THE STALKING
WRAITH
story
idea by KS
written
by GM
PG-13 FOR VIOLENCE AND INTENSITY
spring of 1976
"Therefore, your honor, because of
the prosecution's lack of evidence, I move to dismiss the charges against my
client."
Under his breath, Steve McGarrett growled,
earning an amused, knowing look from Dan Williams beside him. Managing to wrestle his irritation into more
subdued reactions, Steve ground his teeth.
What he wanted to do was stand up and tell the
judge to ignore this smarmy defense attorney.
The client in question, Dave Belden – a
wealthy boat yard owner -- had ordered the murders of two people in
"Your Honor," John Manicote countered, "the Prosecution has detailed
evidence --"
"Supposition," the defense
lawyer corrected."
"Gentlemen!" the judge halted
with a stern tone and a glare to both attorneys. "This is a preliminary hearing, not a
university debate. Since it is late
Friday morning, I do not intend for this argument to continue through the
weekend. This hearing will resume on
Monday afternoon. The Prosecution's
motion for no bail is rejected. Mr. Belden will be granted bail." The gavel struck the wood with a mighty crack
in the still courtroom, and the official dismissed the gathering.
A triumphant David Belden leered at
McGarrett as he walked past. The chief
of Five-0 allowed the condescending criminal to pass without comment. What was there to say? Belden could skip the country now that he was
on bail. He could have money stashed in
any number of Asian or Swiss accounts and in the morning be on a plane to
anywhere in the world. So much for all their hard work on this case.
"Steve, I did my best," Manicote sighed as he joined the two detectives. "We didn't really expect it to go any
other way, did we?"
Drawing Judge Palmer had been "a raw
deal", to quote Danny Williams when they had heard who the presiding judge
would be for this case. Palmer was soft
on law enforcement and liberal to criminals, it seemed, although his platform
was what he called constitutional law.
"I know, John. "We'll just have to hope Belden feels
over confident and stays in town for the trial."
"I hope you're right," Manicote offered.
In the corridor, the DA shook hands with
the officers and turned toward the back of the building. McGarrett and Williams went out the front and
were mired in the media spectacle on the steps of the
courthouse. Belden was smiling and
laughing with reporters as he gave his version of being
persecuted, not prosecuted, by McGarrett and the DA.
The officers tried to avoid the crush, but
Belden pointed them out to the rabid journalists and the mob crowded around the
detectives. Belden taunted the Five-0 officers with being sore losers and
harboring a vendetta against him.
The look on Williams' face indicated he
would like to respond to that, and prompting McGarrett to pushed
his younger colleague through the bodies and down the steps before impulsive
irritation took control of his temper.
Walking briskly across the courthouse
driveway, they skirted the imposing King Kamehameha
statue and waited for the traffic to thin on
McGarrett fumed, snapping his fingers impatiently, irritated he had chosen to walk across the
street from the Palace. If they had been
in his car they would have been at the office by now. They would have had more protection against
the irritating journalists -- like rolling up windows and speeding away! Pacing impatiently, he hadn’t
noted how busy this street could be when he was in his car!
“So much for the morning stroll, huh?”
Williams’ ironic, wry comment was also
irritating to Steve. B, but when he
glanced at his friend’s amused expression, he relented
and grudgingly sighed.
“Yeah. At least with wheels we have a fast
get-away.”
Dan shot a glance at the reporters who
still lingered nearby, but didn’t dare approach the
wrathful head of Five-0. “I think you’ve
burned them enough. They’re not going to
get too close now.”
There was no light or real intersection at
this junction. The driveway of the
Palace and the circular turnout around the statue were located not-quite-across from each other on the busy four-lane
street. They had to wait for a break in
the busy one-way traffic. When McGarrett
spotted the next opening between cars, he tapped Dan on the arm and jogged
across.
On the Palace grounds, he slowed to a
rapid pace, appreciating the chance to get a little exercise. The adrenalin helped wash away the bitter
taste of Belden’s victory and his seemingly constant battle with the media. Why did the press always seem to taunt or
even persecute the cops, but found high profile – rich – criminals intriguing
and news worthy?
Striding up the broad front steps of the
old building, McGarrett finally felt enough distance had passed – physically
and emotionally – that he could let the infuriating issue of Dave Belden slide
into the backdrop of his attention.
There were other matters for Five-0 to deal with.
“Any word from your informant on the
knifings, yet?”
“No,” Dan supplied as he jogged up the
worn stairs to the door, rushing in behind McGarrett and keeping pace up the
dark, polished koa steps to the second floor. “If I don’t hear from him by lunch time I’ll
run down to
Two muggings with tourists receiving knife
injuries from the assailant were serious business when occurring in the
vacation-maze of
“I’m still helping Chin with that search
for the FBI fugitive -–“
“Let Duke work on that, Danno. I want you on this mugger case full
time. As soon as I’m done with that mess
on the
Protesters near the volcano fields in the Ka’u district of the
As they reached the door to the office, he
reminded, “Duke is working with HPD on the corruption charges against Officer Olina in Makaha.”
As if they weren’t over stressed already
-- an HPD officer was being accused of extortion by some
business people in the small surf town of
“Any messages?” McGarrett asked his
secretary, Jenny Sherman, as he barely paused at her desk.”
She handed him a few memos and mail.
Williams went to his cubicle and picked up the phone. McGarrett sorted through the notes,
prioritizing; determining whom he should call back; and the urgency of each
message. The post contained a few of the
usual official correspondents from other city or government agencies. At one envelope, he stopped in his tracks, halting
just short of his desk.
On a smudged, small white envelope, one
that might contain an invitation or a thank you card,
was his name, scrawled in bold print.
______________________
Mr. Steve McGARRETT
Head of
_________________________
Mr.
Steve McGarrett.
He reacted immediately to the unusual
scribble. Mostly, his internal alert
responded to the bold printing of his name.
Only seconds later, his mind caught up with his instincts and he knew
why the appearance of the print was so startling. A year ago, he and his team had dealt with a
crazed murderer who sent him messages about his crimes. Messages that looked just like this.
Holding the post at the corner, he
continued to his desk then snapped the intercom on, ordering Jenny to get Che
up to his office immediately. The lab
chief was to bring his fingerprint kit.
Then he ordered Danno in. A moment later, Williams was standing at his
desk, observing the envelope.
“Remind you of anything?”
Williams’ eyebrows raised,
then his brow knitted. “Yeah. Last year.
The copycat murderer. He
addressed letters to you just like that.”
“Yeah.
Exactly,” Steve agreed, snapping his fingers.
“Eddie what’s-his-name. Eddie’s dead,” Dan concluded. “So who’s sending you this?”
“Exactly!”
He studied the white paper and noted there
were smudges that could be fingerprints.
The stamp was crooked, as if the person sending it was in a hurry. No return address.
Perhaps he was over reacting, but the note
was too much of a coincidence to not be taken
seriously right from the start. Mindful
that Che Fong had not yet dusted it for prints, McGarrett carefully opened it,
laying flat the torn-off sheet of notebook paper inside.
Aloud, he read, “McGarrett
it is good your father was killed the way he was –“
Drawing in a deep breath, he automatically
read on, even as he felt his voice ground to a hoarse rasp.
“He deserved to be killed that
way.”
Shock and outrage surged through
McGarrett’s system like a flood. The
horrible misery, the old, gut-wrenching anguish washed through him like an evil
black tide. The raw emotions of so many
years ago, when he was a kid, when he learned his father had
been killed, returned. It all
slammed into his memory: The visions of
his mother and sister at the graveside. The policeman
who came to their door to deliver the news of his father’s death. The cold feeling of abandonment that had
never really receded, but left a lasting impression in the sands of his past.
Hands shaking, he dropped the note and
leaned on his desk. Like a haze on his
mind, the terrible mood of helpless grief and frustrated rage rippled along his
thoughts, leaving him physically weak and twisting his stomach into knots.
After all this time, scratching the surface of this scarred wound could draw
intense reaction. He was helpless to
suppress the initial emotions, and it took several moments for him to stabilize.
Dan whipped around to stand beside him,
holding onto his arm. “Are you okay?”
McGarrett nodded, but his drained face must
have indicated otherwise, because Danno didn’t budge. After a moment, he waved his friend off and
Dan released his hold, but yet remained close.
Williams’ indignation was hot. “Who would
send this?”
In response to his colleague’s incredulous
question, McGarrett could only shake his head, still not fully comprehending
the malicious message. Fighting, and
conquering, tangled emotions, he stared at Williams for a moment. Danno, reading the note himself, was
anxiously concerned. His eyes were
filled with compassion, which Steve appreciated, but could not
acknowledge.
“Steve, are you all right?”
“I don’t know.” He breathed deeply. “It’s a crank,” he hoarsely decided, shaking
his head. “But, still . . . I can’t
believe it. Why would anyone -- it’s
sick!”
“Yeah, really sick,” Dan agreed. “And who would know about your father’s death
anyway? I mean, how he died.”
The question was like a cold splash of
water in his face. He stared at his
friend for a moment. “Yeah. Who would know?”
“That’s not something you talk about. And why would they want to use it against
you?”
Typically, Williams had acted in one of
his most valuable roles -- a calming voice of clarity in the midst of
disorder. And
displaying another strong trait, Danno had a real talent for cutting through
the confusion and coming up with brilliant comments to point them in the right
direction. He had a skill for being
soothingly reasonable in counterpoint to Steve’s hot and impassioned extremes.
“Aside from rattling me, what purpose does
it serve?” he asked rhetorically, knowing there could be a thousand reasons or
none at all. Madness and evil sometimes
had no reason or pattern. “I don’t
understand . . . . ”
As if reading his mind of the
possibilities, Williams countered, “It’s just some wacko out to hassle you.”
“Well, he sure knew what button to push,
didn’t he?” Steve sighed, glaring at the malevolent message.
Few things could strike at his heart, but
this one sliced through like a blade. In
his profession, he had to be alert for the psycho fringe that tried various
agitations -- everything from false confessions to staking out his favorite
haunts to get his picture. Five-0 had its share of crank calls and bogus
informants, but this was beyond all of the previous assaults.
McGarrett shoved the note around with the
end of a pencil and reread the message, shivering with subsurface chills that
left him cold inside. His father had
died tragically, the victim of a hit and run accident. The driver – a fleeing criminal.
At the age of thirteen, as Steve stood at
the gravesite, watching the men lower his father’s casket, and holding his
mother’s hand, he had experienced a life-defining moment. He knew his destiny, his calling in life,
would be to bring to justice as many criminals as he could. He became a crusader, so this horrible
anguish could be limited. Self-appointed
as a protector and advocate, he vowed many other young people would not have to
grow up too fast; would not have to become the man of the family at an age when
they should have been kids. Not like his
forced maturity -- when he should have been more concerned about baseball
scores rather than taking care of his grieving mother and sister.
Making it into the
Staring at the sloppy, scrawled words, he
wondered at the power they had so many years after his father’s death. Danno was right, he told few people about his
past; the intimate details of his triumphs or tragedies. How did some malevolent person find out? Who was it that would send something so
painful?
Williams used the eraser of a pencil to
point at the edge of the paper. “Look,
there are smudges here. And the writing, the printing, actually, is – I don’t know –
messy and uneven. Like a kid did this. Someone sloppy and in a
hurry.”
With a nod, McGarrett acknowledged the
assessment, using Dan’s calm, centered logic to bring him out of the emotional
reaction and to think more like a cop.
Deduce and analyze, he told himself, like Williams was doing. Get past the raw feelings breaking the
surface and treat this like any other case.
Easier said than done, but he worked on it, following the comments as
the younger detective evaluated the paper, the writing, the dirty appearance of
the note and the envelope. By the time
the observations concluded, McGarrett’s objectivity had returned.
“Despite the content, you’re right, Danno,
this looks like a kid’s prank.”
“Arrest any of my Little League ball
players lately for spitting on the sidewalk?”
In his throat, McGarrett groaned at the
dismal attempt at humor, but when he glanced at his friend’s wry expression, he
surrendered the tug of a grin. Dan
really did come up with some awful jokes, but they always served the main
purpose – to break the tension and ease their focus in a more positive
direction.
