Restless Waters (22 page)

The only thing of interest in the room were two shark jaws that hung on the wall. One had a mouthful of notched and serrated teeth, while the other contained what could have passed for a collection of lethal knives. Sharkfin Dave caught my eye, and his lips curled up in a smile.

“Those belonged to a couple of badass friends of mine—a mako and a tiger shark. I can tell you it was one helluva job yanking those things from their mouths. I cut
the shit out of myself. They may not look lively now, but those two gave me quite the time. Yep, I’ve got fond memories of ’em. We’ll always have Paris, isn’t that right, my little beauties?” he bantered, looking up at the two deadly sets of jaws.

“The man that confronted me out there—Mikey—is he a shark-fin dealer?” I questioned.

“You betcha. Michael Leung is now the main mover and shaker of fins in Hawaii,” Dave said, and then discharged a snort. “Did I say Hawaii? Who am I kidding? We’re talking the whole goddamn world.”

Leung.
My stomach tightened, and the pain in my arm began to throb even more. My assailant had the same last name as the notorious ivory dealer in Hong Kong. Not only that, but
Leung
had also been scribbled on Sammy’s drawing of a shark.

“His father wouldn’t happen to be George Leung, by any chance, would he?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Sharkfin responded with a shrug. “I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that his daddy lives in Hong Kong and makes big bucks. Word has it the family’s rich as shit. Daddy set Mikey up in the shark-fin trade over here. And to do that, you’ve gotta be plenty wealthy and have a chunk of ready change in your pocket, ’cause this is purely a cash business.”

Fins would naturally change hands for cash only. It was one of those gray markets in which most transactions weren’t even recorded. It made me all the more curious as to how Sammy had gotten hold of those papers.

So that’s what George Leung was doing with his money from the illegal ivory trade these days. He was setting up another lucrative cash business for himself and his family.

“Mikey’s job is to buy and dry the fins over here,”
Sharkfin explained. “After that’s done, he sends them on to his daddy’s factory in Hong Kong, where they go through the final process.”

Sharkfin Dave watched me with the stealth of a spider and I knew what was going on. He was waiting to see if I took the bait. Most likely, he was turning on Leung in the hope of taking his place. That would be something I’d have to deal with later on. Right now, I needed to learn all I could about Leung and the shark-fin trade.

“I saw a boat unloading about twenty garbage bags into a pickup tonight. After that, it drove into the warehouse area. Do you suppose shark fins were inside those bags?” I probed.

“You’re talking about the blue pickup that’s parked over at Mikey’s place?” Sharkfin asked, and began to scratch the back of his head.

I nodded.

“Probably, but that’s just kid stuff. Mikey usually gets anywhere from eleven to twenty tons of fins in at a time. What you saw tonight was a small haul.” Dave kicked off his boots and proceeded to pick at his toes.

“Eleven to twenty tons? That would be one hell of a lot of garbage bags,” I remarked. “He couldn’t possibly pull it off without drawing a lot of attention. How does he manage to do it?”

“They come off his boat packed in bales and are thrown directly into containers,” Sharkfin matter-of-factly stated.

I looked at him, clearly puzzled.

Sharkfin Dave sighed and sat up. “Okay. Let me lay it out for you. Mikey has an eighty-foot boat called the
Magic Dragon
. It rendezvous with those big-ass foreign mother ships about two hundred miles out at sea.”

“I’ve never heard the term ‘mother ship’ before. What are they?” I asked.

Sharkfin Dave shook his head in disbelief, as if unable to
imagine such a thing. “They’re the large vessels that roam the high seas, refueling and resupplying fishing boats. Think of them as sort of giant UPS platforms. These same mother ships also collect shark fins from the boats that they supply.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked, curious as to the reason.

“Because eighty-foot fishing boats don’t have enough space on board to store hundreds of shark fins. Not if they want to have plenty of room for all the tuna they’re hoping to catch. Besides that, they also need lots of storage space for the ice that’s used to keep the tuna fresh until they finally get back to port,” Sharkfin explained.

That was something I hadn’t thought about before.

