Chapter 29
Lei went into Dr. Wilson’s office for her session late that day.
“Hey,” she said. The psychologist sat behind the sleek modern desk in the corner, poring over some papers.
“Hey to you too,” Dr. Wilson said, pulling reading glasses off, laying them aside. She came around the desk and reached out as if to hug her. Lei stood stiffly. Dr. Wilson backed away.
“Sorry, I forgot,” the psychologist said.
“Forgot what?”
“You don’t like to be touched.”
“I never said that.”
“I can tell you don’t like to be touched. Especially when you don’t initiate it.”
“If you say so,” Lei said. She put her hands, clenched into fists, on the coffee table in front of her, and then consciously spread her fingers. “See how irritated you make me? I was having a good day until I got here.” Except for the interviews, and the ache of sorrow that felt like cancer in her bones . . .
“Hmm. I thought things were going better between us than this. Could be some transference going on.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when the client projects their relationship issues onto the therapist. Do I remind you of someone?”
“Every stupid
haole
bitch who tried to help me growing up. None of you could do shit for me back then, and you can’t help me now either.” Lei surprised herself with the anger behind her statement.
“Too true,” Dr. Wilson said comfortably. She settled back in her overstuffed lounger, pulling the lever on the side that reclined the seat. She opened the throw blanket draped over the arm and spread it over her lap. She folded her hands, closed her eyes. Lei stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a nap. Let me know when the session’s over.”
Lei frowned, fidgeted. “I actually was going to tell you something, but obviously you don’t care.”
Dr. Wilson opened her eyes. They were a clear, commanding blue.
“You just told me a minute ago I couldn’t help you. I’m tired. I might as well take a nap as listen to you make me the bad guy—first for trying to help, now for not trying.” She closed her eyes again.
Lei looked down at her hands. They’d clenched into fists again. She wanted to get up and leave, but she knew she had to stay the hour. She’d wait it out. She sat back, rubbed her sweaty palms against the stiff blue of her uniform slacks.
The silence was broken by the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on Dr. Wilson’s desk. Lei reached into her pocket to rub the well-worn triangle of the note Stevens had left her the first night he slept over. She got up, paced. Tension still crawled along her nerves.
“I’m ready to talk now.”
Nothing from Dr. Wilson. Was that a snore? Like, a little, ladylike snore?
“I’m sorry. I was rude.”
“Did you say something?” Dr. Wilson’s eyes opened a crack.
“Sorry. That wasn’t fair, what I said.”
“You were right. No one can help you. I bet you know the answer why.”
“I have to want help?”
“Bingo. And then, you have to help yourself. I’m just a sounding board.”
“Sounding ‘bored’ is more like it,” Lei said.
“Good one.” Dr. Wilson chuckled. She didn’t retract her chair though, still looking like she might fall asleep any minute.
“A lot happened this week,” Lei said. “I chased someone I think might be my stalker. And my friend was kidnapped and murdered.”
“Oh my God. Mary Gomes? She was your friend?”
“Yes,” Lei said, and her eyes filled for about the hundredth time.
“I’m so sorry. It’s a huge loss.”
Lei nodded, unable to speak, and yanked a couple of handfuls of tissue out of the box beside her on the couch. She honked her nose.
“What really sucks is that there are no leads. It’s like the Mohuli`i girls all over again. In fact, I think it’s the same doer.”
“So it’s easier to focus on the investigation. Are you a part of it?”
“For the girls. Not Mary’s investigation. What else can I do?”
“Grieve.”
Lei got up, paced. Rubbed her hands up and down on her legs. “I don’t want to grieve,” she said. “I want justice.”
Dr. Wilson inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. Lei went on.
“This is why I became a cop and not a nurse or a social worker. Justice is what I want, not tears.”
“Can’t there be both?”
“Not and do the job.”
“So you hide it. Like you hide the dissociation episodes.”
“I have to. I was so afraid I was losing my mind, I always tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. I guess it’s good to know I am not going crazy, but . . . how do I make it stop?”
Dr. Wilson retracted the chair and sat forward, brushing the lap blanket out of the way.
“Girl, here we are at the crux of the matter. You have to want to tackle this badass beast that is your past. You have to be in a place in your life where you feel strong enough to remember terrible things that were done to you by people who should have protected and loved you. I won’t kid you. It may get worse before it gets better if you go down this road, because what brings healing is the integration of the past with the strong healthy person you are now. And it may take longer than your mandatory six sessions.”
Lei sat back down. She slid her sweaty palms up and down her thighs. “What’s the alternative?”
“I don’t know. I guess you keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe you’ll get better on your own, maybe you’ll get worse. What I’ve seen is that children who were abused and traumatized often hit a wall. Something sets them off, such as a major relationship, or having their own child, and they begin to decompensate. If they don’t work through it with support, they often end up doing self-destructive things to themselves and those around them.”