“Look,” Williams pointed out as he tapped
the paper. “We get a lot of
harassment. This is probably
nothing. There are no details about your
father’s death. Nothing specific. Maybe you did something to this kid’s dad and
this is a way of striking back at your authority.”
Not willing yet to let go of the personal
assault, Steve had to admit there was sound reason behind the guess. The fundamental investigative rules still
applied, but how did you assign motive, opportunity and means to something like
this? Danno probably was close on the
motive. And any
kid, even at a young age, could figure out how to mail a poison-pen letter. Even a shot-in-the-dark generalization about
his father’s death would hit too close to home.
It did sound a lot like someone blowing off steam -- a clumsy, blunt
attack that was nonetheless all too stinging and effective.
Was he trying to invent malicious intent
and sinister conspiracies behind everything that happened at these
offices? Sometimes, criminal life was
simple and commonplace. Maybe that was
all this was. Beyond the vile content,
this was an amateurish attempt to hurt him, get him mad. It worked.
Che Fong, the lab chief, entered, and McGarrett
tersely explained he wanted the standard procedure of investigation run on the
envelope and letter. It was not a top
priority, he finished, glancing at Williams to assure
his friend his initial emotional and distraught effect had been an overreaction.
Chin Ho Kelly entered with a negative
report on his efforts to apprehend the FBI fugitive. McGarrett urged him to keep checking his
informants, and ordered Dan to keep working on the mugger case. He had to conclude some loose ends before
leaving in two hours for
*****
After the office was empty and quiet, instead
of settling in and attacking the rest of the mail, he moved to the window and
studied the tranquil setting of the Palace grounds. Nerves gradually settling back to normal within
the stream of routine police work, he still felt disturbed by the wounding
words that struck at his heart like sharpened weapons. Sometimes the pen was mightier than the
sword. In this case, while the blows to
his psyche were not fatal, they managed to resurrect a long-resting
wraith. The spectre of his father’s
death could still deeply haunt him, and even now, in the rays of the warm
Hawaiian sun, he felt chilled by the shadow of a loss that might never leave
him.
*****
The drive to Honolulu International passed
with discussion of the current investigations and routine matters on the
calendar for the next week. McGarrett
gave little thought to the brilliant blue sky, the breeze blowing off the surf,
the billowy clouds dancing with the rays of the warm tropical sun. Instead, he speculated about his mission in
“Want to talk about it?”
Normally, he was not a readable person,
but Danno knew him well.
“Not much to say.”
“I’ll keep on top of the lab reports and
find out --“
“You have enough to worry about besides a
hate letter, Danno.”
Dan’s shrug was as casual as his
tone. “You know, in my spare time. Speaking of which, if you have a chance, why don’t you stay over there and get in some relaxation. Big
“It’s not very likely I’ll have spare
time,” Steve scoffed.
“Just in case. This letter was kind of
disconcerting. We’ve
been under a lot of pressure. Maybe a
drive up to
“In the middle of a demonstration, a
fugitive hunt, an HPD inquiry and a serial mugger, you want me to take time
off?” The sharply incredulous demand was
harsher than he intended. At Williams’
flinch, he breathed out a heavy sigh. “Sorry,
Danno. Guess I could use a little
Island-paradise magic, but I can’t afford to now.” Williams only nodded, clearly not happy with
the response. “Mahalo, anyway.” Williams was about to debate, and he cut him
off. “But I’ll see what the schedule
brings,” he compromised, wanting to end their conversation on a positive,
friendly tone. “If I can squeeze in a
few spare minutes, I’m sure you’ll have some recommendations.”
Smiling, Williams offered a few tips like
a pro tour guide. The tension eased, but
McGarrett’s attention was still back in the office. Still, in his mind’s eye, reading the acrid
words that assaulted the old scars of his memory.
*****
Sunday afternoon offered a brief respite
with his business in
During the nights he managed little sleep
because of the disturbing and unsettling dreams of the past plaguing him. His father’s ghost emerged several times in
his nightmares, always indistinct and somehow condemning; so disturbing he
could hardly sleep. Plagued by guilt and
old, emotional wounds, the recurring questions that would not dissipate with
the light of day, were: Why
would someone taunt him about his father’s murder after all these years? And who hated him so
much to torment him in such a cruel fashion?
Monday afternoon, the mission to the
He did manage to help Hilo PD enough to
arrest one ringleader of the protesters.
They asked him to stay on an extra few days in the hopes his presence
would discourage the rest of the activists, which he declined. A delay in flight times gave him some extra
time. Just before heading to the
airport, he took the opportunity to visit a rainforest south of
Returning home on a late flight, he spent
the night, not at the office, but relaxing at home, waiting until the next
morning to tackle reports and face the routine.
While he was not in a settled state of mind enough to read or paint, he
sat on his lanai and listened to the sounds of traffic and planes; watched the
lights of the dinner cruise ships floating off
The uncharacteristic mini-vacation on the
The rare opportunity to appreciate
Having spotted Williams’ LTD in the
parking lot, Steve entered the office, scooped up the mail under the door,
expecting to see his second-in-command hard at work. If Danno arrived before the mail, he was hot
on a case. His
deductions proved accurate when he peeked into Williams’ cubicle and saw the
younger man, head on the desk, sound asleep.
Chuckling, McGarrett moved in to the
office as a startled Williams bolted up, not yet awake, but instinctively
trying to cover for the lapse.
“You’re here too late or too early,
Danno,” McGarrett smiled. “I’m guessing
late.”
Rubbing his face, Williams nodded,
covering a yawn.
“You’re almost making me feel guilty about
my little excursion in
“Don’t,” he yawned again. “I got a break on that
“Not good enough,” the boss countered,
waving the paper he had in his hand.
“Headlines say he struck again last night. At the Hawaiian Hilton this time.”
“Yeah.
I know. The manager badgered me
about it the whole time I was there. So
I came back here and tried working out a pattern . . . .” his voice faded as he
noted McGarrett’s amusement. “But you’d
probably like to settle in before you hear the boring details. The bottom line is,
I didn’t catch him.”
“You will,” he countered certainly. “Sooner would be better than later.”
Checking the mail on the way to his desk,
McGarrett stopped when he came to an envelope with familiar, boldly scrawled
writing.
_______________________
Mr. Steve
McGarrett
Five-0
________________________
“Danno!”
Williams joined him and studied the
envelope. “Your poison-pen fan strikes
again,” was his grim, irritated comment.
“Shall I take it down to the lab?”
He reached for it and McGarrett took it
out of his grasp. The offer was too
quick, too intent. “I can take it,” he
declared sharply, all too aware of what his colleague was thinking. Dan was trying to protect him and he did not
need the shielding from a mental case, even though he appreciated the concern. “This is a psycho, Danno, nothing more. I can handle it.”
For a moment their eyes met, each
perfectly understanding the messages – the varying levels of distress for
varying reasons. Williams was the one to
ease the tension by releasing a slight sigh.
“I know.
But, I could take care of it for you.”
With a nod, he silently thanked his
friend, then patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go down to the basement and see what
Che can tell us.”
It had been a routine procedure to run the
letter through the lab. Even if it was a
crank, it could be considered a crime to interfere
with a police officer’s ability to perform his duties.
The lab report offered no substantial
leads. Fingerprints all over the letter and the envelope, presumably the
author’s, but they were small. Like a
child’s prints. And no prints on record matched the
petite finger marks.
The envelope was dusted
for prints and several small prints and a few normal sized ones turned up. Che Fong also pointed out dark smudges near
the flap. It looked like dirt to the
detectives, but the lab chief had a suspicion it was something else.
Carefully opening the envelope, he pulled
a note out with tweezers and opened it with gloved hands. There were more smudges on the paper.
“Blood?” McGarrett guessed.
“I think so,” responded Fong.
“As if he cut his finger and just let it
bleed,” Williams thought, his lip curling with
distaste. “Look at the pattern of the
smudges.”
“Right.”
“No,” Dan corrected himself. Tracking with his finger, he demonstrated in
the air, as if writing. “No. This guy cut his
hand, or has a cut on his right hand. And just kept writing.
Yuck.”
“Yes, he’s right handed,” Che
confirmed. “You can tell from the slant
of the letters. And
some of the words are smeared with slight amounts of blood. As if a small cut on the edge of his hand was
bleeding. No way to be sure if that was
intentional. Leaving the blood, I mean.”
“Maybe he was so focused on his mission
that he didn’t realize he was bleeding.”
When I get it under the microscope
I can tell you more. And I might have
enough of a sample to give you a blood type.”
The clinical analysis was lost on
McGarrett. He had tuned out the evidence commentary and focused on the
content. He could not help himself. The message was as damning as the first and
while the sharpness of surprise was not there, the cutting hurt of the words
still stung him.
____________________________
your father deserves To die
just likE you will die
yoU will get it
your blooD
____________________________
“I think we should take this seriously.”
Grim-toned, Williams, at his shoulder, studied the note.
“Let’s see what Che finds,” he
noncommittally responded and left the room.
Dan jogged to catch up with him in the
hall. “This sicko
is sending you blood smeared letters. I
think we need to take a close look –“
“Danno, we’ve got the lab on it. You can make some calls to the post office,
do some routine investigation, but don’t spend too much time on this.” Sighing, recalling the words again, he strove
for logic over emotion. “This is
disjointed and sloppy – like a kid.
Let’s not make more out of it than we need to.”
Disconcerted by Dan’s skeptical look –
obviously not buying the bravado -- Steve trotted up the stairs, in a hurry to
return to his office. Back to the
commonplace business of solving crimes – his refuge in work. He did not consider this a major case, although it hit his nerves with a pain he would never
admit even to his closest friend.
“You have a lot of enemies, Steve –“
“And the ones who are really out to get me
are not going to advertise, Danno,” he shot back as they entered the side door
of the Five-0 wing and coursed through the labyrinth of corridors to their main
office.
Duke Lukela, Chin Ho Kelly and Jenny Sherman
were at their desks and McGarrett acknowledged them, sustaining his forward,
brisk surge through the office and to his own private domain. Williams tagged at his heels.
“Psychos can be dangerous.”
“And I’ll watch out,” he promised as he
slid into his chair and picked up the rest of the mail. Dan’s hovering apprehension could not be
ignored, but he tried to mitigate the effect the letter had on him, hoping to
calm his associate. “This is personal,
yes, Danno, I know. Believe me. Someone out there is holding a big grudge
against me. We’re
doing what we can, but I will not divert the focus of Five-0 for a personal
irritation like this! It’s harassment,
nothing more.”
“Hopefully,” was Williams’ dark reply. “I don’t like
it.”
“Neither do I.”
After Dan left, Steve fumed, suppressing
the anger and distress smoldering within.
He didn’t like the idea of being hated by some unseen force no matter how young or innocuous. What he despised was using his pain from his
father’s death to strike at his heart.
He could never reveal how affective that grief was to him.
*****
With Duke back from his case with his
corruption investigation this morning, he was now helping Kelly track the FBI
fugitive, Sharp. McGarrett was getting
pressure from the governor to step up the investigation, and some FBI agents
from
This morning he had taken time out to
attend Dave Belden’s preliminary hearing.
Belden was supposedly sick and could not attend yesterday’s scheduled
hearing. This morning, again, the
hearing was postponed.
McGarrett arranged for HPD to provide some loose surveillance on
Belden. Too many cases already had
Five-0 swamped.
Friday he was scheduled to testify in the
trial of the notorious cat-burglar
Yesterday morning, just as he had this
morning, he had scanned the mail, relieved to find no hate letter.
Now sunset, the office was quiet, with
only he and Williams left. He wondered
if he should order some Chinese food to be delivered,
or if they should make a clean break and go out to a restaurant. He suspected Williams lingered only because
he did. Danno was a little protective
since the hate letters, but McGarrett felt no sense of heightened danger. Just anger.
The pain had receded in the last few days. The horrible ache of remember hurt. The ghostly wraith of his father’s violent death
thinned.
Fatigued from the long day of Five-0 work
and the emotional weight of the threats, McGarrett was too weary to
continue. He needed a break. Decisively, he donned his shoulder holster,
gun and jacket, then strode out to Williams’ cubicle.
