|
The Punishment Fits the Crime The sun was setting when Steve pulled into the circular drive of Lucas Mansfield's home. It was a modest, but immaculate place. He wondered how Lucas afforded it on a principal's salary, then reminded himself that his wife worked, too. He made a mental note to find out how much they were worth. "Steve!" Lucas greeted he at the door with
a warm handshake. "What a surprise." "What can I do for you?" "Talk a minute?" "Sure, but you'll have to come out back. I've got a couple of steaks on the grill." They passed through the house, Steve noting the condition of everything, cleanliness, and organization right down to the color co-ordinated silk flower arrangement on the coffee table. Mansfield had two children, both in college now. One was a full-back at Southern Cal. His football picture was framed on the piano. "How's Mike getting on?" "Great. Did you hear he made varsity this year?" "Congratulations." "He's a great kid." "And Charles?" He shrugged. Charlie was always a sore subject. He lacked both the imagination and physical abilities of his older brother and just seemed to drift through life. Lucas often let his disappointment in him show. "He's a freshman at the junior college. Taking liberal arts. I keep telling him to get involved with something." Steve let the subject die. "What's the scuttlebutt at the high school?" "About what?" Lucas asked picking up a fork to jab his steak. "Oh, that. Not a word. At least the teachers haven't said anything to me. Just because it happened on school turf doesn't mean students were involved." Steve noted Lucas' referral to Rich's death as "it" like a forbidden topic. "But it is likely." "You think so?" Lucas flipped the meat and the fire flared. "Could have been anybody. That parking lot is dark at night. I've been trying to get them to replace burned out lights for two weeks." "Do you think they chose the lot because
it was dark?" Steve asked. "I don't know. I'm not discounting it.
Nor am I discounting that at least Lucas now appeared openly irritated. "Or what? Faculty or staff involvement?" Steve did not respond to the question. "How often does somebody go down to the basement and inventory what's down there?" He scowled again. "I don't know. We've got too many other things to do besides play around in the basement." Steve mentally noted Lucas' defensiveness. He did not want his people involved. He was already upset "it" had happened on his campus and now police were nosing around. "Thanks, Lucas, enjoy your steak. I'll see myself out." Lucas jabbed the steak again--hard. Artie Bender lifted the switchblade from
the plastic bucket of alcohol There was a sound at the door of the basement room and he jumped. It was just Tom. Artie sighed upon seeing him. "Nervous?" Tom asked. He was a large, bulky Hawaiian; about forty years of age, dressed in a school janitor's uniform. He knew he could easily get Artie to do whatever he wished. Artie was small for his age, which was sixteen and right now looked like a scared rabbit. "Stop putting holes in those sandbags. What are you so nervous for anyway?" "I never killed nobody before," Artie remarked quietly. "You cut up a few guys," Tom replied. "This is just part of the business. Sometimes things go a little further than you plan. I been teaching you all my best stuff for the last six months, Bro. You just proved that stinkin' guidance counselor wrong." He patted Artie's shoulder. "You really can learn what's important. When the heat was on, you did the job right." "I killed a cop," he muttered. "Yes," Tom confirmed. There was silence for a moment. Tom walked to the back of the room and picked up a mop. "You didn't have a choice," he finally said. "The boss knows that. He wants you to keep the operation off school property. Who else was with you last night?" "Charlie and three kids." "Know them?" He shrugged. "A little." "They know you?" He shrugged again. "Not much." Tom filled a bucket with water and soap. "Artie, not much can become a lot. You need to protect yourself. These guys will talk. Maybe not today, but someday. There's no statute of limitation on murder. Can you find these guys again?" "Maybe." Artie's eyes narrowed. Tom gave him a quiet look and without further
comment, left the basement. Danny spent most of the morning doing legwork--asking supply houses, art shops, and hardware stores about the absorbing sand--Sorbit. The formal name was all he'd been able to learn. Nobody carried it, nobody sold it. Duke had not made out much better with the G-359. One Army Navy store had sold it's last can six years before. An emergency call took Duke to the high school at about 11 a.m. Lucas met him on the steps and rushed him back towards the locker room. The scene was so out of place. Among the rows of gym lockers, the young man hung from the overhead pipe, belt around his neck. His books were scattered on the floor at his feet, a hastily jotted note folded on top. "Who is he?" Duke asked. "Quint Makuta," Lucas replied. He showed the note. Duke accepted it with a handkerchief. "'I couldn't live with it.' Couldn't live with what?" Lucas shook his head. "He wasn't a good student, but that didn't seem to matter to him. He never appeared to have serious problems. Why would he kill himself?" Duke glanced at the body. "Did he?" "Huh?" "Kill himself?" Lucas blinked. Duke reported the news to Steve and Danny in McGarrett's office forty minutes later. "Boy was Quint Makuta, age sixteen. Junior. Low to fair grades. Broken but stable home. No girl problems. No needle marks--at least obvious ones. Doc is checking for drug levels in the blood now." He handed Steve the note now protected
in plastic and a Science paper of Steve gave a grunt. "A bit sloppy." "Che got three good prints off the note.
