Black Jasmine (2012) (21 page)

“I already heard. Pull out.”

“I’m on it.” I get out of the elevator and hurry inside to the wall safe, setting the beautiful Clements painting aside with a little inward sigh of regret. Oh well. I can buy others. “You bailing?”

“They’ve confiscated our stash on at least three ships now, and it’s going to lead back to my operation. I’ve had a good run, but it’s time to execute my retirement plan.”

“Want to meet up?”

The words trip off my tongue before I can stop them. I take the passport out of the safe along with my Sig and the bundled ten thousand dollars. I hold my breath and find myself hugging the gun and the cash. His response means more to me than I could have imagined, and my stomach knots. Damn, I should have let him take the lead—but that’s never been my style.

A long pause.

“Where are you going?” A tentative note in his dark voice. I don’t remember ever hearing it before.

“Moving around for a while. I’ll decide on the way. Dr. Aurora Middleton, art forgery expert, is doing some international traveling.”

“Get going, then. I’ll find you.” He clicks off.

I feel something hot and hungry shoot through me. He’s going to find me. We’ll finally meet—and now I can’t wait to get on the road.

I toss the safe’s contents into a capacious Coach bag and strip out of my signature white, putting on chinos and a lavender polo shirt. Dr. Aurora Middleton is conservative, even on vacation. I go into the bathroom and get out the haircutting kit I keep handy. With a few quick, brutal snips, my long hair falls into the toilet, leaving a choppy bob that’s pretty fashionable, if I do say so myself—I’ve always had more than a few fall-back skills, and haircutting is one of them.

I put on a ball cap with   PEBBLE
BEACH on the front and a pair of plain flat white sandals and then head out.

I have only one more thing to do before I say goodbye to this chapter of my life.

It’s time to get my hands dirty again.

Chapter 33

Lei clipped the prisoner’s cuffs to a metal ring on the aged steel table in the interview room at Haiku Station. The room was small, lined with nailed-on foam waffle insulation. A rectangular mirrored viewing window punctuated the wall, and three molded plastic chairs completed the decor of the claustrophobic space. Lei switched on the hidden video camera via its switch by the door. She knew the lens was aimed at the pale, sweating face of the ship’s escapee.

Stevens sat down across from the man, giving his best grin and blue-eyed twinkle.

“Great way to start the day, right? What’s your name?”

“Rodney Farrell. I didn’t do anything.”

Lei glanced to the window, where Pono sat on the other side at a counter with a phone and computer. He’d run Farrell’s name for any priors.

“If you didn’t do anything, Rodney, why did you climb down the anchor chain like a fucking monkey? And don’t tell me it was for the exercise.” She gave a contemptuous glance at his broad midsection.

“I—owe money for a gambling debt,” Farrell stuttered.

“Well, we’re doing a completely unrelated investigation,” Stevens said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know who I owe money to,” Farrell said. “I didn’t want to get caught up in something. I took the chance to get out.”

“What’s your role on the ship?” Stevens asked. Start off slow, Lei thought. Lull him into complacency. She was having trouble with that and got up to pace.

“I’m the purser. I keep track of all the guests’ bills, accounts, and activities.” With that job, he’d definitely know whatever was going on. Lei swiveled, paced past him. Stevens went on.

“Do you know anything about some girls being kept in a stateroom on A-Deck?”

“What do you mean?” Beads of sweat popped out on Farrell’s forehead; he tried to swipe them away and the cuffs clashed.

“Bullshit. The purser knows everything that goes on.” Lei leaned in to his face. “Purser takes care of all the accounts, right? I bet you kept track of the girls’ fucking billing—and in this case, I mean that literally. The guy you owe money to happen to be the House?” Lei pressed in.

Farrell’s face whitened further. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m not saying another word. I want a lawyer.”

Pay dirt. Lei made another gesture to the observation window. “My associate is going to call one for you unless you have someone local. Do you have your own lawyer?”

“No.”

“Get the public defender,” she said to the window. She turned back. “Too bad it’s the weekend. This could take a while. Mind if we go on?”

She nodded her head as she said this, and like an automaton, he imitated her.

