Guilty Party
By Peg Keeley

Part 5

Danny parked in the lot outside his apartment building, then decided he'd better pick up the Star Bulletin evening paper and see if he was being slammed by that as much as the Sun Times. It meant a half block walk down to the stand, but he decided he could use the exercise. I miss not spending time at the athletic club. I used to go down there three times a week. I haven't been there in a month. Maybe I should go tonight. But he knew he was too tired, besides there was bound to be someone there who'd ask questions he didn't want to answer. Better to hide out at home.

The man at the newsstand greeted him. "Where's the little guy tonight?"

"Staying with friends," Danny replied.

"Maybe I just give you da paper tonight," the man said with a smile. "You da one sellin' it for dem." And he refused payment.

Sure enough, the headline read "Williams Battles CPS for Son". Well, that's not quite right, but then whatever from the news is? The lead paragraph was the one sentence he'd given Donagan claiming he was a good parent. Since KOHU owns the Bulletin, I suppose that's not a big surprise. He jammed the paper under his arm and started away.

The bell jangled over the door of the shop next door as a man and woman left it together laughing. They caught Danny's attention and his gaze shifted to the window of bottled liquor. The man waved his bottle of champagne and she squealed with delight. Their laughter and joy was painful. Danny looked at the rows of liquor again. I used to deal better with things than this. I used to be able to unwind, relax, get away from it and gain a new perspective. I really need to relax just this once. If I could just feel better. Lonnie's not here tonight. I would be so much better in the morning if I could just relax tonight. Just this once. The little bell on the door of the liquor store jangled again as he walked inside.

       As Manicote had hoped, the examination portion of the trial concluded by the next afternoon. The summations by the two attorneys remained..

As the State, John went first. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You have heard in this courtroom, the saddest of possible cases. A young child, whose life was cut short by deliberate neglect on the part of the person he trusted most in this world: his mother. Amanda King does not present as a violent killer, and she is not. She is a deeply troubled young lady, suffering from the consequences of her own actions, careless sexual practices and a life style that was bound to damage her. But she chose it. The criminal element here is that she allowed that lifestyle not only to damage but to kill her child. Her son, Cameron, was slowly dying of AIDS. She had given that to him before birth. She loved him, and he was suffering. On the morning of his death, she could stand it no longer. She placed him into her car, drove it to a deserted cane field where she removed his seat from the car, then with seeming innocence opened the straps to his car seat. But," his voice got harder, "she did not stop there, for she had to be sure. She took this innocent toddler by his trusting hand, and lovingly directed him towards the irrigation ditch and his death. Did she throw him in? Maybe, or maybe not. Did she stand back and coldly watch as he struggled to breathe, wide-eyed and terrified? Or did she merely walk away as he pleaded for her to stop, to help, to save him." He was quiet a moment, letting the visual image sink in. "Then, her grizzly deed done, she walked back to town where she played out her role -- that of the terrified, grieving mother, so completely and so convincingly that this whole city, this whole state, felt for her. But the whole time she begged for help, in her cold black heart, she knew where that precious life was -- dead in a muddy ditch. Consider the evidence. A car containing just her prints on the steering wheel. No prints wiped clean by a thief. This same car that was supposed to have been brought in to a gas station empty contained half a tank of fuel, and there were no witnesses, not even the station attendant who could recall seeing the car. But the most vital piece of information of all is the shoes, ladies and gentlemen. The pair of shoes worn by the killer, disposed in the trash behind her apartment, that had been purchased by the defendant. Those telling shoes that were owned by Amanda King link her inexorably to the murder of her own child. Now, the defense has thrown in many irrelevant issues. Questions about law enforcement, questions about integrity of the arresting officer. I beg to remind you that in the end, they have nothing whatsoever to do with Amanda King's guilt or innocence. The evidence, ladies and gentlemen, the evidence alone is what you must consider when coming to your decision. And when you, the jury, consider the gravity of this hanous crime I trust you will come to the just and rightful verdict -- guilty of murder in the first degree as charged." John sat down and Danny glanced back to see Trent King at the rear of the room, tears in his eyes.