Running them now," Duke added. "You think they're connected?" Danny asked. Steve glanced at him. "What do you think?" "We're supposed to think so. Note says he
couldn't live with it. Could "Yeah." Steve gave a sly grin. "But since
Makuta didn't write the note, the person who did write it knows something
about the murder. We've got dirt in the high school." Anna Marie hesitated on the walk before entering. She had always loathed Fu and all he stood for. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the pimp's "horse stable." Fu was there behind his small counter as fat and repulsive as ever. "Anna Marie!" He exclaimed in joy, "what a pleasure to see you. I think of you often." He looked her over, his eyes undressing her. "I'll bet you do," she said a bit coldly, then, recalling her purpose here, added: "I need something from you." He tisked gently. "All things may be obtained, but for a price. Your mother was my dearest child. For you, I would do anything." He always referred to his prostitutes as his children. "You heard about my brother's death." He looked genuinely sad. He parted his large, fat hands. "Such a shame. Is that what brings you here?" "What have you heard?" He smiled quietly. "My dear, I have no business in drugs for sale." "You know where to get them to keep your ladies content," she said softly. "I wish I could help you," he said simply, "but, alas, I know so little." "It seems little can become much when the right price is paid," she whispered, shifting her right shoulder ever so slightly, seductively. Fu's eyes gleamed and he licked his chubby lips. "Anna, my dear, your offer is tempting," he said nervously. She grinned. "Yes, you are drooling on your shirt." He glanced down, believing her. He stood there summing her up. "Is that all you want?" "What else do you offer?" She asked in a hushed tone, touching her tongue to her open lips. "Become one of my children and you can make in a day what it takes you a year to earn at that supermarket." She tossed her long, dark hair. "Except I'd be dead in that year from a drug overdose, a john, or something else." "Not you," he whispered intently, running his hand through her hair. "You would be my personal pet. NO lines of johns for you." She fingered the button on her blouse. "We can discuss that business later. First, we settle the matter of my brother. Can you get me what I need?" "Of course," he answered, the fat jowls
jiggling as he nodded quickly. He took her hand and led her around the
counter, licking his lips again. "I can work out any deal--for you, my
dear." She shivered slightly as he led her towards the back. Artie found Charlie Mansfield standing out in the open on a street corner. Together, they wandered down towards a protected area near Hotel St. "Tom wants us to clean up from the other night," Artie commented. Charlie nodded. He'd already known. "Tom says the other two are yours to deal with." Artie looked uncomfortable. "I don't know if I can find them." "I'll find 'em. I remember them." Charlie
kept a watchful eye as they circulated. "They need to buy their stuff
from somewhere." "There is G-359 in use in the automotive shop at the high school, but there are about 150 students with access," he announced. "We don't need 150, just one," Steve replied, biting into a sandwich. "Check in the school's attendance office and see which ones didn't come in yesterday. My bet is our man may have been too frightened to come to school." "Pretty slim shot," Danny remarked. "Some
of those kids just don't go at all." "Nothing," Danny replied. "It came from somewhere." There was a brief silence as each one pondered their choices. "How old is that school anyway?" Danny asked slowly. The three of them exchanged looks. Steve pulled a book off his shelf and after thumbing through several pages, had the answer. "1904." "They must have used that sand at some
