Do you have any evidence-I mean, beyond the bracelet?”
She shook her head. “I was hoping you could help me find out. Unofficially, of course. Then I could confront him and make him stop.”
“This is a bad idea, Terri. Remember, I’m a cop too. If I find evidence of a crime, I’m morally obligated to report it. That would mean I’d be snitching on a fellow cop, which is one of the worst things a cop can do.”
“I didn’t realize it would put you in such a bad position.”
“If you have suspicions about Evan, you need to talk to him about them.”
“I can’t, not without evidence,” she said. “What if I’m wrong? What if there’s a logical explanation for this?” She waved the bracelet at me again.
I drank the last of my scotch and she offered me another. While she fixed it I tried to think about what she should do. When she handed the glass back to me I said, “I’m no expert on relationships between husbands and wives, but it seems to me you guys need to talk to each other more. You have to find some way to tell him you don’t want the bracelet, and get him to take it back.”
“It’s not just the bracelet. It’s a lot of little things. We’ll go to dinner, and Evan will insist on an expensive restaurant. Then he’ll pay the bill in cash. Or he’ll bring me flowers from a fancy store and I’ll never see the bill. He’s getting extra money from somewhere, and I’m so scared I don’t know what to do about it.” She started to cry a little, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“I can’t do anything for you, Terri. Officially or unofficially. It’s not unheard of for cops to be on the take. Evan’s a prime candidate, living like this on his salary. It’s got to make him feel bad. You don’t want to have to move out to a duplex in ’Aiea just to be able to live on a cop’s salary, not when you don’t have to. But let’s face it, you’re accustomed to living well, and Evan is going to do whatever he can to make you happy. If he thinks you want a richer husband, he’ll try and make himself that person.”
“Mommy?”
We were both startled. We turned simultaneously and saw Danny standing at the edge of the living room in his pajamas. “Can I have a glass of water?”
“Of course, darling.” She stuffed the tissue in the pocket of her dress and stood up. “You remember Uncle Kimo, don’t you?”
Danny nodded. I usually got out to Terri and Evan’s every couple of months, and Danny and I always spent a little time hanging out. Like my nieces and nephews, and most of the island kids, he was mad for pogs-paper disks that originally came from milk bottles, but now were given out by every island business as a promotional tool. Kids loved to flip them, trading them back and forth based on how they landed.
“I’ll let myself out,” I said. “I wish I could do more for you.”
“I understand.”
I stood in the velvety darkness of her driveway for a minute before getting into my truck. Looking out toward the ocean, I could see the vast compass of stars. There was a slight scent of jasmine and new-cut grass in the air, and I could hear distant traffic and the slight rustle of a lizard in the underbrush.
There are always days like this, but that doesn’t make them any easier. I couldn’t help Tommy Pang, and I couldn’t help Terri Gonsalves or her husband Evan, a nice guy who had probably already started down the wrong road. Hell, who was I kidding? I couldn’t even face my own demons, no less help someone else with hers.
I got into my truck and drove back to Waikiki.
LINGERIE AND GENTLEMEN’S ITEMS
Tuesday morning, Lieutenant Yumuri called Akoni and me both into his office. He’s full Japanese, only about five-seven, and all business. “Where are we on this murder?” he asked.
We gave him the rundown, walking through everything we had done, the interviews, the tong research, the discovery of the murder weapon. We told him our plan to start tracking down the people in Tommy’s address book that day.
“You’ve done all that, but you don’t have any suspects?” he asked. “Go back to investigation 101, gentlemen. Who benefits from the crime?”
Akoni and I looked at each other. I said, “The wife inherits everything. But I’ll bet the son and his boyfriend take over the Rod and Reel Club.”
“Boyfriend?” Yumuri asked. “Figures. The guy was found behind a fag bar, after all. Those queens are always mixing it up, sticking bottles up their boyfriends’ butts, clawing each other with their fingernails.” He made a limp- wristed gesture.
Yumuri had been a homophobe as long as I’d worked for him, but it hadn’t bothered me before. I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t dare look at Akoni either.
Yumuri thought for a minute. “You’re doing good,” he said, finally. “Wrap it up as soon as you can. Murders are bad for tourism, you know. If we let this go I’ll have every hotel manager on Waikiki on my back.”
Akoni and I went back to our desks. “Let’s take a look at that address book,” he said, and I pulled out the printouts. There were records on a couple of businesses Tommy owned besides the Rod and Reel Club, including a lingerie shop in Chinatown that we were pretty sure was a front for prostitution. Live models would stroll around the store in their underwear, and for a fee you could take one into a back room and examine the merchandise more closely. Vice had closed the place down once or twice but they hadn’t been able to make any charges stick.
He also owned a pack and ship place that specialized in sending goods to and from mainland China. They did a big business in relocation of ancestral bones, and it seemed like it was all legit. Chinese have a big thing for ancestor worship, and it’s important that the graves of their dead relatives be maintained properly, that the right prayers are said and the right offerings made. As Chinese emigres become successful and settled in the US, one of the things they do is arrange for the remains of their ancestors to be brought to the US for re-interment, where they can visit more frequently, and don’t have to depend on a Communist government that might interfere with their observances.
“I’d say these two places give us a good head start,” Akoni said. “Which one you want to start with?”
We decided to do some more research before calling anybody. I gave him the lingerie shop and took the pack and ship for myself, and we spent the time until lunch on the phone, finding out as much information as we could on Tommy Pang’s business life. Akoni made an appointment for us to go out to the lingerie shop and interview the manager, so we decided to get lunch in Chinatown. We found a parking space on Pauahi Street, named for one of the royal families of Hawai’i, and ended up eating at a place on North King across the street from the lingerie shop, called Sally’s.
“They have nice stuff over that place across the street?” Akoni asked the waiter as he delivered our kung pao chicken. “I need a present for my wife.”
The waiter leered. “Very nice stuff.” He made curving motions with his hands. “You like very much.”
“Me, I’m not married,” I said to the waiter. “They have pretty girls that work there? Maybe I can get one to go out with me.”
He shook his head. “They no go out.” Then he broke into a wide grin. “They have rooms in back, no need go anywhere else. You like,” he said, nodding. “You like very much.”
The waiter went back into the kitchen and Akoni looked at me. “You’re still interested in girls?”
I gave him a look. “And you’re really going to buy something there for Mealoha.”
“I might,” he said defensively, and turned his attention to his chicken.
When I was a kid, I remember Chinatown was a lively neighborhood, full of colorful groceries, lei shops and dark little restaurants and bars. Now, though, it was pretty dismal. The streets were dirty, with old soda cans, shriveled dog turds and shreds of newspaper rustling in the wind. Most of the storefronts were shuttered and many were scrawled with graffiti, and there was nothing much Chinese about it.
There were still a bunch of lei stores on South Beretania amp; Maunakea Streets, but they’re tiny rooms with folding shutters or rolling grills, and the leis were all behind glass refrigerator cases. You could walk past and only smell car exhaust and fried oil, not a single flower. North King was the only street with any life on it-groceries with tubs spilling out to the street, stacked with garlic, ginger, hard-boiled eggs, and packages of dried mushrooms, noodles, and soy sauce.
