The Fire Thief

by Debra Bokur

  After a cup of strong Kona coffee and two bowls of cereal—the second one doused with coffee creamer—Walter got dressed and headed out.

  * * *

  Several miles away, Kali was also beginning the day. Like Walter, she had been jarred awake by a call from Makena, which she’d ignored.

  She could hear the ding, ding, ding of a hammer striking an anvil and put down her coffee cup. Elvar was up and working. It would probably be a good idea to stop by and offer her apologies for ignoring his dinner invitation to share in Birta’s freshly made soup. Her thoughts turned involuntarily to his weapons commission.

  The grass along the pathway was still damp with dew. She could see the glow from the already hot forge, as well as Elvar’s back as he slipped a piece of iron into the forge’s belly.

  “Good morning,” she called, hoping she wouldn’t startle him.

  “Hi there,” he said, smiling over his shoulder.

  “Sorry I didn’t call to say I wasn’t going to make it over for dinner,” Kali said. “I hope your sister’s not furious with me.”

  Elvar laughed. “No, no, everything’s fine. No one got out the fine china or anything. Just a casual invitation.” He fumbled a bit as he answered. “Of course, Birta probably wanted to know if you’ve located the missing solar panels yet and locked the thief safely away.”

  Kali smiled wryly. “Working on it. No luck so far finding out who’s behind it or where the panels are going.”

  She looked curiously at the blob of molten metal protruding from the forge. As usual at this stage, she couldn’t really tell what he was making.

  “Something new?” she asked.

  “Yes, a commission from a boar hunter. I’m working on a spear tip. He wants a Hawaiian hunting scene worked into the long handle. It’s a little more challenging than the usual weapon shape I make. I really need a bigger forge.”

  She took a deep breath. “Have you ever had a commission for a war club with shark’s teeth?”

  He turned, looked at her with curiosity.

  “Sure,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  She made an effort to keep her voice even when she said, “Just curious. I know a lot of authentic weapons have to be made from specific kinds of wood.”

  “The older, the better,” he said. He smiled, but it seemed forced.

  “Where do you find old wood?” she asked.

  “It’s around if you look for it.”

  She was about to ask him for details when her cell phone rang again. She nodded to Elvar and walked back along the path, out of earshot. It was Walter on the other end, and he didn’t sound especially happy.

  “You’re up bright and early,” she said.

  “Banner day, Kali. Makena’s been a pain in the ass all morning, and Polunu Hausuka just showed up.”

  Kali heaved a sigh of relief. Talking to Polunu was a priority. “He have anything to say about a missing war club?”

  “He hasn’t said a thing,” said Walter. “Nor is he likely to, considering we just fished his body out of the seaweed down on the beach at Hana Bay. Looks like he’s been dead at least a couple of days.”

  Kali caught her breath. “That’s not too far from where Kekipi’s body was. Does it look like an accident?”

  “Not unless he tied a rope around his own ankle before he jumped into the water.”

  “Great,” said Kali. “Anything else?”

  “Not yet. CSI officer from the main station is there. Hara’s talking to everyone who was around the area. He’s still recovering from taking the call this morning from some tourists, and being the first one of us to see the body. I recognized our favorite pickpocket as soon as I saw what’s left of him. We’ve got a team combing the immediate area, and both the police chief and the mayor have already called to ask me why in the hell people keep finding bodies on our stretch of beach.”

  “And?”

  Walter sighed. “I told them it’s our new tourism campaign. Come to Hana and never leave. No one thought it was very funny.”

  “Maybe because it’s not.” She frowned. “And what did you say about Makena?”

  “She’s been calling me all morning, trying to sell some info about something she saw on the beach . . .” Walter’s voice trailed off.

  “She called me, too,” said Kali, “but I didn’t bother to answer it.”

  “Hell. You don’t think she actually saw something, do you? She said she was going to take her offer to someone with a fancy boat.”

