by Debra Bokur
“Pretty impressive, aren’t they?” said a friendly male voice. She turned, startled, and saw a man in his early thirties standing beside her. His bright blue eyes were framed by hair that was nearly the same shade as copper. Kali glanced quickly at his shoulder. His name tag, which read JACK BADER, PH.D., included a ribbon with the word Presenter written in gold lettering down its length.
“Very impressive,” she agreed. “I guess I didn’t know there were so many types of turbines.”
“More than you’d imagine. There are even design teams around the world producing turbines that look more like huge art installations than windmills. In the renewable energy field, we’re always tweaking to see if we can come up with more efficient models, or ones that integrate less intrusively into various landscapes or that can function offshore on floating platforms in distant locations.” His hands moved as he spoke, as if he were illustrating some vital point. She noticed that his jacket fit poorly over his wide, rugged shoulders.
“Are you one of the designers?”
“Actually, I don’t work in wind at all.” He smiled. “My field’s geothermal energy. Volcano research, specifically.”
Her face betrayed her disappointment. “Not solar, then?”
Jack smiled. “No, though I know a few of the solar researchers at NREL. Is that what you’re interested in?”
She nodded and introduced herself, then explained that she was at the conference as part of an investigation.
He looked surprised but extended his hand. “Well, Detective Mhoe, maybe I can be of some help, anyway. My name’s Jack, by the way. Jack Bader, but I guess my badge already gave that away.”
She took his hand and did her best to smile in return. “Nice to meet you, Jack. And it’s Kali, please.” She glanced around, trying to quell her impatience. The floor of the conference center was becoming increasingly crowded, and with it came a definite and corresponding escalation in the din. “To tell you the truth, I’d be grateful if I could ask you a few questions. Is there somewhere a little less noisy where we could talk for a few minutes?”
He looked down at his watch, frowning. “I actually have to speak pretty soon and should really go and make sure everything’s ready. The last time I had to present at a conference, my assistant—well, my ex-assistant—put the wrong notes on the podium, and I wound up looking and sounding like a complete idiot. I’m afraid I’m not much good at winging it.”
Kali tried to look sympathetic but was secretly appalled at the idea of standing in front of an auditorium full of strangers and speaking into a microphone.
“That’s okay,” she said. “Maybe you could point me in the direction of someone who could answer a few questions about solar panels.”
Jack thought for a moment and then pointed down a row of booths.
“Myra—Dr. Myra Wilson—is down there with the Pure Sun folks. She’d be perfect.” He smiled, hesitating. “Of course, I’d be happy to spend some time later on telling you anything you don’t already know about volcanoes.”
She laughed. “I know when one’s about to erupt, I suppose. Most native Hawaiians have an intuitive sixth sense about that kind of thing.”
“Really?” he said, sounding intrigued. He hesitated again, his cheeks flushing with sudden embarrassment. “Well, then. Maybe, instead, you could tell me everything I don’t already know about volcanoes.”
Kali was startled. Was he flirting with her? Surely not. She looked at him closely, at his earnest gaze, which appeared to be sincere. Was it her tattoos? Perhaps he was simply overcome with the exotic sense of being far away from home on a tropical island for a few days, confronted by a bona fide native? Lots of things, she reflected wryly, could interfere with the judgment calls made by attractive men.
“Well . . . I can’t say that I know that much about the science end of volcanoes. But I could tell you a legend or two,” she said, watching closely for his reaction. He seemed pleased, and she relaxed, suddenly realizing that she’d actually been holding her breath. She spoke again quickly before she had time to think long enough to change her mind. “Coffee later? Perhaps after the floor closes?”
Jack’s face widened into a broad smile, and she noticed how even and sparkling white his teeth were.
“Sounds great. I’m staying at the hotel next door, at the Ala Moana,” he said. “Seemed easier than trying to find my way around a city I’ve never been to.”
“I’m staying there, too.” She hesitated, so out of practice when it came to anything even close to social interaction that she had no idea what to say next. “We could meet down in the lobby later, if that works for you. Say, six o’clock?”
“Perfect.” Jack suddenly looked shy. “I’m looking forward to it already,” he said, then added in a slightly flustered tone, “The volcano legends, I mean.” Kali noticed how his face flushed so brightly, it nearly matched the shade of his hair. The effect was strangely charming, and she grinned.
“Okay. So, see you later, then,” she said, then made her way down the exhibit aisle toward the Pure Sun display. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack hurrying toward the conference rooms, his coppery hair glinting beneath the harsh lights of the room.
CHAPTER 24
Dr. Myra Wilson turned out to be a tiny woman with oversize glasses and a serious, earnest expression on her pale face. For someone who worked in sun energy, Kali thought to herself, she didn’t seem to be exposed to it very often. She introduced herself, and Wilson grasped her hand with the overcompensation of the physically less endowed, then pumped it energetically while quickly scanning Kali’s face.
“Last time I was approached by anyone connected to the cops, it was for being criminally boring,” she said, then laughed at her own joke.
Kali tried to smile encouragingly. “I guess I’ve never thought of scientists as being particularly funny,” she said.
