Twisted Vine Part 9

"Yeah. We have history-my dad killed the Chang family head in prison. Self-defense, but that didn't stop them from trying to take him out over the years-and one of their sons came after me too."

"Your life is kind of a crime soap opera, you know."

"I know, right?" She smiled at Ken. "Even though we scooped up a lot of organized crime connections in that big case on Maui, the Changs managed to wiggle out of any prosecution. I've been dreading a case that brings that old history out to bite my a.s.s, like this Kwon thing is threatening to."

"Nothing could be further from organized crime thugs specializing in gambling and drugs than an online suicide club. This case is a lot of things, but it's not dangerous to anyone but the already dying."

"I know. I'm just so freaked out about it all, with Kamuela breathing down my neck. Feels like those skeletons want to come out of the closet and dance. Wreck my career, wreck my life." Lei pinched her leg through her pants.

"I'll help you. We'll keep it on the down low. For all you know, it's a coincidence that your grandmother had the number in her belongings. That's all you know right now."

"You're right." Lei sighed. "I'm paranoid. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"I'm glad you told me. Imagine how much worse it would be if you had to keep sneaking around, lying to me while you tried to deal with it yourself."

"Stevens knows, but he can't help me over here." She reached over, touched his arm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I'm just glad you did. Big thing to carry and get through alone."

Lei felt affection suffuse her, an unfamiliar feeling that made her eyes p.r.i.c.kle with tears. She had people who loved her-and better yet, people she'd let herself love back. Ken had just joined that select group.

Back at the Bureau, Lei contacted Ang and the three of them converged on Waxman's office to brief him on the activities of the day. Lei looked out the window, where late-afternoon sun sparkled on the ocean and poufs of c.u.mulous cloud scudded across the bowl of sky. All of it was tinted gray by bulletproof gla.s.s. She couldn't stop her mind from wandering to the call she needed to make to Kamuela, how it could make her a suspect and stress her friendship with Marcella.

What a mess.

"Agent Texeira!" Waxman's voice snapped her head around. She'd tuned out Ang and Ken's summary of their findings so far. "What are your thoughts here?"

"The situations of the DyingFriends members we visited are terrible," Lei said, thinking fast. "The site seems to be providing some much-needed support and interaction for them. So far, no hint of any wrongdoing."

Ang cleared her throat. "Actually, while you guys were canva.s.sing, I was burrowing around in the site and planting suicidal threads under my ident.i.ty. I got a ping on it just before I came here. An e-mail from a masked location." She'd printed the e-mail and looked down to read it. "'Dear ShastaM, you have been invited to a deeper level of commitment and sharing on DyingFriends. If you accept this invitation, you commit to keep all interactions and communications confidential.'" Ang looked up. "I accepted. I'm waiting for a confirmation link that will take me into this deeper level. This could be the door we're looking for."

Lei didn't envy Ang her role impersonating a dying person, making virtual conversation and trying to lure the administrator out of the shadows-doing techie things on a computer all day. Once again she was glad of the diversity of roles within the FBI.

"Good." Waxman steepled his fingers, pale blue eyes tracking them. "So to summarize: We are looking for a group or individual practicing a.s.sisted suicide. The people who are partic.i.p.ating are so far already dying. Have you come across any garden-variety depressed people so far? Not dying?"

"No, sir. The ones we've visited so far were definitely dying," Lei said, remembering each face with a tiny internal shudder.

"I have come across people in the chat rooms who call themselves *existentially dying,'" Ang said. "The parameters of the site are such that actually having a life-endangering disease or condition is part of joining. But these people found a way around that. They have their own subgroups."

"Okay. So when I account to my district director, I know what he's going to ask me. Is this case the best use of the FBI's time and resources? Is there a crime worth pursuing, that we can prosecute, being committed by an individual or individuals we can bring to trial?" Waxman narrowed his eyes.