“Come on, Danno!” He slapped the wood of the doorframe,
startling the younger detective. “Let’s
go get something to eat.”
Williams rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Great idea.
If I see any more lines I’ll go blind.”
When they reached the parking lot, Dan
asked, “Your car or mine?” Suddenly he stopped next to the Mercury. “What’s that smell?”
McGarrett, at the driver’s door of his
car, sniffed. “Blood.” In the lamplight, the hood of the car was
unusually glistening. And
he spotted a pool of something on the ground near his foot. “Blood,” he repeated tightly. “On my car.”
Crouching down, he angled to see the hood
from a new vantage point. It seemed most of the hood and windshield were
covered – not smeared – but splashed – with blood.
Gulping down a knot of nausea, he backed
up, studying the car. Williams joined
him on his side, revolver in hand.
“Call for a lab team, Danno.”
The detective hesitated, and only assured Steve
was all right, did Dan move to his LTD and radio in for back up and a crime
team. All the while, both of them
scanned the dark, not seemingly sinister shapes of tall trees and deep shadows
surround the Palace. Steve’s skin
crawled with chills as he shivered with apprehension. While there was no tell-tail sign, he FELT
he was being watched.
Whoever did this was out there observing – enjoying the macabre
spectacle.
He turned the revulsion into anger, then
into resolve. He continually insisted
this was a minor annoyance,. But he could not
admit, not even to Danno, how much this hurt him right down to the inner core
of his heart. Someone hated him enough
to bring his past into the picture.
Figuratively, this could be his father’s blood – splashed all over the
car of the hit and run criminal.
Why was someone doing this to him?
*****
It wasn’t often
that the headquarters of the state police became a crime scene. So it was with a
surreal mixture of anger and agitation that McGarrett watched his team work
literally in the shadow of his office.
Darkness covered the ancient grounds like
a velvet sheet of tropical splendor. The
caressing Trade Winds fluttered through his hair and brushed his skin as he
observed men snapping pictures, the light flashing bright-white,
then the vista slowing receding, washing dark again. The rustle of the tall palms was intermingled
with quiet voices drifting on the sea-breeze air; the scrape of shoes on the
pavement, the muted murmur of traffic just over the stone
wall isolating the Palace from the hustle of downtown.
Lab techs scrutinized the asphalt;
searched for prints in the grass and filled them with clay molding, searched an ever-expanding area for evidence of the intruder
who had vandalized the car of the chief law enforcement officer of the
state. Occasionally Steve commented, or
advised, but mostly he paced and supervised, leaning over shoulders to double
check that his officers were performing in their usual efficient manner. Which they were.
The entire car, and Williams’ were checked
for bombs, booby-traps or other mischief.
Only the fresh blood seemed to be the extent of the damage.
As crimes went, this was sensational, yet
hardly qualifying as a major crime. Not
many thugs had the effrontery to assault McGarrett’s personal property. Even less would dare to do so right under his
office window!
The audacity, the insult, and the outrage
angered him to such a degree he could hardly make more than a few terse remarks
to his men. He mostly paced to work
through the fury seething through his system.
“Here.
You look like you could use this.”
McGarrett spun, almost bumping Williams,
who was at his elbow. The younger
officer held out a cup of coffee.
McGarrett took the mug without comment and turned back to observe the
operation.
“Che said it won’t be long until he’s got
the sample ID’d.
It IS blood, though not human.”
McGarrett’s lip curled with distaste. “This psycho is sick.”
“Yeah.
We should have taken him more seriously.”
“So you think this is the poison pen man.”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“What really worries me is that he’s
escalating. First nasty letters. Now, this really personal attack on something
that belongs to you.”
“Getting more personal,” McGarrett
pondered, watching the lab men cleaning up their gear.
“We should put a guard on you.”
“No way!”
While disturbing, Steve still had to
consider this a prank. A very nasty and
personal one, but still nothing heavily criminal. With no solid leads
the time and budget of Five-0 had to be focused elsewhere. There was no where
else to go at this point with the letters, so he ordered Williams to work on
the mugger case and not worry about harassing letters.
*****
When Williams pulled into the parking lot
on Monday morning, he suppressed a yawn as he cruised around the Palace, past
the banyan tree, toward the front. Over
all it had been an uneventful weekend.
Most of his time was spent bored to death on
stake out in
Exiting the car, he saw Steve’s black
Mercury coming up the drive, so he and leaned on his car, waiting for his boss.
McGarrett smiled when he pulled into his
parking slot, waving at Williams.
“Trying to impress me with your eagerness for your work?”
“Something like
that,” Dan smiled, falling into step with his boss. He hesitated.
At McGarrett’s urging, he explained, “I’ve been doing some thinking,
Steve. Monday and Thursday were the letters. Tuesday
and Friday – it’s a pattern. Maybe this guy is on
a cruise ship. He can mail things only
on certain days -- or go ashore at regular stops. So I checked, but none have been in and out
of port on these dates so I thought of military ships -–“
“Danno.”
The stern warning was clear and both stopped on the steps before they
reached the front door. “I thought I
told you to concentrate on the mugger and not on my personal problem. Hmm?”
Undaunted, Williams admitted that was
true, but he was not going to sit around and wait for someone to attack
McGarrett in a more personal fashion than in letters and blood. His psychological training put him on alert
-- as did their years of experience with nut cases.
The loyalty, the stubborn tenacity was to
be expected, but still, it impressed and somewhat embarrassed him that Dan was
taking this on as a private project. It
would be difficult to sway his friend from protecting him, but he had to.
“Then let me make it completely clear,
Danno. I appreciate your concern, but I
do not want you wasting time on this case!
Is that clear?” His hard stare
held until the shorter man gave a curt nod.
“I will handle this myself. Don’t
worry.” He unlocked the front door and
they silently ascended to the second floor.
When they walked inside the main office
door both stood frozen for a moment, looking at the mail on the floor. With a glance at his friend, McGarrett picked
it up and quickly went through the envelopes.
Both sighed when it was clear there was no mysterious poison letter.
“That’s a relief.”
McGarrett double-checked the stack of
letters. “Maybe. It’s not Tuesday, yet.”
“So you’re starting to like my theory
about the cruise ship?”
“Too early to tell, Steve commented as he
moved through the main office into his own.
“Maybe the letters will stop. Or not. I do think your stalker has moved up to a
higher profile. The letters aren’t enough. The
violence is escalating. Remember Eddie
Josephs, he was a classic psycho that copied crimes, the violence coming closer
and closer together, his intensity escalating. This person starts out at a distance -- a
hate letter. Then the blood. Then the blood on the car. I’m afraid of what
he’ll do next, Steve. Now it has to be
more personal.”
“Maybe.”
“I want to give you a guard –“
“No way, Danno, no way! We’ve been over this!”
“Steve –“
“This office has enough to do with out
babysitting me! And unless we get that
mugger off of
The phone in his office rang and he nodded
toward the inner sanctum. “That’s
probably the mayor calling to complain now.
Why don’t you bring in some coffee and I’ll do my best to defend you.”
“McGarrett,” he answered, dumping the
paper and mail on his desk.
“He deserved to die! Your father deserved the pain and the
blood! Just like you deserve to die!”
The squeaky, high-pitched voice whipped in
his ear. The words rushed and pushed
together in a blur. The hang-up click
was a loud slam, followed by the dial tone.
It was so quick he had to concentrate to
distinguish the message, to comprehend the message. A breath caught in his throat, as he stood
immobile, the phone in his hand, the content of the
call slowly filtering through his brain.
“What is it?”
The clear and anchoring voice of Williams
snapped him out of it. He slammed the
phone down with the impetus of growing anger.
“It was the mystery crank!” He leaned his knuckles on the desk. “Telling me my father deserved to die and so
do I.”
Williams came up beside him. “Guess there wasn’t time for a trace.” He placed a hand on McGarrett’s arm. “Are you okay?”
Seething, McGarrett slammed a fist on the
desk. “No! I’m not okay!”
Startled, Williams drew back.
“Sorry, Danno.”
“No, I understand it’s upsetting. Did you recognize the voice?”
Bitterly, he related it sounded like a ten
year old in a hurry. It made no
sense. How could a kid get his private
office number? Why would a youngster be
interested in persecuting him about something that personal? How would anyone but his small circle of
friends know about his father’s death?
“Maybe it’s a crank, but maybe it’s not,”
Dan ruminated after a moment.
Filling in the tense silence, Williams
reiterated the lab report issued on the first letter and the car. There was, after
all, some traces of human blood on the car.
Same type as on the letters.
“I think your tormentor is ascending to a
new high. If this is for kicks, he’s increasing his adrenalin by making it more
personal. The blood on your car and this
phone call are getting closer, more personal.
Almost touching you.”
McGarrett only nodded;
fuming, pondering. “What’s really sick
is that someone is using a kid to do his dirty work. The voice on the phone was high and almost –
almost hysterical. Whoever is behind
this is some kind of beast.”
“Which is why you need to have a guard –“
“No.”
Grimacing, Williams shook his head. “It’s in the interest of the state to protect
the top cop, Steve. You’re
being stubborn –“
“I’m being practical, Danno! We treat this like the misdemeanor it is.”
“It’s eating you up!”
“Then I just have to do a better job of
ignoring it, don’t I?” he snapped back.
The phone rang again, startling both. Williams automatically moved to the phone at
a side table and asked HPD to trace the incoming call. After the third ring, McGarrett answered.
He breathed out a long sigh, glanced at
his colleague, then answered, “Yes, tell the Governor I can come right
over.” He hung up with a decisive slam
of the receiver.
Dan canceled the trace.
“You-know-who wants to see me, and I bet
it’s about the mugger.” He glared
meaningfully at Williams. “And you know
what that means.”
“I’m on it,” the officer responded
unhappily, and stalked out.
After Dan left the office, McGarrett
leaned on the wall and stared out the window, reflecting on the distressing
call and letter. Someone out there hated
him. Enough to threaten his life. That in itself was nothing new. The fact that this invisible tormentor had
wounded him deeply with the haunting spectre of his father’s untimely
death – that was the really disturbing part of the mystery. Who hated him that much, to
not just want him dead, but to torture him like this?
Added to the emotional anguish and the
stress of the threats, now came the unusual tension of the disagreement between
he and Danno. It was not
unusual for Williams to be overprotective of him, and he could often be
accused of the reverse, but Steve did not want it in this case. Perhaps because it was
connected with his father and that made it so personal. Also, because he did believe what he told
Williams. He was a public official and
he could not use his valuable time, or Five-0’s,
tracking a prankster – however torturous the attack.
*****
When he returned from the Governor’s
office Chin and Duke were there catching up on paperwork. Danno was out, presumably tracking the
mugger. He conferred with them about
their cases, then spent the rest of the morning
reading Williams’ notes on the mugger case.
As he had guessed, that was the reason the
Governor called him over to the capitol.
The mayor of
He would be the first to admit Williams
and a small group of HPD support officers had done everything they could think
of to catch the mugger. Stake outs, decoys and many of them staying late into the
night in
The thoughts strayed to the very specific
and structured harassment he was experiencing, and he pulled out the lab
reports on the letters, rereading the data he had nearly memorized: Small prints on the letters. Smears of human blood, type B. A child’s voice on the phone. Cat’s blood on the car.
What did it all mean? He checked Dan’s notes out of curiosity. Eddie Josephs didn’t have any disgruntled relatives or friends out there
copying his hate mail. The printing and
tone of the messages, after all, were so similar it was spooky. Birth records indicated a younger sister, but
she had no driver’s license, no billing records or tax records in the state of
He still had not answered any pertinent
questions about the assailant. He was no
closer to finding out about this madman now than he
was on the first day of the onslaught.
It proved that even the top cops of the state could be vulnerable and
fallible, either disadvantage was bad but together they could prove – what –
that he and his staff were human? That they could catch international spies and
mass murderers but not a prankster with a personal grudge?
He knew until he could answer the most
basic questions – why and who – this would not come to an end. This was too personal. Someone out there wanted him to suffer
deeply. Eventually, they would tire of
the toying and then they would move in for the kill. Figuratively or literally, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to allow it to go that far.
