Lei sat in the chair and Watanabe sat in another one kitty-corner to her.
“I really have to touch you up.” Watanabe reached over to button Lei’s jacket. “Let’s have your badge visible, too. If your boss wants you to be the “face of the FBI in Hawaii,” we have to make you look good.”
Lei’s sweaty palms and racing heart weren’t helping things any. She rubbed her hands on her pants, unclipped her badge from her belt and clipped it onto the slit of a breast pocket. “Okay. I guess.”
Watanabe whipped out her makeup bag and touched up Lei’s eyes with plum eye shadow, a flick of mascara, powder over nose and forehead, and finally, a raspberry lip stain. She sat back and admired her handiwork. “You should wear makeup more often.”
Lei flipped open the powder compact and took in her changed appearance. She really did have big brown eyes and a nice mouth. Even her freckled olive skin looked better. She fluffed wind-frizzed curls. “Can you do anything about this, though?”
“Funny you should ask.” Watanabe took another zippered pouch out of her crocodile briefcase. “Shut your eyes.” She spritzed Lei’s curls with water and scrunched them with some sort of product.
Minutes later, Lei blinked into the mirror again. “Can I have you work me over every day?”
Watanabe smiled. “You learn a thing or two getting made over every day for work, but most of the time I’m in the field and have to do my own hair and makeup. So I’ve picked up a few things. You always have to put on a little more for the camera.”
Saltzman had his camera on a tripod. He aimed at Lei and switched on the light. She was now looking into brightness, but she could see Watanabe beside her.
“Ready?” Watanabe asked, shuffling a couple of cards she’d been working on while Lei and Ken conferred.
“As I’ll ever be.” Lei straightened her jacket for the fourth time.
The little red light on the camera began blinking as Watanabe turned that high-wattage smile on. “Aloha from Maui. This is Wendy Watanabe reporting on the case everyone’s talking about—the remarkable story of the Smiley Bandit. If you’ve missed it so far, the Bandit is a modern-day Robin Hood who began a burglary spree at the mansion of Max Smiley, owner of Paradise Airlines. Taking his moniker from Mr. Smiley, the Smiley Bandit stole an ultralight plane and has hit three houses, donating the proceeds to some worthy and relatively unknown charities.” She turned that toothy smile on Lei. “With us today is Special Agent Lei Texeira. Agent Texeira, what can you tell us about the investigation so far?”
Already this wasn’t what Lei was prepared for. Dammit, Watanabe was going to try and knock something loose on air. Lei licked her lips and tasted raspberry lipstick. “Well, we can’t give out much information at this time. But we know that the unsub made it across the channel to Maui, and that’s why we’re here.”
“And right away, the Bandit hit another house in Haiku.” Watanabe shared the details of the burglary as Lei sweated under the light. She finally turned to Lei, extending the wand of her microphone like a scepter. “What is the FBI doing to apprehend the Smiley Bandit here on Maui?”
“As I said, it’s an open investigation, so I can’t comment much.” Lei swallowed. “We have a high-alert Be on Lookout and a tip line established, so anyone spotting the aircraft, please call in. We are working closely with Maui Police Department personnel, and our first concern is safety for all concerned.”
“What is the Bureau’s position on the donations the Bandit has made?”
“The Bandit’s gifts to charity are merely a gesture on his part, since the money and goods he’s donated have been taken into evidence and are being returned to their rightful owners.”
“That’s not entirely accurate, Agent Texeira. Both Mr. Smiley and Dr. Witherspoon have chosen to let the donations stand, and it’s likely today’s donation to the Hana Dialysis Clinic will also be allowed.”
“That’s their right, of course.” Lei narrowed her eyes at the smug reporter—more information Watanabe hadn’t shared. She saw movement behind the camera—Ken working his phone, checking the facts. “Perhaps they weren’t aware of these worthy organizations before.” Lei straightened her jacket, looked straight into the camera, and tried to project warm and kind. “I’m here to ask the Smiley Bandit to come in peacefully. We are concerned for your safety.”
“Safety, Agent Texeira? You’ve mentioned that twice now. What makes you concerned for the Bandit’s safety?”
Watanabe was going to try to get her to admit the kid was armed.
“The ultralight is a very small craft, and accidents happen.” A long pause as Watanabe continued to stare at her, the mike extended. Finally Lei said, “There are a lot of people involved in an investigation. We are relying heavily on Maui Police Department to help support us here on Maui.”
