need the caffeine,” he said.
Despite his natural ebullience, I could tell he was troubled. “I feel so terrible for that boy. I shouldn’t have let him stay in the back room. I should have done what you told me, Kimo, and called social services. Either that, or taken him home with me.”
Since I knew Tico so well, we’d decided Ray would take the lead on questions. “You see anyone suspicious hanging around the shopping center?” he asked.
“Suspicious how? A guy with a gasoline can? Honey, I cut hair. All day long. I flirt with the ladies, I listen to them complain about their husbands, I try to steer them away from bad hair choices. I don’t get to lounge around outside looking for suspicious characters.”
“Tell me about the center. The new owners keep it up well? You ever get a sense that they’re letting it run down?”
“They used to have a local manager, but he quit and they haven’t replaced him yet.” Tico took another sip of the bad coffee. “As soon as a store closes, another is ready to take its place.”
“Anyone have a gripe against you, or any of the other businesses?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know. Most of our clientele is local, little old ladies and businesswomen from St. Louis Heights. I try to make them all happy.”
“What about the boy? You told my partner that you thought he was scared of something. You get any idea what that was?”
“Not a thing. I didn’t want to push him.”
“He ever tell you where he came from?”
“Just China. That’s all. I asked Li Po, the girl from the travel agency, to talk to him, but he wouldn’t tell her much either.”
Tico didn’t know anything about the acupuncture clinic, since his salon was at the opposite end of the center. “Better tenants than the last ones,” he said, referring to the Church of Adam and Eve, an anti-gay group that had been closed down a year and a half before.
When we left the conference room, Li Po was waiting at my desk. She and Tico embraced, both of them crying a little. She was a Chinese woman in her mid-fifties, a little too plump for the bright blue silk dress she wore. Her black hair was piled up on her head, kept in place with a pair of chopsticks.
She and Tico chattered for a few minutes, and then he left. We led her back to the conference room, where she sat with a big sigh. She said that she was swamped with trying to retrace all her client activity, since her computer had been destroyed in the fire, and with it all her records.
“We’ll try not to keep you too long,” I said. “Can you tell us anything about the Chinese boy who was sleeping in Tico’s back room?”
“His name Jingtao,” she said. She had a strong Mandarin accent, and I could see Ray straining to understand her. “Only sixteen, seventeen. No more. He come from Gansu, very poor part of China.”
“Do you know how he got here?” I asked.
“He never say. I think someone bring him here to work illegal.”
“At the center?” I knew there were sweatshops on the island, places where illegal immigrants worked long hours sewing and working assembly lines.
She shrugged. “He no say much. He very afraid.”
From the way that Li Po fiddled with her hands, and avoided looking Ray or me in the eyes, I could tell she, too, was afraid. But of what? Had the boy told her something—did she know about the gambling at the acupuncture clinic? A travel agent has a lot of different clients. It made sense that one or more of them might have said something about placing a bet. Or did she know something else about the arson that she didn’t want to say?
I tried to get her to open up, with no success. She didn’t know anything about acupuncture, or gambling, or how Jingtao might have ended up in Honolulu. Shifting gears, I asked, “Did you ever talk to any of the other tenants?”
She shrugged. “Little bit, now and then. Nice lady in pharmacy. Sneaky husband. I feel bad for her.”
“How about the two women in
Despite his natural ebullience, I could tell he was troubled. “I feel so terrible for that boy. I shouldn’t have let him stay in the back room. I should have done what you told me, Kimo, and called social services. Either that, or taken him home with me.”
Since I knew Tico so well, we’d decided Ray would take the lead on questions. “You see anyone suspicious hanging around the shopping center?” he asked.
“Suspicious how? A guy with a gasoline can? Honey, I cut hair. All day long. I flirt with the ladies, I listen to them complain about their husbands, I try to steer them away from bad hair choices. I don’t get to lounge around outside looking for suspicious characters.”
“Tell me about the center. The new owners keep it up well? You ever get a sense that they’re letting it run down?”
“They used to have a local manager, but he quit and they haven’t replaced him yet.” Tico took another sip of the bad coffee. “As soon as a store closes, another is ready to take its place.”
“Anyone have a gripe against you, or any of the other businesses?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know. Most of our clientele is local, little old ladies and businesswomen from St. Louis Heights. I try to make them all happy.”
“What about the boy? You told my partner that you thought he was scared of something. You get any idea what that was?”
“Not a thing. I didn’t want to push him.”
“He ever tell you where he came from?”
“Just China. That’s all. I asked Li Po, the girl from the travel agency, to talk to him, but he wouldn’t tell her much either.”
Tico didn’t know anything about the acupuncture clinic, since his salon was at the opposite end of the center. “Better tenants than the last ones,” he said, referring to the Church of Adam and Eve, an anti-gay group that had been closed down a year and a half before.
When we left the conference room, Li Po was waiting at my desk. She and Tico embraced, both of them crying a little. She was a Chinese woman in her mid-fifties, a little too plump for the bright blue silk dress she wore. Her black hair was piled up on her head, kept in place with a pair of chopsticks.
She and Tico chattered for a few minutes, and then he left. We led her back to the conference room, where she sat with a big sigh. She said that she was swamped with trying to retrace all her client activity, since her computer had been destroyed in the fire, and with it all her records.
“We’ll try not to keep you too long,” I said. “Can you tell us anything about the Chinese boy who was sleeping in Tico’s back room?”
“His name Jingtao,” she said. She had a strong Mandarin accent, and I could see Ray straining to understand her. “Only sixteen, seventeen. No more. He come from Gansu, very poor part of China.”
“Do you know how he got here?” I asked.
“He never say. I think someone bring him here to work illegal.”
“At the center?” I knew there were sweatshops on the island, places where illegal immigrants worked long hours sewing and working assembly lines.
She shrugged. “He no say much. He very afraid.”
From the way that Li Po fiddled with her hands, and avoided looking Ray or me in the eyes, I could tell she, too, was afraid. But of what? Had the boy told her something—did she know about the gambling at the acupuncture clinic? A travel agent has a lot of different clients. It made sense that one or more of them might have said something about placing a bet. Or did she know something else about the arson that she didn’t want to say?
I tried to get her to open up, with no success. She didn’t know anything about acupuncture, or gambling, or how Jingtao might have ended up in Honolulu. Shifting gears, I asked, “Did you ever talk to any of the other tenants?”
She shrugged. “Little bit, now and then. Nice lady in pharmacy. Sneaky husband. I feel bad for her.”
“How about the two women in
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