*****
On his own,
Dan engaged in some private investigations to find out who mailed the letters. He doubled checked the lab reports. Then he researched paper, envelopes,
etc. All standard materials -- so common
they were used by the state -- the same stock Five-0
used for their office supplies!
Weary of the legwork, and frustrated at
getting nowhere, he returned to possible links to Eddie Josephs. This was also a dead end, literally and
figuratively. No relatives listed that he
could find. No known
close friends according to neighbors.
Dredging up information on someone who had been a loner and died over a
year before was taking up too much of his time.
He pushed it off to an HPD detective.
For now he had to focus on catching the
*****
The tropical sun was far behind the horizon
when McGarrett hung up the phone with Chief Dann. The head of HPD was not happy about
McGarrett’s request to siphon more patrolmen and
detectives into the mugger case. A mugger and a poison-pen stalker. Who would think the great Five-0 would be so stymied by such inferior criminals, who were so
annoying?
The outer door slammed and Steve guessed
it would be Williams. Chin and Duke were
in
McGarrett met him by the door. “Been swimming?”
“Yeah.
And guess what I caught besides a fish or two
in my pocket? The mugger.”
Steve clapped him on the back, then laughed when water splashed off. “Congratulations, Danno.”
“Thanks.
I wanted to let you know right away.
Maybe you’ll sleep better.”
McGarrett laughed again. No one else in the world would divert from
changing out of soppy clothes to come and personally deliver good news to
him. Danno was really
priceless sometimes.
“I know the Governor and the Mayor
will.” The news was a relief. He didn’t realize
how stressed he had been over the simple crime.
And how
pleased he was that, as usual, Williams came through with persistence and
success. McGarrett started locking up.
“I’ll take you out to celebrate, but you’ll have to change first.”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just go
home and sleep for a change.”
“You mean the nights in
“Yeah, when it’s a stake out. Speaking of stake-outs,
how’s the one going on Belden?”
Locking the office door, they started down
the hall of the Five-0 wing. Steve
slackened his usual brisk pace to compensate for Williams’ lethargic gait. “I’ve had to pull back to minimal
surveillance. Apparently, he’s still got the Asian flu, but I don’t believe it for a
minute. He’s going to try and skip
bail.”
“We should alert airport security.”
“Already did.” He grinned.
“You know, we are doing our jobs around here even if you are sunning
yourself in
Williams tiredly smirked.
Switching to a sincere tone, McGarrett
proudly congratulated, “Good work, Danno.”
Once more patting him on the shoulder, he grinned again. “I knew you would get him.”
“Mahalo.”
Williams whole face brightened and he seemed to loose a great deal of
the fatigue pressing on him. “I’ll see
you in the morning.”
*****
The bright spot of the week for Five-0 was
that Williams finally apprehend the
Williams spent most of the day at HPD interrogating
the man – a window washer named Kulua. Now Williams was finishing up
the reports and clearing the decks to take on a new case. McGarrett decided to let him handle an
attempted murder investigation that came in overnight instead of working on the
FBI case.
Considering Danno’s bedraggled appearance
the night before, Steve was surprised when Williams phoned him early Tuesday
morning and suggested they breakfast at one of their favorite spots in
The arrest was front
page news. McGarrett only glanced at the article folded on the
table. It was far more interesting to
hear the details of the stake-out – amusing or
complicated features of the caper that would not be included in the dry police
form used for reports.
It was past EightAM
when they both drove up to the Palace.
McGarrett felt relaxed and calm, the irritating case behind them; the
value of casual companionship helping to ease him into the day.
As they rounded the balustrade on the
second level and approached the Five-0 door, they stopped. A parcel was set on the floor outside the
office. The brown paper bag covering
(from a local supermarket), was wildly crisscrossed
with errant strips of transparent tape.
Some of the covering looked dark with an oily stain. Facing up, were scrawled
the red-painted words:
Remember MR Patrick McGarrett
Inhaling sharply, McGarrett clenched his
shaking fists. The malevolence of the
message was sinking deeper than he expected.
After days of torment, he thought himself immune to the tauntings, but a new level of vulnerability was suddenly exposed with this new attack.
Dan gently moved him out of the way and
for a moment watched him, then studied the box with a furrowed brow openly
revealing concern. Crouching down, he
studied the parcel,
“Back off, Danno. It could be a bomb.”
Sniffing Dan coughed. “I don’t think so. It smells like – like
something died. And I think that might
be blood.” He stood. “That’s your father’s name, wasn’t it? Patrick?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling his whole body
shake with the residual anger and anguish of haunted memories and
revulsion. “Yeah. How – who would know that?” He smashed his fist into the nearby wood
molding and cursed, rage flaring through the hurt and scarred past. “Why are they doing this?”
Dan moved close and touched McGarrett’s
arm. “We’ll find out, Steve.”
“Go check the rest of the building,
Danno. Then --“
“Steve, I have experience with this kind
of stuff.”
“Don’t try anything --“
“I won’t.
But I can be checking it out while you get Louis Chu
gets over here.”
All right,” he reluctantly agreed. “Watch yourself.”
Jogging down the stairs, he raced to the
phone in the lobby and called HPD for the bomb squad. Che Fong and one of his assistants were just
arriving and he ordered them to keep everyone else out. Then he raced back upstairs, relieved that
Williams was keeping his distance, but still visually examining the wrapped
box.
McGarrett stared at the offensive package,
pounding his fist against the wall, thinking, blocking his strained feelings.
No matter what mental tricks he conjured, the wraiths of the past would not
release him.
Back against the white plaster, he pounded
his fist on the wall. “I am going to
find whoever is doing this. I
promise!” His voice was shaking as much
as his body and he drew in a deep breath to get control. It took him a few moments to settle, to reach
a level where he could speak without divulging his weakness.
Why was this happening? What enemy was out there resurrecting his
father’s death? Someone out to get
him? Or his
family? A cold wash of fear suddenly
swept over him. What
if his sister and her family were in danger?
McGarrett raced past him and into his
office. “Take over here, Danno.”
He ran back down to the phone near the
front doors and connected to an operator for a long distance call.
“Hello?”
It was a young voice. His nephew, Patrick, aged six. “Patrick, hi, it’s Uncle Steve,” he
announced, a little breathless. “Is your
mommy there?”
He heard the boy call and a moment later
Mary Ann answered. “Steve?”
“Sis, you haven’t been getting any crank
calls or any letters or packages that are unusual?”
“No.
Steve, what’s going on.”
Mary Ann was a woman with a family of her
own. She didn’t
need big brother to protect people that were his responsibility. The apprehension and iron resolve in her tone
was pure McGarrett and it almost made him smile and cry at the same time. She was brave and tough, just like their
mother. He shared a lot of history with
his little sister. The pain of their
father’s untimely death was one of the greatest
burdens they shouldered together. From
that moment on he had never stopped being a big
brother to her in a very over-protective way.
And he had never been able to get much past
her, either.
“I’m okay, honey, I just have a little
problem here with some crank who’s bothering me. I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong with
you and the family.”
“What kind of crank, Steve? Are you in danger?”
Even a little information was too much and
he grit his teeth in anger at himself for letting too
much slip. “I’m fine, honey. I’m a cop, remember, I can take care of
myself.”
“Not from what I’ve seen, Steve. Last time we visited you had been shot!”
“Mary Ann, really, I’m fine. Listen, I have a busy morning ahead, so I
have to go.”
“You work too hard, Steve.”
“I know, love. Now listen, sis, if you get anything funny in
the mail, or any kind of strange calls I want you to let me know right
away. Promise”?
“I promise, Steve. And you call me and
let me know if anything happens. I mean
it!”
“I will.”
“I’ll call you Sunday.”
“I look forward to it. Give my love to the family.”
After hanging up he sagged against the
wall, his head in his hands. It was both
liberation and agony to speak with his sister about the possibility of
danger. She fretted over his safety
constantly. And
just hearing her voice dredged up so much of the past. The good and the horrible – the memories of
that terrible day when the police had come to inform them their father had been
killed. Mary Ann had sought shelter in
his arms, begging him to say it would be all right. He hoped he had made it all okay – or the
best he could – in the following years.
Drawing out of the past, he returned to
the corridor and watched Che Fong and his lab people search the hall and the
area around the package for clues. Dan
gave him a silent, speculative, questioning look, which he returned with a
confident nod.
The trudge of heavy boots and someone
giving orders drifted up the stairwell, and Lt. Chu
and his bomb squad, in flak jackets and helmets, joined them. McGarrett lead them up the stairs, explaining
the situation.
With careful tread
they moved it to the bomb van in the front parking lot. A scanner in the truck told them there were
no metal parts in the box. Unlikely it
was a bomb. --- came upstairs and
reported they would take it to the lab for an x-ray. If it was cleared,
then they would open it in a controlled environment.
While they proceeded with that phase of
the operation, Che was already studying the crime scene, and reported finding
minute traces of leaves and dirt on the floor.
The Palace was well cleaned every night, and
this meant the perpetrator had left the evidence. There was also an oily substance left on the
wood floor that Che would analyze.
Jenny Sherman and the rest of the staff
had arrived by this time and McGarrett directed them to get on with their
duties.
“Now we know where the blood on your car
came from,” Williams snapped after the bomb officer left.
“From a sick mind,” McGarrett vollied back, irritated at the wasted morning, at the
continued personal attacks. “I’m going
down to the lab. Take care of things
here, Danno.”
*****
Watching the lab techs work was almost
like watching grass grow. They worked at
their own meticulous and dedicated speed, and refused to be
hurried by McGarrett literally looking over their shoulders. The results were depressing. Che mentioned, in his own brand of quirky
humor, that this was a historic case for Five-0. They had his prints, his blood type, his
footprints, an estimate on his height, weight and a
guess on his age. The perpetrator was a child, or a very small adult, with
small feet and small hands and fingers.
They recently walked in dirt with traces
of banyan leaves – possibly the area right in back of
the Palace. Obviously
he could break in and out of a public building without notice in the middle of
the night. And still
they couldn’t catch him.
The joke did not cheer McGarrett, who
returned to his office and glumly reported the findings to Williams. His second-in-command’s brightness did not
help, either.
The name, written in blood, was still
damp. Which meant the
perpetrator had been there very close to the time they had both arrived. The oily substance on the package and the
floor was the residue from the cat skin.
The soil was common dirt mixed with gravel, grass and car oil. The leaf particles came from a banyan tree –
possibly the one right at the back of the Five-0 wing!
“He’s stalking you,” Williams reminded
darkly. “He was probably sitting out
there under the tree waiting for you the other night! Or now and we’d never
know it. It’s
like he can melt into the background. He
comes and goes like a ghost.”
The analogy gave McGarrett a chill. It was how he mentally thought of this entire
episode – a haunting by a ghost. His
father’s spectre. He pushed the
conversation into a more productive direction and asked what Williams brought
with him.
“I think I have something, Steve, but it’s
weird.” He took a seat on the edge of
the desk while McGarrett slumped in his chair.
“I’ve been trying to figure out where this person would know about your
father’s death, and his name. Records
would give him that, but he’d have to know where you
grew up. And
he’d have to guess about the year and the name of your dad. Unless it came up as public knowledge.”
The tone and knowing, triumphant
expression told him his friend had the answers already. It was a slim measure of hope in an
irritating string of tense days. “What did you find, Danno?”
Handing over Xerox copies, he revealed, “Remember Mr. Steven McGarrett,” he
quoted. “That same article that Eddie
Josephs was using, had all that personal information
on you, Steve. The reporter gave a short
bio on you in the second or third week of the string of articles, remember?”
McGarrett shuffled through the pages of a
series of magazine articles that had been published a
few years before. Last year, a psycho
named Eddie – used the articles to create copycat killings. He had thrown himself out a window and died
rather than be caught. {episode – I’LL KILL EM AGAIN} Before each duplicate murder
he had sent McGarrett a warning letter addressed Mr. Steven McGarrett. Even
down to the misspelling of his first name.
It was dejavu.
“Your sister is fine. No one else on the team is
targeted, so this is personal for you, Steve. Someone read these articles, found out
something that really hurt you in the past, and is out to hurt you now. I think you’re in real danger.”