The three of them looked at one another. Ken finally answered. "This is going to be one of those shades-of-gray cases, sir. It's criminal to a.s.sist in another person's suicide as the law stands. In the case of Corby Hale, his death was at worst a murder and at least an unnecessary suicide. The boy had AIDS but could have lived a normal life span with proper care and medication, which his family would have provided. Alfred Shimaoka still had up to six months to live-granted, painful and unpleasant, but still life he was ent.i.tled to." Ken steepled his fingers, unconsciously imitating Waxman. "I don't think we have enough information yet to say if it's a good use of the FBI's time and resources. I do know that this is a case that crosses state lines, may have a ripple effect and cause other sites to spring up, and at least once has resulted in a premature or unnecessary death: Corby Alexander Hale the third, a senator's son."

Waxman smiled, sat back. "Good. I wanted to hear our rationale articulated. I think we need to get to the heart of this site, who's behind it-and that person or persons are whom we will bring to trial. Dismissed."

Out in the hall, Lei glanced at Ken, relieved the meeting was over but apprehensive about where she was going next-to meet Marcus Kamuela. "I'm going to take off a little early. Got some personal business."

"It's Friday, so I won't see you until Monday. Want me to come with you?" His eyes told her he knew what that business was.

"No, but thanks for asking. I'll call you."

Lei walked away and heard Ang. "What was that about?"

She didn't hear Ken answer, but she knew he'd keep her secret. That's what friends and partners did-and maybe someday she could add Sophie Ang to that handful of friends.

Chapter 14.

Lei had arranged to meet Kamuela at the dog park. Keiki was feeling frisky, at least as frisky as a middle-aged Rottweiler ever got. The sight of the big black dog lumbering and snorting with the tiny matching Chihuahua bouncing beside her as they played gave Lei a much-needed lift-that and looking out across the yellow arc of beach at the radiant sunset beginning, piercing the clouds over the ocean with golden arrow rays.

She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, did a couple of relaxation breaths, letting the freshness of a tiny breeze off the water ruffle the curls on her forehead, wicking the sweat from the run down off the mesh athletic shirt she wore. She longed for Stevens with a sudden hungry fierceness, wishing for his solid, calm strength beside her, his arms around her.

"Hey, Lei." Marcus Kamuela's deep voice. Her eyes snapped open. She sat upright as Marcella's boyfriend, with his intimidating physical presence, sat beside her on the bench. "You were a million miles away."

"Yeah, just thinking about our latest case," she lied, feeling her cheeks heat up with that awful blush she'd struggled with all her life. "Long day."

"Yeah, well, imagine being me at the scene of a homicide, picking up the vic's phone, calling the last number, and having it be you."

"Freaky it was a homicide." Lei's heart had jumped to trip-hammer speed. Stay calm, she reminded herself. You don't know anything yet. "I kind of freaked out talking to you today. I was in the middle of a witness interview when I took your call, and the personal business was throwing me off. I apologize for hanging up on you. I knew I needed to talk in person to explain."

Kamuela had a handsome Hawaiian face with cla.s.sic features: broad brow, wide nose, full chiseled lips. Those lips were set in a line, and there was another one between his angled black brows. He hunched big shoulders. "I'm meeting you here and not at the station because you're an FBI agent and a former cop and my girlfriend's best friend. I really don't want this to be something I have to bring you in for, but you hanging up on me didn't help."

"I know. So here's the deal." She sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, giving him a lot of eye contact. "My grandfather gave me a box of my grandmother's things last night. That number was written on the back of a fortune cookie slip. On impulse, I called it. I've been trying to find out more about her because she's dead and I never got to meet her."

"Fortune cookie," Marcus repeated, incredulity in his tone.

"Yeah." She'd brought the slip of paper, already in a small paper evidence bag. She handed it to him. "The number's in her handwriting. I included samples for a.n.a.lysis if you want that. Didn't seal the bag because I knew you'd want to look."

Marcus nodded. His big brown hands were gentle and deft as he slid the slip of paper out without touching it, held it by its sides, and read it. "Shape your destiny."

"I know, right? So it would really help me to know a little more about this strange man whose number my grandmother had."

He ignored this, setting the slip on the bench and easing the letters she'd included in the bag out as well, giving them a quick once-over. Lei had included letters with characters, English phrases, and even some numbers. "Looks the same. She j.a.panese?"

"Yes. Full blood. She's gone now, like I said."

"How did she die?"

"Heart attack, a year ago."