Stevens picked up the thread. “Good. You’re small potatoes in all this, and if we get the House, your gambling debt would be canceled as a bonus. So what can you tell us about his operation?”

“I want my lawyer,” Farrell said. His nostrils flared, a rabbit smelling wolves.

“The lawyer’s on his way. Now talk.”

“What can you give me? Witness protection? A plea bargain? I’m not doing time—that guy has a long arm.”

“Tell us what you know, and I’ll tell you if it’s worth anything,” Lei countered.

Stevens cut in. “We know you are taking your life in your hands with a character like the House. We’ll do all we can.”

“Well.” Farrell sat back. “I’m counting on that agreement.”

“You’ll have it,” Stevens said, blue eyes sincere. Lei tapped her toe, keeping up the pressure. “Assuming you have something worth trading for.”

“The girls were kept on the A-Deck, nice accommodations. We’d get texts from the madam on each island for their bookings when we got into port.”

He described a well-organized operation. The girls were taken out in a van to various hotels for parties and service when in port, and kept in a warehouse on each island. This confirmed Anchara’s story. Farrell had overseen the overall operation and coordinated the girls’ schedules.

“They were treated well,” he said virtuously. “I had the medic up to check them out whenever they got back, and they had cable TV and healthy food. We even had them work out in the gym every day.”

“They were sex slaves!” Lei burst out. “They thought they were getting jobs on the cruise ships to see the world. Instead, they spent their lives locked in a room and on their backs for variety!”

Farrell recoiled, covered his face with his hands. “I never would have agreed, but I owe the House money, and he’ll take it out of me however he can!”

Stevens shot Lei a repressive look and leaned forward sympathetically. “Detective Texeira’s taking this a little seriously. We both know those girls never had much of a future, and you did what you could for them. So who was the Maui connection when they went out?”

“I only ever saw the handlers, Celeste and Kimo. But sometimes the guys came back in bad shape. Kimo said the Maui madam, Magda, liked to work them out. She had a bondage thing.” Farrell’s eyes skittered around as he blinked rapidly.

“Magda? Magda Kennedy?”

“I never got a last name.”

Lei halted her pacing. “So we didn’t find everyone, since we only got the women.”

She made a phone gesture at the window for Pono to call Marcella and make sure the male prisoners were found.

“So what about the safe?” Stevens asked. “What are we going to find in there?”

“The House used it to launder money. He’d send a lot over here from Oahu. The madam here did something with it. All I know is, the Oahu guy would bring it on and Kimo would take it out in boxes. That safe is pretty tough.” He’d obviously checked it out to see if it could be broken into. “I think Magda, whoever she is, cleaned the money for him. He didn’t have that going on the other islands. I know, because even though we ran the whores in all the ports, we only moved the money from Oahu to Maui.”

The art world was a perfect place to launder money. All those expensive paintings and sculptures that could be bought and sold—not to mention Magda Kennedy’s connection to the real estate sector. Perhaps it was the House’s money that was powering Wylie Construction even in the current economic downturn.

Pono’s broad brown face appeared in the little mesh window in the door. He was holding up a cell phone.

Lei opened the door, and he handed it to her.

“Texeira. What the hell are you doing?” Marcella didn’t sound happy.

“Just a little interview of the ship’s purser. Caught the rat climbing off the ship. I’m recording the interview, but you’d better get here fast because he’s asked for his lawyer.”

“Son of a bitch!” Marcella exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me you caught someone?”

“Why should you have all the fun? Besides, finders keepers. He’s got a lot to say. He’s a credible witness, and he’s making our case against both that snooty bitch Magda Kennedy and the House. Now we’ll have two witnesses, with the Thai girl.” Lei couldn’t help the satisfaction that had crept into her voice.

“He got a name for the House? ’Cause it’s hard to generate a federal arrest warrant without a name.”

“Let me get back in there and see. Did you get the message about the men?”

“Yeah, we already found them at the bottom of the ship behind a false wall. They had a tanning bed, a Bowflex, and a lot of pipes in the ceiling. They’re on their way to the station.”

“Do they know anything?”

“Most of the poor dudes can’t even speak English. Nothing good from them so far. Anyway, I’m on my way.” Marcella hung up.

