“Lapasa’s plane lands at two fifteen. Nickie’s driver will meet the flight and take Al from the airport to his attorney’s office.”
“Why not headquarters?”
“Nickie won’t go for that. Lo’s good with the arrangement. He thinks being dragged to a cop shop might cause Lapasa to shut down. Or bolt. Besides, Lo has insufficient grounds for arrest.”
“OK.”
“You’re to be present to scope the guy out.”
“Why me?”
“You’ve seen Xander Lapasa’s file and photos.”
“So have you.”
“You’re an anthropologist. And you live more than fifty miles away.”
I smiled at our old definition of an expert. Someone coming from afar and carrying a briefcase.
“You’ll be in the reception area so you can observe Al up close and personal when he arrives,” Danny continued. “Can you look litigious?”
“I’ll get coaching.”
“Al will be taken to a conference room and told that Nickie wants the meeting recorded. You and Lo will actually be observing.”
“Will Nickie be watching the interview?”
“No. He wants nothing to do with it. Think you can handle the part?”
“They’ll give me an Emmy.”
Lo called shortly thereafter, repeated the instructions, and invited Ryan to tag along.
The attorney, Simon Schoon, was a partner in a firm whose offices occupied the third floor of a modern brick building on Bishop Street, halfway between the Aloha Tower and Hawaii Pacific University.
Ryan and I got there at two. A receptionist greeted us in a marble-floored foyer, indicated chairs, nodded conspiratorially. She had gray eyes, overplucked brows, and the tightest French twist I’ve ever seen. A nameplate on her desk said Tina Frieboldt.
I picked up and pretended to read a copy of
Lo arrived twenty minutes after we did. He waited on the far side of the room, fingers laced, staring at nothing.
At five past three, the elevator dinged. Seconds later, the door opened. A man entered and walked straight to Tina. He was short and stocky with thinning red hair. I guessed from the black jacket and tie that this was the driver.
“Mr. Lapasa is here.”
“Please show him in.”
I flipped a page in my magazine, totally disinterested.
“The gentleman prefers to remain in the hall. It’s a flu thing. He doesn’t want to be around people.”
Feigning impatience, I checked my watch. Flipped another page. Shifted in my seat.
Through the open door I could see a man in the corridor.
My heart dropped.
The man had thick black hair and stood at least six feet tall.
THE MAN’S BACK WAS TO ME. HE WORE A NAVY SUIT. THE EDGE of a frayed white collar circled his neck.
Very tall. Dark hair.
Like Xander Lapasa.
Nickie’s driver recrossed the marble, exited to the corridor, and spoke to his passenger.
“I’ll take you straight to the conference room, Mr. Lapasa.”
Navy Suit turned and stepped sideways. Another man came into view.
The second man was of average height, with wispy gray hair and pasty skin. Covering his nose and mouth was a surgical mask, the kind sold in drugstores to ward off germs.
Navy Suit gripped his companion’s arm, then the trio turned left down the hall.
“What the hell?” Lo was on his feet. “Which one’s Lapasa?”
Tina remained serene, her updo flawless.
