The
sound of the siren filled the night. The car ahead of him applied the
brake, then moved to the side. Steve McGarrett turned the wheel slightly
into the clear path and rushed on. His mind should have been filled with
nature of the call, but it wasn't. He'd been disappointed. Thursday nights
were special. He looked forward to them and to the brief taste of a life
he never chose that they offered. He needed to get to The Blue Wave. There
had been a shooting.
"I'm
sorry," Max's voice came over the phone, "I know it's Thursday
but--you really need to be there."
Maximillian Conner. He was a good man. Young, but then everyone seemed
young nowadays. And if Max called him, he knew it was urgent...
...Steve recalled
painful day four years ago when he'd been forced to accept the loss of
his two best officers on the same day. Duke Lukela had been shot in the
back, confronted with an early retirement and nearly two years of painful
struggle that had eventually resulted in his ability to walk to the mailbox
and back unassisted. For any longer distances, he would always require
a walker or wheelchair. It had been of small consolation that the shooter
had died in the final assault on the bank. Nothing would ever give Duke
back his freedom of mobility.
Duke's loss
had been the first blow, followed an hour later by the resignation of
Dan Williams. Steve had known the day would come when Danno would choose
his son, Lonnie, over Five-0, but had hoped to prevent it. Danny had balanced
the two for the better part of three years; frequently believing Lonnie
came out on the short end. His brush with mortality by the same hands
that crippled Duke had been the last straw. He'd left Five-0 to accept
a teaching position at the university less than two days later. And upon
the completion of his dissertation, he had become Dan Williams, Ph.D.
If the loss of his associate in Five-0 had been painful, the gain of his
best friend at a new level had been Steve's trade-off. Thursday evenings
were normally spent at Danny's small beachfront cottage and the position
of hero worship that Steve had earned in Lonnie's eyes was a worthy reward.
For a solid
year after losing Duke and Danno, Steve had struggled to maintain and
rebuild his department. Governor Moyer had complained loudly and even
suggested he might replace Steve with a younger man, but never followed
through with the threat. Steve had hoped for a reprieve when Masakasi
became governor, but instead, the problem had intensified. With the solid
support of Kono and Gary, he had recruited, dismissed, and recruited again
from HPD. Five-0 had become known as the "revolving door department."
The reasons were varied. Some could not meet Steve's tough criteria, some
could not meet the demanding hours, and still others did not wish to serve
with the Iron Cop. Then one day, Dan Williams had shown up in the office
with Maximillian Conner in tow.
"Steve
McGarrett, Max Conner," he'd introduced them.
The tall half
Hawaiian-half black officer had extended a firm handshake and a genuine
smile. "Sir, you are a legend."
"Legend,
huh," Steve had replied. "You make me feel old."
Max had
fit in the department as if he had been born to it. In the three years
Max had been there, Steve had known much of the old security he used to
feel when Danno had been in the office next door. He felt that he would
have a someone to pass the "crown" to when he retired -- someday...
...Steve brought
the Lincoln to a halt in front of the nightclub. It was a glittered, tourist
affair. Right now there were women in gaudy dresses and men in tuxes milling
around on the sidewalk expressing everything from anger to tears while
uniformed police officers corralled them out of the street. There were
four squad cars and an ambulance, all with lights flashing, adding to
the mayhem. He stepped from his car and grabbed the first officer.
"Inside,
Sir," came the instant response.
Steve passed
through a leaded crystal door. The manager of the club stood to one side
talking in hushed tones with Gary Newman. Compared with the mayhem on
the street, it was quiet in here. There was a police photographer taking
shots up by the dance floor in the center of the room.
Max approached
him. "At about 6:30 a guy came in, held up the place, shot one man."
He pointed back to the dance floor.
Steve started
up that way. "That's an HPD case."
"Not
exactly," Mac replied with some hesitation. "This is the third
incident in a month."
"What?"
He stopped to stare
"I guess
the rationale was that nobody got hurt on the first two jobs."