“From a midget with a
grudge? Danno, we’ve
discussed this --“
“The violence is escalating, Steve. Bloody packages and blood on your car. The guy could be out there right now watching you, stalking your
every move! What’s
going to be next? Every strike is more
personal. The change of pattern
indicates something has happened in this person’s life and that can only mean
more trouble for you. At the very least,
I think this should be a priority and utilize the whole team to solve it.”
As usual, he could not deny the logic and
clarity of Williams’ salient argument.
In the pondering silence, Williams reminded that Chin and Duke were due
back to Honolulu later that afternoon since they had successfully captured the
FBI fugitive in Maui.
Reluctantly, McGarrett agreed, and ordered
his friend to clear away as many assignments as he could to HPD. Starting this afternoon the harassment of the
top cop was going to become Five-0’s priority investigation.
*****
Both breathed sighs of relief when Steve
retrieved the mail and found no letter from the persistent and deranged persecutor. McGarrett then began to wonder at the absence
of an attack. What did the silence mean,
if anything?
Williams ran though speculations off the
top of his head while he poured coffee for both of them. He sat on the edge of McGarrett’s desk,
ruminating aloud, while the boss let the theories brush through his own various
suspicions. Both officers jumped when
the phone rang. Instantly, Williams was
on his feet, ordering a trace from the other phone. When he gave an affirming nod, Steve snapped
the phone to speaker so his colleague could hear.
“McGarrett!” he barked.
“Steve, this is Chief Kalua
in Hilo.”
Again, both officers sighed deeply in a
release of tension. Williams broke his
connection and shared a chagrined look with his friend.
“What is it, Chief?” McGarrett almost
smiled.
“Got two of those protesters, chained
themselves to bulldozers at the development site. Can you come down here and help us?”
McGarrett glanced at Dan. “I’ll see what I can do, Chief. Either Danno or I’ll be down there to help
you out.”
“Mahalo, Steve.”
McGarrett switched off the speaker. “Feel like a trip to the scenic Big Island,
Danno?”
“Anytime,” he grinned wistfully. “Want to finish the paperwork for the
preliminary hearing for my mugger?”
Chuckling, McGarrett shook his head. “Not a chance.” He unlocked his desk drawer and brought out
several files and loose papers. “I’ll
brief you on my schedule for the next few days, then
you can drive me to the airport. I’ll be
back as soon as I can.”
*****
With McGarrett out of town, Dan took the
investigation of the letter threats as his main focus. He talked with the Post Master and arranged
to have the mail to the Palace scanned carefully, taking note of any printed
envelopes. And,
as always, he warned their postal deliverer to be wary of any suspicious
packages.
Extra guards were placed
around the Palace and increased patrol units cruised past Steve’s apartment. Late night sessions with all detectives –
profiling – what kind of psycho this might be, were held until the early
morning hours. Expert psychologists were brought in to give advice.
Desperate and frustrated, Danny wondered
if he should stake out the main post office during one of his lunch breaks,
looking for kids mailing letters. Or short, petite people.
Or teens.
They couldn’t rule out smaller people at this
stage. Dan had ordered a trace on any
relations or friends
of Eddie Josephs, but that, so far, came up negative.
Returning from the post office, there was
a message from Chin saying he and Duke caught David Beldon
trying to leave in a chartered jet to
*****
In a heightened sense of alert, Dan
arrived at the Palace early on Thursday morning. The mystery stalker had turned
unpredictable. Guards were
now stationed around the Palace and Hilo PD had been alerted to keep a
watch on McGarrett just in case the stalked switched islands. So far, there was no indication of McGarrett being threatened while away.
Dan’s nights and waking hours remained
unsettled despite the precautions. He
preferred to be at the office working on the case rather than trying to snatch
a few extra minutes sleep. Part of the
vigilance was because of the image of Steve hovering behind him, watching what
Dan was doing, how he was handling the case and the office in Steve’s absence.
Nerves were tight since he was also
convinced all his warnings were appropriate.
Someone was out to get McGarrett and his closest friend’s life might
depend on how quickly they could catch this psycho.
Trotting up the Palace’s front steps, Dan
stopped instantly when he saw the note hanging on the ornate wood. No – not hanging –
stabbed to the beautiful koa wood by a shiny
knife. He cautiously stepped
closer. Gulping, he cleared his throat
of a knot of nausea. Speared
to the door by a red smeared scalpel!
He would bet that the crimson tint was blood. It still looked wet.
The red-smeared words, squiggled on a
dirty, torn piece of notebook paper, were what chilled him. He suddenly felt cold standing in the warm
breath of an ocean breeze, under the Hawaiian morning sun.
_________________________
DANNY WILLIAMS
DESERVES TO dIE
jUST like Your father
jUST like YOU
For what you DID
____________________________
How could this happen? With extra guards, the stalker had still
managed to sneak over here and deliver the grisly message!
Breathing evenly, he trotted back down the
steps, striving to retrace his footsteps.
He used the car mic to order Che’s team to check the front of the Palace and the
note. When he signed off Chin was
pulling up and he asked Kelly to oversee the lab techs. He strolled around the parking lot, then the
grass, then the dirt under the banyan tree in the back of the Palace.
Che’s
unit had been back here already taking casts of small
prints. He would have them try again,
but doubted they would find anything beyond the diminutive sneaker sole marks
already cataloged. He wondered if the
assailant lurked here at night before the staff left. Did he watch them from the dark? Did he secretly track their movements like a
ghost? Certainly none of the detectives
or staff had noticed a small person or a kid following them. And he would have
noticed that!
Scanning the buildings across from the
square, peering across to the Capitol, he wondered if he was under surveillance
now. His skin crawled as he recalled the
note. This time the threat was directed at him.
The sights had broadened to include him, not just McGarrett. That didn’t’ make him feel too happy. At least Steve was on the
Turning to enter the Palace from the back
door, he paused and scanned the surroundings again. Seeing nothing unusual,
he continued. By the time he reached the
Five-0 wing he had determined his next step.
Retrieving the mail at the door, he walked
to McGarrett’s office and studied the chalkboard that held their investigative
notes. Copies of the messages were tacked to the edges and he scrutinized the writing, the
paper, the wording. Summaries of
evidence were listed. The clinical evidence held
little comfort now that he felt the press of the threat like a brush of wind
across his neck.
When the phone rang, he groaned, knowing
it would be McGarrett. He had phoned
yesterday morning about this time and it would be characteristic of him to
check in again. To be apprised of any
updates. Dreading to answer it, Williams
picked it up.
No surprise, it was McGarrett, wondering
how everything was going. He had another
problem with the demonstrators and would need to stay the rest of the day. Was that all right?
“That’s fine, Steve.”
“We get any other surprises today?”
He knew what Steve meant. It was a loaded question he
did not want to answer. Telling
the complete truth would send Steve back here to the heart of danger before he
could find the threat. He couldn’t lie to Steve, but maybe he could prevaricate a
little.
“Yeah, another note. This time stabbed to the front door of the
Palace.”
“The front door! What is wrong with those security
patrols?” The anger was hot and
clear. “What did it say?”
The dread and anxiety were so clear in the
voice that Dan cringed. It was in that
moment the deception rolled off Danny’s tongue with surprising ease. He had to protect his friend even if it was a
small token. Just temporarily, for the
rest of the day, he could ease Steve’s burden just a little. He would pay for it big time later, but for now Steve could have a day of relative peace. “Oh, you know, just the usual threats,” he
shrugged off with a tone he hoped sounded casual. “Che’s got it
now. We’re on it, though, so don’t
worry.” He pushed a false enthusiasm
into the pep talk, as if motivation and skill had made a difference so far.
Later, he would have to face McGarrett’s
unleashed wrath when the boss returned and read the note himself. For now, there would be hours or days of respite. His friend deserved the break, even if it
might be the wrong choice, he decided.
On the
“You’re sure everything’s okay?”
“Sure.
Don’t worry, Steve. I can handle things here.”
“I know that, Danno, I just – well, if
it’s just another threat I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
“Yeah,” Dan cleared his throat
uncomfortably. “Don’t worry about it
now. Maybe we can clear this up right
away and you can take a few days to enjoy
The stern tone denoted there was no such
possibility. “I’ll call you later. I’ll try
to be home by this afternoon.”
“Okay,” Danny grimaced, “but you don’t
have to.” That would be a tight time
schedule.
“I want to be there.”
Energized by the need to get results, Dan
met Chin and Duke as they were coming into the office. The lab tested the blood – human, type
B. They also confirmed the traces of soil
and leaves matched the banyan area between the Palace and the Capitol.
“You going to let Steve know about this
new threat”? Chin wondered mildly.
Danny knew what he meant but
sidestepped. “Steve has enough to worry
about on the
Duke shook his head. “He’s not going to be happy when he reads the
new note.”
“I think we should put a guard on you,
Danny,” Chin advised.
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” he
countered, hoping he did not sound too much like an echo of Steve’s adamant
refusals for help. “I want you to check
around the grounds, Chin. Find out if there are any lurkers who like to hang around lately. Ask the groundskeepers, janitors, the postman and the night-watchmen here and at the Capitol. Anyone you can think of working around here.”
“You’re thinking this nut might still be
around?”
“Could be.
Duke, check in the neighborhood for people who work shifts that might
bring them here. Garbage men, city
workers, things like that.”
Lukela’s
distressed expression clearly displayed his feelings. “That’s a pretty big job, Danny.”
“Get some help from HPD. We can decrease the extra patrol units
cruising past Steve’s apartment I think until he returns. Use the men here around the Palace. Everything seems to be centered here.”
“This is where all the action is,” Chin
supplied simply.”
“Yeah”, Dan agreed thoughtfully. This was the center of power. McGarrett’s real home. And his, it
seemed. And the
stalker knew that, too. “Our focus needs
to be here.”
*****
Williams was still at the office at twenty
to NinePM when Steve called from the airport in
Not sure how to level
with the boss about the contents of the latest threat, he decided not to say
anything right away.
Steve was obviously calm from the brief respite and he would like to
extend that peace as long as possible.
On the drive back from the airport, he
filled in McGarrett in about the work they’d been
doing. Distraction could only work so
long, but it seemed to keep Steve’s mind out of specifics.
“Duke and Chin came close to striking
gold. They found a maintenance man at
the Capitol who’s seen what he thought was a kid about
dawn a few mornings this week. But he couldn’t be sure exactly what days. Chin found a night watchman at the Capitol
who says a kid crossed Beretania around dawn several
times for the last few weeks.”
“Description?”
“Nothing useful. Of course, it could be some kid on the way to
school for all we know.” Not so
smoothly, he transitioned. “So, how was
“No, Danno. Are you trying to change the subject?”
Still striving for distraction, he
answered truthfully. “You’re a little
relaxed. Thought a few more minutes of
not thinking about your stalker might help.”
“Mahalo.”
He seemed to struggle with some internal doubts. “I don’t think I’ll relax again until this
kook is behind bars.” Pensive, he turned
his gaze from the lights of the harbor to Williams. “What about the newest note?”
“No new evidence,” Dan prevaricated,
hoping Steve did not ask about the contents.
The time was almost at hand, however, when Steve would demand to see the
copy of the note and he would have to reveal the newest threat. It would only give Steve more to worry about,
and Dan wanted to avoid that until the very last minute. In a sense, he felt guilty he had not been
able to catch this nut case yet. He
should have been able to do that for his boss while Steve was away. “Che went over it.”
"As soon as we get back to the
office I’ll check it out.”
Suppressing a groan, Williams
feverishly started running explanations over in his mind. Steve would not be happy about his obstructive
-- no -- his shielding. Steve knew his
intensions were honorable, but it would the proud and stubborn Irish cop would
not like being protected.
*****
At the Palace, Steve frowned as they
pulled into Dan’s parking slot next to three HPD cars. Several patrolmen
were visible on the front steps. He
glared at his friend and exited the car without a word. Inhaling a moan, Dan followed the unhappy boss.
Inside his office, McGarrett slammed the
door shut. “You want to tell me about
those guards surrounding the Palace?”
“Protection –“
“Not like an armed camp, Danno.”
“Why are you so set against staying
alive?”
