The Punishment Fits the Crime
By Peg Keeley


Disclaimer: All characters are borrowed (with great reverence) and I promise to give them back after I'm done. Didn't make any money doing this. Thanks and appreciation to Karen Rhodes who beta read and advised. All feedback gratefully accepted.

There were sounds of men's voices and laughter mixed with a few musical tones from piano keys drifting up the darkened hallways of Princess Kapiolani Senior High School. The lights were ablaze in the auditorium as practice was in session for the Police Benevolent Association's annual show.

The three men on stage stood around playing with microphones like school boys while their lead singer, Rich Lawee, huddled over the piano with Dan Williams. "They keep missing their spot to come in," Rich fussed.

Danny scatched out a chord on the score with a pencil, then slipped the pencil back behind his ear. "It'll work."

"No, it won't." Rich looked up at the men on stage. "Jacko, this is an English song--try to make it sound that way. Gilbert and Sullivan weren't from Hilo."

Jacko waved an arm. "It's 9:30, brudder. I gotta get home and you gotta report on duty in forty-five minutes."

Rich scratched his head. "One more time, okay?"

Danny struck a major chord. "Start at the measure there---" He pointed it out. "That's the trouble spot."

"Okay." Rich hurried over and leapt up onto the stage. He listened as the piano played the lead in, then sang: "When the cut-throat's finished jumping on his mother..."

The other three chimed in: "Oh his mother."

"He loves to lie abasking in the sun."

"In da sun."

Rich winced at the Hawaiian accent he'd heard but kept going: "Ah, take one consideration with another..."

"With another.."

"The policeman's lot is not a happy one..."

"Happy one."

"When constabulary duties to be done..."

"To be done."

"A policeman's lot is not a happy one."

"Happy one!"

The guys gave a hoop or two, satisfied with their performance. Jacko jumped off the stage. "Gotta run," he announced before Rich could suggest another run-through. The other two were right behind him.

Rich picked up his cap and twirled it once in his hands. "Well, I guess we all make sacrifices."

Danny stacked up the sheet music. "Guess so."

"Thanks for all the support."

"Any time, Rich." He watched Rich head down the hallway and grinned. Rich was a success story if ever there was one. Raised in the ghetto of Chinatown,no dad, a drug addict mom, Rich had gotten in PAL at the age of ten and beat the odds. Danny couldn't have been more proud if he'd been his own son. Now, one year out of the academy, Rich was well on the road to an outstanding career in law enforcement.

The panic bar on the heavy glass door clanged as Rich exited the rear door of the gymnasium. Still humming the song they had practiced, he headed across the south parking area towards his patrol car. He liked to leave it on the edge of the lot near the two story housing project in hopes that it would somehow impart a few hours of civil obedience by its presence. However, the two closest mercury lamps of the lot were burned out and Rich doubted that right now anyone even saw the car in the shadows.

"Cops, man!" warned a frightened voice.

Feet scuffled on the damp pavement as the huddle of five people broke apart.
Rich barely had time to respond before they encircled him. "Okay, boys, let's break this little get-together up and get off school property."

One jumped at him, thrusting a knife forward. He drove it into Rich beneath the
bullet-proof vest, then twisted upward. Rich staggered in surprise and pain.
As he stumbled, the assailant pulled back the bloody knife.

"Let's got outta here, man!" one boy yelled. "Come on! Come on!" They scattered like ship rats.

Rich, clutching his abdomen, collapsed to the cement. He dragged himself towards the patrol car, gasping for breath. He managed to get the door open, sprawled half across the seat, half out of the door, and reached a bloody hand for the radio. "Officer down....officer...needs......" He lost consciousness.

The dispatcher's anxious voice came back. "Location please." With no response, she quickly announced: "All units. All units. Officer down unknown location. Repeat, officer down unknown location." It was the most difficult of messages.

Danny left the auditorium from the opposite side Rich had for he was parked along the street. Before he reached the car, he could hear dispatch on his radio giving the anxious all points bulletin. It was going to be a long night for somebody. He started the engine and switched on his lights, deciding to tour the town and help look. As he rounded the corner of the school, he noticed Rich's parked patrol car. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. This was wrong. With an all units call working, the young officer should have been long gone from here. Leaving his car in the middle of the street, Danny, gun drawn, approached the patrol car with cautious haste. Even before reaching it, he could tell the driver's door was open on the far side and he was praying this wasn't what he knew it had to be. He skidded around the side of the car. "Oh no." With one hand, he grabbed the radio while, with the other, he checked Rich's pulse. "Central, this is Williams. Officer down, Kapiolani Senior High, south parking lot. I need backup and an ambulance."

Her voice sounded less anxious. "Ten four. Any unit vicinity of Kapiolani High respond please...."

He tuned her out. Rich was alive, just barely. Danny dragged him out of the car and lay him flat on the pavement. He ripped open the shirt, noting that the attacker had been aware how to penetrate his victim beneath the bullet-proof vest. He glanced around the dark street. No one in sight. Aside from the sound of sirens in the distance, all was quiet. He turned back to Rich. He wasn't breathing. Danny positioned him and started artificial respiration. There seemed to be resistance when he puffed in. The skin was clammy. "Don't die on me, Rich," he murmured. "Hang in there, Brudder. Help's coming."

The sirens were louder.

anny continued the artificial respiration and attempting to control the visible bleeding, but he knew the massive injuries were inside where nothing but surgery was going to help. He glanced around again, knowing there had to be people in the apartments who knew what was happening. He caught sight of one silhouette. The person turned around and closed the curtain. He breathed again into Rich. "Anybody, I need help!" He hollered loudly, but knew there would be no response.

Headlights suddenly threw light into the parking lot as the first squad car pulled in. Two officers jumped out.

Danny breathed into Rich's mouth again. "Try to control the bleeding," he said between breaths as one knelt beside him.

The officer turned to his partner, hesitating a moment. The partner handed him the first aid box.

More sounds, light flashing red, blue, and white. The ambulance pulled into the lot and the medics came running with their tackle box.

Danny looked up, relieved. "Take over, will you?" he asked them.

One leaned over Rich for a quick assessment and shook his head. "He's dead, Dan."

Che Fong's lab crew assembled everything they had in a line of shoe boxes; each piece of evidence labeled and placed with care into a ziplock bag. Steve McGarrett, Danny Williams, and Duke Lukela now stood before him awaiting his report.

"Lots of things were found at the site," Che started, "but probably most of them have nothing to do with Lawee's murder." He picked up one speciman bag containing a beer bottle. "Inside was dry; dust and dirt on the outside. Had probably been there a few days." He picked up a different bag containing a 3cc syringe. "Traces of heroin inside the needle and barrel. Blood type O positive taken off the needle. One thumb print on the plunger. Sent that for identification. It had been used recently--less than twenty four hours, but---"he shrugged, "--it doesn't mean that it was used by the killer."

"But it may have been," Steve replied.

"Rich must have surprised some kids shooting up," Danny commented.

"Maybe," Steve interjected.

