But at the same time, I felt like I had a right to a personal life. I wanted to be able to go on a date with Mike and not hear whispers and see fingers pointed. I wanted to be able to interview witnesses and suspects without having someone say, “Hey, you’re the gay cop.”
It was a balancing act, but in this case the seesaw tipped down the way Cathy and Sandra wanted it. “You sound like my boss,” I said. I knew it was what Lieutenant Sampson would want, for me to stand up there and represent the department. “All right. But I want to go on record as saying I hate it.”
“Your objection is duly noted,” Sandra said in her lawyer voice. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”
From the slight elevation of the stage, I got a great view of the crowd. They were very diverse, from older men in expensive leather jeans to twenty-something party boys in tight tank tops and even tighter shorts. There was a fair sprinkling of women, too, and even a bunch of little kids playing off in one corner.
I saw a few familiar faces. In her pressed uniform, Lidia Portuondo patrolled the area, drawing more than a few admiring glances from the women she passed. Though she normally patrolled downtown, I figured she’d picked up the extra duty for the overtime. Pua, Frankie and Lolo from the Teen Center were there, standing together in a little group, trying to look older.
Then I saw Mike Riccardi, in jeans and a striped shirt. He was off toward the side, not mingling with anyone, and I wanted to go to him, put my arms around him, draw him into the crowd. Despite how uncomfortable I was with my recognition, what came with it was a sense of community, of belonging. These were my people, I thought, and I wanted them to be Mike’s people too. I tried to catch his attention but he seemed to be looking everywhere but at me. A cameraman from KVOL roamed the crowd, taking random shots, and I thought Mike was trying to stay behind him, out of the range of the camera.
Sandra got up to the microphone and welcomed everybody. She started a chant. “What do we want? Equal rights. When do we want them? Now!”
The audience chanted with her. Finally she stopped chanting and started applauding, and then the crowd quieted. “Thanks for coming out today,” she said. “And I mean that in every sense of the term. It’s important for us to be out in all our communities, not just the gay and lesbian community. We have to show our friends, neighbors, relatives, and fellow voters that we are just like them-but with a twist.”
“Yeah, we know how to dress,” a guy called out from the audience, and everyone laughed.
“So this rally is very important, because it shows that we’re going to keep on fighting for what we want, what we deserve,” Sandra said. “I’m pleased to announce that a generous grant from Charlie Stahl, one of Honolulu’s most prominent citizens, is going to put the Hawai’i Marriage Project back on its feet immediately.” The crowd cheered.
Sandra looked back at Cathy, who helped Robert unfurl a big rainbow flag. “You all know those lines from The Star-Spangled Banner , don’t you?” Sandra said. Then she sang, a cappella, in a beautiful soprano I never knew lurked within her stocky body. “The bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there.”
Her last note was shimmering on the breeze when the series of shots rang out. All was chaos on the platform as we dove for cover. Fortunately the crowd stood paralyzed. The microphone was knocked to the ground and I crawled over to it, then stood up. “Everybody stay calm,” I said. “If anybody saw where that shooting came from, please come up and see me.”
To my right, Charlie Stahl was laying on his back, the blood spilling across his white shirt, while Sandra and Cathy crouched over him. I looked out over the crowd. The mothers had hurried over to their children, but everyone else seemed to be just looking around to see what was going on. Almost everyone, that is. There was one man running away, and I could just see his back. But I could recognize him. It was Mike Riccardi.
I heard sirens almost immediately, and within moments I saw the flashing lights that heralded the arrival of the police and an ambulance for Charlie Stahl. But leaning over him as the EMTs came through the crowd, I realized they were too late. An unlucky shot had hit him in the neck, right at the aorta, and despite Sandra’s attempts to staunch the bleeding, he had bled out.
Sandra was sobbing at the edge of the stage, with Cathy next to her, holding on. I wanted to go over to them but I knew I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d break down, too. I’d seen many homicide victims in my career, including one man I cared about, and I’d killed one man myself, but I had never stood next to an innocent man, chatting and laughing with him, only to have him die next to me moments later.
I could feel the pressure building on me, just as it had on Sandra. We’d both narrowly escaped the bombing, and now this. How long could our luck hold out? It was a very scary thought.
There were a half-dozen guys at the foot of the stage, too, calling for me. I got Lidia and a couple of the uniforms to help me, and we corralled them into a line, and I sat in a folding chair at ground level and pulled out a notebook. Each guy seemed to have a different piece of information. A tall man, shorter than average, heavyset, no-gym build, no-swimmer’s build, dark hair, blond, unshaven, a goatee. No one had actually seen the shot, but they’d all looked around in the vicinity where the shot had come from.
It took about half an hour to get through them all. I took their names and phone numbers, though one guy said the only way I could contact him was through his post office box. “Sorry,” he said, holding up the hand that held his wedding ring.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s cool that you were willing to come up here and talk to me.” Once the line was clear the uniforms left and the crowd started to disperse. I put my head down in my hands, trying to concentrate. Was there anything else I ought to do?
“How’re you doing?”
Mike pulled a chair next to me, sat down, and put his arm around me.
“I’ll be okay. Anyway, there’s a lot of people around. Somebody might recognize you.”
“I don’t give a shit about what anybody else thinks.” He kissed my forehead, and then hugged me tight, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I let out everything I was feeling about my brushes with death, my father being sick, Uncle Chin’s death and Jimmy’s disappearance, my frustrations at not catching the bomber, how I felt about all of us unable to live our lives without fear. I cried, and Mike held me.
When I looked up most of the crowd had gone and the two of us were sitting in a big open space. “I have a small piece of good news for you,” Mike said, as I wiped my face with my hand. “I saw your shooter. Haole woman in a black t-shirt, black running shorts, white sneakers. Short dark hair.”
“You did?”
“I ran after her, but she had an accomplice driving a black Toyota Camry, which slowed as it passed her, and she jumped in. They ran a red light on Kuhio and I lost them.”
“Did you get a plate number?”
He shook his head. “Only a partial. The first three digits were
HXM.”
“It’s a start.” I stood up, blew my nose. “A woman shooter? You’re sure?”
“Yup.” He smiled at me. “I do know the difference, you know.”
“Come on, show me where you were when you heard the shot.”
By the time Mike and I were finished, dark had fallen over Waikiki. I spoke to Lieutenant Sampson and filled him in with what I knew, and then Mike and I went back to my apartment.
“Won’t your mom and dad worry if they don’t see your truck in the driveway?” I asked.
He shrugged. “They’ve gotten used to me getting called out at strange hours to go investigate fires,” he said. “I always call them to let them know I’ll be out.”