We introduced ourselves, and he let us in the front and took us up to the second floor. “Miss Chen?” he said, knocking on the door. “Miss Chen, you in there?”
There was no answer-which didn’t necessarily mean that Treasure Chen was in the apartment and unable to answer. At least there were no visible pry marks. Viens opened the door and we walked in.
“Not much of a housekeeper, is she?” Ray asked. The living/dining room looked like somebody had gone through it in a hurry-papers, newspapers, cosmetics, and clothes scattered everywhere. The good news was that the place smelled like lilacs, courtesy of one of those plug-in air fresheners, rather than like a dead body.
Treasure’s bed was empty, and the bedroom and bathroom bore similar signs of a quick exit. “I’ll leave you to your business,” Viens said, and Ray and I spent the next hour or so going through what Treasure had left behind, looking for anything that might tell us where she’d gone.
There was precious little. I found the envelope from a greeting card in the bedroom wastebasket. The return address was “E. Chen,” with an address in Waikiki. “Maybe a relative?” I asked Ray.
“Could be.”
Treasure’s wardrobe was a lot like that of the girls in Makiki-slinky dresses and high-heeled shoes-though her underwear was much higher class. “Fancy stuff,” Ray said. “You know how much panties like this costs?”
He held up a pair trimmed in lace, with a pattern of roses. “I bet you’re going to tell me,” I said.
“Hundred bucks, easy. Julie likes this brand, but it’s not like she’s got a drawer full of it.”
“Too much information.”
“Hey, you’ve got your area of expertise, I’ve got mine. That’s why we make such a good partnership.”
We swung past E. Chen’s address in Waikiki on our way back to the station. It was a nondescript high-rise on Ala Wai Boulevard, just down the street from Harry’s. The doorman told us that E stood for Emerald, a very nice Chinese woman who worked in a bank, he thought. “Hold on,” he said. “I might have one of her cards here.”
He pulled a big book from underneath his desk. “Sometimes I have to get hold of a tenant at work,” he said, as he paged through it. “You know, leaky pipe, special delivery, that kind of thing. Yeah, here it is.”
He handed me a card. Emerald Chen was an executive vice president with China Trade Bank, with an address a couple of blocks from the Aloha Tower. At the luxurious building, we had to show our badges to a security guard in the marble lobby, who called upstairs and then directed us to the twenty-first floor.
The elevator doors opened to magnificent vista of Honolulu harbor, the autumn sunshine glistening off the water. A barge was navigating the Sand Point Channel, and a jet was landing on the reef runway at Honolulu International. Jake Shimabukuro was playing the ukulele softly over the sound system. A young Chinese man in a business suit approached us. “You’re here to see Ms. Chen?”
“That’s true,” I said. “Is she available?”
“Let me take you to her office.” We followed him down a hallway to a corner office with the same expansive view. Emerald Chen was somewhat older than I remembered Treasure, and not nearly as attractive. She was short and a little stocky, but her hair and makeup were immaculate and she wore a woman’s Rolex with diamond accents.
“How can I help you, detectives?” she asked, after we sat down across from her massive teak desk.
“Do you recognize this envelope?” I showed her the one I’d picked up in Treasure’s apartment.
“I thought you might be here about my sister,” she said, sighing. “She’s not in trouble again, is she?”
“I think she might be. Four of her business associates have been murdered in the last week, and we’re worried Treasure might be in danger.”
“What a charming euphemism. Business associates. I know what my sister did for a living, detective.”
“And what is that?” Ray asked.
“When Treasure graduated from high school, I offered to pay her tuition at any college, but she declined. She became a lingerie model, and for that you can read ‘high-class prostitute.’” She frowned. “After about six months, she found herself a rich criminal.”
“Tommy Pang,” I said.
“You knew him?”
I nodded. “I investigated his murder.”
“So you met my sister. She’s a beautiful woman, and smart enough to know how to use that beauty to get what she wants.”
“What happened to Treasure after Tommy Pang died?”
“She tried a few legitimate jobs. She was a restaurant hostess for a while, and she worked behind the makeup counter at Clark’s, then at a real estate company, selling time-shares. But she ran into a woman she’d known at the lingerie store and got drawn back into that business.”
“Norma Ching,” I said.
“You’ve done your homework, detective.”
“Someone shot and killed Norma Monday night. As well as two women who worked at the clinic with her and Treasure. We’re worried Treasure is either dead or on the run. Have you heard from her?”
Emerald Chen looked deflated, like she’d always expected the worst from her sister but still hoped for the best. “No, I haven’t. As you might guess, we’re not close. I’ve never approved of her lifestyle, and she’s rejected my efforts to help her.”
“She may not be in a position to reject you anymore,” I said. “If she contacts you, will you let us know?”
“Do you think my sister killed these women?”
I shook my head. “I think she discovered the two victims in Makiki, and she called 911. As you said, she’s a smart woman. She must have realized she was a target, and she took off. Do you have a current picture of Treasure? We could use one to help us look for her.”
She reached around behind her to a photo in a silver frame. “This was taken last year, at my grandfather’s birthday,” she said, handing it to me.
Treasure truly was a beautiful woman, a head taller than her older sister. There was a faint family resemblance between them-but in the photo they looked like a beauty queen and her chaperone. Treasure had a slim face, rounding to a narrow chin. Her cheeks were flat planes, and her eyebrows were carefully plucked. Her black hair was glossy and curled around her face.
“May we take this with us?” I asked.
Emerald nodded, and I slipped the photo out of its frame. Ray and I stood up. “Be careful, Miss Chen,” I said. “If someone wants to kill Treasure, you don’t want to be in the way.” We gave Emerald our cards and the young guy showed us back to the elevator.
“Can you find that picture my sister-in-law drew of Jingtao in the murder book?” I asked Ray as I pulled out of the office building’s garage. “I want to see if Dr. Phil recognizes him.”
“Dr. Phil your date?” Ray asked, opening the three-ring binder we kept all the information about the case in.
I told him about the boy who’d come to the ER. “They really ought to have stronger reporting requirements,” Ray said. “Here it is.”
“I’m with you, brah. But try convincing a bunch of hospital bureaucrats of that.”
I pulled up in a loading zone next to the ER and left Ray in the car. The Chinese triage nurse paged Dr. Phil, and I cooled my heals by her desk as she checked in a thirty-something guy bleeding from his forehead, an elderly woman who had broken her arm, and a baby with projectile vomiting. I was glad that I sucked in science so never considered a medical career.
It was about a half hour until Dr. Phil had a moment between patients.
“What’s up, Kimo?” he asked.
“You recognize this kid?” I showed him the sketch of Jingtao.
He looked at it and frowned, then motioned me off to the side, out of the nurse’s hearing. “Sorry, but a lot of Asians look alike to me. Haven’t been here in the islands long enough to start making distinctions.”
“You think anyone else might recognize him?”
“Worth a try.” He turned back to the nurse. “Xui Li, do you recognize this kid?”
She looked at the picture, then nodded. “Beautiful boy. Hard to forget. He was here what, two weeks ago? He was attacked, wasn’t he?”
“You think you can find his records?” I asked. “Dr. Phil said he was brought in by an older man?”
She shook her head. “Not without a subpoena. Hospital rules. But I can tell you I remember the man with him
