Fabio-like wavy locks.
After a few warm-up questions, Lei followed her hunch. “After your wedding, did any money change hands between the two of you?”
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I’m just asking, did you pool or exchange any money?”
“He signed a prenup, if that’s what you’re asking.” Clara sniffed, gathering her dignity. “That’s what all my friends insisted on. I mean, why else would a man like Robert be with a woman like me—at least according to my friends.” She shook her head. “I did transfer a hundred thousand for the down payment on our house in Napili into our joint account. We shopped for it for weeks before the wedding, and it’s going to close now that we’ve returned.”
“What bank?”
“Bank of Hawaii. But I’m sure—that can’t be it.” Tears threatened again. Lei turned to Pono, who was already standing up and dialing his phone.
A few minutes later, he had the bank manager on the phone, wanting confirmation from Clara, who gave it. The bank manager must have told her what was left in the account, because she gave a ululating cry of mortal pain and sat down abruptly on one of the cushy chairs.
The coordinator hurried forward, soothing, patting, and waving tissues.
“I think it would be best if we get Mrs. Simmons installed in a hotel, and we continue our investigation in Kahului after a quick check belowdecks, in case he’s still hiding on board.” Lei gestured toward the door, and the coordinator escorted the weeping woman out.
Pono was already calling the airport and Dispatch to put out an alert on one Robert Simmons, age thirty-two, six foot two, muscular build, wavy blond hair, probably traveling under an alias—if his name was Robert Simmons at all.
Lei went down to the cabin the honeymoon couple had stayed in. Empty, but for a set of matched Louis Vuitton luggage. Clara Simmons would have been good for more if he’d waited awhile, but apparently the honeymoon had been all that he could handle.
A staffer took them below and unlocked doors for them. After they’d done a sweep of the most likely hiding places, Lei glanced at her phone. It was eleven a.m., and the ship had already been delayed two hours. It was unlikely Robert Simmons was still on board; he’d probably hopped a plane yesterday. She signaled Pono.
“Check with the lieutenant, but I think we should let the ship go and focus on trying to catch Simmons at the airport.”
Pono nodded and made the call, then motioned toward the metal ladder back up to the next level, far from the luxurious upper decks.
They said respectful goodbyes to the captain. Clara Simmons had been taken in a cab to the nearby Maui Beach Hotel. Lei followed Pono off the ship with an echoing clang of footsteps on the metal gangplank, holding on to the rope baluster as the giant engines fired up for departure.
“Want to get lunch?” she asked Pono. “I need to tell you about the interview with Silva and what Bunuelos and I found out about Jane Doe.”
They pulled into Pinatas on Dairy Road in downtown Kahului and took a corner table with their burritos. Lei told Pono about the “House,” mysterious organizer of the cockfighting ring, and the white-robed hookers, including the name of the developer who’d bought hookers for his construction wrap party.
“I gotta follow up on that next,” Lei said, taking a bite of her kitchen sink burrito, the size of a small coconut. Pinatas didn’t stint on portions.
“I don’t think he’s going to just tell you who he ordered hookers from over the phone,” Pono said. “We should drive out there. Get eyes on him. What if he has a hand in it somehow?”
They flipped a coin, and it was the purple truck this time for the ride to Lahaina, where Wylie’s construction offices were located. Lei called back to the station and checked in with Dispatch as they drove along the Pali, asking if the lieutenant could send someone to work the meth house case
After a few warm-up questions, Lei followed her hunch. “After your wedding, did any money change hands between the two of you?”
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“Nothing. I’m just asking, did you pool or exchange any money?”
“He signed a prenup, if that’s what you’re asking.” Clara sniffed, gathering her dignity. “That’s what all my friends insisted on. I mean, why else would a man like Robert be with a woman like me—at least according to my friends.” She shook her head. “I did transfer a hundred thousand for the down payment on our house in Napili into our joint account. We shopped for it for weeks before the wedding, and it’s going to close now that we’ve returned.”
“What bank?”
“Bank of Hawaii. But I’m sure—that can’t be it.” Tears threatened again. Lei turned to Pono, who was already standing up and dialing his phone.
A few minutes later, he had the bank manager on the phone, wanting confirmation from Clara, who gave it. The bank manager must have told her what was left in the account, because she gave a ululating cry of mortal pain and sat down abruptly on one of the cushy chairs.
The coordinator hurried forward, soothing, patting, and waving tissues.
“I think it would be best if we get Mrs. Simmons installed in a hotel, and we continue our investigation in Kahului after a quick check belowdecks, in case he’s still hiding on board.” Lei gestured toward the door, and the coordinator escorted the weeping woman out.
Pono was already calling the airport and Dispatch to put out an alert on one Robert Simmons, age thirty-two, six foot two, muscular build, wavy blond hair, probably traveling under an alias—if his name was Robert Simmons at all.
Lei went down to the cabin the honeymoon couple had stayed in. Empty, but for a set of matched Louis Vuitton luggage. Clara Simmons would have been good for more if he’d waited awhile, but apparently the honeymoon had been all that he could handle.
A staffer took them below and unlocked doors for them. After they’d done a sweep of the most likely hiding places, Lei glanced at her phone. It was eleven a.m., and the ship had already been delayed two hours. It was unlikely Robert Simmons was still on board; he’d probably hopped a plane yesterday. She signaled Pono.
“Check with the lieutenant, but I think we should let the ship go and focus on trying to catch Simmons at the airport.”
Pono nodded and made the call, then motioned toward the metal ladder back up to the next level, far from the luxurious upper decks.
They said respectful goodbyes to the captain. Clara Simmons had been taken in a cab to the nearby Maui Beach Hotel. Lei followed Pono off the ship with an echoing clang of footsteps on the metal gangplank, holding on to the rope baluster as the giant engines fired up for departure.
“Want to get lunch?” she asked Pono. “I need to tell you about the interview with Silva and what Bunuelos and I found out about Jane Doe.”
They pulled into Pinatas on Dairy Road in downtown Kahului and took a corner table with their burritos. Lei told Pono about the “House,” mysterious organizer of the cockfighting ring, and the white-robed hookers, including the name of the developer who’d bought hookers for his construction wrap party.
“I gotta follow up on that next,” Lei said, taking a bite of her kitchen sink burrito, the size of a small coconut. Pinatas didn’t stint on portions.
“I don’t think he’s going to just tell you who he ordered hookers from over the phone,” Pono said. “We should drive out there. Get eyes on him. What if he has a hand in it somehow?”
They flipped a coin, and it was the purple truck this time for the ride to Lahaina, where Wylie’s construction offices were located. Lei called back to the station and checked in with Dispatch as they drove along the Pali, asking if the lieutenant could send someone to work the meth house case
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