Steve had
reached the murder scene. The body lay in a crumpled heap in a pool of
semi-gelatinous blood and brain tissue on the parquet floor. Everything
above the lower jaw and in front of the ears was gone. In thirty years
of police work, Steve had never gotten used to the waste of human life.
He turned away and a police officer covered the body with a yellow drop
cloth.
Max glanced
at his notes. "The shooter is a white man, black close cut hair,
brown eyes, six feet tall, weighing 170 or so. He got up and starting
preaching something about the Pele Defense Fund. He pulled out a gun and
told everyone to put the cash in the bag. No jewels, no cards, just cash.
Picked a woman to past the bag, then made her husband stand up there with
the gun in his mouth. He told the folks they had three minutes to get
the bag around or he'd shoot him. They didn't make it."
"This
is the third time this guy's done this?" Steve asked, spotting Kimo
Mamuka, the assistant chief of police on the other side of the room.
Mamuka, hearing
the remark, came over. "Steve, we had no way of knowing--"
"A gunman
takes hostages at gunpoint in clubs three times before you tell us?"
Steve cut him off.
"Look,
before this he'd only hit small bars twice. We figured him for a drunk.
He didn't hurt nobody. We had a description, and we were keeping an eye
out for him."
Steve gestured
to the dead man. "So you only involved Five-0 now because someone
was killed? Or because it was a tourist?"
Mamuka blushed.
"I'll get you copies of all the information on all three situations."
"You
do that, Mamuka," he snarled. "And I want the names of every
person at each location. You can give them to Max Conner--tonight."
--------------------------------------
The
doorbell chimed melodically when Steve pressed the lighted button. The
door opened. "Am I still wanted?" he asked with a tired smile.
Dan Williams
gave a laugh. "Anytime, Steve." He stepped back to permit his
ex-superior and best friend to enter.
"Hope
Lonnie wasn't too disappointed," Steve said with a sigh.
He shrugged.
"He understands." He walked to the refrigerator, took out a
pitcher and poured two glasses of iced tea.
"What
time is it anyway?"
"About
ten thirty. Say, there was a time this would still have been early to
you."
"Yeah,
once upon a time." He accepted a glass of iced tea. "Tell, ya,
Danno, nothing ever changes out there. We put away one and two new ones
take his place."
Danny folded
up a newspaper so they could sit down on the couch. "Tired enough
to slow down?"
"Now
you sound like Governor Masakasi. He'd love to have me turn Five-0 over
to a younger man."
"Max
is a good officer. He'd make a good leader."
"Is that
an official recommendation as his professor?"
"Well,"
he laughed, "he did learn from the best. What held you up tonight?"
Steve waved
a hand. "I thought we had an agreement not to discuss the office."
"When
Lonnie's awake," Danny added.
McGarrett
relaxed a bit. He retold the events in short form, with no details. "I
get the feeling HPD is more concerned over the impact on tourists than
anything else."
"The
killer sounds like he should stick out. Did anything he say fit with what
Pele Defense Fund is claiming about the thermal hydraulic plant?"
"Max
and Gary are still piecing that together."
"What
do you think?"
McGarrett
gave an analytical gaze. "I'll bet it comes in all off base."
"Like
he just read about it?" Danny asked. "You think if it wasn't
Pele, it would be something else?"
McGarrett
nodded slowly. "We're thinking alike, aren't we? This isn't a petty
crook; we've got a real psycho on our hands."
Danny gave
a patient smile. "It's not politically correct to refer to nutcases
as psychos any more. We're supposed to use terms like mentally unstable."
McGarrett
raised an eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Williams, I think I should be asking
you the questions in this case."
"Any
time, Steve. The door is always open. And I'll give you a cut rate."
-----------------------------------------------
Gary
and Max stood in Steve's office bright and early, armed with facts and
with the attitude of being eager for the hunt.
"First
bar was a real dive," Gary started, gesturing to the spot on the
Plexiglas map of Honolulu. "He maybe got a hundred bucks. Description
fits with last night. Medium build, haole, dark hair, mustache."
"No mustache
mentioned last night," Steve remarked.