  Kali felt a prickle of uneasiness. Was it possible that Makena had seen something that involved Polunu? Most likely not, but it would be a good idea to find her and ask, even if it took a bribe to get an answer out of her.

  “It seems unlikely, but I’ll see if I can find her,” she said.

  Trouble was, there was never any easy way to find Makena, especially if she didn’t want to be found.

  “I’ll check in as soon as I have something to tell you,” Kali said. “I’ll call her back. Meanwhile, let’s issue an official alert—tell everyone to keep an eye out for her. No telling where on the island she might be.”

  Walter hung up, and Kali felt the worry settle in and take hold like a deep, unwelcome frost. Makena was nothing but trouble, but Kali didn’t want her next encounter with her to involve identifying her lifeless, needle-scored body.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was perfectly true that Makena was a whore and a drug addict, but she wasn’t entirely without ambition. And she certainly possessed her share of street smarts. She had clearly seen one man dump a second man into the water out of a small boat. And it had certainly appeared that the first man’s feet were tied together.

  She made her way along the beach trails in Waiana-panapa State Park, just north of Hana. She walked slowly along the interior park paths, waiting until she saw a young couple leave their cabin and head for the beach. She broke one of the cabin windows and climbed inside, then took a hot shower and helped herself to a pair of clean shorts and a blue T-shirt advertising some obscure concert. They hung on her small frame, far too large, but they were free of the stench of months of sleeping outside, unwashed.

  She made herself half a peanut butter sandwich out of supplies she found in a cooler in the kitchen, leaving smears of peanut butter on the cooler’s lid, and the loaf of bread open on the floor. By the time she had helped herself to a man’s watch, which had been left on the shelf above the bathroom sink, and had borrowed one of the two toothbrushes that were drying in a water glass, she’d come up with a plan of sorts.

  Collecting any money for what she’d seen would involve finding out who owned the fancy boat. The name, Beryl, had been written clearly in blue script on the stern, which should be useful. Her plan was to head for the marina at Hana Bay, across from the hotel complex. Someone there should be familiar with a powerboat as large as the Beryl.

  After walking to the main road, she hitched a ride from a sympathetic woman in a gray Toyota and got out near the hotel. She made her way down to the marina and found the small office that dealt with slip rentals, fuel pumps, and general maintenance issues.

  The manager was at the desk. He looked up as she came in, a preoccupied expression on his face. It changed to one of caution when he saw Makena.

  “What is it, honey?” the manager asked, his voice far from friendly.

  Makena scowled, nervously twisting a strand of hair in her fingers. “I’m trying to find a boat called the Beryl.” Even as she spoke, her eyes scanned the racks of food near the cash register, then assessed the manager’s proximity. “You know where it is or who owns it?”

  The manager frowned at her disheveled state. “Someone owe you a twenty?” he asked, his voice unkind.

  “Piss off,” she said. “I left something on the boat, and I need to get it back.”

  His face was blank. “Nope. Never heard of the Beryl and don’t know who she belongs to,” he said. “Could be docked anywhere. This is an island. It’s nothing but coastline and coves. N
ow scram. And don’t let me see you around here again.”

  She tried again, her voice cajoling. “You don’t understand. I left my mother’s necklace on the boat while it was in the cove by the state park. It’s valuable. I have to get it back, or you know how it is. My parents will throw a fit.”

  He laughed. “Oh, sure. A valuable necklace. Family heirloom with rubies, was it?” He leaned across the desk. His voice was sharp when he said, “Listen, kid, I don’t know what you’re up to, but if you’ve stolen something, lost some drugs, or have gotten yourself pregnant, I don’t give a crap. Get out of here now, or I’ll call the cops.”

  Makena turned and flounced out the door, then slammed it behind her. She walked to the edge of the marina and sat down on the wooden planks, then leaned her back against a piling, fuming. She had no backup plan. She got up and found a spot closer to the office that offered some shade, and made herself comfortable. She was used to having nowhere to go.