point, wouldn't you think?" Duke said. Jenny stuck her head in the door. "Anna Marie, Boss," she announced regretfully. Anna Marie pushed past her. "Well?" She demanded. "Well, what?" Steve asked. "Well, what have you done about Richie's murderer?" She questioned, fury bubbling beneath her tone. Steve paused to contain his rush of anger. "Miss Lawee, I am not in the habit of answering to family members on a daily basis. Rich was a good man, a valued friend, and we are working hard on this case." "Cut the crap," she snapped. "You don't have anything, do you? That is, except another dead kid. Have you looked at Charlie Mansfield?" "Charlie Mansfield?" Steve frowned. "What do you mean?" "I know for a fact that he was there." McGarrett's eyes narrowed and a grim, rock hard expression settled on his face. "Just how do you know that?" "You really should get some women in this office, McGarrett. We have--ways of obtaining information you men cannot offer." "Anne Marie--" "Don't you lecture me! My brother's dead and somebody's gonna pay for that." "The right somebody!" McGarrett fired back. "Not just anybody. Now, where did you get the information that Charlie Mansfield was involved?" She crossed her arms. "Privileged." "Oh no, dear. You're going to have to do a whole lot better than that. I can't get a warrant for a man based on your hearsay." She squared her jaw and fixed an icy look on Steve. "Fu Susang." "God, Anna," Danny whispered in shock, "what have you done?" She spun to him. "What had to be done.
Now you do your job and get that bastard!" Lucas barely glanced at the court order Duke handed him. "That wasn't necessary, Lukela. I would have been happy to comply with whatever Steve needs." Happy was not exactly the word Duke thought he would have used to describe Mansfield's reaction just now. Lucas, not taking his eyes off Duke, pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Laura, see if Tom Dagit is in the building. I need him to conduct a little tour." A few minutes later, Tom was noisily jangling his key chain as he unlocked the door to the basement of the high school. The steel door creaked as it opened. "A whole lot of nothing down here," he commented as he led Duke and Danny down the stairway. "Watch your step. It's not well lit." An understatement. The weak light bulbs dangling from thin wires were far apart, leaving many dark corners filled with boxes; broken old desks and overturned chairs; and stacks of musty, old books. The floor was gritty underfoot. "What are you looking for?" Tom asked. They glanced around. "Let you know when we find it," Danny remarked. Tom watched in silence as they split up and slowly began to explore the bowels of the building. Time dragged by. He had brought them in from the entrance farthest from the small area Artie had moved into to call home. It wouldn't really look much different from the rest of the cellar anyway. He doubted they would notice. It was forty minutes later when Duke called to Danny. "Get a look at this." Things in the area had been moved around. There was less dust on the floor here, like there had been activity. There were boxes and crates that looked like they had been moved lately. Tom hurried to catch up with them, knowing they had located Artie's corner and quickly fabricating an explanation in his mind. Danny shone a pen light on the steel door at the top of the stairway nearby. "That door?" "Leads outside," Tom replied. "It's locked. I use it from time to time." He pointed to the large sink in the corner. "I keep some extra mop and floor supplies here." Duke's light illumined the gallon containers of chemicals beside the sink and the yellow wringer bucket. He moved up the stairway to inspect the lock of the door, taking Tom with him. "Doesn't look like it's been picked or anything. Are you the only one who comes down here?" "Well, I don't know for sure. We've all got keys, but I do most of the floors. Don't know who else would need to come here," he replied, pleased that interest now seemed to be off that corner. As they moved away, Danny touched a leaking
sack of what appeared to be sand. There were several slits in the
old burlap and he quickly pinched a sample of the material and sprinkled
