“Who did he confess to?” Kawika asked.
“I’m coming to that. But first, it turns out Rocco had a room at the King Kam Kourt in Kailua, left the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign out. When he didn’t return, the manager began slipping notes under the door. This morning the manager finally went in. He found Rocco’s ID, some ammo, and guess what? A rifle for .375 H&H Magnum cartridges. Then he called us.”
Hanson interrupted. “Excuse me, Captain, but that’s an interesting coincidence. Fortunato owned a gun for .375 H&H Magnum ammo. A fancy one, customized. European, I think.”
“Perhaps a CZ 550 Safari? From Czechoslovakia?”
“Sounds right. Bolt action, walnut stock?”
“That’s what we’ve got here,” Tanaka said. “How’d you know he owned it?”
“He bragged about it,” Hanson said. “Got it at a gun show, showed it off. Folks had to tell him, ‘That’s too big for deer.’ That surprised Ralph, I guess. So he said he was going to use it for cougar and bear. Of course, Ralph didn’t have any dogs to hunt cougar. Nowadays, you can’t use dogs anyhow. Voters passed an initiative against it. But back then—”
Kawika interrupted. He was tired of everyone in the Methow—and Wenatchee—trying to deflect his queries. “Again, Terry, who did he confess to?”
“That’s the amazing part,” Tanaka said. “You’ll see when you read it. We FedExed a copy to your mom’s and you’ll have it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Hanson smiled and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, no fax here.”
“Someone snatched Rocco while he was shooting at you—caught him in the act,” Tanaka continued on the speaker phone. “We don’t know who they are; the confession doesn’t say. It just says, ‘I’m being forced to confess, but not by cops.’ He says he’s confessing in order to save his life.”
Hanson frowned. “Shit, you’re not going be able to use it as evidence then.”
“Maybe we can,” Tanaka said. “After all, we won’t be using it against him.”
“True,” Hanson acknowledged. “He’s dead, isn’t he.”
“We’ve got the prosecution exception to the dead man’s statute if we need to use it against Cushing,” said Tanaka. “But I doubt we will. Rocco’s confession said we’d find Melanie Munu’s body at Waiki‘i Ranch. She was there, sadly. That pretty well corroborated the confession. The confession said Cushing paid Rocco to kill her. So we confronted Cushing today. Made sure he had his lawyer present. Told him the Duct Tape Mummy was named Rocco or Roger Preston. You should’ve seen his face, Kawika! Remember he said he’d never seen the guy in his life? Well, he hadn’t. Only knew the man by phone.”
“Cushing confessed?”
“No, not yet. But we showed him the Fortunato murder weapon—the spear—and he admitted it was his. His lawyer tried to stop him, but Cushing said the spear was historical, that you knew how to trace it, Kawika. But he says someone stole it from him.”
“Wait—” Kawika began.
“Crooks,” Hanson interrupted. “Funny, aren’t they? The murder weapon always seems to have been stolen from them. But if they’re in possession of a stolen wallet or credit card or car stereo, they never stole ’em, always just found ’em in a dumpster.”
“We played Rocco’s confession to Cushing,” Tanaka went on, ignoring Hanson’s aside. “He listened to the whole thing. Including about Melanie and about Rocco shooting you with the rifle Cushing stole from Bruno Moku‘ele. And after all that, guess what Cushing said? ‘But Rocco didn’t kill Fortunato.’ Then his lawyer shut him up.”
“Wow,” Hanson said. “A negative pregnant with admission! Hardly ever see those. One time down in Kittitas County …”
“Yeah, that pretty much locks it up,” said Tanaka, cutting off Hanson again.
“But wait,” Kawika objected, suddenly confused. “Not the Fortunato part. And if Melanie is dead, then where’s Peter Pukui?”
“Haven’t found Peter yet. It’s worrisome. But as for Fortunato, trust me, Kawika. Cushing admits he hired Rocco to kill Fortunato and that the murder weapon is his. And Rocco gives details that aren’t public. Wait till you read it, Kawika. It’s incredible. Whoever snatched Rocco was a very thorough confession drafter.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” Kawika replied, still skeptical, and looking over at Marshal Hanson, who was looking intently at Kawika too. “But did you ever reach that guy we were trying to talk to, Terry? You remember his phone number, right?” Kawika guardedly added. “And has anyone found the highway-walking guy?”
“No,” Tanaka replied. “But none of that matters now, Kawika. We’ve got the confession.”
“Terry—”
“Go ahead and fly first class to Hilo,” Tanaka interrupted, obviously in a hurry. “The Department will spring for it.”
Tanaka had to get off the phone—there was work to be done—and Kawika needed to leave for Seattle if he was going to catch a flight the next morning. But Kawika lingered a bit. He gave Hanson an accusatory look.
“Hey, you got your man,” said Hanson, fending him off. “Now you and Ms. Quinn are welcome in the Methow. Come back in May; the wildflowers are incredible.”
“Before we get to that, Marshal, it seems odd that Terry didn’t mention Steve Kellogg just now.”
“He already did, when he called me looking for you.”
“He told you Fortunato hired this same hit man to kill Kellogg?”
“He did, yeah. It’s in the confession, he said.”
“Aren’t you curious? I mean, why would some abductors, way over there in Hawaii, guys who aren’t police, bother to extract that particular confession from this Rocco guy? He’d already confessed to two Hawaii murders, plus the attempt on me. He wouldn’t have volunteered anything about an unrelated murder here in Washington.”
“Son,” replied Hanson, “with respect, I don’t need this Rocco or a Hawaiian detective telling me anything about
