I'm back! Sorry for the wait, but I took a trip to South America and like James MacArthur my muse decided that it wasn't coming back until it wanted to. Also, by the end of this chapter, all of the potential suspects and witnesses have been introduced if anyone wants to make some guesses before the big reveal.

Chapter Three: In Search of Clearer Picture

If things weren't so serious, they would almost be amusing. For it never ceased to amaze Steve how often men in expensive suits who sat behind big desks in even bigger offices thought that he could be intimidated by their display of wealth and power. Winston Miller was one of those men.

"Mr. McGarrett, if you are insinuating that I would have anything to do with Larson's murder, you are gravely mistaken."

Placing his palms down on the desk, Steve leaned toward Miller, deliberately moving into his sphere of power. "You have threatened the Larsons before."

"I do not and have never threatened anyone. I make promises. And what I promised the elder Larson was that if he did not cease his illegal dealings, I would report them to the police."

"That sounds like a threat from where I'm standing, Mr. Miller."

Miller grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "Not if my words are true."

"Very well. I'm listening. Convince me."

"Look at the wife, McGarrett. He runs his dirty money through her. Keeping his hands nice and clean. Get a warrant and you'll see that I'm right."

Steve knew a dismissal when he heard one. And since he was here with Miller's permission, he decided not to press his luck. But there was no way that he was going to let this man have the last word. So when Steve reached the door, he turned back and said, "And I promise you that if you are wrong, I will be back."

"How can I help you, Mr. Kokua?"

Back on the premises of the botanical gardens, Ben stood before the manager and said, "I understand that you have already found a replacement for Mr. Larson."

"Yes," Mr. Evergreen replied. "While Larson's death is tragic, the project he was working on must be finished."

"What project is that?"

"An educational exhibit. We are planning to create an exhibit of paintings along with photographs and information provided by our botanists to teach people about some of Hawaii's most beautiful treasures. Our exhibit will be housed in our Visitor's Center. We gave Mr. Larson funds and a space to work, along with the freedom to pursue his own projects for an hour each day."

Ben nodded. Deadlines meant that the botanical gardens would have needed to move swiftly. "Is your new artist in the studio?" For even if this person didn't know Larson, there was a chance that he would know the people in the art world who did.

Evergreen gestured. "Follow me."

Ben held out a hand. "I know the way." Then he walked through the building until he found the spare room that had been turned into a makeshift studio. They had searched the room carefully the day Larson died so it would be interesting to see what had changed. But even though he expected things to be different, he hadn't expected to open the door and see her there.

For several moments, Ben's breath was caught in his throat as he watched a short Samoan woman standing before an easel. It had been years, but she looked just like he remembered. "Beth" he finally gasped.

The artist turned. Her face was expressionless as she glared at him. "Lanuola. Lanuola Tui now that the law has changed. But you would have known that if you hadn't gone haole on us, Ben."

Ben grimaced; her tongue hadn't changed either. "I didn't then and I still don't see joining the police department as a betrayal of our people."

Beth, no Lanuola, set down her supplies and crossed her arms. "It was never about your job or your fancy education. It's always been about more than that. For as long as I've known you, Ben Kokua, you've been lying to yourself. About who you are. You have a Hawaiian last name. A Samoan mother. You grew up the son of a poor fisherman just like the rest of us. But the way you talk, the way you dress, the way you walk, it tells me one thing. Inside, you want to be one of them."

Ben gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted to argue back, he know that there was no point in rehashing this fight. No one ever won. It had been twelve years since they had last seen each other and it had taken them less than a minute to reopen old wounds.

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he said the first words that came to mind. "I heard you traveled to Samoa."

Lanuola took two steps forward, causing the bottom of her skirt to shift. For a few seconds he glimpsed the intricate ink of a malu - the traditional tattoo for women in Samoa. "I gave you a chance to come with me."

"But instead I joined HPD." The night he informed her of his decision was the last time they had spoken.

"Yes, you did. And now you've been promoted - to Five-O. Has it been everything you hoped it would be?"

Ben heard the challenge in her voice and shot back, "Was Samoa?"

"I found our culture. Our art. I found life and beauty. I found people who saw more than just a fisherman's daughter. They saw me as a person. As someone with worth. Have you found that in Five-O?"

"I have."

Lanuola looked almost disappointed at his pronouncement. How had this happened? They were so close growing up, the best of friends and childhood sweethearts. He had assumed that one day they would marry. But he went to college and she grew more and more interested in studying Samoan culture. She began to speak of nothing but traveling back to the old country, learning their real history, throwing off the trappings of their oppressors. He had seen little point in focusing on the past when they had the future to think of. A modern world full of technology and opportunity and progress.

In the end, they both succeeded in escaping the poverty of the docks. They just had taken very different paths. But he hadn't come here to catch up with an old flame; he had a murder to solve.

"I need to ask you some questions about Gabriel Larson,"

She shrugged. "What's there to ask? He was a rich spoiled haole. Was handed the world on a silver platter. So of course he was chosen. The rest of us have to get down on our hands and knees to find sponsors and get exposure and they give this golden opportunity to one local artist who didn't need it. None of this would have happened if they had picked someone more deserving to begin with."

Ben didn't like the direction his thoughts were going, but he was a detective and he had to ask. "So you believe that Gabriel didn't deserve the artist-in-residence position?"

"That's what I said. And I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Ms. Tui, where were you Wednesday morning?"

"What are you getting at?"

"The man was murdered! What you're talking about sounds like motive to me."

"A true cop and a true haole at heart! Some things never change. Are you going to arrest me?"

"No!" Ben stopped as he realized he was yelling; he needed to be calm. "I need you to tell me your whereabouts during the time of murder. I will find out whether you tell me or not."

With a sigh, Lanuola finally backed down. "I was at a friend's house. You want his number?"

"Please."

Ben keep his mouth shut while she wrote down the name and number of the man he suspected was her boyfriend, or the man she wanted him to think was her boyfriend. This interview couldn't have gone any worse. How could Beth still hold so much anger over events that had happened years ago? Her anger made little sense to him, but then Ben had never really understood her anger or her hate. Or was the hate just a cover for the pain? Perhaps if he knew, they would still be together.

When Ben exited the building, he turned towards the gardens and strolled slowly down the garden path. He needed to clear his head before returning to work. Yet, even as he mulled over his own pain, he couldn't turn off the detective portion of his brain. He made note of every employee he passed, most of whom he recognized from his interviews. He waved at the deaf gardener and took the longer path to steer clear of the overly enthusiastic moorhen keeper. Unfortunately, no previously overlooked female employee magically appeared with a blinking sign that said 'It's me; I was the one who screamed'. Like relationships, police work was rarely that easy.

With a sigh, Ben headed toward the exit, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something important.