“Yes. And we know there’s a concern that sometimes police officers shoot first and ask questions later,” Watanabe said triumphantly.
“I never said that! You’re twisting my words. Smiley Bandit, if you can hear me, please turn yourself in!” Lei stood up. “This interview’s over.”
“Are you sure you don’t have any further leads?” Wendy asked Lei’s retreating back. “It seems KHIN-2 knows more than you do at this point.”
“I have one further thing left to say.” Lei whirled, put her hands on her hips, and raised her voice. “Gag order!”
“You heard it here first.” Watanabe’s voice carried across the bar after Lei as she stomped away. “The FBI plans to silence this reporter, and from then on all the public will know is what they decide.”
Her voice continued, but Lei stopped hearing it as she stabbed the Up button repeatedly in the lobby.
“That went well.” Ken spoke from beside her.
“Dammit, I lost my temper. Oh God. Waxman’s going to have my head.”
“At least you didn’t give anything more away. And, hopefully, the gag order will come through before they run that story,” Ken said. “We’ve got to get an early start tomorrow, and who knows what the unsub will get up to tonight.”
“Ang’s on the video thing.” Lei stepped into the elevator. “She’s cross-referencing any Paradise employees or their offspring in Watanabe’s coverage.”
Glum silence wrapped them as the elevator stopped at their hall, smelling of rug cleaner over cigarette smoke.
“See you in the morning.” Ken slid his card into the door slot next to hers and stepped into his room. “I’ll let you know what Waxman says tomorrow. No sense worrying about it tonight.”
“Gee, thanks,” Lei whispered as she entered her room.
She looked around—at least the room had a sliver of deck overlooking the pool, and she could see the twinkling lights of Kahului Harbor in the distance. Lei shrugged out of her light cotton jacket, hung it up on an empty plastic hanger, unbuckled her shoulder harness, and hung her weapon off the corner of the rattan headboard, unclipped her badge and set it beside the bulbous turquoise jar lamp beside the bed.
She felt a strange, nervy kind of exhaustion that reminded her she’d been through the adrenaline wringer more than once today. Smart thing would be to take a shower, order room service, watch some mind-numbing TV, and fall asleep.
Instead her mind turned toward Stevens. She imagined him watching the interview on TV, the way she’d been played. Raspberry-red lipstick was not enough to counteract how she’d been made to look a fool—and how she’d lost her temper. She mentally replayed her conversation with him in the Bronco, the tension—the pain of their meeting that had smothered her breathing.
God, it hurt that he was married. She wondered when it wouldn’t anymore and couldn’t imagine it.
In the bathroom, Lei stripped out of her dirty clothes and red-dirt-stained black athletic shoes. Water as hot as she could stand pummeled her tight neck and shoulders in the shower. She leaned her forehead against the cool tile and felt tears prickle her eyes. What a God-awful day.
She remembered her father’s words: “If you believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, you will be saved.”
Maybe she did need a little saving after all, whatever that meant. Lei bent her head forward, warm water streaming over her head, down her face, washing away tears as they welled before she could feel them. Her lips moved even as she felt like a hypocrite: “God, help me. Please.”
She scrubbed down briskly and turned off the water. There was nothing more to be done but go through whatever came next. What she really needed was a good night’s sleep and to bring the Smiley Bandit in safely.
Somehow, some way, she felt a little better.
Lei blew on the surface of her hot coffee as she strode across the parking lot behind Ken to the borrowed SUV, on the way to their early-morning briefing at Kahului Station. She’d slept surprisingly well and felt rested and energetic. Her phone buzzed against her hip, and she slipped it out of her jacket pocket.
“Special Agent Texeira.”
“Lei, it’s Marcella. Listen, Ang came up with something. Both Rezents and Blackman were in high school sports—Rezents played soccer, and Blackman played football. Ang found video clips where they were each interviewed with a sound bite or two by Watanabe on KHIN-2.”
Lei climbed into the SUV after Ken beeped it open and gestured to the phone, hitting speakerphone mode. “Sounds like a pretty strong connection. So maybe that’s why Watanabe got chosen as the go-to reporter.”
“Yeah. Not only that, but we have an early clip of Blackman doing a rant about the one percent. Ang ran voice recognition and it’s a match to the guy in the videos, even with the distorter.” Marcella sounded excited.
