gentlemen. We have got to cooperate and stick together on this.”
“ I'll keep my hands on the table if you will,” Parry relented.
Scanlon at first said nothing, then frowned and said, “It becomes clearer the longer this thing goes on, Jim, that we need each other. To pool our resources.”
“ I realize that, Dave.”
“ Good… good…” Marshal, acting as referee, seemed delighted-missing something here, Jessica thought. There was bad blood between Jim Parry and Scanlon. She'd sensed it from the first moment she walked in, and now it was ripe and odorous.
“ Kaniola's facts are wrong and his story's full of shit, like you say, Scanlon, and I think most thinking people, white and Hawaiian alike, will see it for what it is.” Parry held tightly to a heavy paperweight in the likeness of a pair of handcuffs, squeezing hard as he spoke. Despite his words to the contrary, even the new girl on the block, Jessica Coran, knew that the newspaper story was partially accurate: that thanks to men like Scanlon at the top, the HPD nourished a certain amount of inbred prejudice against its own Hawaiian and minority cops, cops who'd been hired to fill quotas fifteen years before, cops who'd never see promotion in the ranks. Nor was Joe Kaniola far from the mark when he suggested that Scanlon's department wasn't pulling its weight in the investigation, that at best they'd fallen into familiar patterns of organizational behavior by arresting derelicts, the homeless, previously known sex offenders, all without the slightest clue as to who the Trade Winds Killer might be. She could almost hear Jim's seething thoughts below his painted smile: Hell, the HPD brass hadn't seen the strange pattern of disappearances of young women of Hawaiian and Oriental extraction over the past two years here in Oahu… nor the link with the missing Maui women before this.
Marshal cleared his throat and spoke up. “Jim, I've heard you call this killer the Cane Cutter, and now Kaniola himself says his favored instrument of death is a huge machete of the type used in cane cutting. We all know that information, leaked properly to the press, can lead to only one conclusion: that our killer is a field worker, one of them”
That information, thought Parry, had been confidential, held in abeyance for the day when a suspect could be brought in and presented with the facts, hopefully to press the man into a confession. Men were known to break during long interrogations when the interrogators had a series of facts in evidence that a killer could not ignore, facts which might cause a guilty man to gasp, fidget and raise an eyebrow. Interrogation only worked if the investigators could carefully walk a suspect along an inexorable path lined with the truth; only such overwhelming evidence might push a recalcitrant sociopath into a corner, awed by the light shone on his actions and secrets. A good interrogation meant laying out all the pieces of the case along the table, in full view of the suspect, like an archaeologist looking over the day's cache of relics and artifacts, but the artifacts of murder didn't lie silent on the table, at least not to the killer or the hunter who had cornered the killer; no, the artifacts of murder literally screamed out at them both.
Now the information regarding the killer's favored weapon, or at least what he'd used on Linda Kahala, was rendered weak and ineffectual by virtue of the fact it'd become part of the public domain, useless as an interrogation tool. Every madman in the city who chose to confess to the crimes could now state that he was the Cane Cutter, that he used a cane knife. Many would bring a weapon in, wasting hours of lab time in which each instrument had to be checked against Linda Kahala's wounds along the one arm.
At the moment, thanks to Kaniola, who no doubt believed in his heart that his news story could only help and never hinder the search for his son's killer, any nut with a big knife might walk into a station house and turn himself in.
Scanlon was right on this score. Joseph Kaniola's story ultimately meant more false leads, more trails to nowhere.
“ I didn't say a word about the weapon, Jim,” Dr. Coran swore.
“ Kaniola says the source of that information came from someone extremely close to the investigation, so if you didn't reveal the fact, who did?” Scanlon persisted.
Her eyes widened at the accusation, the fact the commissioner of police would not accept her word. “Dr. Marshal, here for one-”
Marshal was outraged at the suggestion, shouting, “You can't for a moment believe that I had any-”
“ Elwood Warner, the County M.E., any number of lab techs, cops and agents who are notorious gossips,” she continued, “and now Dr. Harold Shore, your own Oahu M.E.”
