and the possibility of the ultralight’s flight to Maui. “We think it’s a kid. He’s hit two big houses here and is pissing off some very important people, and if he makes it to Maui, it’s going to be by the skin of his teeth.”
“You should alert the Coast Guard, too,” Omura said. Lei could tell she was taking notes. Lei experienced the bladder cramp her former commander could still engender at the reminder of something Lei wished she’d thought of. “Yes, we already did that.” Lei mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Waxman had taken care of it.
“We got the fax on this BOLO, but I’ll cover it in this morning’s all-island briefing—put our people on high alert. Now, there’s someone here who I know would like to say hi.”
Lei felt the blood drain from her face at the possibility of speaking to Stevens, but it was Pono’s rumbling bass that came over the line.
“Sweets!” Her former partner was never going to stop calling her that misnomer of a nickname, inspired by the Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani.”
“Pono Kaihale. It’s been a while.” She looked down at the yellow legal pad on her desk, drawing circles and blinking back tears. Pono had been like a big brother. She’d missed him more than she’d let herself realize. “When are you and Tiare coming over here?”
He snorted. “You know what we make. The kids are in school at Kamehameha now. We don’t take trips anywhere but to soccer games.”
“Shoots. I was just thinking about you guys. How’s everything?”
“Same smell. Iceheads, potheads, tourists getting robbed—just another day in paradise. Let me call you later. I’m sure the captain needs her phone. Still got the same number?”
“No.” Lei gave him her new cell phone number. “Talk to you later.”
She hung up and realized she’d drawn hearts, with her name in them, all over the page. They were all variations on the tattoo Stevens had had done when they were on Kaua`i—a tiny purple heart with LEI in it, inside his forearm near the crook of his elbow.
She wondered if he’d had it lasered off yet.
This was why she didn’t contact her old friends. They all reminded her of what she’d left behind and lost.
“Sounds like the Maui people are on it,” Ken said from his desk. She’d been so absorbed, she’d forgotten he was in the room.
“Yeah. They got our fax, but my old commanding officer is going to highlight it on the all-island daily alert. She reminded us about notifying the Coast Guard, too. She’s been promoted to captain of Kahului Station.”
“Yeah, Coast Guard got the BOLO too. Nice to talk to old friends?”
“A little mixed. I miss them. Some of them, at least. Okay, what next?”
“Let’s go out and pick up that box from the homeless shelter. See if there’s any new trace on it. It’s time to step things up.”
Ken pulled the Acura up in front of the Institute for Human Resources, right in the red zone in front, as Lei snapped off the siren/lights—time was of the essence now, and with the lights on, getting through downtown traffic hadn’t been the usual hassle.
They hurried up the cement steps, passing several homeless sitting in the sun. Lei glanced at their umbrellas and shopping carts, realizing her attitude had changed from annoyance to sympathy in the years she’d been a cop—homeless in Hawaii was warmer than other places, but still no picnic in the park, and the reasons that led to it were never simple.
They walked into the urban-ugly building and down the hall to a receptionist. Lei had her cred wallet out first. “Special Agents Texeira and Yamada. We are here to pick up the box left on the front steps.”
“It’s in the director’s office.” The girl hustled out from behind the desk, led them down the hall, and knocked on another door.
“Come in!”
Ken and Lei showed their creds again to the short, balding man behind a battered aluminum desk. “Tell us about the box,” Ken said.
The director
“You should alert the Coast Guard, too,” Omura said. Lei could tell she was taking notes. Lei experienced the bladder cramp her former commander could still engender at the reminder of something Lei wished she’d thought of. “Yes, we already did that.” Lei mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Waxman had taken care of it.
“We got the fax on this BOLO, but I’ll cover it in this morning’s all-island briefing—put our people on high alert. Now, there’s someone here who I know would like to say hi.”
Lei felt the blood drain from her face at the possibility of speaking to Stevens, but it was Pono’s rumbling bass that came over the line.
“Sweets!” Her former partner was never going to stop calling her that misnomer of a nickname, inspired by the Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani.”
“Pono Kaihale. It’s been a while.” She looked down at the yellow legal pad on her desk, drawing circles and blinking back tears. Pono had been like a big brother. She’d missed him more than she’d let herself realize. “When are you and Tiare coming over here?”
He snorted. “You know what we make. The kids are in school at Kamehameha now. We don’t take trips anywhere but to soccer games.”
“Shoots. I was just thinking about you guys. How’s everything?”
“Same smell. Iceheads, potheads, tourists getting robbed—just another day in paradise. Let me call you later. I’m sure the captain needs her phone. Still got the same number?”
“No.” Lei gave him her new cell phone number. “Talk to you later.”
She hung up and realized she’d drawn hearts, with her name in them, all over the page. They were all variations on the tattoo Stevens had had done when they were on Kaua`i—a tiny purple heart with LEI in it, inside his forearm near the crook of his elbow.
She wondered if he’d had it lasered off yet.
This was why she didn’t contact her old friends. They all reminded her of what she’d left behind and lost.
“Sounds like the Maui people are on it,” Ken said from his desk. She’d been so absorbed, she’d forgotten he was in the room.
“Yeah. They got our fax, but my old commanding officer is going to highlight it on the all-island daily alert. She reminded us about notifying the Coast Guard, too. She’s been promoted to captain of Kahului Station.”
“Yeah, Coast Guard got the BOLO too. Nice to talk to old friends?”
“A little mixed. I miss them. Some of them, at least. Okay, what next?”
“Let’s go out and pick up that box from the homeless shelter. See if there’s any new trace on it. It’s time to step things up.”
Ken pulled the Acura up in front of the Institute for Human Resources, right in the red zone in front, as Lei snapped off the siren/lights—time was of the essence now, and with the lights on, getting through downtown traffic hadn’t been the usual hassle.
They hurried up the cement steps, passing several homeless sitting in the sun. Lei glanced at their umbrellas and shopping carts, realizing her attitude had changed from annoyance to sympathy in the years she’d been a cop—homeless in Hawaii was warmer than other places, but still no picnic in the park, and the reasons that led to it were never simple.
They walked into the urban-ugly building and down the hall to a receptionist. Lei had her cred wallet out first. “Special Agents Texeira and Yamada. We are here to pick up the box left on the front steps.”
“It’s in the director’s office.” The girl hustled out from behind the desk, led them down the hall, and knocked on another door.
“Come in!”
Ken and Lei showed their creds again to the short, balding man behind a battered aluminum desk. “Tell us about the box,” Ken said.
The director
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