Apparently the body had been buried, at the far end of the park near the Dillingham Fountain, and recent wind and rain had uncovered it. We waited for the coroner to come out and take the body away, but it was clear we wouldn’t have much to investigate until Doc had a chance to do some analysis.
The girl whose dog had discovered the body was pretty upset, and we took a statement from her there, along with all her information, in case we needed to get back to her. “Dis one not get solved,” Akoni said. “Not without lucky break.”
“No argument from me, brah,” I said. We couldn’t even search missing persons reports back at the station until we found out if the body was male or female and got a race and approximate age. This one certainly wasn’t getting solved quickly, probably further adding to Lieutenant Yumuri’s unhappiness with us.
GIRAFFE
We didn’t even bother to go back to the station, but instead headed over to the DA’s office to go over the evidence we had collected on Tommy Pang’s murder. When we arrived, the receptionist told us Ms. Kaneahe was waiting for us in her office.
Peggy had met Akoni a couple of times. The three of us shook hands, and then he and I sat down in old-fashioned wooden chairs across from her desk. The room was spare and professional-a bookcase filled with impressive legal volumes took up one whole wall, and the other was decorated only with Peggy’s framed diplomas, including one from Punahou. There was nothing personal about the room, no knickknacks or photos on the desk, no attempt made to overcome the institutional sterility of the bland white walls and lay-in acoustic tile ceiling. I wondered how she could spend every day there. I’d have gone crazy before my first coffee break.
“Why don’t you tell me about the case in your own words.”
I looked to Akoni, but Peggy said, “No, you first, Kimo. Since you seem to play a larger than usual role in this case.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said. “It started the night that black tar bust failed.” I told her about drinking with the other cops, and then going to the Rod and Reel.
“So you weren’t just in some bar in the neighborhood, you were in that bar,” she said. “I don’t understand. What were you doing there?”
I should have told her then, but I knew it was something I had to talk to her about in private, as a personal thing, nothing related to work. “You know we’ve had a number of gay bashings outside that club over the last few months. I guess I had a couple of beers, and I got to thinking of myself as a neighborhood cop. The place is only a few blocks from my apartment, you know. So I decided I would stop by there on my way home, make sure everything was all right. I had another beer, and saw that things were fine.”
I looked at Akoni, but he was very carefully staring at the wall of Peggy’s diplomas. “I was about to leave when a guy came up to me.” I told her about the giraffe, about leaving the club and standing in the alley, seeing the guy drag Tommy’s body. How I’d called 911, and then gone home.
It made me feel worse every time I had to tell it. There was no way to explain how desperate I’d been feeling, how every instinct I had said get out of there. In retrospect, I wished I’d never touched Tommy Pang’s body, never called 911, just run the minute I heard something being dragged down the alley. But that would have been even more wrong.
Peggy didn’t say anything, so I continued. I told her about our fruitless attempts to tie in Tommy’s tong connections, and about retrieving his jewelry from Lucky Lou. “The man Lou described might be a cop,” I said. “Derek and Wayne told us, that Tommy had a cop on his payroll, that the cop had been there that night.”
“You have any ideas who that cop might be?”
“We’ve been doing some research,” I said. “But I don’t want to say anything until we have some proof. I’m sure you can understand how damaging it could be to an innocent man’s reputation if we’re wrong.”
“You’ve got to wrap this one up quickly,” Peggy said. “You know your lieutenant isn’t happy with your progress, and neither is my boss. But first you’ve got a problem. If you find a suspect, you’re the only one who can tie him to that truck, that alley, that time of night,” Peggy said. “You’re also the investigating detective. Not very convincing.”
“How do we make it convincing?” Akoni asked.
Peggy kept looking at me. “We have to independently establish your presence at that bar, that night, at that time. We’ve got a recording of the 911 call; we’ll try to do a voice print and prove you made it. Now go on. What happened the next day?”
I explained about going surfing, and she frowned. I’d broken many dates with her when we were in high school because I was out on the waves and lost track of time. Akoni started then, telling her about the crime scene, and then the two of us alternated describing the rest of our progress.
“At least your investigation is well-documented,” she said at last, throwing us a little bone. She directed us to go back to the Rod and Reel and see if we could find the giraffe, get him to sign an affidavit that he’d seen me at the club that night. “And I don’t want you going alone, or acting like some neighborhood Rambo either,” she said. She turned to Akoni. “Detective, I expect that any reports will read you were there, too. You’re in this almost as deep as Kimo is.”
“Understood,” Akoni said.
“I could do it myself easier. We have no idea when this guy will be back at the club, if ever. I live nearby, so I can stop in randomly. That’s a big imposition on Akoni.”
“It’s his job.” Peggy gave us a short lecture about minimizing personal connections with cases. “You should have stepped away as soon as you recognized the scene,” she said. “That was what, your third or fourth mistake on this case?”
I told her I got the message.
She closed the folder on her desk and put it to the side, in a neat pile of similar ones. I could see that the seeds of her personality had been there even back in high school, when her textbooks were crisply covered in brown paper, her penmanship perfect and her locker always tidy. We shook hands on the way out, and she said she’d call me.
Akoni waited until we were out of the building to ask, “When you want to go back, look for this guy who blew in your ear?”
“We could try happy hour again.”
Akoni shrugged. “You’re starting to like this part of the investigation aren’t you?”
“Hey, you got the lingerie shop. I get the gay bar.”
At the Rod and Reel Club, Fred the bartender was on duty again. “I’m trying to track a guy I saw here two weeks ago. About six-two, really thin, blond hair shaved down to a stubble. You recognize him?”
“Sure, Gunter,” he said. “Comes here two or three times a week, usually late, after eleven or so. I think he works a late shift somewhere. What do you want with Gunter?”
“Just want to ask him a question or two,” I said. “He didn’t do anything. I talked to him two weeks ago, and I just want to see if he remembers.”
“Gunter talks to a lot of guys,” Fred said, laughing. “Some of them talk back. You didn’t talk back, he might not remember you.”
“Gee, and I thought I was unforgettable.”
Fred said, “Maybe to some,” and looked me straight in the eye.
I said, “Mahalo,” and took a pair of Big Wave Golden Ales out to Akoni on the patio, flattered and smiling.
“I guess we’ll have to come back later,” I said, explaining about Gunter.
“Just what I wanted to do,” Akoni grumbled. “I better call Mealoha.” He stood up. “Don’t let anybody take that beer. I’m going to need a few more before this evening’s over.”