Mahu Fire (11 page)

THE LOOK ON HIS FACE

I took a cab to the garage where I’d parked the night before, ransomed my truck, and was at my desk by seven-thirty, staring at a pile of paperwork. Steve Hart had left me a detailed account of everything he’d done, as well as all the witness interviews collected by the uniforms the night before.

I’ve never been a big paperwork cop. When I worked on Waikiki, my partner, Akoni, and I used to alternate filling out the endless forms required by the department. I like to be out on the street, talking to people, gathering information, making my own judgments. But without a partner, there was nobody to push this mound of paper off on.

Regretfully, I moved Hiroshi Mura’s murder to my pile of unsolved cases, and buried myself in paperwork regarding the bombing, reading endless variations on how no one saw or heard anything. I looked up around nine only to see Lieutenant Sampson coming my way. “Have you seen the circus outside?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I got here pretty early.”

“The pressure is already building, Kimo. What have you got so far?”

I looked at him. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning. What did he expect me to have, the bomber on a silver platter? I told him about walking the fire with Mike Riccardi, the cooperation with ATF, the ideas we had on the bomb and the amateur nature of the crime. I told him there was nothing much in the witness statements but I would continue to go through them.

“One thing, I’m wondering if this is tied to the arsons lately. I’m going to get with the fire investigator again, see if he’s found any connections. A couple of the places that burned were gay businesses, so they could have been done by the same people.”

“Solve this one, Kimo,” he said as he walked away. “Solve this one fast, or it’s both our asses on the line.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered. I called for one of the department sketch artists, and a little later a guy came up to my desk so I could try to recreate the sweaty guy’s face. I didn’t do a very good job of it; after all, I’d only seen the guy in passing, and it was just because he seemed familiar that I paid any attention at all.

The morning crawled by. I left a message for Mike Riccardi, asking if he thought the bombing was related to the other gay arsons. I read eyewitness reports in between reviewing the artist’s sketch, dodging calls from the press, and searching for past crimes that might be similar. By noon I was antsy to get away from my desk, to feel like I was actually doing something. I decided to walk over to The Queen’s Medical Center, check on my dad, and see if anybody there could help me.

At the front desk I found out that Robert and Gunter were sharing a room, down the hall from Sandra Guarino. The clerk gave me a funny, knowing look, and I remembered what it had been like before, when it seemed everybody in Honolulu was looking at me, puzzling over the details of my private life.

Robert was asleep in the bed by the window when I walked into the room, but Gunter was awake. He looked funny against the white sheets, his dark blond hair so short it was barely there. The stubble on his chin was the same color, and almost as long. The pale green hospital gown definitely wasn’t his color.

I remembered that I still had his bow tie, and I told him. “You can keep it for a while,” he said. “Though I’ll have to teach you how to tie it.”

“You’ll have to do that.” I sat on the side of his bed. “How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Not too bad. I’ve got some second degree burns on my arms and legs.” He coughed. “Some smoke inhalation, too, they said. But I’ll probably get out of here today.”

“You have somebody to stay with you at home?”

He smiled. “Baby, I’ve always got somebody to stay with me.”

“So you know what happened, right? Somebody planted a bomb in the men’s room.”

“I read the morning paper, Mr. Hero. I notice that even though I carried Robert over there out of the fire, I didn’t get my picture on the front page.”

“Believe me, I wish it had been you rather than me. Did you see anything suspicious, any time during the party? Anybody who looked like they didn’t belong?”

“You mean somebody who might have planted a bomb?” He paused, playing with a loose thread on his hospital gown. “Well, there was this one guy I remember.” I must have smiled, because he said, “Don’t look like that. I remember guys for more than one reason. I mean, one reason the most, but I can think about things besides sex.” I grinned even more and he said, “If you don’t want to hear this you can just go on back to your police station.”

“I want to hear it, Gunter. I’ll be serious.”

“Yeah, right. Just before the speaker started, I helped Robert carry some plants in from the lanai, and I needed to wash my hands. I went into the restroom, and when I came out, there was a line, a couple of people wanting to get things taken care of before they sat down.”

He coughed a little, and I felt like a jackass pressuring him to remember and talk when he was in the hospital. But there was no way around it. Once he’d gotten his breath back, he continued.

“There was this guy at the very end of the line,” Gunter said. “He was all sweaty, his hair plastered down over his head, looking like he was going to be sick. But when Charlie Stahl tried to get behind him, the guy insisted that Stahl go first.”

He took a little sip of water. “That was when I got a good look at his face. I see it sometimes on guys at the Rod and Reel Club. You, maybe, that first night I saw you. This look that says you want so much to be a part of what’s going on but you’re dead scared.”