“So the fishing boats will leave all the fins they’ve gathered so far on the mother ship whenever they refuel. Well, Mikey, being the shrewd businessman he is, decided to work out a deal with them. He takes pre-orders for shark fins from traders in Asia, and then guarantees the fishermen that he’ll buy all the fins they’re able to collect. That way, the fishing boats don’t do business with anyone but him, and Mikey’s able to monopolize the trade. Pretty clever, huh?”

That was putting it mildly.

“How does he go about actually collecting the fins from these boats?” I questioned, curious as to every aspect of the trade.

“As I said, the fishing boats transfer their haul of shark fins to the mother ship. Then Mikey’s boat makes a five-day trip out to sea to pick them up all in one place. That’s what’s called trans-shipment. It’s also why he wanted my boss out of the way. Now there’s no other competition in Hawaii, and he’s king of the hill.”

“No wonder Leung makes a fortune,” I exclaimed, softly whistling under my breath.

“Don’t be fooled,” Sharkfin corrected. “The big money isn’t made just by drying and sending the fins on to other buyers in Asia. It’s Daddy Leung, and his shark-fin processing factory in Hong Kong, that gives sonny boy Mikey the edge. This way, the Leungs are able to keep the entire business in the family. Hell, I heard their company made over twelve million dollars in profit last year alone.”

The papers I’d found at Yakimov’s had revealed the Leungs were also involved in the restaurant trade. They were clearly able to keep their customers well supplied in high-priced shark-fin soup. The Leungs were nothing less than a one-stop, one-shop shark-fin operation.

“Except that Daddy’s been getting pretty mad at Mikey lately,” Sharkfin dryly revealed.

“Why’s that?” I inquired, always eager to hear the dirt.

“It seems that Mikey’s gone and gotten himself a sideline that’s taking time away from the family business. I guess he’s grown tired of being under Daddy’s thumb, and wants to branch out and make his own money,” Dave said, idly scratching his belly.

“What kind of sideline is that?” I asked, figuring it probably involved the chameleon trade. Why else would his name and Yakimov’s have been linked together on that same piece of paper inside Sammy’s box?

“He’s gotten hooked up in some sort of bootleg Viagra scheme. Talk about a booming business. I hear that his company’s growing about six inches an hour,” he joked. “Mikey’s got a cousin that handles the distribution of it in Hong Kong.”

Of course. Magic Dragon Medicinals. So
Leung
was the big fish that Vinnie was after. There was no question but that I needed to snag Leung before Vinnie uncovered this information and tracked him down.

“I think we can help each other out,” I told Sharkfin,
figuring he could interpret it any which way he chose. “But I need proof to back all of this up.”

Sharkfin looked at me, and that same greedy gleam snuck back into his eyes.

“How about if it’s arranged so that you’re here to see the fins off-loaded for yourself? Would that be good enough?”

My nerves stood up and gave a twenty-one-gun salute. “You can do that?”

“Sure. Why not? I know everything that goes on in this place. The
Magic Dragon
went to pick up a shipment of fins about nine days ago. They should be coming back into port any time now. I’ll give you a call as soon as they dock,” he promised.

I couldn’t ask for better evidence than that. Sharkfin Dave seemed to feel the same way. He beamed at me like a cat that had presented its owner with a dead mouse. I realized that since he was here all the time, he might have other information as well.

“By the way, did you happen to spot a local Hawaiian guy with a hefty build, in his mid-twenties, hanging around the warehouse area a few nights ago?” I casually inquired.

Sharkfin began to nod before I’d even finished my sentence.

“Yeah. And I wasn’t the only one. The kid was a turncoat National Marine Fisheries observer, right?”

“How did you know that?” I shot back.

Sharkfin Dave emitted a noise that was part bark, part laugh. “What, are you kidding? You think Hawaii is small? Try living on these docks. Nothing gets by anyone down here.”

The thought made my skin crawl. It meant someone could be watching us even now. I glanced around the
room to spot a small, grimy window and imagined that Leung’s eyes were peering through it. But he wasn’t the only one I was concerned about.

“Does that include the National Marine Fisheries Service?” I questioned.

Dave shrugged. “Maybe yes, and maybe no. People don’t see much when they choose to turn a blind eye, if you know what I mean.”

I stood up, suddenly eager to go.

“Here are the numbers where I can be reached,” I said, handing him my business card. “You’ll call me then, when the
Magic Dragon
comes in?”