“Oh, we’re not.”
Refrain from commenting, Kali told herself. She leaned over and looked closely at a chart pinned to one wall of the display, which showed the percentage of solar power being generated in various areas of the world. She was surprised that Hawaii didn’t rank very high.
“I guess we don’t get as much sunshine as I thought,” she said, gesturing toward the chart.
“Ahh,” said Wilson in response, nodding her head knowingly, “the United States in general is pretty far behind the curve when it comes to alternative-energy generation and use, even in obviously suitable locations like Hawaii. It’s unfortunate but true nonetheless. Relationships between oil companies and politicians have a lot to do with that, of course. There’s a lack of incentive to find other sources if your perks and funding come from oil companies.”
“But interest is picking up, isn’t it? My own home is completely off the grid, and pretty much the entire area of the island where I live is using solar power.”
Wilson looked back at her chart. “Yes, interest is picking up, and the funding for research and development has definitely improved over the past few years, but it still isn’t where it should be. But the politics of renewable energy probably isn’t what you wanted to discuss with me, is it? Is someone holding the sun for ransom?”
Kali tried to hide her surprise. “Not far off the mark,” she said. “Solar panels are disappearing off the roofs of houses on Maui, and we’re trying to figure out what’s happening to them.”
“Being resold, most likely,” said Wilson, shrugging. “Until pretty recently, they weren’t being manufactured with easily distinguishable registration marks or other identifiers. That’s changing, but most of them look pretty much alike, and if they were bought before two thousand seven, chances are they’d be difficult to track or identify as having been removed from a specific location.”
“So I’ve discovered,” Kali agreed wryly. “Perhaps you could tell me if you’ve heard of any kind of black market for them? We don’t think they’re leaving the islands, but the distributors we’ve checked out so far all seem to be legi
timate dealers.”
Wilson picked up a small model of a photovoltaic array that was part of her display.
“Maybe,” she said slowly, “you’re looking in the wrong place. I’d talk to some of the independent builders. Could be someone is selling directly to them. Bypass the dealer entirely, sell for cash, and everyone looks the other way. There’s so much new building going on around the country—including over here—plus enough of a growing demand for solar power, that some smaller contractors could be dealing in the back room, without a prospective home buyer ever knowing.” She returned the model to the display. “And,” she added, grinning, “from what I know about you Hawaiians, no one says anything unless they’re sure there’s no possibility of a distant cousin being involved.”
Kali ignored the culturally inappropriate comment and tried not to groan out loud at what Wilson was suggesting. First, she was absolutely right that the natives and locals didn’t necessarily look favorably on the influx of outsiders and their money. This was especially true—and, she admitted to herself, understandable—when it involved buying up island land and constructing obscenely large and pretentious houses that flaunted wealth in the face of near poverty. Especially the enormous, flashy vacation homes, which might be occupied for only a few weeks each year. More practically, and of far more immediate concern to Kali, was that while interviewing the handful of distributors doing business in the islands was one thing, tracking down every building contractor and verifying their supply sources would be a nightmare of monumental proportions.
She thanked Wilson for her time and walked slowly through the other displays and back out into the cool quiet of the convention center lobby. At least there was coffee to look forward to. But first, a long walk. The news about the attack victim’s death had been in the back of her mind all day. And something during her encounter with Wilson had stirred a vague feeling or memory. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was there nevertheless, submerged, waiting to take full form and rise to the surface of awareness.
CHAPTER 25
At the exact moment Kali was speaking with Wilson, Walter was making his way slowly along the Hana Highway, caught between a couple in a convertible who kept slamming on their brakes to take photographs and a pickup truck being driven by a hearing-impaired woman with curlers in her hair. At least Walter assumed she was hearing impaired, as the volume was turned up so high on her radio that he could feel the seat in his wife’s car vibrating. He mentally kicked himself for not being in his police car, but his wife had asked him to fill her tank for her next day’s trip to the west side of the island, and he was trying to avoid having to deal with her expression of matrimonial disappointment over dinner if he didn’t make the trip to the gas station.
He blasted his horn again, knowing even as he did so that it was a pointless action, and his effort got the zero reaction from the cars ahead that he’d expected. He sighed, took his foot off the accelerator, and crawled along with the rest of the traffic, before finally pulling in with relief at the pumps in front of George’s Island Market. He filled the tank and walked inside to say hello to George Tsui, who was, as usual, sitting behind the cash register, reading the day’s tabloid headlines. He kept his eyes focused on the paper but nodded to Walter in acknowledgment of his presence.
“Says here they’ve found out the queen of England has an illegitimate daughter hidden away in an Australian prison, and that they found another flying saucer back on the mainland. Someplace in Nevada. You hear any news of that over the police scanner?”
Walter shook his head, slipping a couple of twenties from his wallet and pushing them across the counter to George. “Nope. Not a word. Seems a shame, though, that Nevada would be the first impression intelligent beings from another planet might get of the earth.”
Both men were silent for a moment.
Finally, George nodded in agreement. “Seems like Bali or Rome or Honolulu would be a better choice.”
