On the way to the Moana, Stillman filled Chan in on the young woman found on the beach. She’d been raped multiple times. Injuries on her wrists and ankles, her left wrist actually fractured, pointed to her having been restrained.
Chan thought about how he’d called the woman’s parents. How he, having barely managed to work through his own daughter’s murder, had struggled to tell her parents about their daughter’s death.
There was no answer when Chan knocked. “Honolulu police, please open the door,” rapping loudly this time.
No answer. Chan used the key from the clerk to open the door. He and Stillman entered cautiously, clearing the parlor, the bedroom, and the bathroom.
All of Wo Fat’s personal items were still distributed throughout the rooms.
“Don’t touch anything,” Chan cautioned Stillman. “If I’m right, this is a crime scene. We’re going to need to get forensics in here.”
“Should we wait to call them?” asked Stillman.
Chan thought about this. “No. You stay here. Wait outside, though. I don’t want him finding any trace of us inside this room.”
“What about you?”
“Bobby, I’m going to go sharpen my pool shooting skills.”
“The Fat Man is a professional pool player. Where might a professional pool player be?”
Heading into the hallway, Chan and Stillman parted ways, Stillman spotting two chairs and a table of magazines further down the hallway. Chan headed out to relive a part of his youth. Growing up, he’d spent a few hours in local pool halls. He knew many, but in his mind, as he drove first to the farthest one from the Moana, he could picture the ones that attracted the shadier characters.
Of course he really had no great idea of what Wo Chan looked like, but he did know that the man was thin and shot pool like a pro. He’d go to the places where higher stakes games were played. Those were the places toward which the criminal element gravitated. What more comfortable places for Wo Fat to be?
The first stop was on Waialae Avenue. Appropriately named Waialae Cue, the most noticeable thing about the place was that you could never see well enough through the windows to figure out what was going on inside. The black tint was just short of opaque. Waialae Cue had been raided multiple times over the years for illegal gambling. There were, as well, actual pool tables, and in his college days, Chan and a few hearty friends had actually shot a few games over the years.
The place was dead. There was absolutely nothing going on. At least not to the casual observer. The lone attendant looked up from his sports betting sheets. Chan flashed his badge. Standing, the young man tried to look meekly innocent.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
“All’s quiet,” said Chan.
“Well, yeah, it’ll pick up later.”
Chan looked at the door to the back room, wondering what might be going on in there, but he had more pressing business. He described Wo Fat, that he shot pool at a professional level.
The clerk said he’d seen no such person. Chan believed he was telling the truth and left.
Next stop, right down Waialae, was the Emerald Pool Hall. This one attracted a younger crowd of hoodlums than Waialae Cue. These were up and coming criminals eagerly climbing the ladder toward incarceration. Here too, the clerk on duty said he’d seen no one matching Wo Fat’s description. There were three more he thought to try, Chuck Follower’s and the River Street, but the next to check was nearest.
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterSaturday. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing and then post what you come up with somewhere I can read it. I would love to see what you write : )