Lei shut the phone and handed it back to Pono. “What’s up with the public defender?”

“It’s Fujimoto on call. He wasn’t happy getting out here on the weekend, but he’s on his way.”

“Crap. Okay.”

Lei went back in. Sat down. Gave Farrell her best narrow-eyed stare.

“Got a name for the House?”

“I want something in writing on my witness protection and immunity deal before I tell you anything more.” Farrell seemed to have used the break to find his backbone, and try as she might, Lei couldn’t get him to budge.

Public defender Al Fujimoto, Lieutenant Omura, Marcella, and Rogers all arrived, all black suits and badges, and relegated Lei and Stevens to the peanut gallery with Pono. Omura had the DA on the line and an immunity agreement and protection order faxed over in less time than Lei had ever seen. Marcella slapped the document down in front of the purser, who’d begun licking his lips compulsively, a nervous tic.

“We’ve got you what you want. Now give us what we want.”

“I’ve only ever heard him called the House, but I know his money guy on Oahu. He’s an accountant in Honolulu, and his name’s Ken Taketa. He must know everything about the House’s operation. He brings the cash on board and loads it in the safe for the delivery to Maui.”

He went on to describe in detail all he’d already given Lei and Stevens. Marcella came out of the interview with a signed statement.

“I forgive you for cutting me out on this witness, but we’re even from that Kaua`i thing, now and forever.” Marcella gave Lei a hug.

“Okay. That Kaua`i one stung, you know—you took my intel and tried to make my bust without me. I just had a crack at a witness first.”

“You know it would be different if you joined me at the Bureau. I’m on the next flight to Oahu. I’ve already alerted HPD to send a unit to pick up Taketa. I’ll be in touch.”

“Good working with you again,” Lei said, squeezing her friend back. Marcella socked her in the arm and glanced over at Stevens, who was intently watching the wrap-up in the interview room.

“Time’s a-wasting,” Marcella stage-whispered. “Quantico wants you.”

“Quit bugging me. I’ll call you.”

Rogers gestured, and Marcella set off after him at a jog—they had a plane and a crime lord to catch.

Omura appeared in the doorway of the observation booth. “Go get Magda Kennedy.”

“Yes!” Lei said, breaking into a grin echoed by Omura. Lei, Stevens, and Pono headed out at a jog.

Chapter 34

In no time, they were on the road to Lahaina, driving fast, cop lights on as the purple truck followed Lei’s Tacoma—singed in the fire but still functional. Pono radioed ahead to have a patrol unit watch the gallery since the drive was over an hour. They careened along the swooping curves of the Pali above the crystalline ocean.

Just to be back in her truck, something familiar and totally hers, felt great to Lei, especially with her adrenaline up to catch the Kennedy woman. She glanced over at Stevens and matched his grin. The two-lane road cleared before the siren, people pulling off on the shoulders, and she put the pedal down just to remember how fast her truck would go.

She glanced in her rearview mirror. Pono’s truck was hard-pressed to follow, so she eased up on the gas. They eventually pulled up in front of the Pacific Treasures Gallery, double-parking against the busy sidewalk behind the patrol unit, who reported no movement.

Lei jumped out, instinctively touching her gun, making sure her badge was in plain sight and her cuffs tucked into her back pocket. Pono slammed the door of his vehicle and joined them on the sidewalk. They strode to the doors, which slid open with a whisper and a draft of cool air-conditioning.

Lei hurried past the Lucite sculpture that had distracted her last time, keeping her eyes on the woman across the gallery, a tall, bottled blonde in a white Grecian-styled gown.

“Where’s Magda Kennedy?”

“Who may I say is asking?”

“Maui Police Department.” Lei tapped the badge on her belt, and Pono and Stevens held theirs up.

“I’ll see if she has time to speak to you.”

“We’ll show ourselves up,” Stevens said, heading past the burled desk for the back wall, where an elevator was semi-concealed behind a shining silk screen.

“Wait!” exclaimed the woman, punching buttons on the phone.

Lei got into the small elevator beside Stevens. He punched the button marked OFFICES.

“She’s sounding the alarm.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”