“So you’re saying this guy was gay.”

“I don’t know for certain. Curious, absolutely. But you know how these bi guys are. They’re on a seesaw, one day it’s boys, one day it’s girls, up and down, up and down. Never make up their mind.”

“Do you think you’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

He frowned. “Not sure. The look, I’d recognize the look again. I could give you a general description of him. I can tell you one thing—I’d bet you a blow job he was wearing a rented tuxedo.”

“That’s a bet you can’t lose, either way. What makes you think so?”

“Darling, I know how clothes are supposed to fit. If he owned that tux then the store that sold it to him ought to be fire-bombed.” He suddenly realized what he had said. “Oh, well, that’s an expression I’m going to have to retire.”

“I’ll send over a police artist this afternoon. I think I saw a guy like the one you’re describing; we’ll see if your sketch matches mine.”

Gunter sank back against the pillows and feigned great illness. “I suppose I can rise from my sickbed to help the police with their inquiries.” Then he sat up and looked at me slyly. “This artist you’re going to send. Is he cute?”

“He’s fifty years old, with a pot belly,” I said, smiling. “I’ll let you decide if he’s cute or not.”

He flopped back against the pillows. “Oh, you.”

I was about to move over to speak with Robert when Harry came in, wearing a faded T-shirt from a long-ago surf competition. He looked ready to speak, and then he yawned instead. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “We didn’t get much sleep last night. They wanted to keep Brandon overnight for observation, and Arleen wanted to stay with him. So of course I stayed, too.”

I noticed that Gunter had dozed off, so I motioned Harry over to Robert’s side of the room and we pulled the two chairs together so we could talk quietly. Robert was still sleeping, too, his breathing steady but raspy. I noticed he had bandages around both arms and legs, as well as on his face.

“How’s Brandon doing?”

Harry yawned again and settled back against the plastic cushions. “Arleen’s mom came down and they took him home a little while ago. I said I’d come up and check on Robert and then head home for some sleep.” He looked closely at me. “You look like shit, brah. You get any sleep last night?”

I yawned. “Now you’ve got me doing it. Yeah, I got a couple of hours. Tried to surf in the morning but I got a burn on my back and it hurt like a bastard.”

“Idiot.” He started to smile but it stretched into a yawn again. “You know anything about what happened yet?”

“A little.” I told him about walking the fire with Mike Riccardi, about the witness statements and press phone calls. “I was hoping Robert would be awake so I could ask him some questions.”

“Slow down,” Harry said. “Tell me about this fireman again.”

I must have blushed because he said, “Aha! I knew it. You dog, you. You’ve got the hots for the fireman!”

“Har—ree.” I shrugged. “So I think he’s cute. I don’t know if anything’s going to happen. I’ve got to figure out this case.”

“Can I do anything to help?” He yawned again. “That is, after I get a little sleep?”

“You could. I need to find out as much as I can about the groups that are opposing the gay marriage lawsuit, and I don’t see myself having much time for research. Can you do some of that for me?”

“I’ll bet there’s a lot of stuff on the Internet,” Harry said. “I can narrow down the materials for you.”

“That’d be great.”

We heard a groan from the bed and turned to Robert. He was just waking up. He tried to talk, but started coughing. Harry jumped up and gave him the oxygen mask and said, “Here, try this.”

Robert took a couple of deep breaths and then put the mask down. “Hey, Kimo,” he said weakly. The hospital gown looked even worse on him than it did on Gunter, and somewhere along the way his eye makeup had gotten badly smudged. I thought if he could see himself in the mirror he’d take a terrible turn.

“Hey, Mr. Hero,” I said. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you running into that building last night. I was like, hey, isn’t he going the wrong way?”

Robert smiled. “I didn’t do much, not rescue any babies or women or anything.”

Harry said, “He did a hell of a lot. He managed to save all the membership lists, all the legal research on precedents, all the testimonials they had from supporters. Years worth of work that would have burned up otherwise.”

“And then Gunter had to come and pull me out.” Robert tried to sit up and look around the curtain but he was too weak. “How’s he doing?”

“He looks great,” I said. “And his personality came through undamaged.”

Robert smiled. “Good. I like his personality.”

“I’ve got a couple questions to ask you, buddy,” I said, pulling my chair up close to the bed. “We think somebody planted a bomb in the rest room. Did you see anybody suspicious last night?”

He tried to shake his head, but grimaced. “No. I was too busy making sure everything was organized to pay attention.”

“Gunter said he saw a sweaty, nervous-looking guy come out of the bathroom. Were you with him then?”

He frowned. “I don’t think so. I just don’t remember.”

