“You’re also looking for incendiary materials?” the judge asked.
Mike spoke up. “We believe that the homicide of Mr. Stahl is linked to the bombing that killed Vice Mayor Shira. Because of Mr. Stahl’s connection to the Hawai’i Marriage Project and the context of his murder.”
“Somebody really doesn’t like the Project,” I said. “It’s our hypothesis that Mr. Stahl was killed in an effort to keep the Project from reopening.”
“That’s a pretty big leap, Detective,” the judge said. “And how do you connect Mr. Stahl’s murder to Mr. Mura’s?”
“I can’t answer every question without the results of the search,” I said. “If this Mr. White was involved in planning or carrying out the bombing, it’s possible that Mr. Mura, his neighbor, witnessed something that caused Mr. White to kill him.”
Judge Yamanaka looked from me to Mike, and back to me again. He sighed. “All right, I’ll grant you the warrant. But I’m warning you, this had better be more than just a fishing expedition.”
“It’s more than that, Judge,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
I called Lieutenant Sampson as soon as we left the judge’s chambers, and he arranged to meet us a couple of blocks from the address in Makiki with a squad of plainclothesmen. When we pulled up he was standing outside his car looking grim. “I did a pass by,” he said. “There’s one car in the driveway.”
“One of the vehicles we’re authorized to search?”
He shook his head. “No. My daughter’s. I went to her apartment this morning, but she was already gone. Did she say that she was going out with these people as well as the others?”
“Not to me. I never would have let her go, knowing what we know about the Whites.”
“I’m holding you responsible.” He pointed an accusing finger at me. “I want my daughter back, safe. Otherwise there’s going to be hell to pay.”
“I know,” I said. Somehow I’d known it all along.
We prepared to move in. Sampson insisted on taking the lead; after all, Kitty was his daughter. Mike and I followed behind him, guns drawn and ready. “Open up, it’s the police,” he shouted, after knocking loudly. “We have a search warrant.”
There was no response. “There’s nobody home,” a voice said. I turned and saw it was Jerry the cabinet maker. I’d forgotten he lived next door. He was standing on his front porch looking at us. “They left about an hour ago. Both of them, her in her car and him in his truck. She had another woman with her, the woman who drove over in that car.” He pointed to Kitty’s, and started walking toward us. “Then he came back, just for a few minutes, and put a bunch of stuff in the back of his truck.”
“Was he alone?” I asked.
“No, there was somebody with him, looked like a teenager. Funny hair. Looked like a Chinese kid, but with blonde hair pulled up like a Mohawk.”
A Chinese kid with a blonde Mohawk. That sounded like Jimmy Ah Wong. My mind raced ahead, making connections. I knew that Jimmy had been working the streets, and I’d seen Jeff White cruising Kalakaua as if he was looking to pick somebody up. Did White know Jimmy?
“If I showed you a picture of a kid, do you think you could ID him?” I asked.
Bosk shook his head. “He didn’t get out of the truck at all.” Jerry came to the low hedge that separated the two properties. He motioned me to come closer. “I think Mr. Whack Job was putting some guns in the back of the truck,” he said. “At least, one of the things he brought out looked a lot like a rifle.”
Lieutenant Sampson ordered uniforms to check out the perimeter of the property and report back in. “They have a shed in the back, too,” Jerry said. “You should check that too.”
“You said Mr. White came back,” I said. “How long ago was that?”
“Oh, you just missed him. Maybe ten minutes ago?”
“You have any idea where they were all going?” Sampson asked.
“We’re not exactly friendly,” Jerry said. “But I did see her, Sheila, carrying a picnic basket. And the girl with her had a couple of grocery bags.”
The uniforms reported in. They didn’t see anyone around the house, and no activity could be seen through the windows. “I don’t suppose you have a key to their house?” Sampson asked. When Jerry shook his head, Sampson directed a uniform to break the door down.
Mike and I were surveying the house when one of the uniforms radioed. “I think we found what you were looking for, out here in the shed.” We hurried out to where the uniform was standing in front of a small wooden shed, about eight feet on each side. He had cut a padlock off the door and turned on the lights inside.
We could both see that the room had been fitted out as some kind of laboratory. “Bingo,” Mike said.
We worked steadily, gathering evidence for several hours. In the meantime, Sampson had APBs broadcast for both of the Whites’ cars. He paced back and forth among us like a restless ghost, muttering aloud about terrorist bombers and headstrong kids. I looked at my watch and saw that Uncle Chin’s wake had been going on for hours.
I called my father and explained I was running late. “There are lots of people here,” he said. “But try and come over for a few minutes. I know Mei-Mei would appreciate it.”
“I’ll try. Tell her I’m sorry, will you?”
“She knows,” he said.
INCENSE BURNING
By two o’clock Thursday we had gathered as much evidence as we could from the house. When the technicians went back to headquarters to check fingerprint records, they dropped Mike at the fire department lab with all the incendiary materials. We didn’t find the small Smith and Wesson we believed had been used to kill Charlie Stahl and Hiroshi Mura, but it was obvious from the empty gun drawers that many weapons of various sizes were missing.
I told Lieutenant Sampson I wanted to stop by Uncle Chin’s house for the wake, promising I’d keep my cell phone turned on and handy, and he let me go. The narrow, curving streets of St. Louis Heights were chock-a-block with cars as I navigated my way there. Fortunately, a neighbor, Mr. Rodriguez, was out in his yard as I passed and he let me park in his driveway. As I walked down the hill toward the house, I saw a familiar face in one of the parked cars.
“Hey, brah,” I said, walking up to the passenger side of the car. “You checking out all the dangerous characters going into my uncle’s house?”
Akoni turned to me, a sheepish look on his face. “We’re just looking at tong members.”
“You got a problem with that, Kanapa’aka?” the man behind the wheel said.
I leaned down to look in at him. His name was Tony Lee, and all I knew about him was that he worked in Organized Crime. “Not at all,” I said. “You see anybody you don’t know, you can just ask me. I’ve got a couple of great-aunts you might not recognize.”
“Blow me,” Tony said.
“Hey, be careful what you say. I might just take you up on that someday.”
I saw Akoni trying to stifle a smile and stood up. Uncle Chin’s house and yard were full of people and it took me a while to say hello to everyone. There are very prescribed rites that take place when a person of Chinese descent dies, and even though he had a long criminal past, Uncle Chin was very traditional, and he was getting everything he was due.
When I saw the group of old men playing cards in the front courtyard, I realized that Aunt Mei-Mei had gone totally old school, and that Uncle Chin’s body had to be in the house, waiting for the funeral. The card players were there because the corpse had to be “guarded” while it was in the house, and gambling helped the “guards” pass the time. It was also said to make the mourners feel better-which I guessed was only true if you were winning.
A white cloth was across the doorway of the house, and a gong had been placed to the left. The wake had been going on since early that morning, and I figured that my family had been busy helping Aunt Mei-Mei prepare everything. A monk stood in the corner, his head shaved, wearing saffron robes and chanting Buddhist scriptures. The Chinese believe that the souls of the dead face many obstacles, torments, and even torture for the sins they have committed in life before they are allowed to take their place in the afterlife. The monk’s prayers, chanting and rituals were aimed to help smooth the passage of Uncle Chin’s soul into heaven. From what I knew of his life, he needed all the help he could get.