“Maybe not Honolulu.”
“Okay, maybe not, but you get my drift. Course, maybe they’ll come from someplace where sand doesn’t exist, and Nevada would seem like an interesting place to take pictures for the family travel album.”
George pushed the buttons on the cash register, and the drawer opened. He slid the money in without looking at the slot, his eyes peering over the top of his reading glasses at Walter. “You be sure to let me know if you hear about anything intergalactic heading this way, Walter. I’ll need time to stock up on those disposable cameras.”
Walter smiled and turned toward the door. He was about to leave when another man entered, brushing against Walter’s arm as he passed. Walter was annoyed—there was plenty of space, and it seemed almost as though the other man hadn’t even noticed the contact. As the man turned to walk toward the refrigerated cases in the back of the store, Walter saw with surprise that it was Polunu Hausuka. He opened the door of one of the cases and selected a sandwich, then made his way toward the cash register.
George looked up curiously and took note of Polunu. Walter winked at George, who immediately turned his attention back to his newspaper.
Polunu’s face twisted in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “You again. You following me around?”
“I was already here. Thought I’d stop in for a candy bar.”
“That’s really funny.” He eyed Walter’s considerable girth with contempt. “You always pick on people smaller than you?”
Walter suddenly looked serious, as if considering the question carefully. “No, not always. Just when the other person is a thief.”
“That’s true,” said George from behind the paper.
Polunu hesitated. He looked poised for sudden flight, shifting his weight rapidly from one foot to the other. He put the sandwich down on the counter. “Keep it,” he said to George.
Walter turned and watched as Polunu walked out of the door, empty-handed.
Behind him, George coughed gently. “Any desire to explain that little bit of action?” he asked, his voice betraying his interest. “I believe you just cost me a sale.”
“That’s one of my favorite pickpockets,” Walter answered.
“Really? I thought his talents were limited to small food items.”
“Has he been stealing from you, too, George?”
George shrugged. “Sure. I imagine he steals from everybody.”
“You don’t seem too concerned.”
“Didn’t say I like it. But it’s his nature. It’s who he is. Getting that guy to stop stealing would be like telling the birds to stop singing. It’s what they do. It’s what he does. Sometimes you have to accept the nature of others, even if it’s disagreeable.”
Walter looked at George with surprise. “That’s all very philosophical.”
George thumbed his chin, considering. “I suppose so. But if I ever actually catch him in the act, I’ll break his arm with this,” he said calmly, lifting a wooden baseball bat from where it was hidden behind the counter.
Walter laughed. “That might leave an impression. You’d really hit him with that?”
George replaced the bat, then looked at his friend solemnly.
“Of course I would,” he said. “It’s my nature.”
CHAPTER 26
On the stage, Polunu stumbled. His face was pale, beaded up with perspiration, as though he had suddenly been swept with a bout of nausea. There was a familiar man sitting on the corner barstool, watching him. It was the agreed-upon signal for an early morning face-to-face meeting the following day.
When the lights came up at the end of the show, Polunu took his time changing out of his costume. His message delivered, the man on the barstool had disappeared. As he left the resort parking lot, Polunu’s expression reflected a sense of defeat. There was no energy for the tourists’ pockets this evening.
In the morning he dragged himself out of bed before daybreak, exhausted from tossing and turning through the night. He loaded his van, then made himself a cup of coffe
e but left it on the table, untouched, worried about being late. He drove carefully to the wooded track leading to the drop-off. At the base of the hill, the lights of a fifty-four-foot Sunseeker cabin cruiser flickered in the harbor against the still-dark sky.
He backed the van carefully and stopped at the top of the narrow path leading to the cove where the man would have moored the large dinghy that served as the intermediary between the van and the boat. There was movement at the base of the path, and he saw the man’s stocky figure coming to meet him.
“Morning,” he said.
The man nodded, a half smile on his face. “Morning. Sorry for the extra run and the short notice.”
Polunu’s face relaxed in relief. Maybe the video hadn’t found its way to the entire world, after all, and his long, sleepless night had been for nothing. Maybe his public indiscretion had gone unnoticed, and he wasn’t about to be fired from his lucrative side job.
“Not a problem.” He gestured toward the dinghy with his head. “Do you want me to get started?”
“No time like the present,” the man answered, his voice still friendly.
This was the difficult part. The transfer to the rocking dinghy and onto the larger boat’s teak swim platform, then into the saloon and staterooms, had to be negotiated carefully and as quietly as possible. The cove where the dinghy was anchored was very secluded, but there was always the chance of being seen by a camper or hiker.
The morning’s enterprise took the better part of an hour, and by the time they’d finished, the first streaks of sunlight were well over the horizon, orange and warm. Polunu heaved a sigh of relief. The man had still not referenced the far too public YouTube video of the shopping battle he’d had with the woman tourist.
Standing on the expansive deck of the Sunseeker next to Polunu, the man gestured for him to sit down. “Unbelievable how fast the heat comes up in the morning,” he said. “I’ve got some juice and soda in the galley. Can I offer you something? If you want something hot, there’s coffee.”