"He said
something there about Pele's anger, how they were choppin' up nature,
passed the bag, gave 'em three minutes. Owner says there were only about
six patrons there. He did the same things though -- you know -- the gun
in the mouth bit. Didn't take anything from the till."
"The
second job?" Steve asked.
"Bigger
bar, but all the way around by Barbar's Point. A surfers' hangout. Looks
were different. He had longer blonde hair, maybe a wig. Took all cash
again. Same MO The owner claims he tried to offer him the register money
to release the hostage, but the guy just threatened to shoot if he came
close. Got maybe five, six hundred there."
"And
the take last night?" Steve blew on his morning coffee.
Max spoke
up. "Things were pretty confused. Probably a lot closer to three
thousand. Some of those folks were totting a lot of cash. He really stepped
up in his choice of spots."
McGarrett
added the third dot to the map. "He must have gained a lot of courage
from the first two jobs."
"I talked
with Eugene West of the Pele Defense Fund," Max added. "He doesn't
recognize the guy. What we've got of the guy's speech does fit with their
platform to some extent. It's more like he read something in the paper
though. West really emphasized that they advocate peaceful protests --
not terrorist attacks."
"I'll
bet he did," Steve said. "This whole thermal energy plant thing
has stirred up a great deal of feeling. At a time when there's been so
much pressure to hang onto the Hawaiian culture and young people are being
encouraged to learn more about ancient ways, the energy commission has
stepped on a hornet's nest with wanting to harness the volcanic energy.
To those who believe, Pele is a powerful goddess."
"The
power of Pele would not need a haole stealing to be great," Gary
commented. "I don't think our killer understands anything of Hawaiian
religious culture."
Steve paused,
recalling Danny's comment the night before. "If he's truly a psychopath,
picking up on any cause that floats by, then he's going to be a lot more
dangerous." He rose, glared at the map then at his team. "Max,
check out the mental health clinics; see if anyone recognizes the drawing.
Be discreet. Gary, find Kono and the two of you go back and start looking
up and interviewing every witness at all three incidents."
"Every
witness?" Gary said, recalling the long list from last night. It
was going to be a long day.
--------------------------------------
At
the knock of the door, Eugene West hastened to answer it. He was obviously
relieved. "Mr. McGarrett, I'm so glad you came."
"You
did the best thing at calling me right away," Steve assured him.
West opened
a drawer of his desk and took out a stuffed white business envelope. "It
was stuck under my windshield washer this morning."
Steve glanced
inside, seeing what he expected. "Did you count the money?"
He shook his
head quickly. "I didn't touch it."
"Good.
Have you received any unusual phone calls? Did anyone call to make sure
you'd received the donation?"
"No,
but that killer must have known my car and where I live. How did he find
that out?"
"Oh,
it's not too hard," Steve replied. "I'll station a plain clothes
officer at your office and your home, but I don't think you are at risk."
"McGarrett,
we're all at risk."
-----------------------------------------
The
bills were all pinned in neat rows on boards in forensics. Each one had
been examined, dusted, counted.
"Six
thousand, four hundred, and ninety two dollars," Ling Fong informed
him, her glasses framed face beaming. She had only recently been appointed
to the position formerly occupied by her father, Che Fong, and took great
pleasure any time Five-0 requested her services. "The bad news is
he washed them."
"Washed
them?" Steve repeated.
"Yes.
Soap and water washed them," she stated.
Max grinned.
"Speaking of laundering your money."
"I can't
tell you the brand of detergent right away," she added, "but
if it matters, I'll get on it."
"Let
me get this right," Steve said, frowning. "A man holds up three
bars, kills one man, and then puts all the money through the washing machine
before drying it and giving it to a charity?"
Max flipped
the pages on his notepad. "During his speeches he talked about contamination
and having a pure sacrifice. Maybe this was some kind of a ceremonial
cleansing or something."
------------------------------
The
air was tangy with the scents of tomato sauce and spices. A jute box played
a current hit in the corner. Several high school students milled near
it, playing a video game. On the other side of the room, a couple sat
waiting for their pizza. Two more students wandered in calling greetings
to the pizza vendor.
"Hey,
Randy!" the man called, "you're pizza's ready."