Jones rose calmly, smiling, portraying a sense of confidence. "The esteemed DA is very eloquent with words -- that is his job, ladies and gentlemen. He would have you see Amanda King as a cold-blooded killer. I beg you to look at this dear woman who has suffered the loss of her precious infant, whose arms ache to love and hold him again, but alas never shall, and who has also been brutally forced through the humiliation and living hell of standing accused of his death. Can there be a more tragic miscarriage of justice but that this innocent person, ravaged herself with disease, should be so cruelly treated? The State has produced much evidence; evidence which may or may not lead to Amanda King as the guilty party. No one saw Ms. King drive her car into the cane field. No one saw her walk three miles back to town. In fact, there is no hard evidence to support the State's theory (for that is what it is) at all! Fingerprints that are in a car she owns is no surprise. Shoes that they cannot put onto my client's feet. Everything in this case is based on guesswork, ladies and gentlemen, guesswork. A woman's life hangs in the balance over guesswork. And who has pieced these fragments together?" He shook his head in mock disbelief. "This woman has been hounded and harassed by a legal system with its own ghosts in the closet. They have turned my client into the manifestation of their own nightmares. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I beg of you to consider real truth of this matter and not a conjectured story manufactured by the State. Allow this woman to at last be free to feel her sorrow, to visit the grave of her lost child, and give the State the message that they must find the real killer of young Cam King. I admonish you to return a verdict of not guilty."

Haroldson turned to the jury. "Due to the late hour, I wish to adjourn for the day. You will be sequestered as you have been during the course of this trial. At lunch the bailiff poled you to determine your willingness to deliberate this evening. Are those results available?"

"They are, Your Honor," the foreman replied and handed a paper to the bailiff who passed it to the judge.

He read it. "Very well. We will arrange for dinner to be delivered to the jury room. I commend this jury for its diligence. If you reach a conclusion this evening, notify the bailiff. Otherwise, court is adjourned until such time a verdict is achieved. Dismissed." He rapped the gavel.

"All rise," the bailiff called out.


Danny decided to go home and put some distance between himself and this case. He'd barely seen Lonnie since the trial had begun and not at all in two days. He drove out to Lukelas, keeping one eye on the rear view mirror all the way. But if the press followed, they showed greater discretion than the past and if they were out there with super zoom lenses, he did not care anymore. When Danny collected Lonnie from Mary Lukela, the toddler started misbehaving immediately, whining and tugging on Danny's sleeve.

Mary smiled placidly. "He's been great the whole time, Danny, he just thinks he needs to get even for your lack of attention."

He and everyone else, Danny thought miserably. Lonnie fussed all the way home.

They entered the apartment, Danny flipped on the light, tossed the small overnight bag of Lonnie's into the corner and his keys onto the counter, then put Lonnie down to play.

Lonnie promptly plopped down on the floor and started to whine.

Danny went over and closed the drapes to the balcony. "Knock it off Lonnie." He turned on the television and found Big Bird and Grover.

Lonnie got up crying and followed Danny back to the kitchen. "Juice," he pleaded tugging on Danny's belt.

Frustrated, Danny yanked the apple juice container from the fridge and poured some into a sipper cup, then handed it to Lonnie. "Here, now go watch TV."

Lonnie accepted the cup and wandered away.

Danny grabbed a mixing bowel from the cabinet and the box of pancake mix. He allowed his anger and frustration to vent itself on beating the batter ferociously until some slopped over the side onto the Formica. Why does everything seem to be such a mess? Why can't I just put this Cam King thing away? We've had tough cases before, why is this one getting to me so? He glanced at the headline of the paper again. This is personal. They've used me, they've used Lonnie. What gives them a right to do just come in here and overrun our lives? How do I get out of this? And what about those blood tests? He lost interest in the pancakes and stood, just staring at the blank cabinet in front of him as he considered the possibilities. I know the results, it's going to be just fine and I will, at last, be free of Sarah's persecution -- but what if I'm wrong? Could I bare to deal with that? What if Lonnie isn't my son? What if they botch the tests? Should I have refused? What choice did I have? God, what if I lose Lonnie?

He was not certain how long he stood staring into nothing, but gradually he became aware that there was no sound from the other room except that of the television, so Danny decided he'd better check on Lonnie. He stuck his head around the corner. Lonnie was asleep, curled up on the floor before the television, animal crackers strewn across the floor around him, the empty sipper cup on its side.