"We did get hair samples--lots of them--from Lawee's clothing. Again, probably inconclusive. There was a smear of grease on his left forearm. I thought it was off the squad car at first, but I tested it. It's not what our mechanics use. So, that may be the only positive lead we have. It's G-359 grease. Used for military aircraft until a few years ago. It's not made anymore."

"Military still using it?" Duke asked.

"They replaced it with a silicone based product five years ago."

"Where could someone get it now?" Steve asked.

"You used to be able to buy it at Army Navy stores. It's possible the killer had it at his home. But lots of people do--some of your best mechanics," Che explained.

"Our killer may be a mechanic then?" Danny demanded.

"Easy, Danno. Things may be just a little more slippery than that," Steve cracked.
Duke and Che both gave a half chuckle a McGarrett's pun, but Steve was aware Williams had not even smiled. He's tired, emotionally shot, he shouldn't be here.
Che shook his head. "All I can tell you is that there is a high probability that grease came from the killer."

Steve glanced at Danny and Duke. "Well, if it's all we have, then we'll see where it goes. Duke, check the Army-Navy store, see if anyone is still stelling the stuff. And see if they have supplied any local car or aircraft shops." An idea occurred to him. "And check with the high school--see if they use G-359 in their auto shop or bus barn." He gazed at the small slide of grease in Che's hand. It sure wasn't much.

Steve returned to the office with Danny to await the findings of the coroner.
Hopefully, Bergman would have something else to add to the investigation. A trace of G-359 and waiting for high school teachers to overhear something was not going to reveal a cop killer soon. Danny looked exhausted.

"You sleep at all last night?" Steve asked in sympathy.

He shook his head. "No point trying."

McGarrett raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off, try to get some rest. We're not going to get any quick breaks on this."

"We probably aren't going to get much at all," Danny responded bluntly. "These random killings happen all the time and most are never solved. We've got a file full."

Steve was going to try to find something encouraging to say when the intercom buzzed. "Yes, Jenny."

"Ms. Anna Marie Lawee is here."

He sighed. "Send her in."

Before he'd finished that last word, the door was open and the young woman rushed in. Anna Maria was determined and aware of how to get by in this world. She, like her brother, had escaped her poverty through determination and hard work. She had watched her mother and four older siblings slowly kill themselves with drugs. Her baby brother, Rich, had been her last living family member. Now, her composure was a mix of anger, sorrow, and fatigue. When she spoke, her voice cracked. "I just want to say this is all your fault," she announced to Danny.

"Anna Marie-" he said quietly.

"You and your--your great police society. Richie was your golden boy--ghetto kid made good. I told you something bad would happen! You all are so damned self-righteous; keeping Richie clean, showing him a way out of the poverty! No drugs for your golden boy! Well, drugs killed him anyway!" She started to cry.

Steve intervened. Taking her by the shoulders, he guided her to a chair.

She allowed him to seat her before continuing. "You killed him. Might as well have left him to the streets."

"You don't really mean that," Steve said quietly. "Your brother was making a good career for himself. He believed in what he was doing."

"He died because from the time he was ten Danny filled his head with glorious ideas of saving society. Why didn't you just leave him alone?" she pleaded at Danny.
Nothing but Danny's eyes betrayed the pain of her accusation. Hadn't the darker side of his own mind said the same thing repeatedly over the last few agonizing hours? "Anna Marie," he finally said gently, "Rich was a good man and a good friend. You've been through a lot today. Can I take you home?"

She clenched her fists. "Don't you patronize me!"

McGarrett took over the conversation. "Every officer who puts on that uniform decides for himself to take the risks that go with the job. Rich was no fool. He knew the odds and made that decision for himself. And he was a good officer --the best. And right now the best we can do for him is to find his killer and bring that person to justice."

Her tear-streaked face turned towards him. "And have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Found his killer?"

He sat down on the edge of his desk, facing her. "These things take time--and atience. There are leads and we are following up on every one."
New tears flooded her eyes and she covered her face with her hands. "I loved my rother," she sobbed. "He was all I had."
Fifteen minutes later, Bergman called Steve and Danny down to his lab. They were both relieved to have an excuse to get away from Anna Marie.

Bergman always seemed to be rumpled. Only once did Steve remember seeing him in a suit. He supposed corpses didn't mind if the doctor wore jeans and hadn't ironed his lab coat.

"Pretty cut and dried, Steve," Bergman remarked. "Lawee took a six inch blade in the abdomen, upward thrust through the duodenum, stomach, diaphragm. He died of massive hemorrhage as proven by the collection of over three liters of blood in the peritoneal cavity. The only unusual finding I have is this." He pointed to the microscope.

Steve peeked through the lens. "What is it?" he asked, looking at what resembled tiny translucent blocks.

"I don't know. It was in the body along the knife pathway. It was on the knife before Lawee was stabbed. I'm sending the slide samples on to Che Fong. Maybe he can ID it for you."

Gino Wang had not gone to school. He didn't go often, but today was a very good day not to attend. He didn't want to go past the parking lot. He lay in the sun on the roof of his apartment thinking about ways to run away.

"There you are," came the voice of Frankie Summon. He came out of the door onto the roof. "You didn't make school."

"Nope," he answered without opening his eyes. "Did you?"


Gino glanced at him. "You got more guts than brains."

Frankie sat down next to him. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen, man. I told you last night. Nobody knows nothin', so just act like everything's cool."

"Easy for you to say."

"Look, who can talk?"

"Do you know the guy we were buyin' from?" Gino demanded.

He nodded. "Artie? He's cool man."

"Cool, huh? He iced that cop, man. He knows we saw him do it."

"We don't know nothin'," Frankie hissed again, grabbing Gino's shirt. "You weren't there, you didn't see nothin'. You can't ID anybody. You got that?"

Gino slowly tugged his shirt free from Frankie grasp, scowling. "If I get away from here I won't have ta talk to anybody. I don't trust this Artie guy."

"What's to trust? He knows you won't talk." Frankie flashed a grin. "What're you gonna say? 'I was buying dope from this dude when a cop surprised us, so the seller stuck a knife in him.'?"

Gino rubbed the roof gravel off of his elbow. "But does he know that?"

"Gino," Frankie insisted, "everything is just fine."

"What if he says we did it? You hear all the time about guys getting picked up on drugs and gettin' off because they squealed on something bigger. It doesn't get any bigger than killing a cop."

Frankie was a little slower with a response. "He don't want trouble, Gino. All you gotta do as act normal."

Gino shook his head. "But it ain't normal, Frankie. That guy's dead."

"He was a cop, Gino. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Gino lay back down on the roof, eyes closed, his mind still working feverishly on a way out. He had no faith in Frankie.

Frankie seemed to read his mind. "Gino."


"Don't get any ideas about Artie, you hear me? He's got bigger guys behind him you don't know anything about."
Che Fong finished examining the slides, consulting a few text books, and scowling back into the microscope again. Danny stood by impatiently. He was tired and irritable, which was probably why Steve had left him here to wait the results. He'd be out of the way and his urgency would push Che along.

Che glanced up at him for the third time, wishing he was some place else. "I can call you when I have an answer," he offered.