“ Dr. Shore? That's preposterous,” countered Marshal, defending the absent M.E.
“ He's been sitting up in his hospital bed, demanding the details of the autopsies done on Hilani and Kaniola, as well as the pathology workup on Kahala's arm. I submit to you, gentlemen, that all these people have had access to the information. Information leaks come from any number of directions and sources, and no one's more skillful in getting someone to verify suppositions and filling in half-truths than a crafty, experienced newsman like Kaniola.”
Parry mentally ran down the list of his agents, anyone remotely connected with the operation. Haley, Reno, Gagliano, Mr. Lau and his people in the labs. He also wondered about himself, if he'd foolishly left anything of a confidential nature lying about for the cleaning lady at the office to pick up. He wouldn't put it past Kaniola to use tabloid techniques to get a story and sell papers.
News leaked… as if it were obligated to. Especially in the case of a red-ball like this, especially in the fishbowl of an island community, with everyone's eye pressed against the glass. U.S. military brass was interested, the state, the county and the city of Oahu all wanted to know the latest yesterday, as did the State Department and D.C. It was the reason Paul Zanek was so free with advice and with Jessica Coran.
Now they could all read about it in the papers. Not altogether satisfied, Scanlon abruptly left while Dr. Marshal lingered behind. Jessica watched the officious military doctor step to the window and stare out at the mountain mosaic in the distance, patches of it cluttered by homes that seemed to creep ever closer to the summit each year.
“ I've lived here for nearly twenty years, Inspector, and in all that time I've never felt afraid.”
“ Afraid, sir?”
“ Never afraid of the volcanic activity, the occasional tropical storm or hurricane, the serpentine traffic, the congestion or the growing tourism… not even the worst backwater streets in the worst sections of the city ever really frightened me. But now… this… this scares me. Parry.” He turned from the window to emphasize his point, staring hard at the FBI bureau chief. “This city could go up in flames tomorrow. We all know that.”
Jessica stepped toward him and firmly said, “I understand your concerns, sir, but I assure you, we are doing everything within our power to bring an end to the killings.”
“ We need more, Parry. We need an arrest, a suspect, a…”
“ A scapegoat?” asked Parry.
“ It would take the heat off; give you room to, you know, maneuver, shall we say? Time to get at the root of the problem. I have it on good authority that the boyfriend of the latest victim has been under interrogation.”
Christ, thought Parry, how many eyes were watching the fishbowl? Marshal was an old man who had watched Honolulu grow, and he, like most haoles, had invested a great deal in real estate here.
“ I'm not prepared to arrest someone just to appease the likes of Joseph Kaniola or any other newsman, Doctor.”
“ No one's asking you to appease Kaniola.” He looked sternly into Parry's eyes, shocked that Parry didn't understand him. “But there are many who would be appeased by an arrest at this time.”
“ I'll let Scanlon do your dirty work for you. Dr. Marshal. The FBI doesn't knowingly make false arrests.”
“ I have friends in the State Department, Inspector, and you can be assured that everyone back home”- America was forever home to the older generation of whites in Hawaii-”everyone is watching this case with extreme curiosity and interest, I assure you.”
The veiled threat wasn't lost on Parry or Jessica. He'd only become bureau chief two years before, and a case such as this, left open too long, or worse, defying solution, could cost him dearly. Jessica guessed now that whatever people “back home”-no doubt senators, congressmen and other high-ranking officials- didn't know about the case, Dr. Marshal was only too happy to provide.
Parry, with obvious disdain, said, “I appreciate and understand the nature of your concern, Doctor, but please, leave the investigation to the experts. It's what we're here for.”
Marshal only stared for a long moment, Parry returning the cold glint until finally Marshal said, “Of course,