I patted his arm, one of the few places that wasn’t wrapped in gauze. “That’s okay. Listen, you gotta get yourself better, all right? You know that place can’t function without you.”

“There isn’t a place any more.”

“There will be. You and Sandra are gonna get out of here and start things up again. After all, you saved those records. You gotta do something with them, right?”

“I guess.” He smiled, and then dozed off again.

When I looked up, Harry was napping in the easy chair by the window, and Gunter was still asleep, too. I looked back from the doorway at the three of them, the sterile light green walls and the array of monitoring equipment. I was going to get the bastards who did this.

FIGHTING BACK

Sandra Guarino was in a private room on the same floor. When I looked inside, the first thing I saw was a big red floral arrangement sent by her law firm. Sandra was lying in the bed very still, IV tubes in her arms and the mask of a respirator over her face. Her gown was a brighter shade of green than the ones the boys had been wearing, but it still looked like crap.

Then I saw Cathy Selkirk sitting by the window, her tiny frame dwarfed by the oversized chair. She had her knees pulled up to her and was staring out at the highway beyond.

“Hey. How’s Sandra?”

“Kimo.” Cathy got up and came over to me. Her head barely reached my breastbone. I held on to her as she started to cry. I felt my own tears welling up, but I pushed them back down.

I let her cry for a minute or two and then pulled back. “Come on, everything’s going to work out.” I sat on the window ledge. “Tell me about Sandra.”

“She hasn’t recovered consciousness yet.” She pulled a linen handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and I realized she was still wearing what she had worn to the party. She dried her eyes. “The doctors don’t know what to expect. They notified her parents and they’re flying in this afternoon from Oregon.”

“That’s good, right? You’ll have somebody here with you.”

“They never approved of me and Sandy. I’m afraid, Kimo. I’m afraid Sandy won’t wake up. I’m afraid her parents will come and they won’t let me see her. That they’ll—make decisions—that aren’t—what she’d want.”

“You don’t have a power of attorney, or medical authorizations or anything like that?”

“I have it all. You know how Sandy is—everything’s organized. But that doesn’t mean they’ll pay attention to it. I’m not strong like she is. I can’t stand up to her parents, the doctors—it’s too hard.” She sat in the big chair again, and she was so tiny that she looked like a small child. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? If we were able to get married then I wouldn’t have a lot of these problems.”

“I’ve got an idea.” I reached for the phone and called my brother’s office. After a couple of minutes on hold, listening to the weather guy’s pre-recorded voice promising sunshine and breezes, Lui came on. “Hey, brah. I’ve got a story for you.” I ran down Cathy’s situation for him. “It’s got a hook for you, tied into the bombing last night. You can keep running all that footage. You guys love all those explosions and fires and shit, don’t you?”

“Thanks for your high opinion of my job,” my brother said. “Let me talk to Cathy.”

They spoke for a couple of minutes and then she handed the phone back to me. “How’s Dad?” Lui asked.

“I haven’t gotten there yet. He’s next on my list.”

“Jeez, and they say I’m the son that doesn’t care. You’re in the goddamned hospital and you don’t even go to see him.”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there.”

“Call me and let me know what you think.” He hung up and I turned back to Cathy.

“He’s going to send a crew to interview me,” she said. “I hate the thought of having our private lives on television, though.”

“Tell me about it.” I reached over and took her hand. “It’s what Sandra would do, though, isn’t it? Fight back?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

I leaned back against the window and told Cathy what I had discovered so far. “Did you see anybody suspicious? Any sweaty-looking guy going into or coming out of the men’s room?”

She shook her head. “I was way too busy talking to people. You know how that goes. Sandy and I were trying to chat up the donors, make sure everybody was having a good time.”

Cathy smiled, and I looked at my watch. I’d been away from my desk for almost an hour, and I still had to see my father. “I’ve gotta go, sweetie. You have anybody to come stay with you?”

“Maria Luisa, Sandy’s secretary, she’s going to come over and sit with me for a while this afternoon, once she gets Sandy’s calendar cleared. The doctors are going to come back later for some more tests.”

I scribbled the number of my cell phone on a piece of paper and handed it to Cathy. “You need anything, you call me.” I handed her the number and then took her hand. “You know Sandra’s a fighter. She’s not going to let this get her down. You’ve just got to hold on, okay?”

It was good advice for all of us, I thought.

My father’s room was one floor up, and I climbed the stairs figuring I’d pop in, say my hellos, make sure nobody in the family had seen anything, and get back to work. But I couldn’t find his room number, and had to ask an orderly. “That’s in Intensive Care,” he said. “Through those double doors.”