Danny slumped down onto the stool by the door. "I can wait."

Che rarely expressed his feelings and now was no exception, but he was not happy. He pulled down a new text and examined the crystalline formation again. "I can get close--but I can't single out the compound. It's something like talc, but not exactly."

"Baby powder?" Danny muttered.

"Baby powder contains talc--so does make-up."

He gazed at Che. "Make-up? You think some girl toted a six inch knife in her bag and killed Rich?"

"I think it's too early to say that. I said it's like talc, not that it is talc. It could be a make-up compound, but I'm not sure. Make-up sticks together more. This is isolated blocks that are no cohesive." Che thought for a minute. "Tell you what: Why don't you run this down to Professor Wilson at the University. See what he thinks."

Wilson knew Danny. Most of the professors at U of H did. Danny came in to do seminars for both Criminal Justice and Psychology. Wilson was head of the chemistry department. He smiled when Danny handed him the slide.

"Let's see here." Before placing it in a microscope he held it up to the light and gazed at it. "How old is this?"

Danny shrugged, glancing at his watch. "Twenty hours."

He gave a grandfatherly smile. "Then I can assume it has been longer than that since you slept."

"Why is everyone so damned interested in my sleep patterns?" he grumbled.

"Looked in a mirror lately?"

He let it go by. "Can you help me?"

Wilson gave a chuckle. "Here." He handed him a copy of Scientific American. "Go relax in my office. This'll take a few minutes."
It was six o'clock in the evening, just over two hours later, when Wilson approached his office. He opened the door quietly and found what he'd hoped he would--Danny slumped over on his side asleep on the couch. With a paternal nod, he gently closed the door. He went back out to the lab and called Steve.

"I know what your compound is," he announced.

"Yes?" Steve replied.

"It's a fine sand--a special absorbing sort. Used to be used to absorb extra ink before the advent of quick drying ink and ball point pens."

"How long ago is that?"

"Seventy years. Maybe a little less."

"Is this that old?"

"Hard to say, but I'd assume so. There might be some artists who use it for special effects. To be honest, I don't even know that you can still buy the stuff."

"Thank you, Professor." Steve hung up the phone and rocked back in his chair at the desk, jabbing a pencil at his note pad. Two clues that somehow fit. Both G-359 and the absorbing sand were old--no longer on the market, but Lawee's killer had access to both.

The sun was setting when Steve pulled into the circular drive of Lucas Mansfield's home. It was a modest, but immaculate place. He wondered how Lucas afforded it on a principal's salary, then reminded himself that his wife worked, too. He made a mental note to find out how much they were worth.

"Steve!" Lucas greeted he at the door with a warm handshake. "What a surprise."
"Sorry for not calling," he replied, although he was not. The element of surprise was his favorite tactic.

"What can I do for you?"

"Talk a minute?"

"Sure, but you'll have to come out back. I've got a couple of steaks on the grill."

They passed through the house, Steve noting the condition of everything, cleanliness, and organization right down to the color co-ordinated silk flower arrangement on the coffee table. Mansfield had two children, both in college now. One was a full-back at Southern Cal. His football picture was framed on the piano. "How's Mike getting on?"

"Great. Did you hear he made varsity this year?"


"He's a great kid."

"And Charles?"

He shrugged. Charlie was always a sore subject. He lacked both the imagination and physical abilities of his older brother and just seemed to drift through life. Lucas often let his disappointment in him show. "He's a freshman at the junior college. Taking liberal arts. I keep telling him to get involved with something."

Steve let the subject die. "What's the scuttlebutt at the high school?"

"About what?" Lucas asked picking up a fork to jab his steak. "Oh, that. Not a word. At least the teachers haven't said anything to me. Just because it happened on school turf doesn't mean students were involved."

Steve noted Lucas' referral to Rich's death as "it" like a forbidden topic. "But it is likely."

"You think so?" Lucas flipped the meat and the fire flared. "Could have been anybody. That parking lot is dark at night. I've been trying to get them to replace burned out lights for two weeks."

"Do you think they chose the lot because it was dark?" Steve asked.
"Don't you?" Lucas looked uncomfortable.

"I don't know. I'm not discounting it. Nor am I discounting that at least
one student might have been involved. Or maybe--" He deliberately let the
sentence die.

Lucas now appeared openly irritated. "Or what? Faculty or staff involvement?"

Steve did not respond to the question. "How often does somebody go down to the basement and inventory what's down there?"

He scowled again. "I don't know. We've got too many other things to do besides play around in the basement."

Steve mentally noted Lucas' defensiveness. He did not want his people involved. He was already upset "it" had happened on his campus and now police were nosing around. "Thanks, Lucas, enjoy your steak. I'll see myself out."

Lucas jabbed the steak again--hard.

Artie Bender lifted the switchblade from the plastic bucket of alcohol
and water. He let it drip a minute or two, then began carefully wiping it down. The whole business last night had been a disaster. As he cleaned the knife, he remembered the feel, the look, the smell--everything. It had just happened so fast, before he could think. He fingered the knife in his hand after drying it, as if the cleaning might have changed the weight. He aimed for the old sand sack and flipped the knife. With a whiz, it sank into the sank. He pulled it out, satisfied.

There was a sound at the door of the basement room and he jumped. It was just Tom. Artie sighed upon seeing him.

"Nervous?" Tom asked. He was a large, bulky Hawaiian; about forty years of age, dressed in a school janitor's uniform. He knew he could easily get Artie to do whatever he wished. Artie was small for his age, which was sixteen and right now looked like a scared rabbit. "Stop putting holes in those sandbags. What are you so nervous for anyway?"

"I never killed nobody before," Artie remarked quietly.

"You cut up a few guys," Tom replied. "This is just part of the business. Sometimes things go a little further than you plan. I been teaching you all my best stuff for the last six months, Bro. You just proved that stinkin' guidance counselor wrong." He patted Artie's shoulder. "You really can learn what's important. When the heat was on, you did the job right."

"I killed a cop," he muttered.

"Yes," Tom confirmed. There was silence for a moment. Tom walked to the back of the room and picked up a mop. "You didn't have a choice," he finally said. "The boss knows that. He wants you to keep the operation off school property. Who else was with you last night?"

"Charlie and three kids."

"Know them?"

He shrugged. "A little."

"They know you?"

He shrugged again. "Not much."

Tom filled a bucket with water and soap. "Artie, not much can become a lot. You need to protect yourself. These guys will talk. Maybe not today, but someday. There's no statute of limitation on murder. Can you find these guys again?"

"Maybe." Artie's eyes narrowed.

Tom gave him a quiet look and without further comment, left the basement.

Danny spent most of the morning doing legwork--asking supply houses, art shops, and hardware stores about the absorbing sand--Sorbit. The formal name was all he'd been able to learn. Nobody carried it, nobody sold it. Duke had not made out much better with the G-359. One Army Navy store had sold it's last can six years before.

An emergency call took Duke to the high school at about 11 a.m. Lucas met him on the steps and rushed him back towards the locker room.