Sharkfin Dave started to twitch, as if he’d caught a whopping case of fleas.

“Sure, no problem. Hey, do you think you could spot a poor drunk a couple of bucks to get by?”

I placed two twenties on the table, figuring that ought to keep him in booze for a while. Then I made my way back across the warehouse lot, nervously glancing over my shoulder.

There were no eyes to be seen, but I could feel them watching from every dark nook and corner. Oahu had begun to ever so slowly close in on me, trailing my every move, and I suddenly knew that I was no longer alone.

I
climbed into my Ford, turned on the engine, and began to head home. The docks disappeared behind me like a bad dream. Soon the whole world was swallowed up by the blackness of night.

All the better to conceal deep, dark secrets, my dear
, a menacing voice suggestively whispered in my ear.

I pressed down hard on the gas pedal, but there was no escaping my own demons.

Some find the evening to be full of solace, a time to relax and retreat from the day’s ordeals. But when the sun goes down, my guard quickly rises, ever vigilant of ghouls and goblins. I firmly believe there are things that go bump in the middle of the night. I could feel them swirling around me even now.

I turned off Nimitz Boulevard, and Honolulu gradually evaporated into the distance, its lights merging with the stars. I drove toward the North Shore as I tried to focus on what I had learned so far. I was clearly pissing off a growing number of people. I took that to be a good sign. It meant that not only was I stirring things up, but also that a hornet’s nest was probably close by. I could almost
hear their buzzing in my ears as I continued to race through the night.

I sped past dozing pineapple fields, their plants nestled in a bed of red earth. I was tempted to stop and lie down beside them. My eyelids felt heavy, and all I wanted to do was to sleep. If nothing else, it would provide temporary solace from all the trouble that was beginning to surround me.

My head started to nod and I turned on the radio, hoping it would keep me awake. But the crappy music on each station only seemed to make matters worse. I didn’t realize how badly my nerves were shot until the cell phone sprang to life and began to ring on the seat beside me. I jumped as if having been shocked by a defibrillator. With any luck it would be Santou, and he’d help out by talking me all the way home.

“Hello?” I anxiously answered, expecting to hear Jake’s Cajun drawl.

“You’re gambling with your soul, Porter, and you’ve just played your last card,” intoned a male voice.

The words ended with an angry dial tone that droned in my ear. Just as frightening was that I hadn’t recognized the caller. It further confirmed what Sharkfin Dave had told me this evening. Nothing slips by in Oahu. There was no longer any doubt that I was being watched.

My chest felt tight as the warning took root and insidiously began to spread. Even so, I tried to shake the fear that I was in way too deep. I’d been in tight situations before. But this one grew more convoluted with each new piece that fell into place. I no longer knew who I should trust, or who might be secretly turning against me. As for the anonymous call, that only added to the tangled web in which I now found myself.

Spam was at the door to greet me as I walked into the house. He licked my face and then sniffed my arm, as if
aware that something was wrong. Even Tag-along seemed to be concerned as she rubbed against my leg.

“Hey, chere. It’s about time you got home,” Santou called from the living room, and I eagerly followed his voice.

He lay stretched on the couch, looking as seductively tan and toned as any Hawaiian god. Jake opened his arms and I gladly fell into them, feeling safe for the first time all night.

It felt like our own private residence until Kevin came sauntering out of his room. Old habits die hard. My guard instantly flew up. As it turned out, I had plenty of reason.

“Hey, what gives? Did you get into a rumble or something tonight?” he questioned, immediately stirring up trouble.

Damn the man. That was enough to make Jake take note of the bandage wrapped around my arm. He touched it, and I quickly pulled away from his reach.

“That seems to be one hell of a wound you’ve got there, chere. How did it happen?” Santou questioned, a look of worry spreading across his face.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, attempting to brush off his concern. “I tripped on a piece of lava rock. You know how sharp that stuff can be. I had to get a few stitches. But believe me, it’s nothing serious.”

Jake looked at me, and instinctively sensed that I was lying.

“Don’t give me that, Rachel. I know you too well. There’s something more going on. Just tell me what it is,” he insisted.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I denied, trying hard to maintain my innocence. “I wish it were anything other than the fact that I’m simply a klutz. But I’m afraid that’s all it adds up to.”