Danny walked back into the kitchen, abandoning the pancakes. Although animal crackers probably had not made a nutritious dinner, at least Lonnie had fallen asleep on a full stomach and Danny was too emotionally exhausted to deal with awakening him. Danny didn't really have an appetite himself, he was too depressed over everything that seemed to be closing in. He sat down on the kitchen chair, fear and anger overwhelming him, exhaustion bringing him close to tears. Why does it seem so hopeless? Why can't I find the way out? And he remembered the horrid morning on the roof two years before. God, I've got to do something. A little voice in the back of his mind recommended making a phone call. There were choices. His AA leader, Duke, Steve. No, I need to get through this myself. I can't be such a burden to everyone. As it got later, Danny's mind continued to replay the events of the last days over and over. He could see and hear the pain of the Kings, remember the cold, lifeless feel as he'd held Cam in his arms. He pondered Jones' accusations. Is there some truth to all this? What about Amanda? How could she do such a thing? How could any parent risk a child? Mali died trying to save Lonnie. He could recall Mali's look of terror as she'd stood on that deck of the little boat, pleading for Danny to help not her, but Lonnie.

The bottle from last night was in the cabinet. I only need one. Last night I did sleep better. It kept it all away. He poured a drink. The alcohol burned in his empty stomach and then bathed him in a wave of warmth. Amanda's convulsive sobs as he'd sat with her in her home seemed so real and tortured. Could it be an act? Could I have been so wrong about her? It seems unbelievable she would injure her child. Yet as all the pieces fell into place, it was the only answer. But why? He finished the drink. How did little Cam feel, wandering the cane fields alone, lost and frightened? And to drown in less than two feet of water. He imagined the terror of the last few moments of life. Struggling, gasping. He could feel the deep aching of lungs starving for air and the moment when the water flooded in He recalled the blackness, the cold, the touch of death, the agonizing need to breathe.

He poured the whiskey, and downed it in one gulp.

He couldn't feel the rush from the liquor this time. Amanda, was it a witch hunt? He could see her frightened, confused face when he had tried to explain the results of the lie detector test, and the unmistakable look of betrayal in her eyes. The same betrayal he'd felt when he'd first considered she might be the killer herself. And why did she do it? To end the boy's suffering from AIDS? Why did she keep so much secret? How could she have been so cold?

He did not want to face this night. Memories of Mali began to leak out of the locked closet in his head where he kept things too painful to deal with. He downed the next drink hoping to deaden the rising pain. He struggled to find help. And Jack Daniels welcomed him. Every nightmare of horror that he'd ever had seemed to be having its day as images of Lani, Mali, every death he'd encountered and every bullet he'd ever fired tormented him with unrelenting remorse. What is it all for? The innocent die, the guilty find clever lawyers. And the game just keeps playing over and over again.

       It was just past 7:15 AM. The verdict had been reached last night and court would convene at 9:45. Danny had not reported for work. Mary told Steve on the phone that he'd not brought Lonnie or called. He did not answer the phone. Steve hurried to the apartment uncertain of what he would find. He knocked at the door several times, getting louder with each knock before he used the key he'd brought with him. "Danno?"

He walked in and spotted Lonnie on the floor in front of the TV amongst the spilled crackers. For an instant he was filled with horror, before leaning down and finding the boy to be fast asleep. Steve took a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure. Everything is wrong here. There was a bowl of hardened pancake batter spilled on the counter. The patio door was open, something Danny had been very careful never to do. He never would go off and leave Lonnie or leave this door open. "Danno!" he called again.

Steve stepped out onto the patio and stopped in surprised shock. Danny was lying sprawled across the lounge chair, reeking of alcohol. Steve sighed. In a flash he rushed through the emotions of relief that both of the Williams were uninjured, fury at Danny's lack of self control, fear about what could have happened, and lastly sorrowful disappointment in the circumstances that had driven Danny back to an old life style. To his knowledge Danny had not been drunk in over two years. Steve hoped this was the first lapse.

Steve's attempts to rouse him were futile. Walking back into the apartment, Steve gently picked up Lonnie's limp, sleeping form and carried him to his bed. For a brief moment, Steve remembered the limp, cold body of Cam King.

He returned to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee -- double strong. Steve again walked out to the patio where Danny lay. He hadn't moved a muscle. When a few gentle prods had no effect, Steve hauled him into the bath, shoved him into the shower fully clothed and turned on the cold water.