it into a small evidence bag. "Hi, Charlie," he greeted him. Charlie paused, surprised, but quickly remembered: "Steve McGarrett." He laughed. "Sorry, I--um haven't seen you in a long time. How's things?" "Fine, Charlie. How are things for you?" Okay." He jammed his hands into his pockets. "What brings you here?" "The chicken," he remarked. "Wanted a bite of dinner." "Well, try the new seasoning--it's real good." "I will, thanks. Say, um, Charlie, do you know Anna Marie Lawee?" He shook his head. "Never heard of her. Say, that name; she related to that cop that got killed? Wasn't he Lawee?" "Yeah." Charlie looked uncomfortable now. "Don't know her, why?" "Just wondering. She mentioned your name like she knew you." "Mentioned my name? About what?" Now Charlie was really sweating. "Oh, we were talking about the school and all. I think your brother was in the same graduating class with her." Charlie frowned again. "Oh." "Ever know Quint Makuta?" He popped out the class picture of the dead boy and showed it to Charlie. He barely glanced at it. "McGarrett, why are you playing twenty questions with me?" McGarrett straightened some, losing a little of the friendly air. "A witness saw you in the area of the school the night of Officer Lawee's murder." He cracked a nervous grin. "Is that all? Hell, McGarrett, could have been a hundred people around that school that night. My father is principal. I take stuff up there for him all the time. Doesn't mean I killed anybody." "No one was saying you did. I just wanted to know if you saw anything in anyway unusual." For a micro-second, he considered pointing the finger at Artie, but dismissed it as too dangerous. "If I had, I would have already told you guys." McGarrett patted Charlie's arm. "Well, if you remember anything, give me a call, okay? And say hi to your father for me." "Sure, fine," Charlie muttered. Steve moved off, or at least seemed to.
Sure enough, Charlie made a dash for the closest pay phone. Steve
carefully noted the number he dialed. It was the high school administration
office. "You've got a match," Che announced proudly to Danny. "This powder is the same as what was removed from Lawee's body. No question about it." "And the knife slits in the bags would support that the killer has been down in the school basement," Danny added. McGarrett paced the office. "Circumstantial, Danno. It does make the custodian a suspect, but there isn't enough to arrest him on, let alone convict him." "Dagit sure went out of his way to try and keep us at the other end of the basement," Duke added. "We need the murder weapon, gentlemen. We've also got Anna Marie's word that Charlie Mansfield is involved with this. From what I saw, I would agree he has something to hide. We have got a student dead in a faked suicide. His blood levels revealed amphetamine. He was killed for a reason." "To keep him quiet?" Danny offered. "Yeah. Quiet about what?" "Maybe he witnessed Rich's killing." Steve nodded. "Maybe he was the buyer." "And Charlie selling? You think Charlie knifed Rich?" Steve shook his head. "Charlie may have been involved in some way, but Charlie's not one to go off half-cocked and kill like that. Nor did he have the opportunity to get to Quint Makuta. He was in class at the junior college at the time." Duke glanced at his notes. "Makuta weight about 190. Six foot two inches tall. Charlie is five-nine. Even if he was there he couldn't have pulled the hanging off by himself." "Dagit could though," Danny suggested. "He'd a pretty big guy. He was at the school." Steve contemplated the case and his suspects. Dagit, Charlie. "I am convinced there is more to this. Let's find out more about Tom Dagit, but do it quietly." "You want us to bring Dagit in?" Danny asked, hopeful that they could take some kind of action that would make himself feel like something was happening and placate Anna Marie at the same time. Steve stared out of the window at the parking lot below. "Danno, I don't think Dagit killed Rich." "But--I don't get it." He turned back. "Rich was too good an officer for that. He would never have been caught so off guard if someone the size of Dagit had been in that dark alley. Never. He stumbled onto something, maybe a drug deal, between kids who panicked. He didn't realize the danger until it was too late. Dagit and Charlie may lead us to the supplier, but the killer is a kid." He scowled and asked quietly. "So, what do we do?" "You got that absentee list of shop students yesterday?" He flipped a page on his pad. "Four. One had a note from the doctor today. That leaves three. Gino Wang, Mark Lathon, and Carole Smith." He had been mildly amused by a girl in auto shop until he found out the teacher was also female. "Addresses?" "Sure." "Check 'em out." End Part 2 Back to List Contact Author |