There was no question that if Santou knew the truth, he’d do whatever he could to stop me. And I had no intention of backing down now. Not when I was clearly so close.

“Your arm must hurt like hell,” Jake said with a shake of his head, letting me know that he didn’t buy my story.

“Yeah, it does. But I’ll live,” I muttered, wishing Santou would once again wrap his arms around me.

Instead I felt Kevin’s eyes and irately turned to him, only to be taken by surprise as he smiled and gave the slightest nod of his head. I found that to be more disconcerting than anything else. What did the guy think? That for some unknown reason, we’d become secret compatriots?

“Well here’s news that should make you feel better. I’ve got some information,” he revealed.

Kevin was right. I instantly perked up.

“What did you find out?” I asked, dispensing with any formalities.

“Word has it that Sammy was running around complaining about his job to anyone who would listen,” Kevin replied.

This
was the big scoop that Mr. Secret Agent had to offer? I could have told him that much myself, a few days ago.

“Thanks for all your help,” I dryly responded, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go to bed.

“Hey, I’m not done yet,” Kevin retorted with a laugh that struck me as far too jovial. “As punishment, Kalahiki was ordered to report to the docks at six
A.M
. yesterday morning. The same tuna boat he’d just come in on was heading out again for another two-week run. He was ordered to be on it or to hand in his resignation. When Sammy didn’t show, the folks at National Marine Fisheries figured that he’d made his decision. No one thought
any more of it until the police called with news of his death.”

His superiors had been pushing as hard as they could to make him quit. They’d surely known that Sammy wouldn’t get back on a boat whose crew had threatened him just a few days ago.

“Did your source also happen to mention that Sammy complained about illegal shark finning going on?” I inquired.

Kevin thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “No. All I heard was that Kalahiki was unhappy with his accommodations and the food being served on the boat.”

“And you believe that line of crap?” I asked, ready to tear into him.

Talk about your lame story. Surely, Kalahiki’s bosses could have come up with a more creative tale than that. But there was something else that bothered me. Sammy hadn’t said he’d been instructed to ship out again so soon. Neither had his mother, and she would surely have known. Once again, I was left to ponder if what I’d been told was true.

“To answer your question, it sounds like the typical line of bullshit to me. Which is exactly why I didn’t buy it, but continued to dig deeper,” Kevin revealed.

“Okay. So what else did you find out?” I asked, my body beginning to tingle.

Maybe it was the predatory look in his eyes, but I now realized why Kevin had nodded at me. The man was obviously onto something big.

“A tidbit that you’re going to love. A friend of mine got hold of Kalahiki’s original pathology report, as well as the police record that was later filed. The autopsy showed that while Kalahiki was slashed and killed by shark’s teeth, he definitely wasn’t attacked by one,” Kevin now disclosed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Santou responded, with a low grunt.

“How do you explain that?” I asked, not having the slightest idea what he was talking about.

“Stop and think about it for a minute,” Kevin said, squatting in front of me. “What happens when a shark bites down? That action creates a series of semi-circular patterns somewhat akin to a half moon. But the marks found on Kalahiki’s body were a sequence of straight slash lines.”

He leaned forward with the intensity of an animal preparing to pounce, as I wondered where this was headed.

“The thing is, a shark has both an upper and lower set of teeth, isn’t that right?” Kevin asked, beginning to lead me down a logical path.

“Of course,” I agreed, and then suddenly realized what he was getting at. “Are you saying that wasn’t the case with Sammy?”

“No way, no how,” Kevin crowed, nearly bouncing up and down on the pads of his feet. “The problem with your boy is that there was no pattern of matching teeth marks found anywhere on both sides of the body.”

“But the wounds…I saw them,” I insisted, my mind flashing back to the angry gashes that had practically torn Kalahiki’s torso in two. “The damage was unbelievable. What else could have done something like that?”

“My guess is that is that it had to be a weapon studded with shark’s teeth. Maybe some kind of blade. I actually saw something like it in an exhibit of ancient Hawaiian weapons at the Bishop Museum in Honolulu. One of the most popular devices was a combination knife and war club about the size of a man’s palm. The thing was flat and lashed with shark’s teeth, each of which was razor sharp,” Kevin explained.