"Jeeze!" Danny gasped in moments, sputtering and fighting the spray.

"Come on!" Steve shouted, angry both with Danny and with the whole situation. "Let's get with the program!"

He continued to battle, curse and soak the whole bath, but McGarrett held him tightly in the cold stream. "Okay! Okay!" he begged at last, "let me be!"

Steve finally let go and turned to see Lonnie standing in the bathroom door, tears in his eyes.

"Daddy?" he whispered.

Danny issued another oath and slammed the shower door shut before sliding down into a sitting position on the shower floor, legs drawn up, face against his knees, as the cold water continued to run over him.


Steve took Lonnie to the kitchen and made him a bowl of cereal. Twenty minutes later, Danny, a towel thrown over his dripping clothes shuffled into the kitchen and sank down at the table where Steve pushed a cup of black coffee towards him. Lonnie padded over in bare feet and stood beside Danny patting his arm sympathetically.

"Get sober," Steve demanded bluntly. "The verdict is in and we have to be in court in two hours."

Danny focused his bloodshot eyes on Steve. His head ached so badly, the hair shafts were even painful. The sunlight was blinding. "I feel awful," he muttered.

"I know. But I don't want to jeopardize the case -- or you." Steve paused and asked more gently, "Why?"

"Why what?" he muttered.

"Why didn't you call me? Duke? Anybody?"

"I am sick of being treated like -- like some kind of weakling that has to be led about all the time. I need to get my life together by myself, Steve, by myself. Everybody else can do it!" As he got angry, his head pounded.

"Everybody can't do it. That's what friends are for, Danno. I would have thought you knew that by now. How long do you think it'll take Sarah's network to find out if you can't stay sober?" Steve picked up one of Lonnie's Cheerios that had escaped the bowl. "Mali was willing to die for Lonnie, are you willing to live for him?"
Danny was silent as he stared into the blackness of the coffee. "I know, Steve. You ought to be kicking my ass in."

Steve gave a quiet smile. "Yeah, I know."

Danny sipped the hot coffee silently for a minute or two. "They want to make it look like I'm some kind of a wacko reacting to Amanda because of Mali."

"Yeah, they do." Whoever the hell they are.

"I didn't start out thinking Amanda did it. It was a surprise to me," he muttered. "It's still hard to believe." He shook his head. "I'm not sure I do believe it. I keep feeling like it isn't right. Does that sound nuts?"


A little color was coming back to his face. "What if she didn't do it?"

McGarrett blew on his own coffee. "A lot has gone into this, Danno. Nobody just went off half cocked and crucified the woman."

Danny finished the hot coffee and Steve poured him another cup. Danny rose and found some Advil in the cabinet. He rubbed a hand over his throbbing head, then standing by the cabinet asked: "How tall is Amanda King?"

Steve looked a little surprised. "Five foot five."

He closed the cabinet. "She wasn't wearing those heels at the gas station--she was too short. So if she wore them to the cane field, why did she take them off, then put them somewhere, then later get them again and put them into the dumpster? And she kept telling me she was out of gas but the tank was half full," he mumbled. "Why did she do that?"

Steve nodded. "I've been thinking along those lines, too. So far, we haven't come up with any answers."

       This time, the courtroom was packed. Press and public had been readmitted for the verdict; even TV crews were there. Haroldson entered and the bailiff commanded everyone to rise, then told them to sit after the judge had seated himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" Haroldson asked.

"We have, Your Honor," the foreman replied and handed the slip of paper to the bailiff who brought it to Haroldson.

He read it without emotion and returned it to the bailiff. "Foreman, will you read the verdict."

Absolute silence reigned as all held their breath. The foreman licked his lips, understanding the gravity of the moment all too well. He was about to change lives. "We the jury find the defendant, Amanda King, guilty of murdering one Cameron King in the first degree."

An avalanche of sound came crashing down. Reporters raced from the room, cameras flashed. Amanda collapsed back into her chair in a near faint. A slight grin flashed across John's face as he glanced at McGarrett who gave no visible response. Danny without emotion, watched Amanda.

And the one who noticed was Carrie Donagan. "Get a shot of that," she whispered to Charlie who swung his video cam around.

