her teeth in, and donned an elegantly coiffed white wig. There was red powder on her cheeks, and she wore a smart black business suit with a white blouse, open at the neck.
“Now, how can I help you, detectives?” she asked.
“We wanted to ask you about the Golden Needles Acupuncture Clinic,” I said. “You know it burned last week?”
She nodded. “We had already closed a few days before the fire.”
“Why did you close?” I asked. “Not enough people needing acupuncture?”
She laughed. “Oh, detective. We didn’t do acupuncture there, despite the sign out front. Since I am no longer employed there I feel free to tell you that personal services were provided to discreet gentlemen.”
“Prostitution,” Ray said. He and I looked at each other. So we’d been on the wrong track; it wasn’t gambling that the other tenants had been hinting about.
“What an awful word. So unsavory, isn’t it? Not that I participated myself, you understand. I am a little past my prime.”
“Why did you close?”
“It was a business decision made by my ex-employer.”
“Mr. Hu?” I asked.
Norma looked surprised. “Yes, that is the name I knew him by. But I doubt that is the name he was born with.”
“You and I first met about two years ago, isn’t that right?” I asked. “You were working at a lingerie shop. Just a few blocks from here, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“That building burned, too,” I said. “Interesting, isn’t it? You worked at two places that both burned under suspicious circumstances.”
“I had nothing to do with either fire.”
I pulled out Mike’s list of suspicious fires. “A massage parlor in Waikele, a quick mart in Kaneohe, a coffee shop near the airport, and a Christian religious shop downtown. All of them burned. If I check your employment records, will I find that you worked at any of those places?”
Norma sat up very straight. “You can accuse me all you want, detective. But I am an innocent woman.”
“I know that you know something, Norma,” I said. “And I want to know what it is. What happened after Tommy Pang died? Who took over the lingerie shop?”
I saw Norma consider her options for a minute. I knew from Aunt Mei-Mei that Norma was angry; I figured if I just asked the right questions, she’d open up.
“For a long time, I didn’t know who the new owner was,” she said, having made her decision. “Everything went along. Then Mr. Hu called one day. He informed me that we were closing down, and that I should move everything to Waikele.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not following,” Ray said. “This lingerie shop-did you provide the same kind of services there that you did at the acupuncture clinic?”
Norma looked at Ray the way a teacher might smile at a prized pupil. “You are following everything just fine, detective.”
“Did Mr. Hu give you any reason for the move?” I asked.
“He said something about his arrangements with the police changing,” Norma said. “I resisted, because I didn’t want to go all the way to Waikele. I am an old woman, you know, and I do not drive. It was very inconvenient for me.”
“And what did Mr. Hu say?”
“He told me that I was welcome to stay in the shop, if I wished. But it might get very warm for me.”
“So you found your way to Waikele,” I said.
“A car and driver is expensive,” Norma said. “But better than the alternative.”
“Why did the massage parlor close?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I am just an old woman. I do what I am told.”
“From Waikele, you went to St. Louis Heights?” I asked.
“That is true.”
“Did you know why the acupuncture clinic closed?” Ray asked.
“Mr. Hu did not say. But I had my suspicions.”
“What were they?” I asked.
“A young boy,” she said. “One of our employees. He ran away, and Mr. Hu was afraid he would compromise our operation.”
“Jingtao?”
Norma looked surprised. “So he did go to the police.”
I shook my head. “He was hiding at the far end of the center, in the back of the beauty salon. He never spoke to the police. He was killed in the fire.”
Norma looked sad. “He was a beautiful boy. Very much in demand. But very unhappy inside.”
“You have a new location?” Ray asked.
“As I told you earlier, I have been informed that my services are no longer needed.”
“How can we get in touch with Mr. Hu?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I do not know. The number I had for him has been disconnected.” But she smiled slyly. “But I know someone who might be able to help you. Her name is Treasure Chen.”
I finally made the connection. Treasure had been Tommy Pang’s girlfriend, and she had worked with Norma at the lingerie shop.
“The girl the pharmacist spoke about,” Ray said.
I grimaced. If I’d only made the connection to the name the pharmacist had given us, we could have moved a lot faster.
“He did more than speak,” Norma said. “Though he was always worried that his wife would find out.”
“Where can we find Treasure Chen?” I asked.
“I do not know. But when you find her, I have a message for her.”
“Yes?”
Norma spit, more sound than saliva, and wiped her hands briskly. “That is my message for Treasure Chen.”
ANGRY LOBSTERS
We left Norma a few minutes later, after she told us that Treasure’s phone number was unlisted and she didn’t know where the girl lived. “We can check payroll tax records,” Ray suggested. “There might be an address for Treasure Chen there. You know anything about this Mr. Hu besides his address and last name?”
I shook my head. “That was part of the deal. Control. He contacted me; I never knew how to reach him. But I might have another way to get to Treasure.” It was almost lunchtime, and I told Ray to drive over to Ward Warehouse, a complex of shops between downtown and Waikiki. “After she left the lingerie shop, her boyfriend got Treasure a job as the hostess at a restaurant called the Lobster Garden. Maybe somebody there has kept in touch with her, or has an old address we can start with.”
The Ward Warehouse was a mini-mall, two long lines of stores facing each other on two levels with parking in the middle. To me, it’s one of the least attractive shopping centers on the island, because it looks like a child’s play set-girders bolted together, corrugated metal sheets painted clashing colors.
The Lobster Garden was a festive place on the upper level, decorated with framed Chinese calligraphy and red paper lanterns, and it was usually full of tourist families resting after a day’s trek to Pearl Harbor, Diamond Head, or Hilo Hattie’s aloha shirt factory store. The centerpiece of the restaurant was a huge fish tank filled with live lobsters, their claws banded together. I empathized with them; I felt like this case had my hands tied in the same way.
The woman behind the podium was in her mid-forties, and the frown on her face contrasted sharply with the