The student
wandered over reaching into his jeans pocket for his wallet.
A young, fair-haired,
bearded man entered the restaurant and the bell over the door jangled.
He glanced around, then came to the counter and ordered a Coke. He sipped
at it absently, as if waiting for something. A few girls came in, obviously
friends of the high school boys. They chattered and giggled.
The bearded
man turned from the counter, then said loudly: "Okay, everyone, listen
up!"
It got quiet
as the young people looked at him in surprise and curiosity.
"I am
here to see that each of you pays your homage to Pele."
"Get
real, man," one of the boys scoffed.
"They
are seeking to destroy our heritage," the man insisted. "The
fools will unleash the wrath of Pele if they continue to drill into the
earth. The earth is sacred; it must be protected from them. You must all
join with me to protect her."
"Hey,
fella, I just came for pizza," the same boy called out.
The speaker
approached him, a small cloth bag in hand. "You will take the collection."
"Fat
chance. What're you smokin' anyway?" He turned his back on the bearded
man.
The man pulled
out a surprisingly large gun and jammed it into a young girl's mouth.
She tried to scream. "Now," he said angrily, gun in one hand,
the girl's hair twisted in the other. "Cash in the bag. You have
three minutes or I'll kill her."
The girl issued
a muddled cry of panic.
The boy dashed
from person to person, terrified. "Hold on, man, I'm doin' it, all
right?"
"Cash
only!" the attacker yelled as one man started to drop in his wallet.
"No taunted plastic!"
The trembling
high schooler handed him the bag; he pushed the girl away, and was gone
through the door.
---------------------------------------------------
Max
jotted cryptic notes as the pizza owner retold the story. Uniformed officers
were still taking statements from the other witnesses. "It was just
so damned fast," the owner repeated. "He was in and out in less
than five minutes. I was afraid he'd kill that girl." He hesitated.
"Is he the same loony who held up the cocktail lounge last week and
killed that guy?"
Max looked
at him calmly. "I don't know. Can you recall anything else about
him? An accent maybe, anything special about his clothing? Get a license
number or see his car?"
He thought
a moment. "No. It seemed like he just vanished."
It was frustrating
that witnesses never seemed to see what was really important. Max turned
as he spotted Steve's car arrive and walked over as McGarrett got out.
"Same song, different verse."
"Yeah,
I'll bet," McGarrett closed the door.
"This
time the attacker was bearded. Height, build about the same. He is definitely
using disguises."
"Piece
all three sketches together in the computer, see what comes up the same.
Let's get a look at what your Mac thinks our man looks like." Steve
sighed. "And I think it's time we paid a visit to our local criminology
Ph.D."
--------------------------------------------
"There
are currently over 500 serial killers loose in Canada and mainland United
States." Dan Williams turned from writing a large 5-0-0 on the chalkboard
and faced his class of first year abnormal psychology students. He let
the fact sink in. "For every David Berkowitz or Ted Bundy that's
apprehended, there are fifty more out there. Why? What has made our society
one of such violence? Every case you investigate will be more than victims
and villains. In order to find your suspect and in order to hold and convict
him you will need more than just the obvious clues. You will need to get
inside his mind -- find out why he does what he does, how he thinks --
and then by understanding why he behaves as he does you will catch him.
To do that, you need to look at society today, what affects people and
makes them into the callus, non-feeling individuals who could just --"he
shrugged, "-- blow away a stranger at the bar."
The mention
of the current crime spree sponsored a brief buzz of activity amongst
the students.
Danny was
pleased. They were thinking. He looked up through the lecture hall of
over seventy faces and found the ones he wanted. He had noticed McGarrett
and Conner enter earlier. "Okay," he called out, bringing the
talk to an end. "Now that you're all awake, I want you go get out
your copy of TV Guide and count the number of shows that have violence
in their main plot this week. And don't forget the cable listings. When
you are finished, check out the hottest movies in town and what the plots
are. I want 500 words tomorrow on your impressions." He tossed the
chalk to the board. "Dismissed."
As the students
filed out, Steve and Max came forward. "A little unorthodox, don't
you think?" Steve asked of Danny.
