Silversword (18 page)

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Authors: Charles Knief

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“Dad?” Charles looked at his father.
“It's okay, son,” said Kimo.
“Are you sure?”
“Mr. Caine needs your help now. He's depending on you.”
“What about Donna?”
“She's only a suspect. But I've got to take her in.”
“It's not right.”
Kimo nodded. “I know, son. But it's what I got to do.”
W
e will fight extradition, of course,” said Tala Sufai, sitting across the stainless steel counter. We were separated by a heavy gauge steel mesh covering the opening between us, and by her freedom to get up and walk away from this place. I would remain, my desires no longer important. Now they were more basic. Like living and breathing, and making it through each single day, one at a time.
I had been underground for four days. I'd had regular visits from Daniel and Tala. Even Gilbert had come once, bringing small white cardboard boxes of dim sum, most of which I shared with the jailers. Chawlie had sent doctors and nurses to give me regular checkups. And Tala was only one of the attorneys assigned to my case. If it hadn't been for the circumstances, I would have been honored by all of the attention.
“You still have some rights, you know,” she continued. “They just can't ship you off to another state without a hearing. And we can make it cost them.”
“But I'm still in jail,” I said, thinking about the low concrete bed, the stainless steel toilet, and the steel door with the tiny window opening into the underground passageway. My temporary living quarters were in the basement jail of the Honolulu police station. I hadn't seen the sun since Kimo had driven me into the underground garage and locked me in.
“Bail will be set and your friend will meet it. Normally they would keep you here—or at Halawa Prison—until your hearing, but in this case the judge will allow bail.” She looked at me, a smile gracing her handsome face.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“It's been arranged.” Tala smiled at me and put one large palm onto the screen, as if she wanted to pet me. “This is a serious case, John, but we will fight it here. If they get you to California, well … it's a first-degree murder charge. The district attorney alleges special circumstances. Your life is in jeopardy. It's not that you killed anybody. From what I understand you actually saved lives. But the law does not distinguish. A woman died. An innocent. You participated, they claim, in a gun battle that was the proximate cause of her death. The State alleges that you committed a felony that either directly or indirectly led to her death. Therefore under the law, you should pay for her death.”
“What did I do?”
“You shot back. With intent. The formal charge is felony assault with intent to kill. In California, there is the modifier, ‘With the use of a firearm,' that makes it worse and qualifies you for the additional penalties. The police officer on the street there—not even a real cop, but a reserve officer, out on parade duty—he is their star witness. He claims he saw you with a gun in your hand and that he saw you fire that gun at the sniper.”
“That's self-defense.”
“That's one way to look at it. That may be the way we're going to present it. The trick is to get a judge over here to look at it that way.”
“And so I'm the bad guy?”
“According to the law in California. Fortunately, since Hawaii does not have capital punishment, California will not ask for the death penalty. Only life without parole.”
I shook my head, feeling drained. “They don't have a weapon.”
“Part circumstantial evidence, part eyewitness. You wore a holster on your belt when you were brought into the emergency
room. That implies that you had a gun in your possession, even though they can't produce the gun. It also argues premeditation. The prosecution has the holster, bloodstained and ugly. The fact that it's your blood is unimportant. It's a grisly piece of evidence. How a jury will react to it is another consideration. Since it is your blood, the prosecution might not want to offer it as evidence. If they do I'll make them sorry that they did. I almost hope that they will.
“And there is an eyewitness who will swear that you had a gun in your hand. All of which they will have to bring over here to satisfy a judge in Hawaii before they can try you in California. Hawaii does not have such a law, and I'm going to work hard on that part of our case. Judges don't like to challenge the efficacy of other states' statutes or regulations. There is a chance that the judge might see things my way. You never know.
“But don't get your hopes up.
“Not every extradition request is honored. Sometimes a local judge may feel that the prosecution from the other state may be a little overzealous. Let's hope this is one of those times.”
She mopped her forehead with a white handkerchief. I thought it chilly down here in the bowels of the police station, but Tala apparently felt more heat than I did, as if all of the pressure was on her.
“In the meantime, we'll know what they have through discovery. That's our best and first line of defense at this stage. We will know what they know, and then we'll find how to beat them.”
“What about Donna?”
“According to the prosecution you are a potential witness in her case. I have no idea what they have as yet because they haven't released any of their information to me. But they'll have to do so soon. I think they're still pawing through the traces right now, and they'll find out that she could not have killed Professor Hayes.”
“I worry for her. The timing could not have been worse.”
“You've got problems enough without worrying about her.”
“She's my client, too. I have to worry about her.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“How soon can you get me out of here?”
“I made no guarantees, but I might know where I can find a judge who agrees with my position that you are Mr. Upstanding Citizen, despite all evidence to the contrary, and I'll get you released on bail by tomorrow. Maybe the day after. You'll have to surrender your passport and sign some papers, but you should be free.”
“Even in a capital case?”
“There is no precedent for this in Hawaii. Normally murder is murder. Except the D.A. in San Francisco wants to put the guy in prison who saved two people. Sorry, I didn't mean that.”
“Thanks.”