“I’m not!
It’s about the excessive show of force and the public scrutiny that I
don’t want!”
“You’re worried about publicity –“
“Do you think I want everyone in the state
to know about this stalker? About our vulnerabilities or my father’s death?”
“No, Steve, but you need to have a guard
–“
“We’ve gone over this!”
“Why be a Lone
Ranger? You can’t
do this alone! Not against this ghost!”
He stabbed a finger to the outside. “That is overkill. Most of those patrolmen better be gone by the time I leave here tonight. One at my apartment, maybe. But we’re here at the Palace!”
“Steve --”
McGarrett’s eyes narrowed
dangerously. “This is not up for debate,
Danno. I mean it. Those patrolmen
leave. Now!”
Fuming, Williams stalked away, his face
darkly clouded with anger. McGarrett seethed, wincing as he heard the office
door slam. Being here in the midst of
the tension had instantly snapped him back to the peril of the situation. Danno had guessed right; he had relaxed a
little in
While Danno had only his life and safety
in mind about the protection, the younger officer should not have overstepped
his bounds. Alternately, Dan only acted
on what he felt to be the right course and Steve should not have yelled at his
friend. Danno, as always, was only
watching out for him. At any rate, his
tense reprimand of his closest ally was inappropriate and over-heated.
Urged by guilt, he hurried out of the
office to catch his friend and apologize.
They should not be arguing. This
was the time to pull together.
Typically, Danno had his best interests at heart even if the methods
were grating on Steve.
The central, double-storied
lobby of the Palace was dark, the wall sconces radiating subdued light in the
large, open area dominated by dark koa wood. Trotting down the stairs, McGarrett could see
a indistinct scene outside, through the frosted,
etched glass designs in the windows of the front doors. Rushing forward, his mind was preoccupied
with Danno’s misplaced loyalty and rebellious overzealousness. As he reached the door, he saw a distorted
image of a white car speed past.
Out the door, striding onto
the steps, he watched in horror as the white Thunderbird raced toward the
parked Five-0 LTD. Only peripherally did
he note the placement of HPD officers near their cars by the streetlight near
the front driveway leading to
Obliquely he noticed the
speeding vehicle had no headlights as it veered toward a figure crossing the
parking lot. Before he could blink or act or think, the Thunderbird’s lights blazed on,
catching Danny Williams in the twin streams of light. Dan leaped out of the way, but the car honed
in on him.
Before a cry could leave his
throat, McGarrett watched helplessly as the Thunderbird scraped along the LTD
and Dan was struck by the speeding car. The limp body catapulted onto the trunk of
the LTD and bounced off to land in the shadowy grass.
Then the car was gone.
McGarrett’s heart pounded
against his chest with painful throbs.
He called out words he didn’t even understand
as he automatically raced over to the lawn.
Williams was lying on his left
side. Still. Too afraid to move him, McGarrett first
checked to see if he was alive. His
shaky hand could not pick up a pulse so he touched the chest and breathed again
when he found a heartbeat. His hand came
away wet and red with blood. His stomach
curled with anguish. Only now, he noted
the glistening trickles darkly tracing down Danno’s immobile face. A head injury? Other grievous damage? He checked again for a pulse and found a
faint beat on the sticky skin.
Someone came up beside him and
he mumbled instructions, not sure, what he was saying. He checked for obvious damage and bleeding
without moving the body, and realized he was continuously talking, asking Danno
to speak to him, demanding responses to his obscure chatter.
On Williams’ leg, he spotted a
long, nasty gash on the left thigh that was bleeding heavily, but not pumping
blood as if from an arterial wound.
Abrasions along the scalp at the back, and along the side of the head were
the source of the trickling blood.
Removing his jacket, he pressed it against the thigh and was
disheartened there was no reaction to what should have been excruciating
pain.
Again, he gently shook
Williams’ shoulder, trying to bring him to consciousness. Dan’s head moved, and dark liquid spilled
from his open mouth. Kneeling closer,
McGarrett listened for breathing and heard irregular, scraping, labored breaths
fighting in and out of damaged lungs.
Touching the lacerated face, the skin seemed cool, but McGarrett himself
was shivering, so it was hard to tell body temperature. Dan was slipping into shock, loosing blood
fast.
His world telescoped into a
tiny microcosm of keeping his friend alive.
Nothing else beyond the moment held importance. He could not let his friend die. He could not
allow that to happen! When the ambulance
attendants arrived, so focused was he on helping Dan he had to be bodily moved
so they could transport the victim.
Once the ambulance sped away,
McGarrett slowly transitioned back to the real world. The familiarity of squad cars, policemen and crime technicians helped to jolt him back into
a semblance of routine. Only then did he
survey the wider picture, though never losing the numb disorientation of the
event. This should not be happening on
his home turf. His officers should not be run down at their own offices! This should not have happened to Danno.
A patrol sergeant asked if he
should call Lukela. Obviously a friend
from the force. McGarrett agreed and
followed the officer to the nearest vehicle where the call was
put through on the radio.
*****
In his minds eye he had envisioned a hit
and run a thousand times. Ever since he
learned how his father died, he had imagined it. Nightmares had played it out in color and
black and white. Never had he expected
to witness such a horrible accident. In
his worst imaginings, he never wanted to think it could happen to his
friend. Just like his father.
No, Danno was not going to die. He was going to be all right. Oblivious to the hospital waiting room and
the background activity of policemen and hospital
staff, McGarrett stared at the dried blood on his hands and fought against the
despair gnawing away his empty mantra of hope.
Danno had been badly hurt and his desperate faith would not alter the
reality of internal damage or head injuries.
Just as wishes and hopes had never changed
harsh reality those long years when he learned of his father’s death. No amount of denial or confused or angry
revolt could transform what had happened.
Half-heartedly he had kept a finger on the
pulse of the investigation. As
eyewitness to the crime, he had offered almost nothing of useful
testimony. The parking lot lights were
dim. The car turned on it’s headlights only at the last instant. His eyes were on the airborne body of Danno,
not on the vehicle or the license plate.
Cop thought processes clogged frequently
as the anguish and guilt crashed into the analytical routine. This was his fault. The monster who hated him wanted to kill
him. Danno had cautioned him, but he was
too proud and stubborn to heed the warnings.
Now Danno paid the price for the lack of security. Why did the maniac go after his detective?
From the start of this roller-coaster ride
from Hell he felt raw inside. The old hauntings,
the never-forgotten pain dredged up with fresh insult. Now his closest friend gravely injured
because of some unknown event in his past.
Something he had done called this wrathful vengeance upon him. He still didn’t
understand what or why or whom.
Pacing at the end of the corridor near
ICU, McGarrett stopped when he saw the approach of his two detectives. Kelly and Lukela were grimly somber and gave
their reports in subdued tones.
“How’s Danny?”
McGarrett didn’t
make eye contact with Chin Ho, instead staring at his fisted, stained
hands. “Not good.” His voice was unsteady and strained, barely
keeping the vulnerable emotions in check.
“Concussion.
He lost a lot of blood from a bad slice in his leg. The worst is three ribs were broken, one
penetrated a lung.” He ground his
teeth. “And the doctor thought Danno was
lucky.”
Lukela was philosophical. “At least he’s alive.”
‘Barely,’ Steve wanted to fling back, in no mood to
be comforted. “They’ll let me see him
when he’s settled in ICU.”
Hoping to distract his consternation, he
asked about the investigation.
“No trace on the car yet, Steve, but we
can’t expect much with so little to go on.”
“Did you remember anything else about the
license plate or something unusual about the model?”
“No,” he growled.
All he remembered was the body catapulting
into the LTD and landing on the ground. He
was a cop. Now, an eyewitness to a
malicious attack on his officer and he couldn’t offer
any useful information! The head of
Five-0 was a spectator and completely useless to the investigations!
“Why did he go after Danno?” he agonized,
barely audible. “I am the target!”
Not expecting a response to his remorse,
the silence caught his attention.
Glancing at his colleagues, the surprised – no – suspicious -- fleeting
looks exchanged by his officers alerted him.
“What?”
“Danny didn’t show you the last letter?”
“No.”
He glared at Kelly. “What about
it?”
“It wasn’t a threat to you. This time it said Danny deserved to die and
he would.” He stopped and glanced at
Lukela, as if wondering if he should go on.
“I guess he didn’t have time to let you know.”
Delivering the rest of the bad news, Duke
finished, “It said he deserved to die like your father.”
Sickening waves of revulsion swept through
his system, followed almost immediately with anger. Danno had deliberately deceived him! No doubt trying to protect him from further
anxiety, Danno had not exactly lied, but withheld vital information. His friend deliberately deceived him! The misguided favor nearly killed Danno.
Livid, McGarrett dismissed his men. He went to wash up, simmering with wrath. Then, with hardly restrained temper, debated
with the duty nurse until she allowed him to enter Williams’ room. He charged in, ire forcing speed and
abruptness to his onslaught.
Just inside the door of the room he
stopped. The anger still raged just
under the surface, but it was nearly washed cold in the chill of fear and pity;
fury and compassion; overwhelming him at the sight of
his badly injured friend.
Danno lay still and pale on
the bed, covered in bandages and IV tubes.
McGarrett wanted to kick in the nearest wall – bitterly incensed over
the deception. Why did Danno think he
could keep such imperative evidence a secret?
The understanding that it was again Danno’s misguided sense of
protection fueling his foolish deeds made the reality of the attempted murder
both more difficult to accept, and more poignant.
Simultaneously, he felt like
crying at the terrific dread; at the attack, at the and nearly painful relief
that Danno would live, and the terror that he was nearly killed. He felt weak and broken inside thinking about
the severe wounds sustained by his friend and the excruciating recovery ahead.
Days in the hospital and weeks of recuperation pending. And still the
looming threat of the unseen assailant threatened from some shadowy perch out
there.
Ever-present, in the back of
his mind, of course, was the understanding that this was his fault. He was a victim here, but being a target made
those around him targets as well.
Something he had not taken into account when he continually and
adamantly refused offers of protection.
He never thought the threat would expand to include his friend. If he had listened to Danno’s warnings a stronger security force would have been at the
Palace. Danno might not be lying here
gravely injured.
Seething, McGarrett paced,
struggling to come to terms with the divergent emotions tearing at him. When he finally settled and the anger burned
away to a low simmer, he paused to stand at the
bedside and check his friend. Dull blue
eyes stared back at him.
Words caught in his
throat. “Danno.” He shook his head, uncertain what to
say. He cleared his throat, but nothing
else came out beyond the strangled regret.
“You okay?” Danny mumbled.
It was a
loaded question that he could not answer honestly. Looking at his perilously injured friend,
Steve knew he would not be all right for a while. Knowing Dan focused on an entirely different
level, he responded accordingly.
“A lot better than you.”
“Catch him?”
McGarrett shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered, clearing his throat
again to attain a modicum of steadiness.
“How are you?”
“Can’t think – sore – too slow
. . . .“
McGarrett gripped onto his
arm, wanting to comfort him. “Not much
you can do against a car.” The impotent
ferocity flared, and instead of consolation and reassurance, he wanted to
lambaste this misguided kid brother who dared to put
himself in danger in Steve’s place. In
the next breath he wanted to apologize that he had
brought danger into his house. The
exasperation won out.
“What did you think you were
doing?”
Dan flinched at the verbal
onslaught. Steve’s anger instantly
dissipated into sympathy and his tone revealed the sorrow, not the resentment,
he had felt since the attack.
“Why didn’t you tell me about
the last note? I could have –“ he shook his head
and sighed. “We could have done -- something.”
The anger flared again. “Dammit, you could have been killed, Danno!”
“Sorry,“
Williams’ winced. “Mistake.”
Grimacing, McGarrett patted
his arm. “I know you were only trying
to watch out for me. You have to
understand . . . . ”
It tore him up inside to think how close he had come to losing
his friend. Because
someone wanted to kill him.
Seeing the weak, injured officer overwhelmed him with regret and
sadness, washing away the annoyance at the insubordination. “You know how I hate it when something
happens to one of my guys,” he concluded softly.
Dan nodded. “Didn’t want you to worry. You had – enough on – your mind.”
