him.”
“You forget I came up from patrol officer to detective before I joined the Bureau,” Lei said. “Lots of times we wanted to ask a few questions without someone knowing we were cops.”
“Well, I’m sure they made us for cops, but they don’t have to know what kind. That’s one thing about the Bureau—once people know they’re being investigated, they get scared, and word spreads fast.”
“I can see that.” Lei programmed the address Reynalda had given them for Tom Blackman into the GPS. “Maybe Blackman’s home.”
Another run-down neighborhood, this time a little cinder-block cottage with “ornamental” holes in the cement brick lining the walkway. A faded plastic play set occupied a scrap of dandelion-choked front yard.
“Yes?” A petite woman in a muumuu stood behind a steel-screened door.
Ken took the lead. “Hi. Do you know a Tom Blackman?”
“Yes.”
“Is he home?”
“Doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I kicked him out. He hadn’t paid his rent. And no, he didn’t leave an address.”
Lei consulted her notes as Ken fired up the Acura. “Let’s go look for Lehua Kinoshita now—we shouldn’t focus in on these two too early. Let’s call in that warrant on Kimo Matthews, step up finding him,” Ken said. Lei got on the phone to Dispatch and had them call in to HPD that Matthews was now wanted for FBI questioning.
“I’m looking for info on Lehua,” Lei said, working the Toughbook.
“She seems like a straight shooter. She was trying to get justice for herself and others at Paradise. Do you think that fits with a vandalizing burglar?” Ken asked.
“Not sure, but I agree we shouldn’t zero in on anyone too early.” Lei had Lehua’s profile up. “No criminal activity, not even a parking ticket. She’s clean.”
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t have an ax to grind with Smiley, though. Do you have an address?”
“Yes.” Lei plugged it into the GPS. “Next stop, health insurance activist. I think we should also check how far the range is on the Hummel. Maybe we can figure out where the unsub is going next.” Lei worked the Toughbook as Ken negotiated clogged traffic back into downtown. “Whoa. Looks like the Hummel can do up to a hundred twenty-five miles on a tank of gas. That’s range enough to get to another island.”
Chapter 7
Suppressed urgency infused the office upon their return—they’d received an abrupt summons back to the Bureau as they left the unoccupied apartment that was Lehua Kinoshita’s last-known address.
Special Agent in Charge Waxman sat at the head of the shiny fake-burled-wood conference table. Waxman, pale as his name suggested, with a silver comb-over and a dapper suit, opened up a laptop. Special Agent Gundersohn, a large and deceptively slow-moving Swede, sat at Waxman’s right hand. On his other side, Marcella and her partner, Matt Rogers, had taken seats. Lei and Ken took a few more chairs to cluster at one end of the lengthy table.
The conference room was a strictly utilitarian space, soundproofed walls lined in whiteboard and a single large plaque with the FBI logo on it behind Waxman’s head. A heavily tinted bulletproof glass window looked out on a wind-whipped cobalt ocean dotted with fishing and sailboats. “Lei and I were just coming back from the field to brief you as to where we are on the case.” Ken let his statement turn into a question as Sophie Ang, specialist from the IT department, slipped into the chair beside him, already opening her own laptop.
“Yes, and I want to hear it—but first you’re going to want to see this.” Waxman pushed a button on the bottom of the table and a projection screen whirred down behind his head. Another button and the webpage on his laptop leaped into view. SMILEY BANDIT REDISTRIBUTES WEALTH was the title of a plain white blog page. Lei’s heart jumped. The unsub was making some sort of move.
A grainy photo showed a picture of the
“You forget I came up from patrol officer to detective before I joined the Bureau,” Lei said. “Lots of times we wanted to ask a few questions without someone knowing we were cops.”
“Well, I’m sure they made us for cops, but they don’t have to know what kind. That’s one thing about the Bureau—once people know they’re being investigated, they get scared, and word spreads fast.”
“I can see that.” Lei programmed the address Reynalda had given them for Tom Blackman into the GPS. “Maybe Blackman’s home.”
Another run-down neighborhood, this time a little cinder-block cottage with “ornamental” holes in the cement brick lining the walkway. A faded plastic play set occupied a scrap of dandelion-choked front yard.
“Yes?” A petite woman in a muumuu stood behind a steel-screened door.
Ken took the lead. “Hi. Do you know a Tom Blackman?”
“Yes.”
“Is he home?”
“Doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I kicked him out. He hadn’t paid his rent. And no, he didn’t leave an address.”
Lei consulted her notes as Ken fired up the Acura. “Let’s go look for Lehua Kinoshita now—we shouldn’t focus in on these two too early. Let’s call in that warrant on Kimo Matthews, step up finding him,” Ken said. Lei got on the phone to Dispatch and had them call in to HPD that Matthews was now wanted for FBI questioning.
“I’m looking for info on Lehua,” Lei said, working the Toughbook.
“She seems like a straight shooter. She was trying to get justice for herself and others at Paradise. Do you think that fits with a vandalizing burglar?” Ken asked.
“Not sure, but I agree we shouldn’t zero in on anyone too early.” Lei had Lehua’s profile up. “No criminal activity, not even a parking ticket. She’s clean.”
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t have an ax to grind with Smiley, though. Do you have an address?”
“Yes.” Lei plugged it into the GPS. “Next stop, health insurance activist. I think we should also check how far the range is on the Hummel. Maybe we can figure out where the unsub is going next.” Lei worked the Toughbook as Ken negotiated clogged traffic back into downtown. “Whoa. Looks like the Hummel can do up to a hundred twenty-five miles on a tank of gas. That’s range enough to get to another island.”
Chapter 7
Suppressed urgency infused the office upon their return—they’d received an abrupt summons back to the Bureau as they left the unoccupied apartment that was Lehua Kinoshita’s last-known address.
Special Agent in Charge Waxman sat at the head of the shiny fake-burled-wood conference table. Waxman, pale as his name suggested, with a silver comb-over and a dapper suit, opened up a laptop. Special Agent Gundersohn, a large and deceptively slow-moving Swede, sat at Waxman’s right hand. On his other side, Marcella and her partner, Matt Rogers, had taken seats. Lei and Ken took a few more chairs to cluster at one end of the lengthy table.
The conference room was a strictly utilitarian space, soundproofed walls lined in whiteboard and a single large plaque with the FBI logo on it behind Waxman’s head. A heavily tinted bulletproof glass window looked out on a wind-whipped cobalt ocean dotted with fishing and sailboats. “Lei and I were just coming back from the field to brief you as to where we are on the case.” Ken let his statement turn into a question as Sophie Ang, specialist from the IT department, slipped into the chair beside him, already opening her own laptop.
“Yes, and I want to hear it—but first you’re going to want to see this.” Waxman pushed a button on the bottom of the table and a projection screen whirred down behind his head. Another button and the webpage on his laptop leaped into view. SMILEY BANDIT REDISTRIBUTES WEALTH was the title of a plain white blog page. Lei’s heart jumped. The unsub was making some sort of move.
A grainy photo showed a picture of the
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