“What is it you want to know?”
“Are you familiar with a farm up in the highlands called Pupukea Plantation?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you run worship services up there occasionally?”
White looked confused. “Oh, that place,” he said. “I get mixed up with these Hawaiian names. Everything sounds so similar. Yes, we’ve had services up there several times.”
“In your visits out there, have you ever spoken with an individual named Ed Baines?”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You’re sure, are you?”
White nodded.
“Because, see, the thing is, he says he knows you. He says you hired him to put some horse manure into paper bags and then throw it all over the sidewalk in front of an office building downtown.”
I watched as White’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, that. A little harmless mischief. I wouldn’t exactly say I hired him. He’s a strong supporter of our church and our causes, you know, and we were talking about things that people do now and then. I didn’t think he was actually going to do it.”
I blew a little air out through my lips in a derogatory way. “Not even when you offered him a thousand dollars? How about when you paid him the money, Mr. White? Did you think he actually did it then? Or do you just spread that kind of money around without thinking?”
“You’re a homosexual, aren’t you, detective? I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Did the money you gave him come from the Sandwich Islands Trust?” I asked. “Because if it did you’re not getting any more money from them.”
Beads of sweat appeared on White’s forehead. “I’m not saying anything further. I want a lawyer present.”
“That’s your call.” I pulled the card out of my wallet and read him his rights. “Do you understand these rights that I have explained to you?”
“I understand them.”
“Good.” I stood up. “Then we won’t take any more of your time right now, but I suggest you engage the services of an attorney, if you so desire. We’ll be back, with more questions.”
“Why the hell are you investigating this nonsense?” he asked. “The city pays you top dollar, I’m sure, what with all your press exposure. All that just to chase around a little fag-bashing incident?”
“We hardly consider homicide a little fag-bashing incident.” I noticed his face went several shades paler. “Especially since to my knowledge the victim was an avowed heterosexual.”
“Victim? What victim?”
“Vice Mayor Wilson Shira.” I paused to let the name sink in. “Come on, Mr. White, you gotta keep up with the news. A couple hours after Ed Baines threw that horseshit, the building blew up and Wilson Shira turned into a crispy critter.”
“You don’t think…”
“The city doesn’t pay me to think. They pay me to investigate. And when I find you paid one guy to throw some horseshit at the place, it’s not a big leap to consider you might have paid somebody else to plant a bomb there.” I looked down at him, still sitting at his desk. “Or planted it yourself.”
Mike and I left White to stew over those questions. We walked down the shopping center sidewalk to the news stand and picked up a copy of the Advertiser, then went into the Chinese restaurant at the far end to grab some lunch and check for articles on the case. An editorial columnist had written about public officials who placed themselves in personal danger, and there was an article on Charlie Stahl’s life and legacy. He had contributed hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years to liberal causes, and there were quotes from various civic leaders praising him. I wondered if they knew he was, as Gunter had called him, a notorious leather queen. Would that have made a difference in how they treated him? Probably not, as long as he was rich.
“What do you know about this minister?” Mike asked.
I told him what Harry had discovered, that the woman he was representing as his wife was actually his sister. “And they think we’re kinky,” he said.
“I talked to her when I was canvassing in Makiki.” And then it hit me, so much that my mouth dropped open and Mike must have thought I was having a fit or something.
“Kimo? You okay?”
“They live in Makiki,” I said.
“Yes. Lots of people do.”
“Down the street from the homeless man who was killed the day I first saw you at headquarters.”
“Yes, you said you met them when you were canvassing.”
“And did I tell you about the ballistics match?”
He shook his head. “The same gun was used on the homeless man, the chicken, and Charlie Stahl.”
“Whoa.”
“Exactly. This is what I can use to tie together the two cases.”
“But how can you tie them to the Whites without a smoking gun, to coin a phrase?”
I frowned. I knew I’d need something concrete to get a judge to sign a warrant. I could tie the two murders together, and I could tie Charlie Stahl’s death to the bombing at the Marriage Project offices, and I could identify the Whites and their church as opponents of gay marriage.
But the only concrete evidence was Ed Baines’s fingerprint on the paper bag, and his statement that Jeff White had hired him to throw the shit bombs. And that didn’t tie to anything else, except in a circumstantial way.
“This case is making me crazy,” I said. “I know that the pieces fit together but I just need one more to make the puzzle show enough to get the warrant.”
We stood up to go, and I saw an elderly man walking by with a cane, a stout younger man, probably a son, helping him. “Shit. I ought to call my house. See how my dad is.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed as Mike and I walked to my truck.
My mother answered. She said everything was fine, and wanted to make sure that I would be at Uncle Chin’s wake the next day.
“I will be.”
“Did you find anything more about that boy?” she asked. “Aunt Mei-Mei keeps asking about him. The boy who was staying there.”
“No. A friend and I went out last night, but we didn’t see him. I’ll keep looking.”
“You think he had anything to do with your uncle’s death?” Mike asked when I’d hung up. We stopped next to my truck, and I could see his, the one with the flames painted down the side, a few feet away.
I told him about my call from Akoni. “It should make everybody feel better, except I know Aunt Mei-Mei is just gonna worry more about Jimmy, knowing he’s innocent and yet he still felt like he had to run away.”
SEARCH WARRANT
Mike went off write up his conclusions about the home fire in Mo’ili’ili, and I went back to the station. By the end of my shift, I still hadn’t come up with that one piece of evidence that would tie the Whites to the bombing or the shootings.
I went in to Lieutenant Sampson’s office and told him everything I knew. The ATF and FBI hadn’t come up with anything more out of their investigation of the bombing wreckage, and Harry was still working on converting the state license plate database into a format that he could sort. After all the research I’d looked through, the only religious group that made me suspicious was the Church of Adam and Eve, but I didn’t have anything I could take to a judge.
“You have a partial plate, right?” Sampson asked. “And you think that the Whites are involved. Have you checked their DMV records?”
“The network is down right now,” I said. “As soon as it comes up, I’ll check.”
“How about a lineup? If one of your witnesses can place this White guy at the Marriage Project office, you could get a warrant based on that.”
“Funny,” I said. “Usually we say ‘haole’ when we mean white guy.”
Sampson wasn’t laughing.
“A lineup is a good idea,” I said. “White said he was going to hire an attorney, so it may take a day or two to organize. I’ll get things started.” I began to wonder where I could round up a group of haole guys who looked like Jeff White, and remembered Eli Harding. “Did you talk to Kitty about the picnic?”