“I did not mean to be impolitic. The point is that there is no law in Hawaii like the one in California. Here it is not a crime. Here it would have been self-defense. So you never know how the judge will rule.
“Hopefully, we'll get one that hates California.”
“Easy to do.”
“You have reason to feel that way.”
“You'll need an investigator on the Wong case. I'm already working for her.”
“You want to investigate her case while you're out on bond?”
I nodded.
“Terrific.” Tala closed her eyes. “Just terrific. But okay. You got it. It's crazy enough to appeal to me. I like it.” She got up, leaving me sitting there, handcuffed to the other side of the screen. “Sit tight, Caine. Don't go anywhere. I'll have you out of here in a day or so.”
“I'll stay here. Promise.” I raised my right hand, rattling the chain.
She smiled. “You do that, John. And quit worrying.”
“I've got nothing else to do.”
Tala nodded her understanding.
“Do some push-ups,” she said.
I
nmates call it “Hang Time.” I'd never thought of it before, but that's exactly what it was: not living, but hanging. In suspended animation.
Hanging in a hole in the ground, in a concrete room three paces each direction, ten feet square, with a concrete bench that doubled as a bed, a stainless steel toilet and a drain in the floor, was like being shelved. There was a lot of waiting, watching the television camera in the ceiling, the one that watched dispassionately as I slept, or paced, or used the toilet. An accused murderer, I had no privacy. As a guest of the City and County of Honolulu, my movements were monitored, restricted, and chaperoned on the rare excursion from my cell. I was a prisoner, a commodity to be housed.
Daniel came every day. Tala was busy, he reported when she didn't make the visit. Trying to get me out. Working the system.
She was preparing for my hearing.
Daniel's voice would probably never heal. The bullet that grazed his vocal chords had given him a permanent whisper, along with a red wandering scar across his neck from the bullet wound and the tear that I had inadvertently caused. To some people that would have been a tragedy, an occasion for scarves and plastic surgeries. But with Daniel I could tell that he liked it. He was young, and it provided additional menace to his already
threatening countenance. He wore an open silk shirt, the top buttons exposed to better show off his trophy, a reminder of the day when he and Chawlie had almost joined their ancestors.
As Chawlie's top lieutenant, Daniel sat outside the jail while I remained inside, something that I was sure the local cops found amusing.
“Howzit?” he asked, the question a quiet growl.
“No problems,” I responded, keeping it simple. Daniel may very well be Chawlie's most brilliant son, or nephew, or whatever he is to the old outlaw, but he prefers to keep his verbal intercourse within narrow limits. In that way he is very much the young Chawlie, the one I had first met years ago.
“How's that lady attorney working out?”
“She's fine.”
“We had that other one for you. Big-time defense guy. You want this broad?”
“I've seen her in action. I trust her.”
He nodded, his eyes shinning pebbles regarding me through the wire mesh.
“People say you're gonna have to go to California.”
“I suppose it's true.” I knew that Daniel meant Chawlie when he referred solely to the generic.
“People say you should be all right, though. Not to worry.”
“What have I got to worry about?”
That made him smile, although it could have been gas. The corners of his mouth rose and fell in a fraction of a second, returning his face to its normal condition, empty of expression.
“You made the papers.” He handed copies of the
Star Bulletin
and the
Honolulu Advertiser
to the guard, who searched them and slipped the papers under the mesh.
“I'll read them later,” I told him.
“There's a television reporter who wants to interview you.”
“Oh?”
“Tell him no.”
I nodded. Too much coverage could be detrimental to my
friendship with Chawlie. Daniel's mission was to convey Chawlie's displeasure, should the reporter actually put my face on television.
Not that they would. I have a face, as they say, for radio.
“You need anything?”
“I'm fine.”
“Okay.” He stood up, the interview over. Daniel's mission was over. He got the information he had sought, and he delivered the message he had been sent to deliver. Daniel never asked questions out of sentimentality or concern. I had no idea if he liked me or not and it didn't matter. I had no idea if I liked him, either. But I had saved his life, and the life of his patron, and that did matter to both of them.
I watched him walk away, a big man, not tall, but broad, carrying himself in such a manner as to convey a greater height and weight than he possessed. It was a practiced walk. Some would call it macho or pretentious. But there was nothing macho about him, if you look at the original intent of the word. Daniel was merely tough and deadly, and he literally was the prince of the kingdom. Like the princes of old, who stayed that way because they were the toughest in the land, not merely because of their birthright, he would have to fight for the throne once the king had passed. Every day he had to prove himself anew, rewarding friends and allies, punishing or eliminating enemies and rivals.
“Let's go,” said the guard.
We walked down the long, harshly lit concrete corridor to my cell. Cameras buried in the ceiling followed me everywhere. The place smelled of disinfectant that almost blocked the odor of urine. Somewhere in the block someone pounded on a steel door and screamed a continuous unintelligible wail, a protest, I was sure, to the forces that had conspired to confine him here. My door was a solid steel affair set in an iron frame poured into the concrete wall of my cell. Only a tough plastic window, nearly opaque from prior guests' ravaging attentions, provided me with
an impaired view of the corridor. It was my only view of the world outside of my four walls.
I hadn't seen the sun since I'd come here. Tomorrow or the next day I would be in court. Hopefully, the courtroom would have windows. This was my ultimate punishment. More than the deprivation of my liberties, tossing me into a hole in the ground away from a gentle sun and my rainbows was a slow death.
So I lay down on the thin green pad that I used as a mattress and read the
Advertiser
and the
Bulletin
and tried to avoid any mention of my name.
 