  Inside the office, the manager did a quick search on his computer for boats registered in Hana. The Beryl was listed, and it didn’t take long to come up with a phone number. Giving the owner a heads-up that some crack kid was looking for him could be a smart move. There might even be a reward for passing along the information.

  He dialed the number and let the phone ring. There was no answer, but on the fourth ring, an answering machine picked up.

  “Aloha . . .” He hesitated. “This is Hana Marina. There was a young woman here earlier, trying to track down the owner of the Beryl. Says she left a valuable necklace on board while your boat was moored at the state park. It didn’t sound legit somehow, so I told her we weren’t familiar with the boat, but it seemed to me that you might like to know someone’s looking for you.” He hesitated again. “Okay. Well, anyway, hope you’re having a nice afternoon.” And with that, he hung up.

  CHAPTER 34

  Police chief Leo Pait tapped his long, thin fingers on the surface of his desk. On the other side, Walter sat stiffly on a metal folding chair. Pait’s office was being redecorated, and most of the furnishings had been covered up with paint cloths.

  “Walter, what we have here is a public relations disaster,” said Pait, leaning back and pushing the fingers of one hand through his thinning strands of hair. “Three bodies—one a grandmother, one a schoolboy, and the other an infamous local criminal with a sinker attached to him. The tourists are getting spooked. A couple of Hana bed-and-breakfasts and both the small hotels have advised their guests to stay off the beaches at night.”

  “The grandmother killing happened in Kihei. And Polunu Hausuka was a pickpocket, at best,” said Walter defensively.

  “What? Oh, the thief. Regardless. Violent loss of human life, et cetera. Doesn’t look good on the local news. And that actor with the podcast is getting everyone all stirred up. What we want is reporters covering cultural festivals, restaurant openings, film stars staying at the resorts.”

  “Chief, I—”

  “Don’t give me excuses, Walter. I’ve known you too long. Are you and your cadre of law enforcement misfits going rogue on me over there on the other side of the island?”

  Walter sighed, regarding Pait with a degree of apprehension. The man was intimidating. Pale skinned, extremely tall, and equally thin, he reminded Walter of a ghostly basketball player.

  “Hardly, Chief. We’ve been devoting every spare resource to trying to find out what happened to the boy. And we’ve got this solar-panel investigation in full swing. As you know, we just had a major breakthrough in determining what the murder weapon was in the case of the boy.”

  “Likely was. You haven’t produced an actual weapon.”

  “Granted, but we’ve got some good leads.”

  “Like the one that washed up on the beach this morning and gave a bunch of tourists the heebie-jeebies?”

  Walter was silent for a moment. “A setback, sir. That’s all.”

  “Tell me again what the connection is between the grandmother, the boy, and the second body?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Damn right, you didn’t. And that’s my point. You don’t even know if there is one.”

  A desk sergeant stuck his head around the office door.

  “Painters are here, Chief.”

  “Send them in,” said Pait. “Get out of here, Walter. Find out what the hell’s going on over there on your beaches, and fast. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Walter got up and left Pait’s office. He walked slowly through the building, then out into the glaring sunshine of the parking lot. The medical examiner’s office was a few blocks away, and he drove there next, fully expecting another lecture.

  He was shown through the front of the building to the stairs leading to the lower level and the autopsy room. He made his way down the stairs, not looking forward to what was likely to be on display. Stitches was there. She looked up and saw him enter the autopsy room’s viewing area, which was separated from her work space by a wall of glass. She nodded to the young doctor assisting her and walked through the connecting door, removing her gloves and mask.

  “I assume you’re here for Polunu Hausuka, not Grace Sawyer, but you don’t want to go in there,” she said in greeting. “Stinks to high heaven. He was in the water awhile, and the fish had a go at a lot of his soft tissue. Only one eye left.”

  Walter felt his stomach lurch. “Thanks for the image,” he said.

  “But you can look from here,” she said, standing at the glass and gesturing for Walter to join her. In the next room, Polunu’s disfigured body was laid out under a set of glaring lights. Stitches pushed a button on the wall next to the edge of the glass, activating an intercom.

