The Yellow Hibiscus

In the basement at 1 Police Plaza in New York City, three policemen sat.

“Okay,” Captain Andy Powell said, reviewing a stack of files in front of him. “The mayor and the Governor want these fires to stop, and I mean now! Another victim killed by a diamond! What do you have?” he demanded.

Sgt. Daniel Booker sneezed.

“Lorna’s still here?” Captain Powell asked, looking up from the files in front of him at Sgt. Booker, annoyed.

“Who is Lorna?” Detective Paul Saunders whispered to Sgt. Booker.

Sgt. Booker blew his nose and imparted, “She is my cold.”

Det. Saunders peered at him through thick lens glasses and wondered aloud, “You name your cold?”

Sgt. Booker faced him and relate, “I can’t seem to get rid of it,” stifling another sneeze

Det. Saunders nodded, “so why not give it a name.”

Sgt. Booker smiled in approval.

“Booker, the only reason why you are still on this case, is because you are the best man I have. Now give me what you got,” Captain Powell commanded.

“The third victim is a female. Same MO as the second victim, all Hawaiians. Victims had no arrest, not even a jaywalking ticket. The security guard at the Hawaiian Tourist Board said a blonde hair…