Part 3 (1/2)
Lei grabbed it. ”Special Agent Texeira.”
”Caught a new case, Lei.” Ken's voice was crisp. ”Suspicious death. We're called in because Corby Hale's prints were found at the scene.”
”What the h.e.l.l?” Lei tossed the blanket aside. She walked in her thin tank top and boxers to the preloaded coffeemaker in the kitchen, punched it on. She'd learned it was best to make the coffee the night before or she was liable to have to do without-and the blast of caffeine was really necessary this morning after her heavy exercise and late night.
”I know. It's weird.” He rattled off the address. ”Meet me there.”
Lei hopped under the brisk flow of the shower, reordering her wayward curls with a few handfuls of water. She dried off and dressed in her version of the FBI uniform in less than five minutes-white short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, black chinos, black athletic shoes. Her badge clipped to her belt, shoulder holster strapped on, Glock loaded up. In the kitchen she made sure the dogs' water bowl was full, threw a couple of handfuls of food in their bowls to tide them over, and unlocked the dog door.
Keiki looked at Lei plaintively as she filled a lidded travel mug with coffee, and Angel did a few experimental whines to see if Lei would pick her up. Lei succ.u.mbed, picking the tiny dog up and stroking her head.
”Be good. Keep an eye out for bad guys.” She put Angel down and gave Keiki an ear rub. ”See you girls later.”
They followed her out into the dewy yard, a few stars fading from the sky with the morning blooming in the east-another gorgeous Honolulu day. Lei took in the sounds of morning as she unlocked her truck: a few cars, a rooster crowing, the chatter of mynahs and the rustle of a tiny wind in the nearby palm tree.
Lei drove her truck through streets too early to be choked with the commuter traffic that would come later. She'd plugged the address into the on-board GPS, and her navigator guided her across town to an older neighborhood near Punchbowl. She pulled the silver Tacoma up behind a couple of HPD cruisers parked in front of a ranch-style home with an orchid-bordered walkway.
Lei slipped a pair of latex gloves on from a box under her seat and picked up her crime kit. She made sure her badge was clearly visible and identified herself to the uniformed officer guarding the yellow tape across the garage, signing the log and entering the time: 6:27 a.m.
The retractable garage door was still down, but the side door was ajar, and she pushed it open with a finger, poking her head in to see what she was getting into. She'd walked too fast into a few crime scenes in her time and had learned to go slow and let herself take in all the details before she zeroed in on the body-and Ken's message had been devoid of detail.
Her partner had his back to her, looking into a parked beige Toyota Highlander. The garage and interior lights were on, and he was looking around the motionless driver with a penlight. Detective Ching, Marcus Kamuela's partner, gave her a little salute from the wall. ”You're getting another of our cases,” he said. ”Alfred s.h.i.+maoka, aged fifty-nine.”
Ken had the door ajar, and he pushed it all the way open and moved back so Lei could see into the vehicle. ”Looks like a suicide.”
Lei could smell auto exhaust and a whiff of decomposition. ”Asphyxiation, then?”
Ken nodded. Ching was still looking surly, doing something on his phone.
Lei approached, her eyes scanning across the tidy cement floor in ”see mode.” The walls of the garage were lined with some sort of craft supplies: bundles of bamboo, clippers, cutters, saws, and bottles of glue, stacks of what looked like paper. Against the wall that faced the house was a washer, dryer, sink, and workbench. She spotted what s.h.i.+maoka did in his spare time: a tidy row of small square paper lanterns stood in a row.
She walked around the SUV, past Ching, to look into the driver's side, but without opening the door all she could see was a man's profile, his head tilted back, and the yellow interior lights of the vehicle gleaming on salt-and-pepper hair.
Ching pointed. ”Your boy's prints were on the tape connecting the hose to the exhaust pipe.”
Lei saw that the tape had been removed. The hose was detached and lay on the floor beside the SUV. ”I'll bag that.” She took a large paper evidence bag out of her kit, snapped it open, then coiled the hose carefully and inserted it into the bag, sealing it with paper tape and initialing it with the date and time. ”Where's the tape with the prints on it?”
Ching pointed. The evidence bag was already sealed, so Lei set hers next to it and rejoined Ken at the door of the car. Her partner was scanning the interior of the SUV with a forensic light. ”Can I open the door on the other side?” Lei asked.
”Long as he doesn't fall out,” Ken said.
Lei walked back around. The window was up almost all the way, and traces of duct tape still clung to the edge of the window and the doorframe.
”Thanks for securing the scene.” Lei addressed Ching. ”I think we've got it covered.”