‘Not as much as I do now,’ he thought, but responded hoarsely, “I can take care of myself,
Danno. And I promise you there is no
where on this rock that this devil is going to be able to hide now.” He patted the cool hand that he still held
onto. “I promise. I’ve got guards
posted around the clock. You’re going to
be completely protected.”
“You, too.” His eyes closed. “Be safe.”
That plea of concern for his
security stabbed him with a pang of anguish.
He nodded an agreement, but Williams was already drifting off to
sleep. “I will,” he whispered, then
vowed,” you will be, too.”
Lingering a moment to assure
his friend was breathing evenly and in no medical crisis, he stepped away. At the door, he took a deep breath, then exited, prepared to pick up the gauntlet and take care
of whoever had rained terror and pain upon his house.
*****
Satisfied an HPD guard was stationed
outside of Williams’ room in ICU, and sentries at the entrances and exits of
the hospital, he checked in on Danno again.. The patient was asleep and he charged away,
more resolved than ever to catch the inhuman monster who
was terrorizing them.
Duke emerged from the elevator and met him
in the hall. “Steve, you won’t believe
this! We just found the white
Thunderbird! We’re
pretty sure it’s the right one. There’s a black gash in the side from where it hit Danny’s
car. Che’s down there now checking it out. And you won’t
believe where we found it! In the
physician’s parking lot of the hospital!”
“This hospital?”
“Yeah.
Chin is downstairs questioning the owner right now. Here’s the
kicker. The owner’s
a surgeon who has been here monitoring a critical patient since this afternoon. He has a whole staff corroborating his
alibi.”
“So the car was stolen,” McGarrett
ruminated, his mind speeding through errant clues and connecting them with
light speed. “Then returned to the lot,
so the driver? Why?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Lukela admitted
around a yawn.
It was the first time he was reminded that
it was late into the night – hours had been spent waiting here while doctor’s worked to save Williams’ life. Most of the rest of the world was winding
down from the day, but Five-0 was on the job until Danno’s attacker was caught.
“Maybe he works here. The doctor’s lounge isn’t always watched and
almost anyone familiar with the routine could lift the keys and borrow the
car.”
Re-entering the elevator, McGarrett
punched the down button. “Remember the
reports we have about the mysterious figure crossing Beretania
and spotted by the Palace at odd hours?”
“Then why bring the car back?”
McGarrett shrugged. “Anybody questioning the
staff yet?”
“Yeah, Officer Ross is helping Chin.”
The elevator opened and they discussed
possible candidates for their suspect.
The only consistent description they had, that fit the clues, was the
diminutive size of the perpetrator. As
far as Duke had seen, none of the staff was small enough to be mistaken for a
kid.
The third floor doctor’s’ lounge was a
central meeting place for physicians and it was a large, comfortable room adjoining a locker
room where personal effects were kept.
Nurses and PA’s were allowed in the staff room that also doubled as a
general relaxation room with a TV, vending machines, and couches and chairs. The room was available to the all the third
floor employees, including the various personnel in Mental Health, Surgery and
Internal Medicine.
McGarrett shadowed his officers in a few
interrogations, but soon realized he was not needed
for the one-on-one with people who were not suspects. Since it was late into the night shift a
number of key personnel were not there.
He asked to go through employee records and permission was slow in
coming.
The lounge was crowded with more HPD
officers and medical staff on breaks.
Some people in loose white shirts mingled, shyly asking the police or
medical aides their names, but McGarrett noticed there was something a little
off about the aides.
He learned that they were semi-paroled
mental patients from the nearby ward.
Some inmates were part of a program allowing them to work supervised
jobs around the hospital. Others were allowed to leave the hospital on Mondays and
Thursdays. Some of the patients close to
being cured were in out-patient programs and half-way
houses, preparing them for a return to the real world.
Duke joined him when Steve was looking
over the current duty roster for the surgery department. The subliminal information
finally coalesced into clarity. He
rushed over to the hospital supervisor who was reluctantly helping with their
inquiries.
“The mental patients are allowed to leave
the hospital every Monday and Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“I want a list of those names.” Words ran together in a rush. “And the names of everyone who was out
today.”
Nearby, Chin picked up
on his excitement. “What’s the
tie-in?”
“I got the letters on Tuesdays and
Fridays.”
“One day for mailing,” Chin comprehended.
“The package and Danno’s hit were on a
Monday, and a Thursday.”
McGarrett and Kelly reviewed the lists for
that week. Over twenty names were there,
and almost every one for Thursday matched the list for Monday. He started to jot down the dates, from
memory, when the menacing letters had arrived.
The administrator said it would take time to work out all the dates and
names. Steve then demanded the files on
all the patients, and the administrator adamantly refused. Every psychiatrist would have to be notified and give permission for records to be released
to the police.
Duke suggested they start with the youth
patients, and was surprised there were no people on the program under the age
of twenty-five.
“Short patients,” McGarrett modified. “Anyone who would pass as a youngster?”
That would require a staff nurse or physician’s
aide to assist since the administrator knew none of the patients in question. Instead of waiting, McGarrett and Lukela stormed
down to the Mental Ward and confronted the duty nurse, with the administrator
in tow. When asked who on the list was
short and small in stature, the nurse immediately determined only one person
could qualify.
“Ruth Josephs,” she responded with
finality. “A young lady who has had a
very tough life.”
“Josephs.”
A name that had been hovering around the edges of the
investigation. “I’d like to see her
file.”
McGarrett could not access the records
without permission. The administrator
left to call the treating psychiatrist.
Steve sympathetically asked the nurse to tell him as much as she could
without violating privileged information. He knew he was pushing the legal limits here,
but Danno’s safety was worth the risk of complications in court.
“I really can’t help you,” the woman
reluctantly reminded.
“You said Ruth had a tough life. What happened? Generally.
Drugs? Abuse?” The woman’s mouth was set in a firm line and
he poured on his most sincere and compassionate tone. “Your patient might be responsible for
critically injuring one of my officers tonight.
Until she is apprehended, the danger continues
for my detective. You might be saving
his life if you can tell me anything.
Can I see this Miss Josephs?”
“No, visitation except for family members
is forbidden without the doctor’s permission.
She couldn’t possibly be a threat to
anyone. She’s
just a little slip of a girl, barely out of her teens. And poor thing, she’s never been quite right.” Hesitating, she sighed with confusion. “Ruth saw her father commit suicide a few
years ago.”
A small young woman. That could account for the diminutive
prints. The news chilled him and his
instincts immediately spiked. A mental patient who watched her father's suicide. Somehow, in some twisted way, could the woman
have made a connection with his father? And the name -- it was too much of coincidence. Josephs.
Requesting again to see the file, he was refused. He asked
if she could at least confirm or deny that Ruth’s blood was Type B. Surprised, the nurse confirmed it was B. Intently, he asked about relatives.
“I don’t know . . . .”
McGarrett reminded her of the importance
of the investigation. Lives were at
stake. The urgency, the appeal to
protect others seemed to register and she reluctantly agreed to leak a bit more
information.
“She was making progress when her only
brother – well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, since this is so
important. You would know this
anyway. Her only brother was killed by
the police a year or so ago.”
Steve could hardly get the question
out. “How?”
“I don’t remember the details. It set her back, though. She’s always been
immature and struggling. To be expected
with her family situation I suppose.”
“Family situation?”
The nurse frowned and dropped her
voice. “Let’s just say there were
problems with her father before he died. She took a turn for the worse when her brother
died.”
“Eddie Josephs.”
The nurse was thoughtful. “Yes, I think that was his name. So you do know him.”
It hit him like a flash of light and he nearly
stopped breathing. Eddie Josephs. The psycho young man with major problems with
authority. Paranoid schizophrenia. Over
a year ago he had killed innocent people in a series
of copycat murders. The victims were
pawns, instruments to goad and defeat McGarrett and Five-0. He had used articles in Honolulu Magazine -
spring and summer 1973 -- 20 weeks of articles where Five-0
and sensational were showcased. The
articles Danno had mentioned that had revealed information about his father’s
death.
Eddie Josephs. Eddie was dead. They had suspected some connection with him
right from the beginning, but had turned up no connection with Ruth during
their investigation. Not that they
found, he bitterly remonstrated now. A
vital clue they had missed could have saved Danno from ending up in ICU. Anger at the senseless attacks, at the missed
opportunities, lent an edge to his motivation.
Right now, this unlikely suspect was at the top of his list.
Eddie’s capture was one that he still
remembered with horror. They were
listening to the madman rant. Before Danno could cuff Eddie, the deranged
young man threw himself out a window to his death. Dan had been so upset that he let down his
guard and lost Josephs.
Eddie Josephs. Ruth Josephs.
The obviously disturbed girl was seeking vengeance for her brother
Eddie. How had she flown under their
radar? Danno was checking into relatives
of the nut case that had sent the letters originally. How had she evaded their inquiries? Only a question that would
be answered with hindsight. Far
too late to help Danno.
“Only a few weeks ago she made enough
progress to go on the day-furlough detail.”
“A few weeks ago?” Almost the time the hate letters started.
Duke asked, “She has access to the staff
lounge on this floor?”
“Of course. It’s part of her recovery program. She’s an aide,
too. She takes coffee refills to the
lounges and does little things to help the staff.”
Hardly able to contain his agitation, he
demanded he be allowed to question the girl. Again, he was met
with opposition. He paced away, deciding
to harass the administrator until he received cooperation.
Impatiently he tracked down the
administrator and pressured the man until he at least ordered the psychiatric
staff to check on Ruth’s whereabouts and if anyone had seen her leave or return
tonight. Angry, he asked Duke the
rhetorical question of why they had not found Ruth Josephs before.
Before Lukela could respond, the nurse
said Ruth had been there since she was a teen.
Records would have been in juvenile jurisdiction.
One of the Mental Ward attendants then
called back in a frantic voice, saying the other attendant was dead. The ward was unlocked and McGarrett, Chin and
several HPD officers stormed into the eerily quiet section. In a small supply room
they found a man, obviously dead, lying on the floor. A broken coffee mug, with spilled coffee was
nearby. The man’s face and white uniform were brown with coffee stains, as if
he had been drinking when attacked. Stab
wounds marked up his back and chest, but the slashed throat was probably the
cause of death.
Crouching beside the body, Steve checked
just to make sure. “Dead.”
Chin nodded.
Steve turned to the stunned nurse and
demanded they go to Ruth Josephs’ room. Speechless,
she unsteadily lead the troupe down the hall and as
the nurse searched for the appropriate key on her key ring, McGarrett tried the
door. It opened, and he was not
surprised to find the small room empty.
In a glance he
saw newspaper clipping plastered on the walls.
Pictures of himself and his staff; the Palace. Magazine were strewn
across a small table. The same magazine
that ran the series of articles Eddie used for all his information. On the window sill
was a framed photograph of Eddie. There
was no time to investigate. His priority
was Danno, but the initial glimpse into this nest told him everything he needed
to know about his stalker.
To the officers he ordered a lock down of
the hospital. No one in or out until
they found the girl. He ordered Chin and
Duke to get more manpower and extend the search to the
grounds. While the nurse gave the
officers a description, Steve raced back to the main staff lounge and asked if
anyone had seen Ruth. One nurse thought she’d seen Ruth taking a snack cart down the hall.
The entire floor was searched
and no cart or suspect was found. After assuring he had done all he could, he felt the best place to
be was where he would do the most good.
For himself and his stricken officer.
He would feel a lot better if he took on the personal responsibility of
guarding Williams.
Stopping at the ICU desk, he was disturbed
to find no one there. Jogging around the
corner, he gasped when he saw the sentry officer lying on the floor at the end
of the hall. Unfortunately, the policeman must have succumbed to Ruth’s deceptive appearance
and it opened him up to attack. It
seemed ridiculous that a diminutive, slight girl could overpower and kill trained
policemen. The
officer’s body was gashed red from multiple stab wounds. Copious amounts of blood pooled on the tile
and dripped a trail away from the body.
Where had she obtained a weapon? In her advantage, none of the poor victims
expected an attack from a young person they knew. The surprise must have been the key. Also adding power
was murderous insanity and deranged commitment from the misleadingly slight and
quiet girl.
