“Go away.” The muffled voice was female and faintly accented.
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“We’ll wait.”
Seconds passed, then locks rattled, and the door swung in.
Gloria Kealoha was big. Very big. She had nutmeg skin and bottle-blond hair, and wore enough maquillage for an entire village makeover.
Pocketing his shades, Lo badged her. “Detective Lo. We spoke earlier concerning your brother.”
“And I told you what I know.”
“Francis is dead, Ms. Kealoha. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Life’s a bitch.” Gloria drew deeply on a half-smoked Camel jutting from her fingers.
“Questions remain.”
“So, what? I’m going on
“I need the names of Francis’s friends.”
“Sorry, toots, can’t do it now.”
“This isn’t a social call, Gloria. We talk here or we talk downtown.”
“Jesus, who died and made you God?”
“My uncle.”
“Fuck you.”
“No thanks.”
Gloria’s eyes slid to me.
“Who’s the haole?”
“Dr. Brennan identified your brother.”
“What the fuck, girl? You stop a train with that face?”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
“You some kinda coroner?” Gloria yanked on the bustier. A rosebud tattoo that had once winked from low-cut necklines appeared above the spandex as a stretched and wilted blossom.
“I need the names of your brother’s friends.” Lo brought the interview back on track.
“I told you. I got jack.”
“Where was Francis living?”
Gloria drew on the Camel, exhaled, waved the smoke from her face with a once-manicured hand.
“I heard he went to California a couple years back. Last I knew he was still there.”
“You were unaware that Francis had returned to Honolulu?”
“We weren’t exactly on each other’s mailing lists.”
“What
“Look.” Gloria took a drag, tossed, then crushed the cigarette butt with the ball of one flip-flop. “I got nothing. The kid was ten years younger than me. Growing up we lived in different worlds. By the time Frankie was six, I was off on my own. I really honest to God never knew him.”
“Dig deep. Give me something.”
Gloria picked a speck of tobacco from her lip, inspected, then flicked it. “OK. The story of my life. When I was fourteen and Frankie was four my ma left my pa for a guy she met working as a hotel maid. Two months after, our old man bought it in a boating accident.”
Gloria stopped. Lo waited, hoping she’d feel compelled to elaborate. She did.
“Ma married the creep. We got adopted. Eighteen months later the asshole split. Guess a ready-made family wasn’t his thing after all.”
“Who was the guy?”
“Sammy Kealoha.”
Lo studied Gloria as she spoke. I studied Lo.
“Where is he now?”
“You’re the detective, you tell me.”
“How did your brother feel about him?”
“Hated the guy’s guts.”
“Why?”
