I
The dead man lay on his left side, a crimson pool collecting outside his chest, created by two bullets. His eyes were closed as if in deep sleep, and his left arm lay outreaching, as if trying to reach for someone or something in a last-ditch effort to hold onto his fleeting life. In the pool of blood, four letters spelling out "M E Y L" were written by blood-soaked fingers.
Uniformed policeman, forensic technicians, and police photographers walked about the golden carpet that covered the room, opening drawers, searching through the closets, snapping pictures as the lights from the cameras flashed. Danny Williams bent down and inspected the body. Other than the two bullet holes, he couldn't see any other injuries, but he knew not to assume. The "MEYL" written in blood was interesting, but even though the word appeared to be unfinished, Danny felt he knew what the dead man was trying to write. His boss, Steve McGarrett, approached him, with long strides and heavy footsteps.
"What have we got, Danno?" Steve asked.
"The deceased is Martin Galano," Danny answered, "one of Sam Kale's boys."
"I guess Kale had no more use for this one," Steve replied, brushing back some stray hairs from his forehead.
"Look at that," Danny pointed to the letters in Galano's blood. "Look at what he was trying to write …?"
"Meylor," Steve said, the memory of the name fresh in his mind. He thought back to what that name meant, but dismissed the notion in his mind.
"That's what I thought, too," Danny replied, "but why spell out a dead man's name?"
Nate Meylor was an HPD detective who investigated Sam Kale some years back, but was killed in an explosion in a warehouse.
"Meylor has a son who's a detective at HPD, doesn't he – Donald?" Steve asked. "We should start with him, but pull out the files on Kale and Galano as well."
"Will do," Danny spoke as he wrote everything into a little notebook. Doc Bergman, the coroner, was examining the body as the two detectives spoke.
"He was killed by two bullet wounds to the chest," Doc told Steve.
"Give the bullets to Che and see if he can get fingerprints off them," Steve instructed him. He walked over to the two policemen who were examining a brick of cocaine.
"Where did that come from?" Steve asked them. The first cop, a tall, wiry man of Polynesian stock spoke.
"It was on the top shelf of the closet," he replied. "It's the funniest thing, Mr. McGarrett … someone called Central Dispatch to report the shooting and said that we would find a brick of cocaine …" he pointed to the inside of the closet, "on the top shelf of the closet."
Steve opened his mouth to form a small "o" for astonishment. Such a phone call meant one thing: that the caller and the killer were one in the same. But was the killer Nate Meylor?
II
District Attorney John Manicote rubbed his forehead and sighed. He had seen a lot of strange things in his tenure as DA, but nothing like this. He pored over the file on Sgt. Nathan Meylor, reading and rereading every line till he practically committed it to memory, and he saw nothing that looked out of place. Meylor had been with HPD for fifteen years. He joined in 1950 and worked his way from patrolman to sergeant. His career ended when he went into a building during a drug raid – a building where a bomb had been rigged. It blew up the entire building to rubble. All that they had to identify him was his badge and watch. The rest of the remains were some skeletal fragments. The badge and watch were identified by his partner, Sgt. Tom Kimura, and were given to Meylor's son, Don, who was now a detective sergeant third grade at the HPD.
The file on his father took a dark turn after his death. What should have been the end with Meylor's death in that explosion was only the beginning of a web of questions with no answers, and lie after lie. Meylor had an unblemished record during his time on the police force but when he died, it all came unraveled. There were claims made by informants that Meylor was dirty, that he had been secretly on the payroll of a local mobster named Sam Kale. Kale's rackets were the usual ventures of organized crime – gambling, prostitution, drugs, extortion, and illegal guns. He also owned some legitimate businesses such as a cab company and some warehouses. It was one of these warehouses that blew up with Meylor in it.
Meylor, according to these informants, would inform Kale of police raids in advance so his associates could get rid of the evidence. They said to check Meylor's house—that they would find a large sum of money, paid to Meylor by Martin Galano on Kale's behalf.
Manicote shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense, Steve," he said. "Meylor was killed in the explosion. They found his badge and his watch. His partner and son identified them. There is no way he could survive an explosion of that magnitude." He smacked his fingers against the cream folder. "Unless …" the DA's eyes opened wide in terror … "he's talking about Don Meylor…"
Steve was walking back and forth wildly, each step hitting the ground with a thunderous tap. "I read the same file, John," he reminded the DA. "Meylor was the only one killed in that explosion, and he was the only one who went into the building. He and Kimura got an anonymous tip that there was a stash of drugs there. They got a search warrant and went over to the warehouse. Kimura radioed for backup while Meylor went in. According to Kimura, Meylor went in and the place blew up two minutes later." Steve walked over to the bookcase and rested his arm on the shelf. "Kimura was still radioing for backup. It all seems too convenient. They didn't have anyone else with them and Kimura had to call for backup.
"Then a mob enforcer is found dead, attempting to write what appears to be Meylor's name in his own blood, while a brick of cocaine was found in his closet – and just like the tip Meylor and Kimura got about the warehouse, it came from an anonymous tip."
Manicote was equally flustered, but realized that he and Steve might be making a fuss over nothing. "The two cases really have no connection, Steve," he pointed out. "Except for Galano trying to write the first four letters of Meylor's name – which we can't prove he was trying to do – in his blood before he died."
"That's where it gets interesting," Steve countered. "Danno was two years into his stint at HPD at that time, and he worked with Nat and knew his son. He had no idea that anything was wrong until after Meylor died. People at HPD were whispering that Meylor was dirty and was accepting bribes from Sam Kale, and that he was seen talking to Marty Galano on occasion."
"Is there anyone who can attest to seeing them together or having more evidence than gossip?" Manicote asked, exasperated.
"No one who will swear to it in a statement" Steve answered. "A check of Nat Meylor's bank account after he died didn't say much, as far as the known bank account was concerned. However, there was another bank account, one he kept at another bank in Honolulu. That one had too many zeroes." Steve stopped pacing and leaned against a bookcase.
Manicote sifted through the papers till he found the report on Meylor's bank account. A new savings account in Meylor's name was opened at First Bank of Honolulu two years before Meylor's death, in 1962. According to the bank manager, one of the assistant managers opened the account and Meylor provided valid identification and said the account was for his son. The assistant manager was questioned as well, but said they didn't ask where the money came from. Meylor gave them five hundred dollars in cash to deposit into the account. Each month, there was a $500 deposit, until the month of Meylor's death. The total amount in that account was more than $25,000.
"Just why are you so fired up about this, Steve?" Manicote asked. "The connection between Meylor's death and Galano's is just a thin thread."
"I've been after Sam Kale for years. He always manages to stay one step ahead of us," Steve answered in his wired-up tone, grinding a fist into his other palm, "but every time, he leaves a trail of dead bodies for us to clean up." Steve clenched his fist and pounded it into his other palm. "And I was never convinced that Meylor died in that explosion."
"It's not every day that a person fakes their own death …" Manicote countered, then the DA suddenly remembered his poor use of words and covered his mouth. "Oh … I'm so sorry."
Steve sighed. "That's okay, John. Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe myself." He wasn't talking about Nate Meylor. He went on, "I've encountered a lot of strange things in this job, so nothing surprises me anymore."