The scene was so out of place. Among the rows of gym lockers, the young man hung from the overhead pipe, belt around his neck. His books were scattered on the floor at his feet, a hastily jotted note folded on top.

"Who is he?" Duke asked.

"Quint Makuta," Lucas replied. He showed the note.

Duke accepted it with a handkerchief. "'I couldn't live with it.' Couldn't live with what?"

Lucas shook his head. "He wasn't a good student, but that didn't seem to matter to him. He never appeared to have serious problems. Why would he kill himself?"

Duke glanced at the body. "Did he?"


"Kill himself?"

Lucas blinked.

Duke reported the news to Steve and Danny in McGarrett's office forty minutes later. "Boy was Quint Makuta, age sixteen. Junior. Low to fair grades. Broken but stable home. No girl problems. No needle marks--at least obvious ones. Doc is checking for drug levels in the blood now."

He handed Steve the note now protected in plastic and a Science paper of
Makuta's. "Handwriting not the same."

Steve gave a grunt. "A bit sloppy."

"Che got three good prints off the note. Running them now," Duke added.
"Be sure to check them against the thumb print off the syringe from the murder scene," Steve commented.

"You think they're connected?" Danny asked.

Steve glanced at him. "What do you think?"

"We're supposed to think so. Note says he couldn't live with it. Could
mean Rich's murder."

"Yeah." Steve gave a sly grin. "But since Makuta didn't write the note, the person who did write it knows something about the murder. We've got dirt in the high school."

Anna Marie hesitated on the walk before entering. She had always loathed Fu and all he stood for. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the pimp's "horse stable."

Fu was there behind his small counter as fat and repulsive as ever. "Anna Marie!" He exclaimed in joy, "what a pleasure to see you. I think of you often." He looked her over, his eyes undressing her.

"I'll bet you do," she said a bit coldly, then, recalling her purpose here, added: "I need something from you."

He tisked gently. "All things may be obtained, but for a price. Your mother was my dearest child. For you, I would do anything." He always referred to his prostitutes as his children.

"You heard about my brother's death."

He looked genuinely sad. He parted his large, fat hands. "Such a shame. Is that what brings you here?"

"What have you heard?"

He smiled quietly. "My dear, I have no business in drugs for sale."

"You know where to get them to keep your ladies content," she said softly.

"I wish I could help you," he said simply, "but, alas, I know so little."

"It seems little can become much when the right price is paid," she whispered, shifting her right shoulder ever so slightly, seductively.

Fu's eyes gleamed and he licked his chubby lips. "Anna, my dear, your offer is tempting," he said nervously.

She grinned. "Yes, you are drooling on your shirt."

He glanced down, believing her. He stood there summing her up. "Is that all you want?"

"What else do you offer?" She asked in a hushed tone, touching her tongue to her open lips.

"Become one of my children and you can make in a day what it takes you a year to earn at that supermarket."

She tossed her long, dark hair. "Except I'd be dead in that year from a drug overdose, a john, or something else."

"Not you," he whispered intently, running his hand through her hair. "You would be my personal pet. NO lines of johns for you."

She fingered the button on her blouse. "We can discuss that business later. First, we settle the matter of my brother. Can you get me what I need?"

"Of course," he answered, the fat jowls jiggling as he nodded quickly.
"That and a gun."

He took her hand and led her around the counter, licking his lips again. "I can work out any deal--for you, my dear." She shivered slightly as he led her towards the back.

Artie found Charlie Mansfield standing out in the open on a street corner. Together, they wandered down towards a protected area near Hotel St. "Tom wants us to clean up from the other night," Artie commented.

Charlie nodded. He'd already known. "Tom says the other two are yours to deal with."

Artie looked uncomfortable. "I don't know if I can find them."

"I'll find 'em. I remember them." Charlie kept a watchful eye as they circulated. "They need to buy their stuff from somewhere."
The late afternoon sun was blinding. Steve shut the blinds in the office just as Duke came through the door. Lukela's first glance went to the sandwiches spread across the desk and he was pleased someone had thought of food. He had missed lunch and now it looked likely supper would be late also.

"There is G-359 in use in the automotive shop at the high school, but there are about 150 students with access," he announced.

"We don't need 150, just one," Steve replied, biting into a sandwich. "Check in the school's attendance office and see which ones didn't come in yesterday. My bet is our man may have been too frightened to come to school."

"Pretty slim shot," Danny remarked. "Some of those kids just don't go at all."
"But our man was there the day before--if that is where the grease came from. What about the sand?"

"Nothing," Danny replied.

"It came from somewhere."

There was a brief silence as each one pondered their choices. "How old is that school anyway?" Danny asked slowly.

The three of them exchanged looks. Steve pulled a book off his shelf and after thumbing through several pages, had the answer. "1904."

"They must have used that sand at some point, wouldn't you think?" Duke said.
"Get a court order to inspect the basement," Steve ordered. "See what you find."

Jenny stuck her head in the door. "Anna Marie, Boss," she announced regretfully.

Anna Marie pushed past her. "Well?" She demanded.

"Well, what?" Steve asked.

"Well, what have you done about Richie's murderer?" She questioned, fury bubbling beneath her tone.

Steve paused to contain his rush of anger. "Miss Lawee, I am not in the habit of answering to family members on a daily basis. Rich was a good man, a valued friend, and we are working hard on this case."

"Cut the crap," she snapped. "You don't have anything, do you? That is, except another dead kid. Have you looked at Charlie Mansfield?"

"Charlie Mansfield?" Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I know for a fact that he was there."

McGarrett's eyes narrowed and a grim, rock hard expression settled on his face. "Just how do you know that?"

"You really should get some women in this office, McGarrett. We have--ways of obtaining information you men cannot offer."

"Anne Marie--"

"Don't you lecture me! My brother's dead and somebody's gonna pay for that."

"The right somebody!" McGarrett fired back. "Not just anybody. Now, where did you get the information that Charlie Mansfield was involved?"

She crossed her arms. "Privileged."

"Oh no, dear. You're going to have to do a whole lot better than that. I can't get a warrant for a man based on your hearsay."

She squared her jaw and fixed an icy look on Steve. "Fu Susang."

"God, Anna," Danny whispered in shock, "what have you done?"

She spun to him. "What had to be done. Now you do your job and get that bastard!"

Lucas barely glanced at the court order Duke handed him. "That wasn't necessary, Lukela. I would have been happy to comply with whatever Steve needs."

Happy was not exactly the word Duke thought he would have used to describe Mansfield's reaction just now.

Lucas, not taking his eyes off Duke, pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Laura, see if Tom Dagit is in the building. I need him to conduct a little tour."

A few minutes later, Tom was noisily jangling his key chain as he unlocked the door to the basement of the high school. The steel door creaked as it opened. "A whole lot of nothing down here," he commented as he led Duke and Danny down the stairway. "Watch your step. It's not well lit."

An understatement. The weak light bulbs dangling from thin wires were far apart, leaving many dark corners filled with boxes; broken old desks and overturned chairs; and stacks of musty, old books. The floor was gritty underfoot.

"What are you looking for?" Tom asked.

They glanced around. "Let you know when we find it," Danny remarked.