A long pause as he put the items back into the bag, still not touching them except by the edges, and folded down the top of the bag in a neat, ruler-straight line.

"I'll take these in," he said. They both looked at the sunset that had decided to go glorious, a Technicolor display of light and color against the purpling sky. Keiki and Angel belatedly realized their mistress had been approached by a stranger and bounded back, sniffing Kamuela thoroughly. As usual, Angel was the most suspicious, yapping. She looked like she was considering latching on to his ankle until Lei scooped her up and scolded her.

Finally the dogs took themselves off for more playing, and Kamuela turned to Lei. "So here's the weird thing, other than this bizarre situation. I think I solved my old homicide case. Remember that one a year ago?"

Lei kept her face blank. "We both have a lot of cases."

"Two years ago. Cold case. Charlie Kwon, child molester, shot dead in his apartment with a nine millimeter. This stiff we found today-his gun matches that bullet. Kwon and at least three other unsolved homicides. This guy was a professional, and someone offed him."

Lei had to lean down and tie her shoe because she felt the hot blush p.r.i.c.kling her chest at hearing Kwon's name. Thank G.o.d she was off the hook for his murder! She had to get better at subterfuge in her line of work. She wasn't that easily rattled anymore, but interviews didn't get more stressful than this one.

"That's a good day for you," she said to her toes, tying her other shoe. "So great when criminals off each other and save us taxpayer dollars."

"Yeah. Of course, I'm trying to solve the dead a.s.sa.s.sin's case, but even more stoked to cross off four cold ones. My closure rate just b.u.mped big-time."

She glanced at him, smiled. "Congrats."

"So what was your grandmother doing with a pro hitter's number on a fortune cookie slip in her box?"

"No idea," Lei said, and the blush that she'd just fought down surged up her neck. She jumped to her feet, dug a ball out of her pocket, and threw it for the dogs, who took off after it in a rush of excitement.

"You know something." Kamuela had not been distracted by her camouflage.

Lei considered her options. If he dug deeper and found a connection to her some other way, lying to him even by omission at this early stage would look even worse. Her career could be endangered by being formally interviewed in connection with multiple murders even if she was cleared.

"I do know something, but nothing about this guy whose number it was." She sat back down. "I know something about Charlie Kwon. You aren't recording this, are you? Because you better turn it off if you are."

"Holy c.r.a.p. You think I came to talk to you in a park wearing a wire?" He sounded outraged, his eyes wide and nostrils flared.

Lei squinted at him. "It's possible."

Kamuela ripped the subtly patterned aloha shirt he wore off over his head, holding it bunched in his fist. "No wire. I don't operate like that with my friends." Lei was a little alarmed by the expanse of broad, muscular brown chest. No wonder Marcella was looking so happy and distracted lately.

"I'm glad you called me a friend. And I'm sorry." Lei averted her gaze. She tried not to notice the other park visitors staring. Kamuela unb.u.t.toned the shirt and shrugged back into it. She did some relaxation breathing. "This is really hard for me. Personally and professionally. Marcella might have told you I had a rough childhood."

Kamuela seemed a little mollified as he finished b.u.t.toning up the shirt, a relief to her sensibilities. "She did. Said your dad was in the game and you grew up with an auntie because your mom died of an overdose."

"Yeah. So the reason my mom died was Charlie Kwon. He had a score to settle with my dad, targeted us when Dad was in prison. Raped me while he was manipulating my mom and feeding her drugs."

"d.a.m.n," Kamuela said. "He really deserved what he ended up getting."

Somehow she was able to glance at him with a bit of humor. "I know, right? I tracked him in prison, and right before I joined the FBI, I paid him a visit. I was in disguise. It didn't go like I'd hoped, with him being sorry for what he did. I clocked him with my weapon and left him alive."

"So that was the goose egg on the body's head."

"Yes. And I hope the ME could tell that happened several hours before he died."

No answer. Kamuela just stared at her, brown eyes inscrutable, the gaze of an investigator in "cop mode." She was very familiar with that look.