He was right. A weapon like that would be incredibly lethal. Especially if the teeth came from a tiger shark. They’d most likely leave a jagged mark closely resembling those made by a serrated-edge blade. Come to think of it, they’d be rather like the wounds that had been on Sammy’s body—and, the one that was on my own arm.

I flashed back to the weapon that had been held above my head at Yakimov’s. Though I’d only caught a glimpse, the blade had been both oval and flat, perfectly fitting Kevin’s description. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I now became that my attacker had to have been Sammy’s killer. Which meant that he’d also murdered Stas Yakimov. And since a ritual weapon had been used, I assumed that the assailant was probably Hawaiian.

My hand inched up, covering my wound, as the fear in my chest once again began to expand. I had no doubt that Kevin was correct. Sammy’s death hadn’t been an accident, but rather a deliberate act of cold-blooded murder. Given a choice, I might have preferred facing down a shark. At least, I’d have had a good idea of what to expect.

“Are the police looking into this?” I asked, struggling to keep a tremor from sneaking into my voice.

Kevin didn’t help matters any by resolutely shaking his head.

“Uh-uh. Why should they? After all, the report was deliberately changed to make it appear as if Kalahiki was attacked and killed by a shark.”

There was something about this that kept nipping away at me like an annoying mosquito.

“But what about the pathologist? He had to sign off on the report, didn’t he?” I pressed, convinced there had to be some checks and balances left in this world.

“That’s the easiest part of all,” Kevin matter-of-factly replied. “His signature was simply forged.”

The puzzle pieces that had begun to fit together now all came raining down upon my head.

“But how can that be? Surely the pathologist would still realize that his report had been altered,” I insisted.

Kevin looked at me as though he’d stumbled upon a latter-day Pollyanna. “You’ve been in this business long enough to know what goes on. How can you remain so naïve?” he said.

I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming. Of course, I knew of all the underhanded maneuvers and dirty dealings that went on. I just continued to hope for something better than what was usually served up. I still had faith in those much-maligned and little-valued twin virtues, justice and decency.

I caught Kevin studying me and had the same reaction that I normally reserve for spiders—my skin began to crawl. Though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I knew that something was wrong. Then it hit me.

“How can you possibly know so much about all this?” I fired at him.

Actions of this sort were always buried dark and deep, with as little muss, fuss, and paper trail as possible. The only ones privy to it were those who had been involved.

“I have my sources. Don’t ask about them,” he responded, and raised a hand to fend off any further questions.

How convenient. Kevin continued to use the old dodge-and-swerve technique. So far, everything I knew about the man consisted of nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

“What I can tell you is that someone pretty high up wanted the paperwork changed. But I wasn’t able to find out who it was, or for exactly what reason,” Kevin added.

Part of me remained suspicious, while the other half was grateful for even these few crumbs.

“I’m trying damn hard not to butt in here, chere,” Jake
chimed in. “But this unauthorized case of yours is driving me nuts. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’d better back off while you still can. If not for yourself, then at least think of me. I swear to God, my blood pressure is about to ratchet straight through the roof,” he pretended to joke.

But I knew he was deadly serious.

“He’s got a point,” Kevin agreed. “There are fights worth climbing out on a limb for, and others where you have to use common sense and retreat. Sacrificing yourself on this one isn’t going to do any good.”

I wondered if Kevin knew something more than what he was revealing. Specifically, who was sawing off the limb to which I was barely clinging.

“Kevin’s right. This is a battle you simply can’t win,” Santou advised.

“Anybody can fight a winning battle, but it takes a real Fish and Wildlife agent to fight a losing one,” I morosely joked.

“That’s great if you don’t mind getting your ass kicked and your head handed to you. And that’s the best possible case scenario,” Kevin warned. “Gut instinct tells me there are some pretty nasty people involved in this thing.”

Yeah, like that was a real hard reach on his part.

I was suddenly so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyes open. What was wrong with me, anyway? I already knew the answer, though I’d never admit it out loud. Eating away at me were depression, frustration, and fear. Depression at the lack of support from within my own agency; frustration at continually banging my head against walls; and fear that I was barreling down a path that would finally prove to be my undoing.