As soon as I walked in I saw my mother and Aunt Mei-Mei, sitting together holding hands behind the glass wall of my father’s room. My mother had exchanged her fancy holoku from the night before for a pair of navy slacks and a magenta and white hibiscus-print blouse. Aunt Mei-Mei wore the same kind of modified cheongsam she always did, this one in a red silk print. I was struck by how much they looked alike, my father’s wife and the wife of his long-time best friend. Both of them were petite, with an elegant, china-doll beauty. And both of them were strong as steel underneath the pretty exterior.

My father was in an elevated bed, surrounded by high-tech monitoring equipment. His gown was open at the neck so that wires could connect to his chest. A single bony hand rested outside the beige spread, with a plastic tube tied into it. I stopped just outside the room and stared.

He had been kind of a mythical figure to us as kids. At six feet, he seemed like a giant, with broad shoulders and strong hands, scarred from years of hanging drywall, laying roofing tiles, digging ditches, whatever he had to do to get his buildings finished. He had a temper as strong as the sea on a blustery day, and yet I remember when I broke my arm surfing when I was eight how gently he’d carried me from the ocean to the car, and then into the hospital emergency room.

Now the tables were turned and I was healthy (well, reasonably) and he was sick. I couldn’t get over how frail he looked in the loose hospital gown. When had he lost so much weight? How come my brothers and I hadn’t noticed?

My mother saw me in the doorway and got up. I hugged her and hoped she wouldn’t notice me wince when her hands touched my back. I smiled over her head at Aunt Mei-Mei. “I’m so glad you’re here, Kimo,” my mother said. “Haoa was here this morning, but he had to go out and look at a job. Tatiana and Liliha just went for some lunch.”

“How is he?”

Her eyes were bright with tears but she made no move to wipe them away. “They’re doing tests. All kinds of tests. He was coughing so bad from the smoke when they brought him in, and they put him on this machine, it said his heartbeat was irregular, so they wanted to monitor him.” She looked over to him. “At least he’s sleeping now. He’s not very happy to be here.”

As if on cue, he woke up and looked around. When my mother and I walked into the room, he said, “Goddamn it, am I still here? When are they going to let me out?”

“Hey, Dad.” I walked over to him, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. His chin was grizzled with gray and black stubble. “Howzit?”

“I’d be doing a lot better if they let me out of here. Hospitals are terrible places. People die in them all the time.”

“You know why they have fences on cemeteries, don’t you, Dad? Because people are dying to get in.”

“This is no time for jokes. Maybe now that you’re here your mother will listen to reason. Lokelani! Kimo agrees with me. I should go home.”

“I don’t agree with you at all,” I said. “You belong right here in bed, where the doctors can keep an eye on you.”

“Useless! You’re all useless. I raise three boys and I can’t get one of them to stand up for me.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t act sick,” I said to my mother. She and Aunt Mei-Mei exchanged grins. I sat on the edge of the bed next to my father. “Now Dad, you know we have to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me except an ungrateful family.”

“Yeah, and that’s what makes those squiggles on the heart monitor. You might as well face facts, pal, you’re not getting out of here until the doctors say you can, and until that nice lady over there in the chair agrees to let you back into her house. You got that?”

He stared at me, and I stared back. I won, of course. I mean, I’ve been to the police academy, after all. If I couldn’t outstare one sick old man, even if he was my father, then they ought to take away my badge. “Maybe another day,” my father said. “But tomorrow, I want to go home!”

“We’ll see. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job I have to do.” I told them all about the progress of the investigation so far, and asked if they had seen anything suspicious.

“I was too busy watching what your father ate,” my mother said. “And your father, he was too busy eating.”

“Dad?”

“I don’t know that woman. I don’t know what she’s doing here.”

I had to laugh, and he didn’t appreciate it. “Can you imagine? This is what I do all day. Interview cranky witnesses.”

My mother smiled. My father said, “I always wondered what it was you did.”

“Dad.”

“I didn’t see anybody suspicious. Between your mother and your brothers, nobody let me alone for a minute.”

I sighed. “So, Aunt Mei-Mei, how’s Uncle Chin? Is he as disagreeable as this one here?”

“Uncle Chin a little better,” she said. “Jimmy with him. Make him smile.”

“That’s good.” I looked down the hallway and saw my sisters-in-law approaching. “Hey, here come Tatiana and Liliha.” I felt this funny pang then, seeing my brothers’ wives. Lui and Haoa couldn’t be here with my father, but they had wives who could. Partners in the world, who would stand by them and their families, helping out when things got tough. I wondered if I would ever have that. Somebody to be there for me, to hold me when the big storms came.