Saturday morning's sunrise was spectacular, as usual.
Maggie walked next to Steve by the water, her arm around his waist, long hair blowing in the breeze. A brief call to the Harbor Patrol had gotten quieter surveillance for the beach front. A small fishing boat was anchored just outside the breakwater, far enough away not to be intrusive but close enough should help be needed.
"When's your appointment at the bridal salon?" he asked. They had both crashed hard the night before. She was sleeping almost before her head hit the pillow. He'd lain awake a while longer, listening to the sounds of the ocean and the crickets in the bougainvillea, holding her as she slept.
"I'm picking Lu up at nine. Why?" she asked, giving him that naughty little half smile that went straight to his loins.
"I'll show you when we get back to the house," he said.
"Race you to the bedroom!" she ran up the path, shedding clothing as she went. He plucked her shirt from a bush and ran after her. He caught up with her at the back door, swung her off her feet, and carried her inside.
"Don't forget your phone," Steve reminded Maggie as she was getting ready to leave. "Call me every two hours, please."
"Yes, Commander," she said, bending to kiss him. He had Big Chicken's case files, dating back to the seventies, spread over the dining room table. "I had the phone on the charger all night so you don't have to worry about the battery running down. I'll be home around three."
He'd nodded and went back to his case files. She thought it was adorable when he was off in what she called the cop zone.
He heard her start the car. He heard the top go back and then Jimmy Buffett was blasting out of the speakers, the music fading as she drove down the street.
Ten minutes later he heard the Mustang pull back into the driveway, this time with no music. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as she came back in the house, looking annoyed. She dropped her bag on the table.
"What's wrong, baby?" he asked.
"Car's acting funny. The clutch was mushy when I pulled out, then the brakes, and now the brake light's on. Guess it's time to call roadside for a tow to the shop."
"Wait, what do you mean, mushy?"
"Just that, mushy. Not responsive at all. Then on the way back the clutch went down and now it won't come back up and the brake light's on. There's got to be a problem with the hydraulics. Where do you take a performance car for service on this Rock anyway?" She called Lu and told her about the problem with the car. Lu told her she'd pick her up in about half an hour.
McGarrett's warning bells were clanging loud and clear. As soon as Lu and Maggie left, he was calling Che and the lab crew to go over both cars. Only he wasn't telling her that.
"I'll take care of it, honey," he said, getting up to put his arms around her. "I know just the person to call." He held her tight, for once thankful for a narrow, winding streets on an incline that made too much speed difficult. Lu dropped by half an hour later, teased Maggie about her taste in cars, and off they went, giggling.
He waited until he knew they were out of the neighborhood before calling Che.
"I need you to get the lab boys and get to my house now. Bring the dogs."
An hour later he had his answer. Thankfully the dogs hadn't found any explosives and his car didn't seem to have been touched. Maggie's little Mustang was another story. A skinny technician with long wiry arms and a mirror had found the holes.
"What you have are small punctures in the hydraulic lines." Che said. "Not enough for a major leak, even on a car with a normal hydraulics system. You were lucky, whoever did this had no idea what he was trying to disable."
The technician had just popped the hood and was in ecstasy "Man this is a Coyote! I've only ever read about these things! Can I drive it?"
"NO," Che and McGarrett said at the same time.
"No brakes, no clutch," said Che, "It wouldn't be a whole lot of fun."
"What did you mean when you said normal hydraulics system?" McGarrett asked.
"This one's all performance. The entire power train. Engine, brakes, transmission, it's all custom. It would appear that your fiance is a bit of a speed demon. With a normal passenger car, it would have taken a few days, maybe even a week to notice the leaks. Not this one. The brakes and clutch are high tech hydraulics with a central pump located in the engine compartment. Step on the brakes or clutch the lines leak, let up, the vacuum pulls in air, the first thing that happens is the clutch gets mushy, then the brakes start to fail, enough air gets in, then total hydraulic failure. Not a problem here in the neighborhood. Worse that could have happened was a fender bender. If it were out on the Pali and doing 105, well, I don't even want to think about that."
"One time," Steve said, handing Che the keys to the Mustang, "just one time. Ever notice how cops gossip, Che? Okay, tow it to the lab, go over it with fine toothed comb, see if you can find any prints on it besides mine, hers, or Sgt Yablanski's."
Duke drove up as the driver was hooking the Mustang to the wrecker. After Susan had left to pick up Maggie he'd heard the roll out call for the lab and wanted to know what was up. Che filled him in on what they'd found.
"Looks like you had a creepy crawly last night. You didn't hear anything?" Duke asked.
"We were both exhausted. Not a thing. Her car doesn't have an alarm system and mine wasn't touched."