Tom watched in silence as they split up and slowly began to explore the bowels of the building. Time dragged by. He had brought them in from the entrance farthest from the small area Artie had moved into to call home. It wouldn't really look much different from the rest of the cellar anyway. He doubted they would notice.

It was forty minutes later when Duke called to Danny. "Get a look at this."

Things in the area had been moved around. There was less dust on the floor here, like there had been activity. There were boxes and crates that looked like they had been moved lately. Tom hurried to catch up with them, knowing they had located Artie's corner and quickly fabricating an explanation in his mind.

Danny shone a pen light on the steel door at the top of the stairway nearby. "That door?"

"Leads outside," Tom replied. "It's locked. I use it from time to time." He pointed to the large sink in the corner. "I keep some extra mop and floor supplies here."

Duke's light illumined the gallon containers of chemicals beside the sink and the yellow wringer bucket.

He moved up the stairway to inspect the lock of the door, taking Tom with him. "Doesn't look like it's been picked or anything. Are you the only one who comes down here?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. We've all got keys, but I do most of the floors. Don't know who else would need to come here," he replied, pleased that interest now seemed to be off that corner.

As they moved away, Danny touched a leaking sack of what appeared to be sand. There were several slits in the old burlap and he quickly pinched a sample of the material and sprinkled it into a small evidence bag.
Steve had reserved meeting Charlie Mansfield for himself. There was something he recalled as being disturbing about his meeting with Lucas the other day and now, with Charlie implicated, he wanted to see this through himself. He drove to the Kentucky Fried Chicken where Charlie worked. As he pulled into the parking space, he spotted Charlie headed towards the shop.

"Hi, Charlie," he greeted him.

Charlie paused, surprised, but quickly remembered: "Steve McGarrett." He laughed. "Sorry, I--um haven't seen you in a long time. How's things?"

"Fine, Charlie. How are things for you?"

Okay." He jammed his hands into his pockets. "What brings you here?"

"The chicken," he remarked. "Wanted a bite of dinner."

"Well, try the new seasoning--it's real good."

"I will, thanks. Say, um, Charlie, do you know Anna Marie Lawee?"

He shook his head. "Never heard of her. Say, that name; she related to that cop that got killed? Wasn't he Lawee?"


Charlie looked uncomfortable now. "Don't know her, why?"

"Just wondering. She mentioned your name like she knew you."

"Mentioned my name? About what?" Now Charlie was really sweating.

"Oh, we were talking about the school and all. I think your brother was in the same graduating class with her."

Charlie frowned again. "Oh."

"Ever know Quint Makuta?" He popped out the class picture of the dead boy and showed it to Charlie.

He barely glanced at it. "McGarrett, why are you playing twenty questions with me?"

McGarrett straightened some, losing a little of the friendly air. "A witness saw you in the area of the school the night of Officer Lawee's murder."

He cracked a nervous grin. "Is that all? Hell, McGarrett, could have been a hundred people around that school that night. My father is principal. I take stuff up there for him all the time. Doesn't mean I killed anybody."

"No one was saying you did. I just wanted to know if you saw anything in anyway unusual."

For a micro-second, he considered pointing the finger at Artie, but dismissed it as too dangerous. "If I had, I would have already told you guys."

McGarrett patted Charlie's arm. "Well, if you remember anything, give me a call, okay? And say hi to your father for me."

"Sure, fine," Charlie muttered.

Steve moved off, or at least seemed to. Sure enough, Charlie made a dash for the closest pay phone. Steve carefully noted the number he dialed. It was the high school administration office.

"You've got a match," Che announced proudly to Danny. "This powder is the same as what was removed from Lawee's body. No question about it."

"And the knife slits in the bags would support that the killer has been down in the school basement," Danny added.

McGarrett paced the office. "Circumstantial, Danno. It does make the custodian a suspect, but there isn't enough to arrest him on, let alone convict him."

"Dagit sure went out of his way to try and keep us at the other end of the basement," Duke added.

"We need the murder weapon, gentlemen. We've also got Anna Marie's word that Charlie Mansfield is involved with this. From what I saw, I would agree he has something to hide. We have got a student dead in a faked suicide. His blood levels revealed amphetamine. He was killed for a reason."

"To keep him quiet?" Danny offered.

"Yeah. Quiet about what?"

"Maybe he witnessed Rich's killing."

Steve nodded. "Maybe he was the buyer."

"And Charlie selling? You think Charlie knifed Rich?"

Steve shook his head. "Charlie may have been involved in some way, but Charlie's not one to go off half-cocked and kill like that. Nor did he have the opportunity to get to Quint Makuta. He was in class at the junior college at the time."

Duke glanced at his notes. "Makuta weight about 190. Six foot two inches tall. Charlie is five-nine. Even if he was there he couldn't have pulled the hanging off by himself."

"Dagit could though," Danny suggested. "He'd a pretty big guy. He was at the school."

Steve contemplated the case and his suspects. Dagit, Charlie. "I am convinced there is more to this. Let's find out more about Tom Dagit, but do it quietly."

"You want us to bring Dagit in?" Danny asked, hopeful that they could take some kind of action that would make himself feel like something was happening and placate Anna Marie at the same time.

Steve stared out of the window at the parking lot below. "Danno, I don't think Dagit killed Rich."

"But--I don't get it."

He turned back. "Rich was too good an officer for that. He would never have been caught so off guard if someone the size of Dagit had been in that dark alley. Never. He stumbled onto something, maybe a drug deal, between kids who panicked. He didn't realize the danger until it was too late. Dagit and Charlie may lead us to the supplier, but the killer is a kid."

He scowled and asked quietly. "So, what do we do?"

"You got that absentee list of shop students yesterday?"

He flipped a page on his pad. "Four. One had a note from the doctor today. That leaves three. Gino Wang, Mark Lathon, and Carole Smith." He had been mildly amused by a girl in auto shop until he found out the teacher was also female.



"Check 'em out."

Artie always liked it after dark. When the sun went down, it got cooler and the sea breeze came in and cleaned out even the slums. His business always improved under cover of night. Tom had increased the load in the last week. That was okay. He never had trouble selling it all. In fact, he usually ran out. Now he was being more careful whom he sold to. In the last two days, he had only sold to buyers he knew well. It took a little longer.

"Hey, Artie," came a familiar voice.

He turned and saw Frankie Summon enter the alley. "Where you been, Frankie? You didn't get your goods the other night."

Frankie grinned. "I made a score later. Everything cool?"

Artie eyed him critically. "What cool?"

Frankie scratched his cheek. "Never mind, man, you got my stuff?" He pulled out a hundred dollar bill.

Artie did not smile. "Where'd you get that bill? You don't never have money like that."

Frankie laughed and answered truthfully: "Fat tourist left his wallet in
the bathroom down at the beach."

Artie looked skeptical.

"Say, what do you care, man? It's green."

Artie shoved the money back. "Some cop give that to you?"

"What? No, man. What's with you?"

Artie turned away and headed deeper into the alley.

"Say, man." Frankie followed him. "I need my stuff. You want me to go make change or something?"