       "Is he crazy!" Manicote screamed at Steve. They had gone directly to Manicote's office in the courthouse, sparing themselves from the bombardment of the press that was still to come. John's frustration was plain. "This is supposed to be a moment of triumph! Justice served! What is the problem here?"

"I'm sorry, but I just can't shake this," Danny replied. "Something isn't right."

"What, pray tell, does that mean!"

Steve raised a hand. "John," he said quietly, "just take it easy a minute. Danno thinks there may be something we missed to this case. You know there have been a lot of unanswered pieces. Many of those pieces are still unanswered."

John crossed his arms angrily. "The jury reached a verdict and now you want to introduce the idea that she might not be guilty after all. You will open us all to a law suit for liable."

"Is that all you can think about?" Danny grumbled. "What about an innocent woman getting a life sentence? That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me! It's just--" he threw up his arms,"--this was supposed to be over." He finished more quietly. John walked dejectedly to the door.

"Where you going?" Steve asked.

"To Judge Haroldson to see about stalling sentencing for a day."


The press hounded them to the car and it was refreshing to finally break free from them and head back towards the office. "Che said the shoes were a sure thing, but we could never put them on Amanda's feet," Danny remarked. "Did you ever wonder why Jones didn't make more of that?" His headache was coming back and the bright sunlight hurt.

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, I have."

At Five-O, Gary and Duke were waiting, cheerful at the announced verdict. "Way to go, Boss!" Truck blurted. "Let's celebrate for lunch."

Steve did not smile. "In my office please."

They glanced at each other in surprise and followed Steve and Danny into the office. "What's the problem, Steve?" Duke asked.

Steve gestured to Danny who said simply. "I'm not convinced King did it."

They blinked in shocked silence a moment. "What?" Gary finally said. "What does that mean?"

"Steve," Duke said cautiously, "we did it all. We checked everything we could. What else is there to do? It all points to Amanda King."

"The jury even agreed with that," Gary added.

"The jury can only decide based on what they are given," Steve said quietly.

The door opened and Kono entered. "I've got the file on Matzu--" he trailed off looking at the glum faces. "Somebody die?"

"You ain't gonna believe this, Brudder," Gary murmured, just barely audibly. "King case ain't over."

He frowned. "But the news--"

Steve glanced around at his team; confused, worried men. They had actually found the evidence, assembled it, presented it to the DA and gotten a conviction--on the wrong person? He wasn't so quick to jump to that conclusion. But if Danno questioned it--that was enough to make him also stop and think.

No one said anything for a minute, each thinking everything through. Duke finally said what had crossed everyone's mind. "Danny, are you sure that Jones didn't just get to you? Nobody wants to believe a mother would just kill her baby."

"We looked at the angle of Amanda King killing him because of his AIDS. We looked at the possibly of an unknown person taking the car and ending up abandoning him. We discussed the familiar person taking him, what else is there?" Kono asked.

"We examined someone who knew them taking Cam for personal gain," Steve commented. "There was no life insurance, no enemies, the Dad certainly might have kidnapped him, but not killed him. What's left is a crime of passion."

"Passion?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Well, passion covers more than love," Steve added. "Hate. Fear."

Kono shrugged. "She didn't have a romantic life; we checked that angle."

McGarrett picked up the phone and called Che. "Let's go over that King car again. Kono, I want you to go back to LA and go over Amanda King's past again. Look for angry previous lovers--and try to find the guy who gave her AIDS. And while you're at it, look into the background of Malcolm Jones."

"The lawyer?"

"Yeah." Steve tapped a pencil against the desk blotter. "Something doesn't sit right about him either. Cindy Maku may have brought him here, but how did she pay for him? See if you can find out who picked up the tab and why."


Steve, Danny, and Che Fong stood before the impounded Chevy tagged as Amanda King's. Che shook his head. "I don't see anything we didn't cover."

"Gas tank contained 6.2 gallons of gas," Danny read off the sheet. "What if Amanda really was out of gas when she went to the station?"

"Then whoever took the car took the time to put gas in it," Steve commented.

"Why would someone do that?"

"To frame her," Steve answered. He walked to the city map on Che's wall. "Okay, let's plot it out. The station is here." He put a pin in the spot. "Field here." He added another pin. "Three miles apart."