"That 'Stang sits, what, about a foot off the ground, if that?"
"More or less. What are you getting at?"
"I couldn't get under that car without it being jacked up and neither could you. You've got a longer reach, not that it'd do much good if you couldn't see what you were doing. I'd bet that whoever did this is one tall skinny dude."
"Good thinking, Duke. We'll make a detective out of you yet," he said, patting Duke on the back, debating whether he should ruin Danny's morning by sending him back to the computer lab to search for skinny criminals with automotive skills.
Duke's phone rang. "Lukela," he said, answering. "What! I'm at Steve's house now. On our way."
"What's up?" Steve asked.
"Surfers just found a body in the water by Wailupe Beach Park. It's Roxie Harris."
"Let's go," Steve said. "You drive, I'll make the calls."
Kono was taking a statement from one of the surfers when they drove up. According to the kid he and his buddy had just paddled out when they saw the body floating face up near the point. At first they'd thought the woman was still alive, although a closer look had proved them wrong. They'd drug the body back to the park and called HPD. One of the responding officers had recognized Roxie and called Duke. On the drive over, McGarrett had called Kono and Dan Williams, who were both out trying to catch waves about a half mile up the coast and had gotten to the park first.
"You say you didn't touch anything, just drug the body up on the beach?" Danny asked the other kid.
"We could tell she was dead. Man, I think I'm gonna be sick. I ain't surfing this beach again!" The kid was ghostly pale and looked like he was about to faint. Danny sent him over to the EMT's after getting his name and contact info.
"What have you got, Danno?" Steve asked, walking over to his surfer cops.
"What we have is Roxanne Harris, age forty-five, resident of the United Church of the Universal Truth's mission on Hotel Street. Looks like she was strangled." He flipped back the blanket the surfers had used to cover the woman's nude body. A multicolored scarf was knotted so tightly around her throat it was cutting into her skin. "So far we haven't managed to find any of her clothes, so I'm going to guess she was dumped here."
"Any idea how long she was in the water?" McGarrett asked.
"ME says not long. We'll know more when Doc has a look. He says he'll meet us at the morgue. Heard you had an intruder last night."
"Apparently. Maggie's getting an alarm installed on that little hot rod today. Well, Danno, looks like we just got our entry into the mission. Get on the horn to John Manicote, get me warrants to search anywhere she may have frequented at both the church and the mission."
"Think you're going to find anything?"
"Probably not, but it'll be fun to watch them sweat."
The morning air was split by the sound of sirens blaring as two SUV's from the sheriff's office roared into the park. Sheriff Augustus Murphy and his cadre of deputies and photographers poured out of the vehicles and stormed across the beach, ignoring the crime scene tape strung across the sand.
"Hey, Brudah," Kono shouted, "you walkin' through a crime scene. Back off."
Murphy crossed over to McGarrett, ignoring Kono and any evidence that he could have been treading on. He was wearing one of his custom tailored uniforms while McGarret was wearing jeans, an Aloha shirt that Maggie had threatened to burn and a light jacket to cover the service revolver in it's shoulder holster. "McGarrett, this isn't your jurisdiction. We'll take over from here."
"Sheriff," Steve said, calmly and evenly as if addressing a not very bright child, "have you ever bothered to read Five-O's charter? Every inch of every island in this state is my jurisdiction, and that includes everything this side of international waters."
Murphy's face was turning red. In every script he'd ever read the state cops always backed down when the word 'jurisdiction' was thrown about. "Very well, then. It appears we'll be working together, at least until I get a clarification from the governor as to exactly where your jurisdiction runs. I need to see the body."
"Be my guest. Just don't touch anything."
Murphy swaggered over to where the ME's were loading Roxie's body on the gurney. They unzipped the body bag so he could get a good look.
Kono was annoyed. He didn't like Murphy, or his tactics and he certainly wasn't happy with having his crime scene trod on. One of Murphy's deputies, a tall, skinny man wearing dark glasses, looked familiar. Kono stared at the man until he made the connection. He crossed the sand, carefully avoiding the taped off crime scene area, to where the man was standing near Murphy.
"I thought I told you I never wanted to see your sorry ass on this Island again, Mister," he said, staring straight into the demented eyes of one John Hardin, formerly of the United States Army.
"Too bad," Hardin said. "I'm the sheriff's new public information officer. From now on I'm responsible for what information we release to Five-O. That could get real scarce, if you know what I mean."
Kono, crooked his fingers at Hardin, gesturing for him to come nearer. Hardin, with the bravado of one who knows he has backup and people covering his ass, came forward. Kono put an arm around Hardin's shoulder, tightening it just enough to force Hardin to follow his directions.