“Great. As if it wasn’t bad enough with my mom dead and my dad in jail . . . I gotta be fucked up the rest of my life too? Goddamn it!” Angry tears filled her eyes. She jumped up, paced. “Every time I bust someone I feel like I’m getting them back, just a little bit. The best thing I ever did was become a cop, and now this shit is trying to take that away from me, make me act crazy, make me miss things. I almost lost it in the morgue seeing Mary’s body. I can’t afford to be like this.”
“Can’t afford to be human? Come on,” Dr. Wilson said. “And anger is good. It’s fuel. But don’t stay there. That fuel can burn you up.”
The psychologist reached out, picked up the little brass rake and brushed it through the silvery sand of the Japanese sand garden on the coffee table. Back and forth, back and forth. Lei slowed her pacing, sat on the couch to watch. Back and forth went the rake.
“You are safe here.” Dr. Wilson held the rake out to Lei. “You were a helpless child then, but you are a strong, capable woman now, who can make her life what she dreams it to be.”
Lei took the rake. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh, feeling the rage subside. She drew designs in the sand: arcs, swirls, waves.
“I am making my dreams come true already,” she said, the ring of truth filling her words. “And I don’t want to let the past steal one more minute of my future.”
“Sounds like you’ve made your decision,” Dr. Wilson said, watching the swirling pattern Lei created and re-created. “I think that’s enough for today. I guess I didn’t really need a nap.”
“There’s always the next happy customer,” Lei said, standing up, brushing a few grains of sand off her slacks. “You certainly have a unique approach.”
“It’s taken years for me to learn to trust my gut,” Dr. Wilson said. “That’s what seems to work best for me and my clients.”
She walked Lei to the door, and staggered a little, off balance, as Lei turned and impulsively hugged her.
“I’m learning to trust my gut too,” Lei said, and hurried away down the linoleum hall.
Chapter 30
He sat in his chair, uploading the pictures of Mary. He scrolled slowly through the whole sequence, savoring them: the first shots when he brought her to the camp, tousled and glaring. The poses of her beckoning him with her helpless, waiting beauty. The shot of her sprawled on the rocks, the ripple of brown floodwaters inches away. Then, the final one—her body caught in the swollen current, only the top of her shiny black head visible. “You shouldn’t have pissed me off like that, or I might have let you live,” he said aloud.
He made a new folder, titled it Blood Orchid and stashed it in a folder with just the date he’d dumped her. Done saving, he unplugged the hard drive and pulled up the rug, stashing it in the floorboard cache he’d built.
Savoring the moment, he took the key ring with the black and blonde hair on it out of the drawer. He knew he should hide it with the photos, but he needed it close. He took the hank of Mary’s hair out of the Ziploc bag and secured it to the ring on the other side of Kelly’s hair. There was a symmetry there that was pleasing to his eye.
He got his phone out and slowly scrolled with his thumb through the photos he’d saved there, trailing the key ring’s hair back and forth across his chest, down his arms, a feeling like the tenderest of touches. Faces of young women filled the small screen.
He paused at the one he was looking for.
He studied Leilani Texeira’s face caught in a rare smile, her warm brown eyes alight. “You’re next. I was right—you do photograph well.”
He put the key ring away and got up, going out to the garage. He went to a large wooden cabinet, opened the combination lock, reached inside to a concealed back panel, opened it. He took out his kit, setting it on the work table nearby.
It was a black backpack with everything tidy and in its place: the ski mask, a couple of shiny new pairs of handcuffs, the Taser, a clear glass bottle of the drug, a sealed plastic pack of hypodermics, a roll of duct tape, a couple of freshly laundered handkerchiefs, the tie out cable, the pillowcase and neatly folded top sheet. He mentally rehearsed the capture as he touched each item.
He wasn’t planning to be gentle with this one.
Chapter 31
Lei sat in the conference room with Stevens, Jeremy, Lieutenant Ohale, the two new detectives, and Hiro Harada the following morning. Across the table sat Puna station’s commanding officer, Captain Brown, Lono Smith, and his partner Brett Samuels. Stevens had called the meeting to request that they combine the Mohuli`i investigation with Mary Gomes’ homicide. A box of malasadas, round Filipino donuts dusted with sugar, sat waiting to clog arteries.
“Okay.” Stevens continued with his summarization of the main points, looking down at his notes. He’d asked her to keep track of the discussion, so Lei got up, uncapping a marker to make notes on the whiteboard. “We think these cases are the same doer for several reasons. One: the method. All three women were drowned. Two: all three victims were drugged with Rohypnol. Three: they were restrained. Four: all of them had evidence of sexual activity. Five: they all had trace evidence of baby wipes on their bodies, showing careful attention to cleanup.” Lei wrote fast, wishing she could see the expressions on the faces of the other investigators, and feeling conscious of eyes on her ass.
