Page 54 of Loco

“Thanks for meeting up with us,” I called to him, my voice loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “We just needed to run through the scene again with a fresh set of eyes. Hopefully, the coroner gets us that ID soon.”

“Still no cause of death?” Kai asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet. And the time of death’s still unclear, too.”

“Let me know when it comes through,” he said, giving a polite nod before heading off down the corridor.

I watched him go, my thoughts already jumping ahead. DNA hits, unknown houses, gossiping neighbors—everything was moving faster now. They were getting messier. And if they thought they had me cornered, they hadn’t seen what I’d do when I was protecting mine.

Judd and I walked in through the back entrance of the station and made our way toward his office like we didn’t have half a dozen threads burning in our heads. The second the door shut behind us, Judd’s phone buzzed, and a second later, so did mine.

Kapono: Around the corner. Deli run. Five minutes.

“Guess we’re hungry,” Judd muttered, already moving.

We slipped out the side door, cut through the alley behind the department, and looped around the corner to the deli. Kapono was already there, leaning against the brick wall like he’d just stepped out for a sandwich and some sun.

He didn’t say anything at first—just nodded and led us to the alley behind the deli, where the dumpsters masked the view from the street, then he pulled out his phone.

“I think I figured out what’s going on with those officers we’ve been watching,” he said.

Judd crossed his arms. “The racial profiling complaints?”

Kapono nodded. “Yeah, but it’s deeper than just harassment. They’ve been targeting specific families. Pushing hard—constant stops, visits, code violations, all of it.”

He swiped through a few files and then held the phone out.

“Look at these.”

I leaned in. Deed records. Transfer dates. Ownership changes. Property values.

“Tell me those addresses don’t look familiar.”

Judd’s brow furrowed. Kai leaned in closer.

“Wait a minute,” I said, scrolling through. “These were all flagged properties. Most of these families left town in the last year.”

“Yeah,” Kapono said. “Because they were racially profiled and harassed until they gave up. They all sold their homes at a loss to get out for peace of mind.”

“And who bought them?” Kai asked, already guessing the answer.

Kapono nodded and pulled up another screen. “Check this out.”

He tapped the screen again—photos, business licenses, shell companies—all tied to names we already had pinned to laundering and front operations for the syndicate we’d been circling for months.

“These spots—barbershops, laundromats, nail bars—they’re opening in the same neighborhoods they emptied out.”

“And the residential ones?” I asked, though I already had a bad feeling.

Kapono’s expression darkened. “Some are rented out to guys who look like your stereotypical muscle—all colors, tats, flashy cars. Ailee had tabs on a few of the rest because they were known meetup spots for escorts. She was still pulling names of clients when she was murdered.”

Judd let out a low whistle. “So they weren’t just profiling, they were clearing space. Creating real estate for the syndicate.”

“Exactly,” Kapono said. “They weren’t cleaning up the neighborhoods. They were repurposing them.”

A quiet settled between us for a beat. Not the good kind. The kind that builds pressure in your chest and makes your jaw clench.

“How many officers are involved?” Judd finally asked.

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