Lei hurried on. "So, anyway. I was horrified to see on the news that he'd been shot that night, and I've been trying to figure out who did it ever since. I hid my clothes, gloves, and wig in a safe place, and they will exonerate me-they don't have GSR." She didn't point out the obvious holes in this explanation. He would do that himself if he wanted to. "I want to help solve this, and that's why I'm telling you all I know. Coming clean. I hope we can figure it out, because I'm tired of living with this hanging over my head."

"G.o.d. Lei." He leaned back against the bench, rubbed his face. "I want to believe you. Abused by Kwon. s.h.i.t." His eyes narrowed. "But just because you didn't kill him yourself doesn't mean you didn't call a professional hitter who did. My dead guy from today. And the hitter's number written in your grandmother's handwriting doesn't mean a thing except that maybe she was the one to give it to you."

Lei felt her throat dry. She'd been so focused on the physical evidence connected to the visit she'd made to Kwon that she'd forgotten how this other connection, her number on the a.s.sa.s.sin's phone, would look.

"But I didn't," Lei whispered, and felt the blood drain from her head as his face telescoped into the distance, black encroaching from the sides of her vision. She felt despair swamp her. She'd thought these blackouts were over, and to have one in front of Kamuela felt like suicide.

Keiki's bulk leaned against her leg, a heavy, warm weight she could feel, anchoring her back in her body. The rasp of Angel's tiny tongue on her calf made the blackness recede.

"I didn't do it," Lei repeated. "And I didn't hire anyone to do it. I don't have a thing I can say or do to convince you. I know it looks bad."

A long moment. Kamuela was still looking at her as if searching inside her head. She'd just revealed everything to him, and she was vulnerable. The flow of blood under her skin-the flush when she lied, the ebb of it when she almost fainted with terror-were easy to read. Her demeanor could add up to her innocence or solidify her as his prime suspect.

His cell phone rang. "Kamuela here." A pause, and he stood up. "I'll be right there."

Kamuela holstered the phone, turned to her. "Caught a fresh one. I'll be in touch." He turned and loped away.

Relief warred with anxiety as Lei watched him go, the evidence bag in his hand.

Chapter 15.

Sophie had decided to just stay at work until she got tired. Not having her network at home had removed all interest in even going there. She'd gone earlier to the workout room, done an hour running on the treadmill, skipping rope, and doing free weights, then showered and changed into her "home" clothes, a racer-back tank and a pair of yoga pants. She sat upright on the large exercise ball and logged back in to DyingFriends.

The e-mail link to the "deeper level" on DyingFriends had finally arrived in her in-box and she clicked it, a smile of antic.i.p.ation tugging up one side of her mouth.

The next level opened to a portal where she had to read and agree to a nondisclosure clause and a "leave-no-footprint" policy in which she deleted her cookies nightly off her computer. She hit "agree" even as she kept a tracker program open in a window in the corner of her monitor.

After clicking the box, the next level of the site opened. A blog post greeted her, a treatise on right to death written by someone with the handle "KevorkianFan." It was the first open reference she'd come across to a.s.sisted suicide and the famous "Dr. Death" who'd battled hard for rights to death in the 1990s.

Tabbed down the side of the page were different forums, and she popped onto "Suicidal Thoughts." Browsing among the threads, she was glad that she hadn't had to go out with Lei and Ken to the canva.s.sing-it would have been very hard to put a face to the names and stories she was already finding heartrending.

ShastaM contributed some comments here about how bad her pain was and that she wanted to spare her children visits to the hospital as she died. The deeper level seemed to have shucked off trolls like CancerCurmudgeon with their antideath rhetoric. After an hour or two of exploring, she still had no way to track down the site admin.

She started a thread: "Whose brilliant idea is this? My dying wish: to meet the visionary behind the site! E-mail me!" She provided ShastaM's fake e-mail.

Almost immediately she was replied to by someone calling themself Lightbody: "It's dangerous for him to reveal himself. He doesn't contact you or anybody."

ShastaM: "I just want to thank him personally. What's the danger? I'm a dying single mom all by myself in Honolulu!" Sophie felt a little adrenaline boost at this bite from someone close to the fish she was after.

Lightbody: "There are close-minded people who would love to shut us down, and the greater good is served by having DyingFriends available to all who need its support."

ShastaM: "I don't get it. I just want to thank the site administrator. Surely someone is in charge here."