Twisted Vine (18 page)

“You’ve got that boxer brain syndrome now.” Stevens drove her home the next morning in a lime-green Ford Fiesta he’d rented at the airport the night before. “We can’t have you banging your head anymore. Period.”

“Apparently not, though getting shot point-blank by Healani Chang didn’t really appeal either.”

The contusion on her head had migrated, giving her a black eye, while the bruise on her chin swelled that side of her face. She felt better physically, but miserable with apprehension about what would happen next. Did they really think she’d shot Healani or provoked the woman’s suicide somehow? And if that wasn’t enough, there was always the Kwon murder and Marcus Kamuela to worry about.

At the house, the dogs, lonely and missing dinner, were beside themselves, and that drama took a while to settle. Lei let Stevens handle it and went straight into the shower. She was glad when he joined her there.

“Make me forget all this,” she whispered, plastered against his wet length, leaning in to him. “Make me feel better.”

“My pleasure,” he whispered in her ear. And very gently, he did.

Their cocoon lasted only a few hours before Lei’s phone buzzed with a text from Ken:
Heads-up. Waxman and goons on the warpath. They’ll be calling you to come in any minute
.

Lei got out of bed, hurried to the closet. “IA and my boss are going to call me in. Should I look professional, or look injured?”

“How about both?” Stevens propped himself up on an elbow. “They shouldn’t be doing this so soon.”

“I’m sure it’s because Dr. LaSota’s in town. She’s always on a schedule.”

Lei’s phone rang with the summons once she was dressed.  She looked at her hair and face, appalled, in the bathroom mirror. Stevens came up behind her and touched the ripe black shiner that had developed as blood moved down from the knot on her forehead and collected under her eye.  “The clothes are professional and the bruises look heroic. The hair?” He pulled a curl. “Uniquely you. Don’t change a thing.”

“I love you.” She turned and hugged him. “What happens in this meeting is what makes my mind up about Omura’s call.” She’d finally told him about the unexpected offer and its deadline. “With the case heating up, I’ve hardly had time to think about it. I wondered if you had something to do with Omura’s call.”

He snorted. “Me tell Omura anything? Good luck with that. No, I didn’t even know about it—though I confess to crying in my beer to Pono about the whole situation. I’m sure he’s working the ‘coconut wireless’ to get something for you.”

Pono Kaihale, her first partner and one of her oldest friends, was still looking out for her on
Maui. Lei was warmed by that thought as she said goodbye to the dogs and left Angel and Keiki looking mournfully after them through the gate.

Lei was relieved to find they’d put her in Conference Room A, hoping that meant a more friendly interview. Her union rep, Herb Takayama, a Buddha-like little man with round spectacles that echoed the dome of his head, wedged in beside her on the too-small love seat. Waxman, LaSota, and Pillman sat on the bolted-down armchairs.

Takayama opened the questioning after they were apprised of the date, time, people present, and that the proceedings were being recorded. “First of all, I’d like see my client fully recovered from her injuries before she’s interviewed regarding—what is it, exactly?”

“We are trying to establish what her relationship was with the Changs, a known crime family,” Pillman said. “There is a conflict of interest with the situation that could endanger our prosecution of the case against Terence Chang.”

“What conflict of interest?” Lei felt the heat of anger flush her cheeks. Takayama shook his head, but she ignored him. “Yes, there was a prior relationship with the Changs. They hated me and my father and tried to take both of our lives in the past, but I thought that was all over with after I talked with Healani Chang when I was an officer at South Hilo Station. There has been no contact, threats, or evidence of interference from the Changs for either of us since. Our tech agent Sophie Ang followed the evidence, and I went where I was sent to do a raid with no prior knowledge of whose house we were raiding. All we had was an address and a username.”

“We’re concerned that Terence Chang will paint it that you had a vendetta, that he’s been set up in some way—even that you had a hand in killing his grandmother.”

“He can say what he wants. The evidence is what led us to him, and the evidence will back me up.”

“Tell us about your confrontation with Healani Chang.” Dr. LaSota’s dark eyes were expressionless, her pencil poised above a yellow legal pad.

Lei took a deep breath, closed her eyes a moment to remember the feelings she’d had looking at the woman on the bed. She pictured the proud set of Healani Chang’s head, the fog of grief that had come over the woman’s eyes just before she pulled the gun on Lei.