“Now for the differences,” Lono said, taking over. Lei drew a quick line dividing the board and began another list. “One: the method of restraint. The girls were bound with t-shirt strips. Mary Gomes was restrained with handcuffs. Two: Gomes was kidnapped and raped over days. The girls weren’t identified as missing prior to their bodies washing up, indicating they weren’t held captive like Gomes was. Three: the girls had very little evidence of violence other than sexual activity pre-mortem, while Gomes was pretty banged up.”
Lei took a relaxation breath in through her nose, out through her mouth, the chemical smell of the marker bracing as smelling salts against memories of drowned faces flashing through her mind as she wrote.
“Four: the victim profiles are different,” Lono went on. “The girls were young, easy pickings for a sexual predator. Mary Gomes was mature, a law enforcement officer, experienced in self defense, and armed.”
Stevens picked up the rhythm. “Our main suspect so far in the Mohuli`i case, Kelly Andrade’s stepfather James Reynolds, has a solid alibi for the time frame when Mary disappeared.” He gestured to Jeremy.
“He was at work, witnessed by a dozen people. The wife says he was never gone at night during the time frame Gomes was missing,” Jeremy filled in.
“He’s got a helluva defense lawyer, and what we have on him is thin, namely a motive for the girls and an incriminating photo of them,” Harada chimed in. “I didn’t have enough to even issue an arrest warrant.”
“Then there’s what Lei turned up that could be practicing on the part of our perp. She found two kidnap rapes within the last six months that look like the same M.O. as Mary Gomes, only without the drowning.”
“Yeah.” Lei turned around and confirmed. “Stevens and I re-interviewed these two rape victims and filled in a little more information.”
Lieutenant Ohale’s slight nod indicating she go on gave her confidence. “The victims remembered being cleaned up with baby wipes. Handcuffs and Rohypnol by injection were used on them. Cassie Kealoha remembers being posed and photographed; she said she thought he dressed her because she had strap marks on her feet. She also saw a black ski mask.”
The group seemed to be digesting this.
“Possible Reynolds did the girls, and the Campsite Rapist did Mary Gomes?” Jeremy used Lei’s moniker.
“Campsite Rapist,” Captain Brown said thoughtfully, reaching over to pluck a malasada off the pile. The brass on his uniform gleamed in the overhead lights, and Lei thought he’d left his hat on to add height to his short, fireplug build. He was Captain over the entire Hilo District, and Ohale’s commanding officer as well as Puna’s. “The media better not get wind of this. That nickname has a catchy ring to it.”
“So far they don’t seem to have put the two crimes together,” Stevens said. “I hope we can keep it that way. We don’t want this guy knowing we’re lining up the dots.”
“So are we in agreement there’s enough in common with these crimes to indicate the same doer?” Lono asked.
Nods around the room and finally Captain Brown said, “Possibly. At this point we have to pursue all leads. Considering how much possible evidence we could have, hardly anything is turning up—Gomes’ dump site, Uli`i Park, is coming up dry for trace, so is her body. So even though Reynolds isn’t fitting with the Gomes murder, and technically his alibi is holding up for the girls, with that photo he’s our best suspect.”
“I think we all agree these rapes were a warm-up for the Gomes murder,” Lono said. Lei noticed somewhere along the way Mary’s first name had been dropped—getting some distance from the vic, she thought with a pang. “What’s not really fitting for me are the Mohuli`i girls.”
“Nothing to do but get out there and do some police work,” Ohale said. Captain Brown stood, and everyone else did as well.
“Get to it, people. These women need justice.” Brown spun and marched out of the room, a tugboat setting the course.
“We’ll focus on Gomes. Keep us posted on any developments,” Lono said, following Captain Brown out.
“You got it.” Ohale sat back down, looked around at his team. “Okay. What’s next?”
“I got the warrant on Reynolds’ CPA office and he has a storage facility as well. Pretty interested to see what we turn up there.” Stevens wolfed down a malasada. “Damn, these are good. What are they, donut holes?”
“Filipino food. They do good with fried stuff but watch out for the month-old pickled eggs,” Harada said, gathering his papers into a leather portfolio. “Find me some physical evidence and I’m happy to sign Reynolds’ arrest warrant.”
“Let’s get to it,” Stevens said. “Jeremy and Lei, you’re with me and we’ll take the storage facility. Pono, you and the guys do the business office. Let’s bring it in, people.”
Lei capped the marker and set it in the tray, following Stevens’ broad shoulders with her eyes as he left the room.
Jeremy stood up and moved into her space, his eyes hard on her face.
“Don’t fuck with my partner.” His voice was a hiss.
“I’m not,” Lei stammered.
“He doesn’t need some bitch messing with his concentration. If something goes wrong with this investigation you’re going down for it.”
Before she could respond he was moving away with a swift athleticism she’d never really noticed before. Cheeks burning, she followed him out, still groping for a comeback.
Stevens waved the warrant at her above the cubicle wall.
“Step it up, Texeira, we got evidence to gather.”