  “Lift up his right leg,” she directed the other doctor. He did as she asked. Walter could clearly see a section of rope hanging from the blackened ankle. “His ankles were tied together and probably weighted, though we don’t know what with. The rope was tied clumsily, so it came loose, probably through the motion of the current. Most likely, he was dropped off a ways from the shore, but not very far. Otherwise we probably wouldn’t have seen him for much longer—or at all, if something bigger found him and was hungry enough.”

  “So, carried from the beach out into deeper water?”

  “My guess would be he was dropped off a boat at some point fairly close to the shore, then dragged along underwater by the current until he got lodged on some submerged lava. The skin on the body—particularly the legs—is scratched and broken, but those injuries occurred after death and are consistent with repeatedly hitting sharp rocks.”

  “How long was he in the water?”

  “Three days at most. Given the rate of the current, that would suggest he might have been put into the water somewhere in the vicinity of Haleakal National Park, up near Kipahulu.”

  “And he drowned?”

  “Yes, but the interesting thing is that his wrists weren’t bound. Whoever tied his ankles probably did so just to make the body sink, not to keep him subdued. We’re testing right now to see if there are any correspondingly significant amounts of narcotics or alcohol in his system.”

  “If there are, then he probably knew the person who put the weight around his ankles.”

  “Probably. As I’m sure you’re aware, statistically, most murders are committed by someone known to the victim.”

  Walter was silent. In Polunu’s case, there was most likely a long list of people he’d made enemies with over the years. Walter had a sudden urge to go home and take a nap.

  “Anything else?” he asked, preparing to leave.

  “He wasn’t circumcised.”

  Walter looked at Stitches and shook his head. She was a mystery. And as far as he was concerned, she could stay that way.

  CHAPTER 35

  Located at latitude 20.30° North and longitude 156.00° West, the Alenuihaha Channel between Maui and the village of Hawi on the northern tip of the Big Island was over thirty miles of deep, treacherous water. In places, the depth of the wat
er dropped to more than six thousand feet, and the coastal mountains that bordered the channel on both sides helped to create a wind tunnel with a legendary appetite, one that had claimed more than one boat and more than one life.

  The builder was happy to disregard what others might consider risky, and willingly made the channel crossing whenever enough solar panels had been accumulated by his Maui contact to make the trip worthwhile. He was unlikely to let rumors or legends about a stretch of sea deter him from increasing his already considerable profit margins.

  He’d learned two important lessons early on in the construction business: first, that anything perceived as environmentally friendly, or “green,” was a huge psychological sales tool that appealed to a certain home-buying demographic; and second, the less he spent on building materials, the more he could shuffle into his own bank account. The money he was saving on solar arrays alone was going to finance amply a large private compound on the relatively undeveloped island of Kaua‘i. He’d already drawn up the plans, and after he settled in, he’d spend his free time traveling around the world.

  A slender woman poked her head up through the hatch of the cruiser’s galley.

  “Hungry, Dad? I’m thinking of making a salad. Would you like one?”

  “Sounds great, honey. Extra bacon bits for me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, but under duress. You know they aren’t good for you.”

  “Nice to know someone cares.”

  She shook her head. “It’s my job to keep you healthy. I’m going to give you grandkids someday. And at some point I plan to leave them with you for a few months so I can go to Paris and relax.”

  He laughed as she disappeared belowdecks. He motored along the coast, captaining the sleek craft from the deep upholstered seating area of the cockpit. At the marina, he pulled the boat up carefully next to the fueling station and tied the boat to the cleats on the dock, then removed the nozzle from the diesel tank. He inserted his credit card in the pay station, and an error flashed across the screen: out of order. He swore, looking up toward the office area. The marina was very quiet, and most of the boats bobbed peacefully in their slips. A few people were visible, going leisurely about their business. He put his card back into his wallet and walked the length of the dock, then climbed the narrow stairs that led to the office area.