Artie turned around, knife in his hand. "You were there the other night, pal. I can't take no risk."

"What risk?" He was sweating in fear. "Hey, wait a minute. I didn't see nothing; I don't know nothing."

Artie, in a quick motion, jabbed his knife hand forward and the blade into Frankie's chest. Frankie collapsed with a groan onto the pavement. Artie wiped the blade on Frankie's shirt and hurried out of the alley.

Danny had taken less pleasure at the fall of darkness than Artie had. In the twilight, he carefully walked back down the rickety wooden steps of the apartment complex. It had not surprised him that Gino Wang's mother had neither seen her son nor knew where to find him. Armed with his school photo, Danny headed slowly back to his car. He knew the only good way of tracking someone like Wang would be on the streets at night. That was a dangerous idea and would not be easily accomplished. He would need to find a young police officer to go under cover.

"Hey, Mister," a child's voice called. The small, skinny boy came running up to him. "Hey, Mister, you're a cop, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. These kids could spot one a mile off. "What is it?"

"Come quick. A guy got knifed in the alley."

It did not take long to get all the usual people and things into the alley. Frankie was already dead, curled up in the filthy alley as much as he had fallen. If there had been a witness, no one was saying. As the routine proceeded, there was one quiet observer at the corner: Gino Wang. He could sum up very quickly what had happened to his friend, and realized why. He had been right and he now, more than ever, knew he had to find a way to hide. Yet, right now he was in need. His body cried for the heroin to help him think more clearly. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he slipped back out of the alleyway, not sure what to do.

It was morning by the time the autopsy on Frankie was complete.

"Was killed by one stab wound to the chest just below the sternum, turned upwards through the heart, piercing the left ventricle. Death was almost instantaneous." Bergman explained to Steve. "Six inch blade. Same powder tracings as last time. Looks like you've got the same killer. And this time, I've got something a little better." He handed McGarrett a small plastic bag with a metal fragment. "Tip of the knife broke off on the bone."

Steve examined the small sliver of metal. "Good work, Doc."

Danny's legwork had not turned up Gino Wang. He had spent most of the night cruising the streets, checking known drug dealing sports, but everything seemed to be shut down tight. His HPD recruit had come up empty-handed as well. He hoped Gino had not had any more success finding his dope than he had had finding Gino. That would keep him circulating and more likely to make a mistake.

At 8 a.m., Danny parked close to the high school and watched arriving students, No Gino among them. Five minutes after the late bell, he started back to his car when a young girl approached him.

"You looking for Gino?" She asked.

"You seen him?" He replied.

She gave a seductive smile. "Maybe. He gets around, you know?"

He leaned against the car. "Did you know his friend got killed last night?"

"Yeah," she whispered without remorse. "That was really something, wasn't it?
Frankie was a cool dude, you know? Really makes you stop and think, you know?"
"Stop and think about what?"

"You know." She shrugged, her bleached blonde hair brushing against her shoulders. "Life, death, what comes after. Is there a new world we go to? It's got to be so much better than here. Then, maybe there's just forever." She shivered.

"Who knows."

"Yeah," he remarked, "who knows. You were saying you've seen Gino Wang."

"Did I?" She whispered, as if she had forgotten. "Gino. Well, he hasn't been around, you know?"

He began to feel impatient. Another sleepless night had not improved his humor. "I think you are late for school," he remarked.

She turned to look at the building. "Oh."

"Now, if you know something about Gino, tell me. Otherwise, you'd
better be on your way."

She pouted. "Can't I get to ride down to the police station in your car?" She rubbed her hand on the car door slowly. "It looks like a nice car."

He smirked. No one had ever thought of his six year old, banged up Mercury as a hot car before. He wanted to just leave, but the hoped she might really know something kept him from going. He knew she knew that and would milk as much as she could get from the moment. "What's your name?" He asked her.


"I can't let anyone ride in my car who doesn't tell me her name."


"Denise what?"


"Well, Denise Faught, how old are you?"


No way she gets in my car, he thought. He reached into the car and picked up the radio. "Williams to central."

"Do I get my ride now?" Denise asked.

"I'm requesting a squad car to pick you up," he explained.

"Central," came the voice.

"Requesting a backup at Kapiolani High. Witness for questioning at Five-O. Dispatch female officer."

Denise slumped against the car, arms crossed, an angry look on her face. "No fair."

He turned back to her. "Now, do you have anything to offer on Gino Wang or not?"

"He was on Merchant Street last night lookin' for a fix. He was scared he'd be killed next."


"Cause Frankie got killed."

"Did he know who had killed Frankie or why?"

She gave a bit of blank look. "He didn't say. But, oh was he scared." She looked at Danny, genuine concern showing. "Is somebody really trying to kill Gino?"

"I don't know, but if so, I can keep him safe. Do you know where he is?"

"I really don't know," she answered truthfully.

He pulled out his wallet. "If you see him again, give me a call. Better yet, have him call me. We can get him protection." He handed her his card. "Here." He also gave her a ten dollar bill. "Buy breakfast." He quickly scribbled something on a page from his note pad, and tore it off, and gave it to her. "This, too."

She glanced at it, and smiled.

"Your late excuse for school. Get going." He watched her run off, then got into the car. "Central, this is Williams, cancel the backup."

"10-4. Standby, Williams. Patch through to McGarrett."

"Danno," Steve's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Yeah, Steve."

"Where are you?"

"Kapiolani High."

"Meet me at pier 36. We've got another body."

Danny fully expected it to be Gino Wang, gutted on the beach like a fish. He parked at the pier, then made his way down to the sand. It was wet from the light rain the night before and got into his shoes, sticking to his socks and pants. Steve was already with two officers under the pier.

The body was not Gino.

"Charlie Mansfield," McGarrett gestured to the chest wounds. "Shot four times at close range." He noted the powder burns on his clothing.

They left the lab crew and uniformed officers to finish and made their way up to the boardwalk.

"Related?" Danny asked.

"I don't know, Danno. My instinct says yes. Our killer has either turned up with a gun or..." He stopped.

"If Mansfield killed Summon, could Wang have killed Mansfield?" Danny suggested.
Steve didn't answer right away. "We're not dealing with drug lords here--we're looking at kids. If Wang did get a weapon, would he have fired four times?"

Danny frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This looks more like a crime of passion--of hate."

"What about fear? Wang's pretty frightened right now."

McGarrett watched the waves crashing on the beach for a moment. "Let's see what the lab turns up." He kept having that nagging feeling that something very important was missing in this puzzle, that they had the piece and didn't know it.

Lawee's funeral was at 1:00. A police funeral is always a major event--a media circus. Like most law enforcers, McGarrett had a distaste and distrust of the news people. They always seemed on opposite sides of an issue. The media had too much power with no checks and balances on what they did with it. He half expected Anna Marie to make some public announcement about the police dragging their feet on the investigation. She did not. She sat solemnly, expressing no emotion during the proceedings. Afterwards, she left with two friends, not having even acknowledged anyone from Five-O during the entire memorial service.

"I'm surprised she didn't make a scene after everything else the last two days," Danny voiced Steve's thought.

