Micro

Chapter 24

Chinatown, Honolulu 30 October, 11:30 a.m.

Lieutenant Dan Watanabe sat at a table in an eatery in downtown Honolulu, called the Deluxe Plate, holding a piece of Spam sushi in his fingertips. The sushi was a ball of fried rice wrapped in seaweed, with a chunk of Spam at the center. He took a bite. The seaweed, the fried rice, and the salty pork combined in his mouth into a taste that could be found nowhere but Hawaii.

He savored it, chewing slowly. During World War II, whole shiploads of Spam had arrived in Hawaii to feed the troops. American soldiers had basically fought the war on Spam; Spam and an atomic bomb had guaranteed American victory. At the same time, the people of Hawaii had developed a passion for the canned pork product, a love that would never die. Dan Watanabe believed that Spam was a brain food. He believed it could help him think more clearly about a case.

Right now he thought about the missing Nanigen executive. The executive, Eric Jansen, had apparently drowned off Makapu‘u Point when his boat had stalled out and flipped in heavy surf. However, his body had not turned up. Plenty of white sharks cruised the Molokai Channel, the stretch of sea between Makapu‘u Point and the island of Molokai, and the sharks could have eaten the body. But more likely the body should have washed up around Koko Head, since the prevailing winds and currents would carry it that way. Instead, it disappeared. Then, shortly after Eric’s disappearance, his brother, Peter Jansen, shows up in Hawaii.

And then Peter disappears.

The Honolulu Police had gotten a call from the chief security officer of Nanigen, Donald Makele, who reported that seven graduate students from Massachusetts had gone missing along with a Nanigen executive named Alyson F. Bender. One of those students had been Peter Jansen. The students had been in employment discussions with Nanigen. All eight persons, including the Bender woman, had gone out for the evening and never returned.

Don Makele’s call had been taken by the Missing Persons Detail in the Honolulu Police Department. A report had been written up, and it ended up in the “Daily Highlights” bulletin that circulated through the department each morning. Watanabe, glancing over the “Highlights,” had noticed it. So there were two missing Nanigen executives, Eric Jansen and Alyson Bender. Plus seven students.

Nine people tied to Nanigen. Gone.

Of course, people did go missing in Hawaii, especially young tourists. The surf could be very dangerous. Or they went on a drinking binge, or they got so high on Puna weed they seemed to forget their names. They hopped a flight to Kauai and went backpacking on the Na Pali Coast, and didn’t tell anybody where they’d gone. But nine people, all linked to Nanigen, from different places, doing different things, all missing?

Dan Watanabe took a swig of black coffee, and finished off his sushi. He had an unpleasant feeling mixed with a professional curiosity. He could almost smell it. It was a whiff of probable cause. A scent of unrevealed crime.

“Refill?” the waitress, Misty, said to him, offering a coffee pitcher.

“Thanks.” It was Kona coffee, strong enough to put structure in one’s afternoon.

“Dessert, Dan? We got a haupia chiffon pie.”

Watanabe patted his stomach. “Gosh, no thanks, Misty. I just had my ration of Spam.”

Misty left the check on the table, and he stared out the window. An elderly Chinese woman passed by, hauling a wheelie basket full of her day’s shopping, which included a fish wrapped in newspaper, the tail sticking out. A shadow raced down the street, darkening the people—a passing cloud—then hot sunlight flared, then another cloud-shadow. As usual, the trade winds were driving rain and sunlight across Oahu. Rain and sun, endlessly marching over the island, and when you looked into the mountains, you often saw rainbows.

He put on his sunglasses and walked back to police headquarters, taking his time, running his tongue over his teeth, trying to work out a Spam knot from between his molars. By the time he got back to his office, Watanabe had made up his mind.

He had decided to open an investigation into Nanigen.

Do it quietly.

The matter was sensitive. Nanigen was a rich company, with a high-profile CEO. The company might have political connections, who knows. The Nanigen matter would take time away from his investigation into the bizarre case involving the three dead men—the lawyer Willy Fong, the PI Marcos Rodriguez, and the unidentified Asian male. The victims had bled to death from numerous cuts while they’d been inside Fong’s locked office. The Willy Fong Mess, as he liked to call it, would have to go on hold. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the Willy Fong Mess anyway.

At headquarters, Watanabe dropped by the office of his boss, Marty Kalama. “I want to look into these disappearances at Nanigen.”

“Why, Dan?” Kalama said, sitting back and blinking rapidly.

Watanabe knew Kalama wasn’t questioning his methods. Kalama just wanted to hear what he had in mind, his reasoning. Watanabe said, “First I want to wait a short while and see if the missing people turn up. If they don’t, I’ll assemble a squad. But right now, I just want to do a little poking around on my own. Low-pro.”

“You suspect criminal activity?”

“I don’t have probable cause. But things don’t add up.”

“Okay,” Kalama said. “Explain.”

“Peter Jansen. When I showed him a video of his brother, Eric, drowning, he seemed to recognize a female in the video who was a witness to the drowning. But then he, like, covers it up, says he doesn’t know the woman. I think he was lying. Then I had a couple of my people visiting Nanigen to get info on Eric Jansen, the executive who drowned. My guys met the CEO, named Drake. Drake was polite, but. My guys said it was like a traffic stop when the subject is visibly nervous but there’s no obvious reason for him to be nervous.”

“Maybe Mr., uh—”

“Drake.”

“—Drake was upset about losing his executive.”

Watanabe said, “It was more like he had a body in the trunk of his car.”

Marty Kalama squinted behind his rimless spectacles. “Dan, I’m not hearing about evidence.”

Watanabe patted his stomach. “Gut. My Spam is talking to me.”

Kalama nodded. “Be careful.”

“About what?”

“You know what Nanigen does, right?”

Watanabe grinned. Oops. He hadn’t yet looked into Nanigen’s business.

“They make small robots,” Kalama went on. “Really small.”

“Okay, so?”

“A company like that could have contracts with the government. That’s trouble.”

“You know something about Nanigen?” Watanabe asked his boss.

“I’m just a cop. Cops don’t know shit.”

Watanabe grinned. “I’ll keep you out of it.”

“The hell you will,” Kalama snapped. “Get out of here.” He took off his glasses and polished them with a Kleenex, watching Dan Watanabe leave. The guy was quiet and smart, one of his best detectives. Those were the ones who created the worst trouble. The thing about trouble was that Marty Kalama kind of enjoyed it.