"You see that tall man over there in that real bright Aloha shirt? That the Big Man at Five-O. You do not want to start no trouble with him. You do, you gone be one sad haole. You need to stay as far away from him as you can. He know what you did to Little Miss Menehune and he ain't happy about it, you dig?" He released Hardin, giving him a shove that sent him sprawling on his butt into the sand.
Duke walked over to Kono. "What was that all about, Brudah?" he asked in Hawaiian.
"I'll tell you later. Just keep an eye on the creep. Names John Hardin. Your lady know him, too." Kono replied, also in Hawaiian. If looks could have killed, the one that Hardin was giving them as he brushed the sand from his uniform would have done them both in. "He use to be stationed at Ft Shafter. He don't know how to treat women."
Duke nodded thoughtfully. Susan had told him all about he former first sergeant. Add one more variable into the mix. This case was getting stranger by the day. Steve called him over to tell him that he would catch a ride to the morgue and to the crime lab with Danny. Kono volunteered to stay at the crime scene to make sure that none of Murphy's posse messed anything up. Duke considered borrowing Kono's long board and catching a few waves. He hadn't been surfing since his before his wife had passed away. Now he felt the ocean calling. He called his son, who had the same idea and agreed to bring the boards stashed in the garage to the park. Time to ride the waves. Time on the water always cleared his head and helped him think.
McGarrett and Williams made it to the lab just as Doc Bergman was finishing up the preliminary exam of Roxanne Harris's body.
"What have you got?" McGarrett asked?
"She didn't drown, if that's what you're getting at," Bergman said. "She was strangled, probably from behind, and since there don't appear to be any defensive bruises anywhere on her body, I'd say she was either surprised, or she knew who did it."
"Any signs of sexual trauma?" Danny asked.
"Not that I can tell without a further exam. I'll know more when I'm done with the autopsy."
"I'm wondering why she wasn't washed out to sea," McGarrett said, "there's some pretty strong currents off that point and the surf was fairly high."
"Size Double 'D' personal flotation devices." Doc said.
"Come again?" McGarrett asked.
"Breast implants, Steve. That's how the body was staying afloat and not pulled under. Whoever dumped her off the point didn't take that into consideration."
"Doc," Steve said, "Do you ever get the feeling the world's changing way to damned fast?"
"It's certainly making my life more interesting."
"Can we get the scarf for the lab now or do we need to wait?" Danny asked.
"Sure," Doc said, cutting the scarf from Roxie's neck with a pair of surgical scissors to preserve the knot. "Well, look at that, it seems your strangler left you a souvenir." He pointed to where a short dark hair was trapped in the knot. He carefully tucked the scarf and the hair into an evidence bag.
They had physical evidence, now all they had to do was find the killer. McGarrett had a good idea where to start looking.
Che was waiting for them at the crime lab. Danny handed him the bag with the scarf. Che removed the scarf and then carefully pulled the hair from the knot with a pair of tweezers. He fixed it on a microscopic slide, and then placed it under the microscope. He examined the hair closely, then went to a stronger projection scope. A hugely magnified image appeared on the screen.
"This appears to be a body hair, probably off someone's arm or chest, and I'm going to say it's from a male. You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you, Steve." Che said, looking worried.
"The only thing that I've heard this week that I've liked is Maggie finally set a wedding date. Why break a winning streak? Lay it out, Che."
"When we went over the Mustang we found assorted hair samples. Short dark brown one's that probably belong to you, long silver ones that I know are hers, and blonde wavy ones that I'm fairly sure belong to Sgt Yablanski, and from underneath, this one." Che inserted the slide into the viewer, aligning it with the one already there. They were a perfect match. "This hair was wedged between the brake line and coupling. It's a miracle it survived the tow over. Whoever put the holes in Maggie's brake lines is the same person who killed Roxie Harris. I'm sure of it."
McGarrett felt as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Okay," he said. "Get someone over from the motorpool. Have them install the same alarm system on that Mustang that's on all Five-O cars. See if you can do anything about that damned ragtop. I know those are next to impossible to alarm. Get them to fix the brake lines while they're at it. Have them send me the bill. Maggie's going to want to know when she can get her car back. Any idea?"
"I'd say Monday afternoon, at the latest," Che said.
"Good, thanks Che. Danno, it's time to put on the suits. Drop me off at home, get changed,and pick up the warrants from the DA's office. We've got work to do."
"You got it. I think we just got enough evidence to toss that place top to bottom."
"That's the plan. We're going to need HPD for this one. Sorry, Brudah, I know the surf was going to be good today."
"There's always tomorrow." Danny said.
"Hopefully not for Chicken. Let's go."