Zeigler paused, and Koa could almost see his mind working. “Let’s make this a little more complicated.” He stood up, retreated to the door, and killed the lights.
The room went dark before Zeigler turned on a projector, and a large face filled the screen. “That’s Leffler. He’s twenty-six and one angry man. Born and raised in Naoma, West Virginia. Worked in the coal mines at sixteen and lost his father and most of his friends in the 2010 Upper Branch coal mine explosion. Quit being a miner and joined the Army so he could kill people. I’m not kidding.”
Koa studied the big oval face with deep-set eyes atop a thick, football center’s neck. The man had a nasty scar across his right cheek—the kind you get in a knife fight. Koa wondered if he was looking into the eyes of the man who sold the gun to Witherspoon’s killer.
“And the Army,” Zeigler continued, “trained him to kill like a pro. Ranger school, Q course, demolitions training, expert marksman, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, you name it.”
Koa himself had graduated from the Q course, Army slang for the Special Forces qualification course, one of the mentally and physically toughest training courses in the world. “Special Forces?”
“No. The Army docs didn’t like his psych profile. Only made him angrier.”
“Jesus, so he’s a psycho, and he’s here because the Army thinks, but couldn’t prove, he stole weapons in Afghanistan?”
“Yeah, that and brutality concerns.”
Koa felt his eyebrows go up. “Brutality concerns?”
“Yeah, four Afghan rape-murders occurred in his assigned area. Nobody proved anything, but the crimes stopped when he transferred back here.”
Koa looked at the wall-sized picture of Leffler in a different light. He’d been thinking of the man as a possible source of the purloined murder weapon. Now he viewed Leffler as a possible candidate for the murder itself. “Could he be our killer?”
“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Zeigler responded.
“Where was he about five thirty on Thursday morning?”
“We don’t know. We’ve had him under episodic surveillance, but he’s a hard man to tail, especially with the limited manpower we’ve got up here.”
“You have surveillance logs?”
“Yeah. We’ve only been at it a couple weeks, and like I said, it’s spotty. I made a copy for you.” Zeigler passed a few sheets of paper to Koa. “And we’ve got some photos.”
Zeigler clicked and the projected image changed to a picture of Leffler with a Chinese woman. “That’s his current girlfriend. He’s been with her at least five times in the last two weeks.”
“Name?”
“Linda Huang. Taiwanese. They usually meet in a bar or go to her apartment. The address is in the log.” Zeigler brought up a new picture of Leffler, sitting alone at one end of a bar.
Koa recognized the place from the old Wurlitzer jukebox in the background. “That’s the Monarch bar. Pretty sleazy place.”
“He hangs there some nights.”
The next several images showed Leffler driving, with Linda Huang on the Hilo street, and others of Leffler at the Monarch. Zeigler shut the projector off before Koa realized the significance of the last picture.
“Put the last picture up again.”
Zeigler turned the projector back on. The picture showed Leffler sitting at a corner table in the Monarch with a man. Not any man, but Tomi Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. Koa couldn’t miss the distinctive black mole on the spin doctor’s cheek.
What the hell could Watanabe be doing with Sergeant Ralph Leffler? How had the two of them hooked up, and why was the mayor’s press aide in one of Hilo’s sleaziest joints with a rogue Army sergeant? Koa thought of a possible connection. Drake, the barkeep at the Monarch, was just the sort of douchebag you might visit if you were looking for a gun—or a killer.
“The man with Leffler in that picture.” Koa pointed to the screen. “You know who he is?”
“No. Never seen him before.”
“That’s Tomi Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. What business would Leffler have with him?”
Zeigler looked quizzical. “Beats me.”
On his drive back to the office, Koa’s sister, Alana, called. “I’m scared, Koa. I’m really scared.”
“What’s the matter, Alana?”
“It’s Ikaika. He hasn’t regained consciousness. The doctors aren’t saying much, but they’re concerned. I can tell. Māmā’s with him. She won’t leave the ICU.” Her words came tumbling out.
“Slow down, Alana. What have the doctors told you?”
“Not much. Just that sometimes people come back slowly, but it’s been a long time. We can’t lose him, Koa. Māmā would die.”
“Can I talk to the doctor?”
“He’s not here right now, but I’ll have him call you.”
“Okay, Alana. Keep me posted.” Ringing off, Koa felt his heart sink. He’d been elated when Alana had reported the surgery successful, but now things didn’t look so good. He felt palpable concern for Ikaika. Despite past animosities, he desperately wanted his brother to survive.
Back in his office, Koa found Piki covered in filth from head to toe and smelling like last week’s rotten meat.
“You smell like shit,” Koa greeted his younger colleague, his mind still focused on the call from Alana.
“Do you know how long it takes to comb through twenty cubic yards of garbage?” Piki asked, his face red and his grungy shirt wet with sweat.
Koa laughed half-heartedly. “At five minutes a cubic foot that would be forty-five hours. You must have had help. What do the other guys smell like?”
“It’s not so damned funny when you’re half-buried in the nasty shit people throw away.”
“You find the casings?”
Piki held up an evidence bag with two shell casings. “Nine-by-nineteen NATO parabellum cartridge casings. Definitely military.”
“From the gun in the trash?”
“Cap says the hammer strikes match.”
“Fingerprints?”
“A partial, not enough to run through the FBI’s IAFIS, but probably enough if we catch the perp.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. What do I get for spending a day crawling through grimy, smelly, shitty garbage?”
Koa grinned. “A free shower in the lockup because they’re not letting you in the police gym smelling like that.”
Piki groaned. “Thanks for nothing.”
“You should’ve used a metal detector. Would have been a lot faster.”
Piki smacked his forehead with a hand. “Oh, shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
WITH THE CHIEF out of town and his status as the head of the KonaWili investigation, Koa got trapped into unwanted social obligations. Ben Inaba, the mayor’s political consultant, invited Koa to the surprise birthday party for state senator George Kenoi, a longstanding buddy of Mayor Tanaka. Koa despised political events and tried to beg off, but Inaba told him to show up. “The mayor wants you there.”
Unlike Koa, Nālani expressed delight at the invitation. She dressed in a clingy, bright-red dress and wore the Ni‘ihau shell lei Koa had given her on the anniversary of their first date. She looked ravishing, and Koa felt a swelling of pride in escorting her to the event.