Ken spoke up from the other side of the vehicle. ”Your commanding officer called us himself when you identified Corby Hale's print. Quick work on that, by the way.”
”I scanned it in and it came right up-not much to it. We're not in the Dark Ages, you know.”
”Well, do you think you could get started gathering some statements from the neighbors? We'd really appreciate it.” Lei tried a smile, wis.h.i.+ng her dimple worked as well as Marcella's.
Ching pushed off the wall abruptly. ”Might as well air this place out.”
He punched the b.u.t.ton on the wall and the garage door rumbled up. Lei opened her mouth to protest but spotted f.u.kus.h.i.+ma's van pulling up at the end of the driveway, breaking up the cl.u.s.ter of lookie-loos craning their necks at the end of the driveway.
She turned away. The air did feel a lot fresher with the door open, and what did she care if there were a few gawking neighbors?
Ching stomped off.
Lei looked at the driver's side door. An ashy-looking drift of fingerprint dust decorated the ground beneath the door, but there was nothing on the handle. Odd. The dead person should have left a lot of prints. ”Ken, do you know anything about the victim?”
”Alfred s.h.i.+maoka. Aged fifty-nine, an architect. This is his house. He's j.a.panese and single.”
”Who found the body?”
”Neighbor. Heard s.h.i.+maoka's dog barking inside, and he's religious about walking it, according to what the neighbor told Ching. She peeked through the gla.s.s in the garage door and saw him. The SUV had run out of gas and turned off, so she thought he'd pa.s.sed out or something until she approached the car.”
”That must have been a shock.” Lei heard a far-off yapping. ”Did anyone deal with the dog?”
”Couldn't. House is locked.”
Lei sighed. That would be next, as soon as they were able to leave the body to the medical examiner. She finally really looked at what was left of Alfred s.h.i.+maoka.
s.h.i.+maoka's skin was pale but patched with red in the lips and extremities, an effect of the carbon-monoxide poisoning. His head was tilted back, mouth ajar, and most interesting, his hands were resting upright on his thighs, the thumb and forefinger close to touching, in a Buddhist meditation pose. The slender j.a.panese man, beginning to swell as decomposition began, was dressed neatly in a muted aloha s.h.i.+rt and chinos. Other than the strange coloration of his skin, he looked peaceful.
Ken pointed his penlight at a square of white paper propped up against the gears.h.i.+ft. ”Can you bag that?”
”Sure.” Lei took out another evidence bag and picked up the paper carefully, leaning past the dead man to retrieve it. The fruity smell of decomp, faint but powerful, rose from the corpse. ”If Corby's prints are on that tape, he's got to be dead at least two days.”
Ken had his camera out and shot the scene. ”Just what I was thinking.”
f.u.kus.h.i.+ma appeared, the gurney's clattering wheels, pushed by her a.s.sistant, announcing their arrival. ”What have we got?”
Ken told her, while Lei read the suicide note. It was written in beautiful calligraphic script on a translucent square of the paper used to make lanterns.
Dear friends. I have no family to shame with this choice to avoid my last months of suffering. I have pancreatic cancer, as many of you know, and I'm ready to go now-not in another three months when the doctors say I will. Please accept that I chose not to burden anyone with my end-of-life care and recognize my right to choose how to die.
And to my friend Soga, I finished my lanterns. Please light one for me at the Floating Lantern Ceremony.
Alfred s.h.i.+maoka Lei felt her heart do a little flip as she looked back at the row of lanterns. Chances were very good the Soga he referred to was her grandfather Soga Matsumoto, whose home was mere blocks away. Her grandfather also volunteered at the s.h.i.+nnyo temple, helping to build and repair the beautiful lanterns lit annually and floated out to sea in Waikiki on Memorial Day.
She slid the paper into the evidence bag without comment, sealing and marking it, as Ken and f.u.kus.h.i.+ma continued their conferring and Ken took more pictures, circling around to her side and shooting the body from every possible angle.
”We're going to want to go over this vehicle inch by inch,” Ken said. ”If there's anything else Corby left, we need to find it.”
Lei nodded, setting the bag with the others next to her kit. ”I want to deal with that dog.”
”Poor dog,” f.u.kus.h.i.+ma said. As usual, the fastidious ME was swathed in sterile wear and even wore a particle mask. Ken gestured to the keys, still in the ignition. ”Chances are the door key is there.”
Lei lifted them out carefully, holding the side of the main key. She'd fingerprint that later-but for now, she walked across the garage to the back door and inserted a silver Schlage into the lock.