Free Black Jasmine (2012) by Toby Neal

man was in a meeting.
    “If you could wait a few minutes, please.”
    They sat. The furniture was exquisitely comfortable and simple, silver suede couches arranged around a square coffee table covered in a fan of magazines. Pono found a golf magazine and settled in with deceptive ease. Only Lei knew his ears were tuned to anything unusual and his eyes were checking unobtrusively.
    Lei browsed an O magazine, terrified herself with a brief foray into Parents , and finally stood up and paced. Went back to the receptionist.
    “Tell Wylie to wrap it up or we’re going in. I guarantee that he’ll be embarrassed.” Lei’s tilted brown eyes must have said she meant business, because the woman picked up the phone and shortly thereafter, a gaggle of golf-shirted haoles exited, giving curious glances. Lei led the way into the inner sanctum.

Chapter 8
    John Wylie got up from a traditional red leather, tufted office chair. “Aloha, Detectives. What can I do for you?”
    Lei opened her mouth, and Pono put his hand on her arm, stepping in to shake the man’s hand. “Pono Kaihale of Maui Police Department. This is my partner, Lei Texeira. We are investigating a homicide.”
    “My goodness, that sounds serious.” Wylie’s wind-chapped cheeks went a bit paler. He stayed ensconced behind his vast walnut desk. “Please, sit.”
    They took the supplicant chairs in front as Wylie resettled himself.
    “How can I help you?”
    “Well, the young woman in question is still unidentified. The focus of our investigation is finding out who she is.” Wylie nodded, a furrow of faux concern stitched between his brows, and Pono went on. “She was recognized by someone from a ‘lineup’ of women procured for escort services. By you.”
    This bombshell was delivered in calm, measured tones. Pono could still surprise Lei.
    Wylie shot up. Color flooded up his neck like mercury rising in a thermometer. “Who said that? I demand to know who would make such an accusation!”
    “Not gonna happen.” Pono sat back, laced beefy fingers over his muscular midsection, blinked as slow as an owl in the sun. “Not relevant. What we want to know is, who sent you those whores? Who’d you call? We aren’t looking to prosecute you for that at this time.”
    The threat was in the delicate emphasis of the last sentence.
    “Well. Well.” Wylie huffed. He turned to a decanter on the credenza behind his desk, poured some amber liquid into a highball glass. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He tossed the drink back. “When was this?”
    “So you make a habit of calling for a lineup of whores?” Lei’s first contribution to the discussion was acidic and seemed to rattle him further, and he splashed more alcohol into the glass.
    “I’m just trying to establish a framework for these questions,” Wylie said. He resumed his seat. “I have to put it in context.”
    “It was a construction wrap party a month or so ago.”
    “Ah.” Wylie sipped. “One of the guys talked. Knew I was taking a chance.” He set the glass down. “I’d like you to know that calling an escort service is not illegal. What the girls do with the guys they are escorting is their business.”
    “Of course,” Pono said.
    Lei rolled her eyes but restrained herself. She could tell this was the kind of guy who kept a lawyer on speed dial.
    “I use this service when I want to entertain.” He opened a drawer in his desk with a little gold key on a key ring, shuffled a bit, and pushed a card over to them. It was glossy white with a satin-embossed edge and nothing on it but a phone number in crisp black Gothic script.
    “Now, anything further and I must insist my lawyer be present.” He took his BlackBerry out, finger poised. Yep, speed dial. Lei was irritated to be right.
    “One more question—did you know anything about a girl at that party, long red hair, blue eyes, a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle?” Lei slid the photo of Jane Doe across the desk to Wylie. He did not