Page 18 of Hidden Falls

“And this allegation that Harry was the one to kill the human traffickers sixteen years ago?” Omura’s brows had drawn together. “Does Clark seem capable of more than just a righteous shoot or self-defense—namely murder, in your professional opinion?”

Marcella glanced down and patted her hair nervously. “I don’t know Detective Clark well enough to say one way or the other.”

Omura and Waxman stared at her, expressionless. Their combined silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap.

“Detective Clark is clearly a fierce and protective mother. That’s all I can give you with confidence at this time,” Marcella said at last.

Omura gave a nod. “I appreciate your honesty, Special Agent Scott. Unless your SAC has anything further for you, you may go. Check with the front desk for your workspace assignment.”

Marcella’s gaze went to Waxman; he inclined his head. “We’ll speak later, Special Agent Scott.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcella got up with alacrity, gathered her things, and headed straight for the women’s room. Acid reflux from too much coffee and stress had burned up her belly to her throat, and she was afraid she’d be sick.

After spending time in the bathroom using the facilities, washing her face and hands, drinking a glass of water, taking a Tums and then redoing her hair, Marcella slipped as unobtrusively as she could into the empty cubicle Captain Omura had assigned to her in the main “bull pen” work area.

Shutting the thin plywood door behind her, she sighed with relief and lowered her heavy leather satchel to the floor, glancing around the utilitarian workspace.

A cheap pressboard desk was set up with two office chairs and a file cabinet on each end. An organizer with Bic ballpoints, Post-its, paper clips and such butted up against a plastic file storage divider on the desk. A small whiteboard with a marker and a couple of cork bulletin boards provided each side an area for documents and brainstorming.

Marcella’s flagging energy needed a boost. That last bit, telling the captain and her SAC about the circumstances leading to Malia’s illegal adoption, had wiped her out, but she couldn’t drink any more coffee with her upset stomach. Maybe something to eat would help.

She dug around in her briefcase for her emergency protein bar.

What would happen to Lei and Harry now? Would an internal investigation be launched?

Probably not.

There was no proof of those early events. If Lei and Harry denied the story, or just refused to discuss it without representation and then took the fifth at that point, any IA review would meet a dead end.

But had Marcella done the right thing in telling the two commanders about that ancient history? She had no need to curry favor with Omura or Waxman; her job was secure, and her work spoke for itself.

Yet she’d told them the truth because the circumstances of sixteen years ago could have an impact on what happened next. Today. Tomorrow. In a week. Forever.

Marcella sat down. She took her feet out of her beloved but tight shoes and wiggled her toes. She then unpacked her heavy bag, setting up her laptop, taking out her phone, her headphones, and a bottle of water. She opened the energy bar and ate it in quick, efficient bites.

“Hydrate, Marcella,” she heard in Marcus’s voice. “You forget to pace yourself until it’s too late and you get a headache.”

He often slipped water bottles into her bag or car; she’d grabbed the one in her bag at the airport when her plane landed, hearing his voice in her head then, too.

She unscrewed the top and glugged down half, tempted to call her husband and talk over the situation.

But no. She didn’t want to interrupt Marcus; he’d be in the middle of a busy workday at Honolulu Police Department, and she’d just distract him.

And he’d worry. Worry wasn’t good.

Marcella glanced at her phone and scrolled to the text from Waxman.

The contact for the CIA agent was a man called Leonardo Cruz, located in Mexico City.

She would call Lei and figure out next steps together.

Marcella rang her friend.

Lei picked up immediately. “Where you at?”

“I’m in a cubicle in the main room.” Marcella stood up and peeked out over the top of the divider wall. “I’m in the one nearest the water cooler. Where are you?”

“I’ve got an office on the third floor. I’ll be down in a minute.” Lei ended the call.

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