She described their exchange. “When I told her we were there for her grandson, it was a blow to her. I think she was hanging on for him, and finding out he was the reason for the raid—well, she got out her gun and said, “I should have killed you a long time ago.” I dove for the ground. She fired a round at me that went through the side of the mattress but missed me. Then she shot herself.”

A pause while they digested this.

“Why didn’t you search her? She should have been patted down immediately.”

“There was the dog situation to deal with. It distracted us.” Lei described what had happened with the animal. “It took both of us to cover Chang as he dealt with the dog, which saved its life, quite frankly, and Chang knew it. Then Ken took the suspect out the front, and I approached Healani’s bed. Yes, I should have immediately searched her, but you had to see how pathetic she was.”

“She’s been as active as ever, managing the ‘family business,’ according to reports from local PD,” Pillman said. “You should have assumed she was armed.”

Lei shut her mouth. She wasn’t going to agree with her mistake on tape.

“So, you at no time touched her weapon?”

“No,” Lei said definitely.

“So you didn’t stage the suicide.”

“What? I thought Ken told you he’d pulled my weapons. Neither were discharged!”

“You used her weapon.”

“There was no GSR on my hands!”

“Your partner isn’t exactly an unbiased witness.”

“Really? This is where you’re going with this?” Lei could feel the concussion pressing against her eyeballs along with tears. “How did I get these injuries, then?”

“You staged the suicide, then dove down and hit your head to lend credence to your story.”

Lei couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed completely, and spots danced at the corners of her vision.

“That’s one theory,” Waxman said, addressing Pillman. His pale brows had drawn together, his mouth tight. “It’s good for us to be prepared for what the defense will raise, so I agree we have to thoroughly investigate this situation. However, I want everyone to know that I’ve never seen Agent Texeira act with anything but sincerity. Impulsiveness, yes, sometimes not the best judgment—but murder? I think not.”

“We’re leaving,” Takayama said. “Any further interviews will be accompanied by legal counsel.” He tugged Lei’s arm and pulled her out the door.

She couldn’t believe that things had taken such a turn for the worse, that even what her partner had done to protect her was being questioned. Even so, it warmed her to hear Waxman come to her defense.

Stevens stood up from the chair in the hall, took one look at her face and folded her into his arms. “That bad?” he said into her hair.

“Worse,” Lei whispered hoarsely. “Pillman thinks I murdered Healani Chang.”

She felt the outrage shoot through his body in the sudden clenching of his muscles, in the sharp intake of breath, in the way he straightened up, reaching for the door. This time, she clung to him, holding him back. Takayama harrumphed, reminding them of his presence.

“Better to let the investigation take its course,” he said. “These things are unpleasant, but my sense is that the evidence will support Agent Texeira or be inconclusive. Just sit tight, and you can retain legal counsel as a preventive measure. Here are some of the lawyers we’ve used successfully in the past.” He handed Lei a slip of paper with names and numbers on it. “Absolutely no further meetings with your administration without me present.”

On that note, Waxman came to the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him. “Texeira.”

Lei wanted to hide her face in Stevens’s rigid chest, but she made herself turn to face her boss.

“I’m required to take your ID and sidearm for the duration of the investigation. You are off the case and are not to discuss it with your coworkers.”

“Yes, sir. Ken already has my weapons.” She handed her cred wallet to him. Behind her, she felt Stevens radiating leashed heat against her back. It was the only good thing in the world.

“I want you to know, I don’t believe this trumped-up bullshit for a minute.” Waxman had hectic red spots on his cheeks “Hang tight. This will blow over.”

“Yes, sir,” Lei whispered.

Stevens clamped his arm over her. “I’m taking her home. Don’t contact us without Mr. Takayama present.”

The next day, Sophie and Ken ushered Robert Castellejos into Conference Room A. The bald-headed cancer patient, looking tanned and relaxed, smiled as he sat on the love seat facing them. He’d carried in a leather folio slung over his shoulder; the metal detectors had let it through but Sophie tensed as he reached inside. He only produced a couple of jars of clear golden honey, which he set on the coffee table before them.

“Brought you something to sweeten your day.”

“Thank you. We are not allowed to accept gifts, however,” Ken said. “This is a formal interview that is being recorded, to question your involvement with the DyingFriends site.” Ken recited the date, time, and attendees for the record. Sophie was conscious of Waxman’s watchful presence in the booth next door, but her earbud stayed silent.

