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KATIE

After Lei left to surveil Beck Noble, Katie drummed her fingers against her desk, her eyes on the monitors but her mind a million miles away. The hum of multiple computer fans provided a soothing white noise in her basement workspace. The Cave smelled faintly of coffee, electronics, and the vanilla scented candle she'd lit to combat the sterile air. The wall of novelty mugs cast elongated shadows under new, customized LED strips she’d put up that shed a gentle blue light around the perimeter of the ceiling.

Katie watched the AI enhancement software process Jeff Brian's photos, the progress bar crawling forward with excruciating slowness as the enhanced versions were compared with photos of everyone known to have been involved with the Kuleana project—and the MPD’s criminal database, too.

There were a lot of photos. This was likely to take a while.

Katie’s three-monitor setup cast a glow across her face as she leaned back in her ergonomic chair; it squeaked slightly as she shifted her weight back and forth.

"Come on, beautiful machine," she murmured, tapping a painted black fingernail against her mouse. “Gimme some sugar.”

Her thoughts drifted to Jeff, the source of the photos.

Katie liked the way his blue eyes crinkled when he laughed. How his glasses were such a cute contrast with his tanned biceps, hinting at intelligence as well as physicality. She’d felt comfortable with him—like they really ‘got’ each other. That didn’t happen often for her.

Katie bit her lower lip, tasting the strawberry-flavored remnants of her bright red lipstick. Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her phone, the cool metal case familiar against her palm, and scrolled to his number.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite techie cop,” Jeff answered, his voice warm through the speaker. “Ready to go on a date with me?”

Heat rose to Katie’s cheeks; she wasn’t prepared for him to be so direct. “Sadly, duty prevents such fraternization until the case is over. I'm just calling to talk to you about those bleary horrors you call photographs."

"Ah, so this is a professional call." She could hear the smile in Jeff’s voice. “And here I hoped you might want to go standup paddleboarding or something.”

“Nope,” Katie said, twirling a loose strand of hair that had escaped her French braid. "If I were asking you out, you'd know it. I'd be much smoother than that."

"Would you now?" Jeff laughed. "I'm intrigued. Give me a sample of this legendary smoothness."

“That’s classified.” Katie grinned despite herself, spinning slowly in her chair, watching condensation from her ice water mug drip onto a coaster shaped like a circuit board. "You don't have clearance at this time.”

"Harsh," he said. “But now I know why we have to wait—and I hope the investigation wraps up soon. So what's the real reason for this definitely-not-asking-me-out call?"

"I'm running your photos through an enhancement program," Katie glanced at her screens. “AI and CGI added to a facial recognition program. Thought you might want to know if your artistic eye captured our murderer.”

"My artistic eye was wasted on those lousy low-light distance shots of someone with a ponytail on the lava,” Jeff said. “But if they help you find a killer, I’m happy to have been of service. And how's it going, by the way?”

“I’d love to tell you, but I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. Let’s just say coming back to these photos is a last-ditch effort to get some traction on the case.” Right on cue, the computer pinged, drawing Katie's attention back to the screen. Her playful mood evaporated as someone from the extended Kuleana team flashed across the monitor. Match found: Bill Wilkinson.

The man’s bald head and surly expression glared at her from his driver’s license photo as it aligned beside a CGI-enhanced photo of the ponytailed person Jeff Brian had captured out at La Perouse Bay.

Katie quickly scanned the vitals on Wilkinson’s driver’s license: six foot three, two hundred ten pounds. Brown eyes.

The killer in the video on the website had been tall and strong, with dark eyes that glittered behind the mask he wore.

Yep, Wilkinson was big enough to have overpowered his victims and hauled them around. He also had the tech skills to do janky but fancy things with the appearing and disappearing website, and create the videos hidden in a photo’s eye.

Her heart began to pound. “We’ve been looking in the wrong direction,” she whispered.

She stared at the name, flashing to what Lei had described about Wilkinson's unwanted advances on Helen Steinbrenner. A flush of dread hit her body in an adrenaline jackhammer. Helen was the next victim, not that slimy worm Beck Noble.

Helen.

"Katie? You still there?"

“I—Jeff, I have to go. Right now."

"Wait, what's going on? Did you find some?—"

"I'll call you later," she said, and disconnected the call.

Katie’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the clicking of keys echoing in the suddenly too-quiet room as she forwarded the photo match info to Captain Omura and added it to the case file. The basement's cool air raised goosebumps on her arms as her heart thundered in her ears.

Wilkinson was the guy! She could hardly take it in.

Katie grabbed her phone and called Lei. She got voice mail immediately; Lei had her phone off.

"Lei, it's Katie. I ran the CGI enhancement, and I got a hit—Bill Wilkinson. I repeat, Wilkinson. Kuleana’s tech guy! He’s big, over six feet and two hundred pounds. He’s bald so he must have worn a wig during the killings. As their computer guy, he has the tech skills to do that skeevy website.” Katie blew out a breath. “You told me Helen Steinbrenner mentioned he made a pass at her. I don't like this; I think she might be next on the victim list. I’m going to warn her. Call me back, ASAP."

Katie immediately dialed Helen's number, drumming her fingers as the phone rang with no answer.

Her gut was telling her to go warn Helen NOW.

“Damn it," Katie muttered, grabbing her keys from the Batman key hook on the wall. The metal felt cold and heavy in her palm. “I’m going out there.”

She headed for the stairs as she called Dispatch to let them know she was headed for the Steinbrenner address in Kapalua, and to send a unit to meet her there.

At her locker near the station’s gym, Katie strapped on her tactical belt, adding handcuffs, baton, and pepper spray. She then checked and holstered her Glock. She grabbed her bulletproof vest with the giant ‘MPD’ lettering on the back and headed for her car. She set her jaw as she jogged out of the building. “I knew something was going to break today. Helen, I’m coming to save you.”

* * *

Katie's red Honda Fit hugged the curves of Honoapi?ilani Highway, the surf racks humming slightly as she pushed the speed limit. She’d never been issued a light or siren, so she had to weave through traffic as best she could. Her hands gripped the wheel at ten and two, knuckles white.

Once past the village of Waihee, she navigated the narrow road around “the backside” of West Maui.

Here on this old road, one lane in many places and riddled with blind corners, no guardrail separated a vehicle from a plunge to the ocean—and though she’d gone this perilous route many times, it never paid to get sloppy—so she stayed focused, pushing the little car as fast as she dared. Around bluffs and down into valleys, the road wound toward Kapalua and further on, Lahaina. The afternoon sun turned the faraway ocean to beaten gold, while the pali slopes cast deepening shadows across the highway.

"Come on, come on," Katie muttered, stuck behind a crawling tourist van. When the road finally widened, she gunned the engine, the Honda’s acceleration pressing her back into the seat.

Finally she reached the exclusive development area of Kapalua and turned into the private road leading to the Steinbrenner estate.

The security gate was wide open as she drove toward it. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh, Helen, am I too late?”

Katie whizzed into the turnaround and killed the engine, drawing up behind a plain gray van. “The bastard beat me here.” She jumped out of the car and drew her Glock, dropping into the tactical stance she'd practiced countless times at the range.

She approached the house’s front door, finding it ajar. “Not good.” What would she find inside? She almost couldn’t bear to find out. And she didn’t dare call out and identify herself; that might get Helen killed.

She listened instead—and heard the unmistakable thumps and crashes of a struggle—then a woman’s scream, silenced abruptly.

“This perp is going down.” Katie shoved the door open and slipped inside.