"Yeah," he answered. "Well, by now she knows Mansfield is dead. Perhaps she feels justice is served."

"But Mansfield didn't kill the others," Danny replied. "No knife in his possession. No indications except her word that he was even involved in this."

"Exactly," McGarrett replied. He turned to watch the limo carrying Anna Marie pull away. "If Anna Marie was capable of selling herself to Fu for information, what else is she capable of?"

Gino ran. He didn't know why they wanted him, it didn't matter. He ran. He scaled the corrugated steel fence at the end of the alley and stepped nimbly to the drainpipe, then shinnied up towards the roof of the four story building. The uniformed officer appeared in the alley below, spotted him on the roof and shouted for him to stop. He dodged down the far side of the roof, slid on the tile, but regained his footing. He accomplished the small jump to the next building with ease.

How he needed his fix. The adrenaline of fear thundered through him, but he ached for his drugs. He made it to the far side of the roof and looked down. No police yet. He dropped down to the fire escape. He raced down the stairway and was to the second floor when the officer appeared in the alley below him. He started back up.

"Hold it!" came the shout.

He looked up to see another officer at the top of the escape. He sat down on the step, shaking in fear and withdrawal.

Gino sat shivering and sweating in the interrogation room in HPD. Before him, cool and ever observant, stood the imposing figure of Steve McGarrett. At the door, less obvious, stood Danny Williams, also watching for any clues.

"What are you afraid of, Gino?" McGarrett asked kindly.

He almost giggled. "Your--your cops chase me down, drag me in here and you ask me why I'm afraid?"

"Where were you for the last two days?"

He shrugged, staring at the table. "Around."

"Did your mother tell you you were wanted in questioning?"

"I haven't seen her in six days. We--we don't get along much." He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I need a drink." Danny poured him some water which he guzzled instantly.

"How long since your last fix, Gino?" Steve asked, just as quietly.
"What?" He asked, knowing the question.

"You didn't find any last night. Did you buy the night before?"

"No," he murmured.

"How about the night before that?"

He frowned. "Look, I don't know why you want me. I didn't do nothing wrong. You didn't catch me with any dope. It's not a crime to be strung out."

"We can help you get clean, Gino," Danny offered.

He laughed. "I don't wanna be clean. I like my highs, it's the only good thing in life. I live for it, man. What would I do without it?"

"You may be about to find out," Steve remarked. "Your friend Frankie is dead."
"Yeah, I know," he answered.

"You know a Charlie Mansfield?"

He squinted and shook his head no.

"He's dead, too. Now," Steve drew closer, "we know Frankie, Quint, and Charlie were there when Officer Lawee was killed. Were you there, too?"

Gino looked away. "No, man, I don't know nothin'."

"What are you afraid of, Gino?" Steve demanded. "You are either the next victim or you are about to be charged with murder."

Gino stared at him. "I didn't do nothin'!"

"If you know who killed Lawee and you don't help us, it's just the same. You're helping the killer."

He rubbed his hands on his clothes. "I really need a fix, man."

"I can get you help there," he promised.

"I just wanted to feel good. Frankie an' me went to Artie. Frankie used him all the time. He always has good stuff. He had this guy with him that night."

"What guy?"

"I don't know."

A picture of Charlie's body was waved before him.

"Yeah, that's the guy."

Charlie Mansfield," Steve supplied.

"Oh." Gino licked his lips. "Well, he and Artie, they had the stuff. Then this cop just walks in. Artie--he must have got scared. We all got scared and ran."

"Who stabbed Lawee?" Steve asked, leaning close.

Gino scratched at his sweaty arms. "Why, Artie. He was so scared. We ran. Artie ran. An' that cop, he was movin' and all. I thought he'd be okay. But he died." He was quiet now. "I really need my fix."

"Danno, get the doc up here and get him fixed up. Then let's find out what he knows about this Artie."

Danny parked once again at the high school. Gino's description of Artie Bender was being circulated amongst the whole force, so it would not be long before he was picked up. But it wasn't the end. Artie had not killed Charlie. They were partners. Gino's description of Artie to be about five foot three inches, weighing only about 100 pounds confirmed he had not killed Quint either. It looked as if a warrant for Tom Dagit was becoming more likely. Danny hoped when they got Artie, Dagit would be tied in.

It was almost 4:30 p.m. School had been out for an hour. Leaving the car, Danny crossed to the rear of the building and tried the steel door to the basement. Much to his amazement, it was unlocked. He slipped inside and descended through the darkness to Tom's mop area. He turned on the light. The floor had been swept clean, things had been moved around again since he and Duke had been there. The bags of sand were still in the corner. He looked into a few boxes, into the dark corners hoping to find a .38 caliber pistol that had killed Mansfield, drugs, or anything else unusual. Odd how Mansfield's dad was principal, Mansfield tied in, this Artie had lived in the basement. Danny wondered if Lucas himself was in this.
The door above opened and Danny slipped out of sight. He drew his gun, expecting Artie to make his appearance.

"Artie?" called a voice. "You down here?" Tom Dagit descended the steps to the basement. He noticed the light had been left on. "Artie?" He sounded more suspicious. Crossing nearer the sink, he pushed back a carton of cleaning chemicals and case of toilet paper, and opened the cardboard carton behind. The merchandise was all there. But who had been here? Artie was never so careless as to leave on the light.

"Hold it, Dagit," Danny said, stepping out, gun drawn.

He spun away from the box, plastic bag of white powder still in his left hand.

"Step aside," Danny ordered.

Tom dropped the drugs on the top of the box and raised both hands to shoulder height. "Look, I just let the kid live here--he had no place to go."

"And let him store his drug warehouse here also?" Danny replied. "How neighborly of you. Come on, let's go."

"Look, you can't tie me to any of this. I'm just the janitor. I came for my mop. I just found that stuff now. You didn't give me time to report it."

"Let's go. We can sort this out later." He motioned Dagit to move. Danny watched each movement with care. Dagit was a huge man, but Danny had learned the gun can be a great equalizer.

Dagit turned without further comment, and started up the stairway. "This isn't what it looks like," he remarked as he opened the steel door at the top. With sudden speed, he leapt through the door, then slammed it shut in Danny's face, knocking him back down the steps.

At the bottom, Danny jumped to his feet and raced back up, throwing the door open just in time to see Dagit vanish around the corner of the building. He needed to choose between following and calling for backup. He followed.

Dagit had dodged around the corner of the building and run to the far end. He knew every inch and hiding place on the property. Near the far end, he bent down and pulled up the manhole cover to the sewer. He slid it to the side and had one foot on the ladder when Danny around the far corner.

"Hold it!" Danny shouted.

Dagit stepped back out and dodged into the alcove just a few feet away knowing Williams would not know this was a blind alley. He snatched up the shovel that had been leaning against the wall.

Danny raced to the edge of the alcove corner he had seen Dagit vanish around and stopped. He leapt around the corner, gun extended first.