“Yes. I’d like to make a full confession.” Castellejos wore tidy chinos and a brown T-shirt with a honeybee on the front. “Bennie Fernandez, my dear protégée Terence Chang’s lawyer, contacted me yesterday that Terence had been arrested in connection to deaths related to the site, and I’d like to set the record straight.”

Whatever Sophie had been expecting from the beekeeper, it wasn’t this. They’d been stonewalled in attempts to interview Chang further until Bennie Fernandez had called them with the unexpected news that Chang wanted to cop a plea in return for information on KevorkianFan, the “mastermind of the site.” He’d implicated Castellejos.

“DyingFriends is my project. I recruited Terence to provide the technical skills to run the site—the boy’s good with computers and believes in the cause. At no time did he ever participate or assist at any suicides. If you check his alibis for the dates of suicides in the photo galleries, you will see that they hold up. I, however, have been quite the traveling man.”

Castellejos reached into his folio and produced a handwritten log along with a stack of Visa bills. “I’ve traveled all over the
United States fulfilling the last wishes of DyingFriends members. This log contains their names and times and dates of death. These Visa bills document the tickets they gifted me with and my travel to meet them. I’ve personally witnessed the last moments of more than three hundred people who have chosen to exercise their freedom to die with dignity.”

Sophie felt her face freezing into a mask of immobile horror. She’d spent hours poring over those photos, seeing everything from jumping to hanging to overdoses, and the thin, tanned, smiling face before her, sitting in his honeybee T-shirt,  just wouldn’t compute as their executioner.

Ken cleared his throat. He reached over and pulled the log and Visa bill close. “Robert Castellejos, you have voluntarily submitted records documenting your involvement with these deaths. You are under arrest for the assisted suicide deaths of these voluntarily submitted names.” He recited the Miranda warning.

Castellejos waved a hand. “I waive my right to counsel. I have no need for such things. I’ve made my peace with spending my last days in prison for a cause I’m dying for anyway. I won’t allow Terence Chang to be charged with ‘crimes’ I’ve committed.” He made air quotes as he said “crimes.”

“All right. I’d like that in writing, if you don’t mind.” Ken pushed a legal pad over to him, and the man picked up the pad and wrote, reading aloud as he did so.
“
I waive my right to counsel and make a full confession of my assistance in the suicide deaths related to the site DyingFriends.”

Sophie forced her paralyzed throat to form some words. “So you are KevorkianFan.”

“And you are the lovely and deceitful ShastaM.” Castellejos’s warm brown eyes shone with the light of fanaticism as they rested on hers, casting a hypnotic spell. “I detected your phishing, but not until poor Terence had already bought your bogus suicide note. Very authentic, my dear. May I suppose you’ve had your own thoughts of suicide? It really is a viable option and part of your right to life, liberty, and happiness as guaranteed by the Constitution.”

Sophie’s mouth opened and shut. Waxman’s voice crackled in their ears. “Don’t listen to this man’s poison; we are not providing him a stage for his rhetoric. Focus on the logs and victims; get a confession of each name while he’s willing to talk.”

Ken opened the log. “Let’s begin with our most recent murder victim, Betsy Brown, and work our way back, shall we?”

“Ah, Betsy. Lovely young woman. Didn’t she look beautiful in her special gown?” Castellejos went on to describe helping Betsy prepare with her gown and makeup, bringing her the water and the medication, sitting with her until her heart stopped. “It’s my honor to help people who have chosen to leave this world do so on their own terms.”

“Betsy wasn’t dying. She had Guillain-Barré syndrome, a rare viral infection that she would have recovered from.” Sophie found her voice again, and it vibrated with outrage.

“Yes, Terence’s lawyer informed me of that. What you need to understand is that the right to death is a basic human right, just as is the right to life. Perhaps Betsy wouldn’t have chosen this path if she had known that; perhaps she would have. It doesn’t change the fact that she had a right to choose when her life ended. I don’t concern myself with verifying details of diagnoses. Human rights are what’s important.”

Sophie felt her hands ball into fists, her arms tightening. She’d never wanted to punch someone in the mouth more than she did at that moment. Ken put a hand on her arm. “Let’s move on to Corby Alexander Hale. What was your involvement with his death?”

“I doctored the boy’s drink. He was a little ambivalent about his commitment to suicide; he told me that. I gave him a little relaxation drink when I met him at a gay bar the night I picked to help him fulfill his commitment. He’d chosen a pain-free way to go—I imagine it was actually quite pleasant.” Castellejos smiled. “I imagine, after the grief passes, the senator and his wife will actually get a lot of political mileage out of this with the sympathy vote.”

