By Peg Keeley
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,"
"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
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
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
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
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
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
"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
"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
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
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
"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,
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
He frowned. "But the
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
"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
"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
"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."
"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
"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
"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
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
"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," 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
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
"A bit early, aren't
you?" Steve asked as he approached. "Weren't you going to wait until
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.
"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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