He smiled.
"Sure hope so. How are you doing, Max?"
"Fine,"
he replied.
"What's
up, Steve?" Danny asked, closing his brief case.
"Our
Pele worshipper," McGarrett remarked.
Danny nodded.
"He's hit four times now."
"And
getting more frequent. He's using disguises. The locations don't seem
to have any relation, nor do the times of day." Steve handed Danny
a manila envelope. "This is a copy of everything we've got. Just
look through it and give me your impression."
Danny hesitated
as he accepted the file. "In four years you've never asked me to
become involved in a case." There is a part of me that wishes
so much to go back to the hunt, the chase, the mystery that was part of
Five-0. There are days I miss it so much it hurts. But there is a part
that knows I cannot.
"I
am not asking you to get involved," Steve said firmly. "I want
your professional input, your advice." He could see there was disappointment
in Williams' look and felt uncertain about how to handle the moment. He
made this choice, not me. It was the right choice. I supported it. He
doesn't seem to ever have regretted it -- until now.
"Sure,
Steve." Danny dropped the file into his brief case. "I'll give
you my best."
-------------------------------------------
Clint
Myer collapsed onto the old mattress on the floor of the small second
story studio apartment. The walls of his single room were plastered with
slogans and pamphlets of everything from saving the whales to Jacques
Cousteau. On the wall was tacked a map of Hawaii, courtesy of Exxon Oil.
Sketched over the face of it in pencil was a drawing of a volcano. He
shoved his textbooks to the side. One slid off the bed and landed on the
floor. It was his Abnormal Psych I text. He popped the flip-top on the
beer can and drank heavily of its contents. Some escaped the sides of
his mouth and drizzled down his chin. With an "ah" of satisfaction,
he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
He finished
the beer and gave a loud belch. A fly buzzing around his ears bothered
him and he took a half-hearted swat at it, missing. At last, he got up
from the mattress and went to study the map. From there, he went to the
sink and after running a hand through his sandy blonde hair, picked up
the bottle of temporary hair color.
----------------------------------------
There
were all the usual sounds. A woman cried softly, clinging to her escort.
Others stood around talking with officers and each other in hushed tones.
Outside, the news people clamored for their story.
Max looked
quickly away from the faceless body of a man lying sprawled on the floor
of the club. He exchanged looks with Gary. "It's been only two days
since the pizza shop."
Gary nodded.
"He lost his nerve. Two of the witnesses said it hadn't been three
minutes. He just panicked and fired. Left the money behind this time.
And he got a new face. Sunglasses and red hair. No beard, no mustache."
He may but
a loony, but he's a smart loony," Max added with a sigh.
McGarrett
flexed his jaw muscles in fury and frustrations. I have got to stop
this maniac, but how? There is no reason, no pattern. How can we make
him come to us? What does he want? Even his locations vary from pizza
shops and bars to fancy clubs and hot spots. Where is the one thing it
all has in common? Hopefully Danno will have an idea and soon.
"Mr.
McGarrett!" called an officer, "call for you."
He walked
to the phone on the counter of the bar of the club. "McGarrett."
Max scooped
up the evening paper that lay crumpled in the corner. "Did you see
this?" he asked of Gary. The headline read: "Will Pele's Child
Strike Again?"
"Pele's
Child?" Gary commented. "You mean this guy has a name for himself
like some super hero?"
"More
like a serial killer," Max corrected.
Steve returned,
his stride betraying he was in a hurry. "Gentlemen, our killer has
just killed another person in Wakiki."
"What!"
Max gasped.
"He must
have left here and gone straight there!" Gary observed.
"Yeah,
so much for losing his nerve," Steve remarked hotly. "It was
a restaurant, with about fifty patrons and staff present. "We have
to stop this man and now. I don't care how much manpower it takes or if
we have to stake a man in every bar and restaurant on the Island, but
we're going to get him. Compare the newest descriptions with the computer
description. See how close it is and update it. Get it out on the airwaves.
Somebody's got to know him or have seen him."
--------------------------------------
End Part 1
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