Drawing his gun, he raced along the red
stains, cold with fear as the trial ran to Williams’ room. Bursting in he spotted a small figure in white,
wielding a scalpel, hovering over Dan’s unconscious form.
His entrance startled her and she swiftly
grabbed Dan, using him as a shield. The
barely conscious Williams tried to fight back, but she had him in a headlock
and he could barely breathe -- could not offer any resistance in his handicapped
and weak condition. Risky
to shoot her while she was so close to his friend, he still took aim.
“Drop it!”
The scalpel in her shaky hand slid onto
Dan’s neck. “He deserves to die! Just like my father! The blood -- all the blood!”
Deranged and unstable, she coursed the
blade to cut into the base of Dan’s neck.
He winced, but was too weak to react further. The slash was shallow, not bleeding too
much. In her unbalanced state, she was
capable of killing, but right now, she was clumsily causing pain, and not life-threatening
injuries.
Steve couldn’t
wait much longer. If he fired now her
hand could cut right through the jugular.
He ignored the incoherent rantings and concentrated on the trembling hand sliding an
incision across Dan’s skin, blood dripping on the sliced neck. Agonizing over the torturous wound slowly
inflicted on his friend, he had to wait.
The scalpel slid across, away from the jugular. When her hand raised
above Dan’s face, Steve fired.
The shot clipped her arm and she stumbled
back. Part of the equipment came with
her; IVs, lines and tubes flying, monitors crashing to the ground. Bleeding, gasping, groaning, Williams slid,
about to tumble off the other side of the bed to the floor.
Steve dashed over and caught Williams
before the limp body hit the ground.
His gun was knocked out of his grasp and he
kicked it away from Ruth’s reach as he carefully dragged his friend out of
harm’s way. Like a wild animal, the
slight woman screamed, flailing away, throwing every possible object she could
seize at McGarrett and his burden. In
her frenzy, she thrashed out to stab Williams, while McGarrett fought to grab
Ruth and simultaneously shielding his detective.
One of her agitated stabs hit it’s mark, slicing Steve’s arm. Biting back a cry, he fell back, crashing
into the wall and sliding to the floor.
Blood dripping along the painful slash on his right arm, he focused on
protecting his distressed friend and gave up trying to grab her. Hardly able to move his injured limb, he
warily watched her, gauging his chances of grabbing his gun that was far out of
reach, or staying close to Dan. Leaning
Williams against the wall, Steve slid over to make a grab for his
revolver. While he sorted through the objects he noted Ruth had fled.
Ignoring his own pain, he turned his
attention back to his friend. Holding
onto Danno, he covered the long, bleeding gash on the neck with his hand. The slice along the jaw-line seemed
superficial, but copious. Pressing his
hand to the wound, he stridently called for help. Finally, a nurse appeared and he ordered her
to find a doctor and get bandages.
Eyes closed, Williams leaned against him,
breathing with difficulty. His weak grip
on McGarrett’s hand told him his friend was still alive and fighting, but the
injuries and shock were breaking down his already depleted condition.
A doctor and nurse appeared and worked on
patching the wound and reconnecting the appropriate tubes. He watched anxiously, itching to be off in
pursuit of the criminal who had nearly killed his friend, but too concerned
with Danno’s health to leave. Only when
he was sure Danno was all right did he retrieve his revolver and leave the
room.
The muscles in his right arm hurt all the
way from finger to shoulder, so he held the revolver in his left hand. Checking the corridor, he saw another doctor
and nurse running toward him. In the
other direction, he noted Ruth crouched like a cornered animal at the end of
the hall, waving a blade at him. Racing toward
her, he aimed his revolver as he closed the distance. Loss of blood was starting to make him
light-headed. With determination, he
focused on his target.
“There’s nowhere you can go! The hospital is sealed! Drop your weapon!”
Ruth crawled to the side and slammed into
the exit door of the emergency stairs, but did not enter the stairwell. Instead, she screamed. Her face, in the bright light of the
corridor, washed with madness and pain.
“You deserve to die!” she shouted as she
faced him. She still held the bloody
scalpel in her hand. “You deserve the
blood! You and Williams killed my brother!”
Steve slowed, keeping a safe distance,
maintaining a steady aim. The girl was
so deranged there was no telling what she might do. “We didn’t kill him. He threw himself out a window.”
“Lie!”
“We wanted to arrest him –“
“You killed him! Williams killed him! He didn’t deserve to
die! My father deserved to die! You deserve to die! His blood was
everywhere. I made sure of that!”
Steve’s stomach rippled with
revulsion. “You killed your father?”
“They all said it was suicide! He needed to die! The blood needed to flow! Eddie didn’t kill
himself. He shouldn’t
have died. You deserve to die!” She pulled at her hair and screamed. “Eddie – where is Eddie?!” She rubbed the blood from one hand against
the other. “Eddie!”
Suddenly, she spun and fled to the
stairwell before McGarrett could stop her.
He cautiously followed, gun still trained on the fugitive. In the closed stairwell
he heard nothing. The silence was
unnerving and he carefully checked behind the door. Then up and down the steps. No lurking threat. Then he glanced down between the railing. Far below,
several flights, Ruth’s small body was twisted on
rails.
Wincing, he jogged down, slowing
cautiously when he reached her position.
Blood splattered the concrete stairs, the metal handholds and the once
white jacket. He didn’t
have to check for a pulse, the open, vacant eyes testified to the certainty of
death. The ironic twist of fate turned
his stomach. Did she jump, as her
brother had? Did she accidentally fall
when fleeing from him? He might never
know. He left the grotesque body as it
was and trudged back upstairs.
In Williams’ room, the doctor was
finishing his ministrations. The neck
wounds were superficial, and except for some bleeding where IV lines were yanked from his arm, Dan seemed fine. No serious set back to recovery. The doctor then checked out McGarrett,
insisting there would need to be stitches.
Steve demanded the doctor do the work right there where he could keep an
eye on Williams.
Chin, Duke and several HPD officers came
in and out and finally lingered in the hall.
The staff nurse who had been hit on the head
would be all right. The other casualties
were dead. Considering the mania and
dedicated blood-lust, the body count could have been
worse.
Steve listened to his detective’s reports
on the details of Ruth’s body and the rest of the investigation. Spent, he collapsed in a chair in Williams’
room, surprised he was shaking and shivering with cold. The only calm he found was seeing the calm,
restful expression on Dan’s face – drugged into peaceful sleep to restore him
after the events that had nearly killed him.
*****
“Well, we knew we were dealing with a
first-class psycho,” Dan concluded grimly as he sat up in bed, shaking his
head. “Unfortunately, from the
beginning, we didn’t realize how crazy -- or deadly -- she was.” His face reflected the puzzlement. “Or that she was a she.”
The bright sun shone through the window
and McGarrett paced in and out of the sun-stripes reflected on the floor of the
room. The bandages under his shirtsleeve
itched, and he refrained from scratching them.
The harrowing experience was still draining;
physically and emotionally disturbing.
“Yeah,” Steve quietly agreed.
“I can’t believe Manicote
ordered an IA investigation. Sometimes I
don’t know what he’s thinking or who’s side he’s
on. Why would he do that to you?”
The indignant loyalty – so typical and welcome
– warmed his heart and Steve grinned.
“Just to clear the air, Danno.
Ruth’s death was suspicious considering what she put us through and how
her brother died. How she died.”
The special DA inquiry was routine, but
McGarrett had welcomed the scrutiny to assure there were no doubts about Ruth’s
death being accidental. The last thing
he needed was to be accused – in the press or by HPD – that he might have
manipulated her into jumping, or even pushed her over the railing himself.
The provocation was certainly there, that
was obvious. She had stalked and
threatened him, killed two others by poison, and nearly killed Williams twice
in one night. Some would have considered
it appropriate for him to help her down the middle of the staircase. With a history of mental problems and
confessing to killing her father, she would never see the inside of a
jail. She would have stayed in a mental
hospital and a few years down the road perhaps been in another out-patient program because of her supposed improvement.
“Last year, if I hadn’t let Eddie get away
from me –“
“Danno, you can’t blame yourself for the
actions of a disturbed criminal. Eddie,
and his sister, were insane.” Absently, he rubbed his sore arm. “We can only speculate on the causes and effects.”
What they did know, McGarrett shared with Dan. A search of Ruth’s room revealed information about Steve’s dad from one of the magazine
articles Eddie used for his killing spree.
Clippings showed her obsession with Five-0’s top two officers. Articles in her room circled and smeared with blood – detailed
Steve and DA’s attempt to arrest Eddie and his unfortunate suicide.
To strengthen their case, they also found stationary taken from hospital. Ruth’s fingerprints in the
stolen doctor’s car. Proof she
had access in and out of hospital on the days they received attacks or the day
before they received letters.
Eddie, a regular visitor to
Ruth, apparently shared everything with her.
She, in turn, shared his paranoia and hatred for authority. She knew all about Five-0, Steve and Dan from
the articles.
Hospital and police records
indicated their father was abusive; Ruth being a
frequent visitor to the hospital for broken bones or beatings. When he died of slashed wrists, no one
suspected that Ruth might have killed him.
A few years before Eddie started his serial murders, Ruth was hospitalized after the father’s death. Her psychosis was blamed
on finding her father’s body, and she was placed in a mental institution.
With hindsight, the mental instability
of the family, the father’s death, the violence all came together. McGarrett wished someone would
have caught the problems long ago, before they developed into a crisis,
but he experienced that feeling frequently.
His job was stopping people after they had already gone over the
boundaries of the law. He cleaned up
after others let these disturbed people through the cracks of society.
“Why didn’t she turn up when
we did a track of Eddie’s relatives?”
“She was a kid when she came
here to
“I didn’t.”
“You’re not the only officer
on staff, Danno,” was the rather sharp retort to the guilt. “She caught us off our guard and we never got
on the right track.”
“So what set her off?”
Shrugging, McGarrett paced
over to the window and gazed out at the perfect sunshine beaming on the trees
and grass outside the hospital. “I don’t
think we’ll ever know. This is just guess work and educated speculation after the fact. Only Ruth knows for sure. Maybe she had revenge in mind ever since Eddie
died. Or, when
they allowed her out she might have been walking across the grounds and spotted
us at the Palace. Maybe it triggered
something. It could have been completely
random. Or, she
would have obsessed over those magazines Eddie must have brought her. Obsessed about Five-0 and us.”
Williams snorted. “Or maybe she saw us here during one of our
frequent visits.”
“Yeah,” Steve sighed
sadly. This was an all too familiar
setting for Five-0 officers.
Williams shook his head in amazed
regret. “Pupule. It was such a complicated maze from beginning
to end. At least it’s over.”
“Yeah.”
He eyed his friend with irritation.
“At least for her. But for you,”
his eyes narrowed and he shook his head.
“You’re never going to withhold facts from me again are you?” The stern tone was clearly a warning.
“Sorry, Steve, but I didn’t want you
worrying --“
The voice was harsh. “I mean it, Danno.”
Properly chastened, Danny nodded. “I know.
Sorry.”
Relaxing a little that there would be no
more coups, he nodded. Pleased he was in
complete control again, he reminded, “I can take care of myself, you know,
Danno.”
Dan’s eyebrows raised and he nodded toward
Steve’s bandaged arm. “Really?”
McGarrett scowled. “I don’t need you protecting me by keeping
secrets.” His tone softened as he recalled how his anger at the insubordination
had been overpowered by the anxiety over Danno’s
health. “It nearly cost you your
life. How can I do a good job if I don’t have all the information? Or if I have to worry about you?”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I know.”
This was partially his
own fault, of course. He had
built a tight, bonded unit with Five-0.
They took care of each other.
They were ohana. It was inevitable they would take risks for
each other that were unwarranted, even crazy.
It was a different kind of madness than what they saw from Eddie and Ruth. It was their own kind of
passionate folly that pushed them to extremes within their own ranks.
He had demanded loyalty and dependence
from his men. They, in turn, showered
him with such devotion it was sometimes staggering to comprehend. Such intensity was not what he bargained for
when he organized Five-0, but it was part of what made them the best. Not just the best cops. The best
friends.