“Sweet,” Lei said. “If Blackman’s the one in the videos, he can’t be flying the plane. That leaves the Bandit as Rezents or Matthews, or someone we haven’t yet identified.”
“Speaking of, we ran down Kimo Matthews. He’s acting all surprised, like he doesn’t know anything about anything. We haven’t been able to get anything useful out of him.”
“That’s good, though. That leaves Rezents potentially flying the plane. We’ve narrowed the suspect pool at least. Do you think Blackman will follow him over to Maui?”
“Doubtful he’d come over to Maui given the BOLO at the airports on all those names.”
“We’re headed over to Kahului Station. Can you send a link to Ang’s work on the voice recognition? We’ll share it with the MPD team,” Ken interjected.
“You got it. Waxman is sending us over today to help you guys,” Marcella said. “Matthews has lawyered up, so we’re keeping him in custody but need to take a break on the interviews. Waxman said he’d take over on that.”
“Did Waxman get the gag order for Watanabe and the TV coverage?” Lei asked, trying not to sound anxious.
“He’s trying, but the judge has also had an appeal submitted by KHIN. So he hasn’t signed it yet. Why?”
“Because I mistakenly filmed an appeal with Watanabe for the kid to come in. It turned out to be a setup. The Bureau, and me in particular, look like idiots.”
“Shit,” Marcella said. “Oh, Lei, I’m sorry.” Silence filled the SUV; then Ken turned the key and the vehicle roared into life.
“Call us when you get here.” Lei punched off.
Maui’s version of early-morning commute traffic was in full swing. They entered the flow of pickups, sedans with surf racks, and pineapple trucks to drive the short distance to the police station.
“I bet that bitch runs my interview on the morning news,” Lei said glumly. Ken gave a terse nod.
Chapter 14
Arriving in the conference room for the joint briefing, Lei was dismayed to see a large flatscreen mounted on a wheeled cart filled with her own image. In the newscast, she sat in the rattan chair, her tilted brown eyes magnified by unfamiliar plum eye shadow and the raspberry lipstick that had been pretty in person rendered garish in the portable spotlight. That light seemed to highlight every wrinkle in her jacket and springing curl. Watanabe looked polished and collected in contrast.
They’d reached the point in the interview where Lei stood, told the kid to turn himself in, and then spun and stomped away with a pause to yell “Gag order!”
Lei’s cheeks and neck burned with the blush that had been the bane of her existence for many years. She yanked out a molded plastic chair and sat, unfortunately next to Michael Stevens, who turned to her.
“Reporter’s got game,” he said.
“Yeah. And I don’t,” Lei said, watching herself walk away onscreen, looking temperamental as she jabbed the elevator button repeatedly while Watanabe’s voice-over droned a repeat of the case. The hairs on her arms stood up in response to Stevens’ nearness.
Captain Omura, her sleek bobbed hair and brass gleaming, turned the TV off with a click of the remote. “Good morning, Agents Texeira and Yamada. Hope you slept well after that fun interview.”
“Not really.” Lei looked around the table at the variety of expressions. “I never should have fallen for that. Hopefully, we’ll get the gag order today. We do have some news, though.”
Ken held up his smartphone. “Can I e-mail you some links? Our tech department found some important information.”
“Of course.”
Ken forwarded to the links from Ang to Omura, who hit the projector button and rolled down a screen behind her head. A screen shot of the voice recognition software came up, with matching points highlighted. “Agent Ang says these matching points identify the video messenger part of the Smiley Bandit as Tom Blackman, within a seventy-five-percent certainty.”
“So who’s flying the plane?” Omura asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee from a white plastic carafe and pushing it toward Ken and Lei.
Lei picked it up, poured some into a Styrofoam cup. She never used to be this addicted to coffee. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? We think there’s a good chance it’s Tyson Rezents because Ang also found video where both Blackman and Rezents, as high-school athletes, were interviewed by Watanabe. So that’s a connection, and they both worked at Paradise Air and are young and angry. We think it’s a strong assumption.”
“Something you missed,” Stevens said. Lei could feel his presence beside her, raising the hairs on her arms with his nearness. “Watanabe called some child advocates and told them the kid is armed and we are preparing to use deadly force against him, and they’ve been calling our station. If it’s Rezents, that could be a problem since he’s still a minor. Blackman is at least over twenty-one.”