mid-navel, and scanned the room. Stretched out in front of him was row after row of oversized wooden crates, their interiors all filled with pineapple. From where he stood he could see their spiked green tops poking out above the wooden sides, all tossed together in a haphazard heap.

  Groups of workers were bunched around each of the crates, loading the fruit into boxes by hand. Each time a crew worked their allotment to completion, a forklift was quick to bring them a replacement. Pallets loaded with boxed pineapple lined the outer perimeter of the room, a second team of lifts loading them onto semi-trucks backed up into docks on the rear wall.

  It was not the first time Kimo had ever been present at the warehouse, though the efficiency of the system never ceased to amaze him. He stood and watched as the room swirled in a mass of organized chaos, sniffing at the sweet smell of fruit in the air, none of the workers so much as glancing his way.

  “Aw hell, what do you want?” a deep throated voice called, shifting Kimo’s attention to the right.

  The sound drew a toothy smile to Kimo’s face, his head rocking up towards the ceiling as he stepped towards the side.

  Across from him stood Sam Nakoa, a matching smile spread across his face. He extended one hand out in front of him as he approached before retracting it and spreading his arms
wide.

  Kimo returned the gesture, the oversized bear of a man almost swallowing him in the embrace. They held it a moment before releasing and stepping back, each assessing the other.

  “You looking good, Sam,” Kimo said, scanning his friend up and down. It had been almost a year since Kimo had seen him, Sam not aging a day in the time apart. He stood right at an even six feet tall and carried his two hundred and sixty pounds with surprising ease. His hair was just starting to show grey at the temples and shorn close to his scalp, his face still unlined despite his odometer having fifty-one years on it.

  “Getting away from the capitol and back out here where I belong has a way of doing that,” Sam said, spreading his arms wide and rotating at the waist, motioning towards the warehouse behind him.

  “I can tell,” Kimo replied, nodding in agreement. “You look ten years younger than the guy I used to bump into working on gov’s security detail.”

  The smile grew even wider on Sam’s face as he rocked his head towards the ceiling. A deep belly laugh rumbled up from within him, shaking his entire body with heavy guffaws. The sound drew a few stares from the workers nearby, sideways glances cast as their hands continued to move.

  “And there it is,” Sam said, shaking his head from side to side. “I should have known my old friend Kimo was here for work.”

  Hands back on the straps of his bag Kimo looked at the ground to hide a smile, nudging at an errant pebble with the toe of his sandal. “Come on now, you can’t take it personally. I’m never off the clock, so all visits can be blamed on work.”

  “That’s true enough,” Sam said, reaching over and clamping a ham-sized hand on Kimo’s shoulder. He left the meaty paw there and used it to steer them towards the open doorway. The weight of it tugged the left side of Kimo’s body down as he walked, fighting to keep himself upright.

  Anybody else and Kimo may have taken exception to the gesture, though he knew Sam well enough to know there was no malice in the position. He was simply a man unaware of his considerable strength.