Danny traced a finger along to most likely route. "Our real killer would have to detour somewhere, maybe here," he pointed to a side street, "then stopped along here somewhere and bought a few dollars worth of gas. I think there are two stations along there"

"Pretty callus, Danny," Duke commented. "Kidnap a child, then stop to buy gas."

"Why not? Whoever it was knew they weren't being pursued," Steve agreed. "Gary, get out there and check at the two stations. See if you can dig up anything new." He turned back to Che. "Tell me again about the fingerprints on the vehicle."

Che consulted his report. "Lots of prints throughout the car body itself. Only a few on the steering wheel, those were Amanda's."

"What about other places like the radio and such?"

"Again, lots there. I couldn't begin to trace them all."

Steve slid into the car behind the wheel for a moment in thought. "Only a few on the wheel." He took it in his hands. "Why only a few? Suppose someone wore gloves, wiping the prints off as he drove?"

Che nodded. "Might account for why there were so few on outside driver's door handle, too."

Steve nodded. "Danno, if you're going to buy gas where would you stand?"

Danny glanced at the fueling port--on the driver's side. Steve got out, leaving the door open and walked to the far side of the car.

"You'd see anyone on the driver's side. How would a person stealing the car get in?" Steve moved to the passenger side. "This door. Che? What did that dusting show?"

"Lots, mainly Cindy Maku. She was Amanda's close friend, rode in the car a lot," Che replied. "This is old stuff, Steve. We talked about it before."

But not like this, Steve thought.

"Steve," Danny felt urgent about the possibility. "Whoever took the car knew Amanda's routine and had to be someone who knew her. She had no romantic interests, no friends at her job. She'd been here only six months. She had only one person who knew her well. Cindy Maku."

"We're still lacking the motive," Steve cautioned. "Why would Maku stage a car theft, kill the boy, and frame the mother?"

He slumped. "I don't know. But we do know the person who let Cam out of that car seat was a woman, not a man. And if we rule out Amanda King, that leaves Cindy Maku."

Does it? Steve wasn't so quick to jump to that conclusion. After all, King still stood convicted of the crime. Maku had strongly defended Amanda's rights, even paid for Jones to come out here to defend her. There was certainly some question now about King's guilt, but he wasn't going to quickly start pointing fingers at everyone in town. "I want you to go talk to Amanda King. I'll see Trent again."


Trent King had already signed out of his hotel room. Steve found him reading a paperback in the airport.

"A bit early, aren't you?" Steve asked as he approached. "Weren't you going to wait until sentencing?"

He looked up in surprise. "McGarrett, hello. I was hoping to avoid the press. They got me once today. I really just want to get out of here. What's the point, really? I don't want to see Amanda suffer."

Steve nodded. That was understandable. "How do you feel about the results of the trial?"

"It doesn't really change anything. It won't bring Cam back. I wish I'd fought harder to keep Cam when we got divorced. I knew Amanda was a bit--irresponsible, but I never would have figured this. I once loved her. Secretly, I'd always hoped we'd get back together. This is hard to live with."

Steve nodded in sympathy. "I'm sorry to keep going back to this. You told me once you would not have imagined Amanda capable of a crime like this. Why?"

"She was always worried about offending people. Except, I guess, me. Cam was everything to her. More important than anything. I cannot imagine what could have become more important. This may be weird, but I was really sad she was convicted. I can't believe she did it."

Steve was quiet a moment.

Trent turned to him. "I'm not the only one, am I?"


"I could tell Williams wasn't so sure. What surprised me was that Jones didn't come down on that harder at the trial. You could tell he saw that hesitation."

"Trent, I want you to remain here a little longer," Steve said quietly.

"What for?"

"Like you just said, we still have some question about what happened here."

"But the trial-"

"I know," Steve sighed. "The important thing is the truth, the whole truth."

Trent managed a smirk. "And nothing but the truth, so help me God?"

Steve gave a tolerant grin. "I asked you this before, Trent, but I am going to ask again: Is there anyone who would want to get to you through Amanda or Cam? Anyone make any threats?"

He shook his head.

"Trent, I have sent an officer back to the main land to dig some more. If there is something, he will find it. Better you tell me first."

Trent shuffled his feet. "Really, McGarrett, there isn't anything."

Steve scowled, noticing that Trent seemed much less comfortable than he had about the questions earlier. "I need you to remain in Hawaii a little longer."

end Part 5

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