Sophie stood and paced behind the chairs, needing to discharge her rage and not sure she could keep from attacking the man. She thought of Lei in that moment, the other agent’s physicality and emotional volatility. She’d never really understood it—until now.

Castellejos worked imperturbably back through the log with them recording every word—nailing his own coffin shut tighter with each disclosure and unfazed by that fact. In the end, they were hearing the confession of a dying man with nothing much to lose.

Sophie took pleasure in erasing every virtual trace of DyingFriends from the Internet late that night—but she didn’t know how she’d ever erase the memory of Castellejos’s smiling death’s head face from her dreams.

Lei carried Angel into the community room at the Youth Correctional Facility. This wasn’t her usual scheduled visit, but after Stevens had left and she’d spent another day in bed, she realized that seeing her young friend was the only thing she could think of that might cheer her up.

They’d let Consuelo meet her in the rec room alone, and as usual, the Chihuahua went into rapture upon seeing the girl. Lei smiled, watching them play, and finally Consuelo sat on the couch holding the dog and gestured. “Lei, come sit. What happened to your face?”

“Injured on the job. I have some free time. Thought I’d come see my favorite juvenile delinquent.”

“Well, I have some news too. I’m getting out early. They need my bed, apparently, so I’m being furloughed to a work-study program.” Consuelo’s pretty face was animated and she jumped a bit on the couch so that her glossy black hair bounced. “I’m getting a job. They’re already looking at some maintenance programs where I could work. I even get to go to classes at East Oahu Community College, and I come back to the group home in the evenings.”

“So good, that news!” Having Bennie Fernandez on a case was great when the defendant was someone you cared about. “When does this start?”

“Next week. They said I could have Angel there at the group home. She could be a therapy dog for all six kids who live at the house.”

“Nice.” Lei felt a pang as she looked at the
Chihuahua. Angel had really worked her way into Lei’s life even though she’d always known the arrangement was temporary. As if sensing this, Angel hopped over and licked her hand. She petted the dog’s sleek head. “I’m so happy for you. Well, it comes at a great time for both of us. I have an opportunity I’m considering.” She told Consuelo about the offer from Captain Omura on Maui. “Without the FBI, I never would have met you. Thinking about leaving feels like giving up, like I couldn’t cut it.” Lei found herself touching the metal disc at her throat.

“Don’t you think there will be other people you will help through the police department?  I mean, some of the stories you told me were awesome.” Consuelo smiled.

“I know. It’s just a tough choice.”

“You’re so good at what you do; it doesn’t matter who you work for and you know it. By the way, I’m starting my first college class soon.”

“What is it?”

“Journalism. Then political science. Maybe I’ll do politics someday.”

Lei felt a wide grin stretch the bruises on her face. “Perfect.”

“I guess I had to get stuck in here to see that I had other choices than to do what I did. You’re the reason I didn’t give up back then when I wanted to kill myself, and you’re the reason I know I can do it even though I’m not the best student.”

Lei hugged the girl, the dog sandwiched between them. She thought of DyingFriends and of the vulnerability of suicidal teenagers, who could, if supported, go on to lead productive lives. Thank God the site was shut down—Sophie had texted her that, and that she’d be by to tell her about the case soon.

On the way home, Lei’s cell rang.

“Hi, Lei. It’s Marcus.” Lei wondered when her breath would stop freezing at the sound of the big detective’s voice.

“Hey, Marcus. Any news on the
Bozeman thing?”
Be proactive not reactive,
she told herself. Another Dr. Wilson-ism.

“That’s what I’m calling about. We got
Bozeman’s shooter. Grieving wife of a client he’d offed. The lady extorted Bozeman’s name out of the business partner who’d ordered the hit, then shot him. Tracked Bozeman, shot him too. Lady’s a badass. I wish we could give her a medal instead of locking her up, but oh well. Everything’s all tied up on the case.”

“Wow, she sounds like a force to be reckoned with. So . . . everything’s tied up?” She gave a delicate emphasis to the word “everything.” Kwon lay between them, an unspoken ghost.

“Yup. Everything. Case closed.” Kamuela’s voice was brisk.

“Well. Thanks for the call. That’s really good news.”

“Yeah. Marcella and I want to go out with you and that mystery man of yours.”

“I know. Soon, I hope. Thanks again.” Lei hung up, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Kwon was finally behind her for good.