Francisco for exorbitant costs. It was said that anyone who took lava rock was holy, so that anyone who removed it from Hawaii would be cursed with terrible events; the only solution was to bring the rock back to where it belonged. I wasn’t sure how fate worked for people who stole lava rock and just took it a few miles away.
“So you’re finding and loading up lava rock for a contractor?” Michael continued. “Were you paid for what you did today?”
“Nope, the police came round before I finished. Had to leave everything lying.”
“Large rocks can be heavy,” I said, trying to follow his story. “Do you carry by hand, or use something?”
“When my buddy picked me up today, I used an old wheelbarrow of Jii-chan’s. Actually, it tipped over when I was trying to make a getaway; that’s how I bashed my foot and cut my face.”
“OK, so you were using Uncle Yosh’s wheelbarrow, bringing the rocks to…where? Somebody’s truck? Where was your friend when this was all happening?”
“He went to work another area. I’d pile up whatever rocks I find, then get a ride back home around three, either from him or the boss. I’d get the wheelbarrow back in the yard before my mom or dad came home. Nobody had an idea I had a job.”
“Did you tell the police about your job and the boss?”
“No, I didn’t tell them squat. Like you said, no comment.”
“You talked about the rocks,” Michael said. “But what about the cigarette lighter in your pocket?”
“There was a lighter in my pocket, but that’s because I smoke every now and then. The police got it now.”
“The thing about fire is, when it sweeps through an area and burns brush, it’s easier to see what lies underneath,” Michael said. “Do you think it’s possible that the people behind your rock-gathering business might have set the fire a couple of days ago, in anticipation of you doing a little work for them?”
“I never heard nothing like that.” But Braden looked uncomfortable.
“Well, when did you get the call to work today?” I asked.
“An hour before I left this morning. See, it couldn’t have been planned. They didn’t know I could work.”
“Whether the fire was accidental or arson, it would be helpful if your boss would come forward to explain that you were just out gathering rocks because he’d told you to do that,” I suggested.
“He’s not gonna come forward.” Braden pressed his lips together. “No way.”
“Then we’ve got to make him come forward,” I persisted. “I mean, not us literally, but your lawyer could subpoena this person.”
“I can’t tell the name to you or any lawyer either.”
“Why?”
“Because the boss said to me once that if I ever say who’s behind this, I won’t live to see eighteen.”
22
SOMEONE MUST HAVE been watching out for us, because the door to Edwin’s house swung open without our having to knock. Feeling uncertain, I surveyed the stranger who stood guard-a solidly built, middle-aged Asian- Hawaiian man in a red aloha shirt. I introduced myself and Michael, while Braden squeezed past, kicked off his sandals and went upstairs.
“I’m Wally Nishimura, a neighbor they asked to come over and help. Thanks for bringing Braden home. Does the family know him?” Wally spoke about Michael as if he wasn’t even there.
“Yes, they do. And if Michael hadn’t been with me, we wouldn’t have been able to pick up Braden.” I felt I needed Michael with me at this time. I had already caught a glimpse through the arch into the living room and had seen Edwin sitting there, staring blankly into space. A glass with golden liquid rested on a bamboo-legged table in front of him. Edwin wasn’t a drinker, so things had to be pretty bad. And he’d come home from his internet auction early.
“Thought you’d be back a while ago. I was getting worried,” he said, after he’d noticed our presence.
“We wanted to talk to him about what happened, and the best place to do it was a few miles away,” I explained. “The case against him seems rather weak, but it’s a lawyer who’ll really be able to come up with a strategy.”
“I was just telling him about my cousin, Lisa Ping,” Wally said. “She’s a partner in a big firm in Honolulu, and she’s willing to come out to meet Braden.”
“Is that P-I-N-G?” Michael had already taken a BlackBerry out of his pocket, and I imagined he was going to try to search the name.
“Yes, that’s it,” Wally said. “She’s a partner with Martin and Funabashi on Queen Street.”
“Wally, I don’t know if a girl lawyer can save my boy,” Edwin interrupted. “I left a voice mail on Bobby Yamaguchi’s number.”
Margaret came into the room with a telephone in her hand. “Bobby said he’s sorry, but he can’t take it. He’d be happy to refer you to someone.”
“Never mind.” Edwin waved Margaret away and then grumbled, as if to nobody in particular, ‘Too bad somebody who had a good lawyer in her pocket traded him for a sailor.”
“That’s enough,” I snapped at Edwin before glancing apologetically toward Michael. He was busy with his BlackBerry, as if he hadn’t even heard the comment, but I knew better.
“Don’t worry another moment; Lisa’s on her way in. Meet her, and see what you think.” Wally’s voice was reassuring.
“What’s her rate, Wally?” Edwin asked. “Do you think she could take it on pro bono?”
“I thought you’d ask that. Lisa told me she’s normally two-fifty, but she’ll give you credit,” Wally said. “As long as there’s a guarantor, somebody to promise to pay for you if you can’t.”
“I’ll guarantee the defense,” Michael said, looking up from the BlackBerry. “From just a quick search, it looks as if Lisa Ping is a past president of the Honolulu Bar Association, and she’s qualified to argue before the Supreme Court. Criminal law is one of her specialties.”
“My cousin!” Wally said, smiling.
I wondered if Michael was reacting to Edwin’s sailor comment, because his offer was simply too rash. I’d told Michael all about Edwin’s past bankruptcy; in fact, we were standing in Edwin’s father’s home because Edwin hadn’t recovered enough to buy or rent his own house.
“Hey, it’s Braden’s turn now on the TV!” said Courtney, who’d been silently sitting on a cushion in the corner since we’d entered. “Someone get Mom!”
I poked my head into the kitchen and saw Margaret slumped at the kitchen table, head in hands, seemingly unaware that one of her elbows was resting on an empty Styrofoam takeout tray.
“I don’t want to see my kid on the news,” she said in a monotone. “You see it, but don’t tell me what happens.”
I left her and returned to the living room, where my two-word encounter with the press outside the police station was replayed, followed by a clip of our getaway car. A newscaster intoned gravely about the burned body of a woman near the coffee shop; her identification had been released. Charisse De La Cruz was eighteen and had worked part-time at the coffee shop.
“Charisse!” I said, remembering the pigtailed barista at the coffee shop. Kainoa had complained about her inefficiency, but I had liked her guileless curiosity about new people and warmth. She was hardly a woman, having just turned legal age, and now she was gone.
“Did you know her?” Michael was watching me closely.
“Not very well. She made me coffee once.”
“That fire been blazing for days,” Edwin said. “Who’s lolo enough to hang around a coffee shop in a fire zone?”
“She worked there. Obviously, she must have been there to work, and not evacuated in time.” My thoughts were flying wildly as I remembered Kainoa’s emotional collapse. Maybe he hadn’t just been crying about his coffee shop; maybe he’d found Charisse’s corpse.