 
“They're in the wire!”
I look at the man as he push me into the wall, holding me there, pinning me with the long bayonet, I never before seen such hatred on anyone
's face.
 
 
I awoke quietly and lay still, my body bathed in sweat, disoriented and unsure of my whereabouts, unaware of the line between dream and reality. I consciously controlled my breathing, panting quietly and shallowly, not daring to make more noise than was necessary. I did not remember if I had screamed. The cell had an eerie light at all hours of the day and night, so the time didn't matter. Down here there was no dawn and no sunset, no day and no night. The place was always in dim light, like a barely remembered dream.
My nightmare began to feel like an old friend compared to my current reality. At least back then I could run away. Maybe not far, but I could move beyond this three-pace room. Here I had no choices to make. Here all the reality I could find was in four cold walls, a low concrete ceiling and a hard, sterile floor. Nothing else exited. Not here. Outside, people were walking the beaches, celebrating life, making love, fighting with their spouses, taking exams, earning their daily wage.
My breath no longer came in shallow pants, and I found I
could take a deep breath and feel the calming influence of that simple action. As long as I could breathe I still held some hope that there must be a way out of this. I had Chawlie on my side, and Tala Sufai, and Kimo. There were cracks in the prosecution's case that Tala would turn into chasms. I scolded myself because I knew there had been warning signs, demanding introspection. I might get out of here, and I might have another chance to discover what was important in life, and what was not.
God knew I had the time to think about it.
The door opened and I sat up.
A guard motioned for me to come with him.
“You're a popular guy today, Caine,” said the jailer with a wry grin. He was not a bad sort. Aside from the fact that he would prevent me from leaving, I found I could not dislike him. “Your attorney's here.”
I stood up, stretched my back—that concrete mattress was about as firm as they had, I supposed—and followed the guard. If Tala was here it was because she had news.
Introspection could wait.

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