Tom brought the shovel down with all his might against Danny's gun hand with the desired effect. The gun hit the ground and, as Danny scrambled after it, Tom gave the gun a perfect soccer kick into the open manhole. It hit the sewer far below with a splash. Danny made a dive for Dagit's legs and the janitor swung the shovel, hitting him in the side of the head. He dropped the shovel and ran.

His head ringing and right hand throbbing, now weaponless, Danny got back to his feet and decided it was time for that backup. He turned towards the mouth of the alcove when the path was suddenly blocked by a young man, open knife in his hand.
"Why are you after Tom, cop?" He demanded.

"Artie Bender?" Danny guessed.

He did not reply, just watched Danny intently, knife up and ready. "I can't let you hurt Tom."

"I'm not going to hurt him, just talk to him," Danny replied.

Artie hesitated. "I didn't mean to kill that cop, you know. He scared me."

"We all get a little scared now and then," Danny muttered, trying not to reveal his own fear.

Artie took a step closer. "Sorry, man. You're in the way." He took a calculated, savage swipe with the knife.

Danny dodged it, stepped backward, deeper into the alcove. "Artie, stop and think. Let it stop here. Now. It's not too late."

"Hell it's not." Artie made another lunge with the knife.

Danny retreated again, knowing he was stepping the wrong way, away from the exit. He focused on the knife and noticed the broken tip. "Let me help you."

"Help me into the electric chair, huh? I killed a cop here!" Artie shouted.

"You are sixteen!" Danny shouted back. "There are things we can do to help you!"
Artie believed none of this. No one ever had helped him unless they had something to gain.

There was a movement in the alcove entrance. "Anna Marie!" Danny gasped as she stood there, gun clutched in both hands. "Wait!" His attention had been distracted a fraction of a moment and Artie drove in with the knife again, finding his target. Danny attempted to twist away and almost made it as the blade sliced into his right side. He went down in shock from the searing pain at the same moment there was the gun blast. Artie collapsed in a heap on the concrete. "Anna Marie!" Danny gasped,
using the wall for assistance.

She looked at him. "I'm gonna get that other bastard," she declared, turned and ran.

"Wait!" He pleaded, gripping his side and stumbling out of the alcove. He was just in time to see her go inside the door to the school. She must have seen Dagit go in there, he decided. Left hand clutching his bleeding right side, he followed.

The hallway was quiet, cool, semi-lit. He listened and could hear hurried footsteps. He looked around the corner, but could see nothing. Trying to remember the layout of the school, he placed the Math wing, Science wing. He moved to the next hallway. Silence now. Administration wing. There were faint echoes of voices--men's voices from the offices ahead. To the right branched another corridor. He waited a moment, trying to catch his breath, knowing someone to be just around the corner against the wall and knowing who it was.

He swung quickly around the corner and Anna Marie jumped and gasped. "Sssssh," he urged urgently.

She frowned at him. The pistol was still in her hands. "How'd you get in here?" She demanded.

"Give me your gun," he whispered back.

"No way," she replied.

"Anna Marie," he murmured, breathing heavily, "I'm not asking."

She looked at the blood dripping on the floor. "You can't do anything. Look at you." She pulled away, headed for the translucent glass door to the office.

The voices were louder, audible. "So you came here!"

"I need the money to get out now!" That voice was Tom Dagit's. "They take me, they take you."

Anna Marie burst through the door, pointing her gun. "Hold it right there!" She yelled at Tom and Lucas.

Lucas looked at her in wonder. "Who are you?"

Danny followed her through the door, holding onto the wall to stay upright. He gestured a bloody hand towards Dagit. "You are under arrest for resisting arrest and assault on a police officer..."

Lucas almost chuckled, also waving towards Tom. "He came in here ranting about money. He held me up--include that in your charges."

McGarrett pulled up outside the high school with a screech of brakes. He jumped out one side, Duke the other. He hated with a passion these anonymous tips. There was always an ulterior motive. But the tip about shots fired at the school had to be answered, and Williams had not checked in when called. Steve spotted Danno's car right away and went to it while Duke started out across the school grounds.

Duke noticed the open manhole quickly and upon arriving there, saw Artie's body in the alcove. "Steve!"

"Our friend Artie Bender, I assume," Steve commented upon his approach.

"Shot in the back," Duke told him.

"Yeah, but there's blood on the knife." He noticed the broken tip.

"Call for backup, Duke." Steve followed the droplets of blood that led
to the school. There was blood on the door knob. Gun drawn, he followed the blood trail down the hallway.

Dagit turned to face Lucas in rage. "I warn you, Mansfield, I'm not going to take this alone!"

"What kind of wild accusations are you throwing around here? I've done everything I could in the last five years to make this campus drug free. My mistake was in hiring a louse like you who brought the pushers-" Lucas didn't get an opportunity to complete his sentence.

Dagit lunged for Anna Marie, grabbing her weapon, and fired at Lucas.

Upon hearing the gunshot, McGarrett broke into a full run, bursting through the door.
Dagit swung towards him.

"Drop it!" he shouted, his .38 leveled at the janitor's head.

Dagit dropped the weapon and raised his arms. "He was the major supplier for this whole end of town," he bellowed.

Duke appeared in the doorway, gun in hand also. He moved to Lucas' limp body in the chair. He shook his head.

"Duke, book him." Steve gestured towards Tom. He turned to Danny. "What happened to you, Brudder?"

"Nothing that won't heal." He winced.

"Let's find you a doctor." He glanced at Anna Marie. "You remain available."

It was hard to believe this still wasn't over. Rich Lawee's killer was gone, the murder solved, but it still was not finished. With a heavy heart, Steve summoned Anna Marie to the office two days later.

She entered and noticed Danny present in the office. "How are you doing, Williams?" She asked cordially.

"Moving a little slow," he replied.

She cocked an eyebrow.

Steve motioned her to a chair. "Have a seat."

She did so.

"We have a lot of holes left that I hope you can fill in for us regarding
your brother's death."

"Oh?" She asked.

"You first heard about Charlie Mansfield's involvement from Fu Susang."
She nodded.

"What else did you get from Fu?"

"Like what?" She replied.

Steve laid the small gun on his desk. ".38 caliber. Three shots left. He didn't even give you a full clip."

She grinned. "I'm not a crime solver, just a citizen."

"What did you do with your information?"

"You know what I did. I brought it to you!" Anger was rising in her voice.

He nodded. "You did. Then you followed me knowing I'd take you right to Charlie. And when you got the opportunity, you shot him."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Ballistics reports the same gun that shot Artie and Lucas shot Charlie. Then you followed Danno until he found Artie for you."

"I saved his life!" She snapped.

"Maybe, but that's besides the point. Your goal was to kill Artie, not
to save Danno."

"That'll be pretty hard to prove," she retorted. "Did you see the newspaper? Half the people in this town think I'm a hero. They claim I made the punishment fit the crime. Maybe I should have been the family cop."

McGarrett struggled to control his anger. "Police are trained carefully. We do not operate above or around the law, but through it. No doubt there will be a lot of sentiment for you and no doubt you'll get your charge reduced. Your punishment will, without a doubt, not fit your crime. Book her, Danno, two counts of murder one."