by Debra Bokur
“We’ll have to see,” she said.
“Tell me about your big rooster show, Angelo,” said Walter.
Angelo scowled. “Ain’t no roosters here.” He spread his arms wide, indicating the vast green lawn. He looked at Kali, bemused. “Not that I can see, anyway. Maybe your holy detective thinks she can see invisible things.”
They ignored his attempt to engage a confrontation. “You cured of your cockfight betting problem?” said Walter. “Word on the street is you’re the top dog when it comes to handicapping fights.”
Angelo threw back his head and laughed. “Now, who on earth told you such a thing?” he asked. He waited, clearly expecting Walter to share his source.
Walter merely smiled. “There’s a police rule: no kissing and telling,” he said. “What you can do is tell me when and where the big fight is supposed to go down.”
Angelo feigned surprise. “Big fight, huh? Guess no one told me. Not that I’d be interested, of course.”
“Some people think you’re the guy pulling all the strings,” said Kali.
He regarded her with contempt, directing his answer to Walter instead. “Who’s ‘some people,’ huh, brah? You just wanna start trouble. That’s all you cops ever wanna do.”
“Maybe we just want to make sure laws don’t get broken,” said Kali.
He swung on her, his voice betraying his disgust. “Whose laws? Roosters doing battle—that’s part of our history. You would know that if you were a real Hawaiian, not some sellout with a badge.”
“You know I’m local, Angelo,” she said.
He was combative. “You no Hawaiian. You just some bleached-out version.” He spat on the ground.
“Am I?” she asked him.
“How far back you go?” he asked in response, now clearly belligerent.
“All the way,” she said, remaining calm. She looked toward the grove of trees. “You know anything about these ‘ulu trees? What we use them for?”
He looked derisively at the fruit hanging from the branches of the tree closest to him. “Breadfruit is food. You stupid or something?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Food. Medicine, too—the sap is good for sprains. But it’s also what the old canoe builders use to seal the joints in their boats.”
“You read that somewhere, lady cop?”
“Where’s the fight, Angelo?” asked Walter, interrupting the direction the exchange had taken.
“Told you, there ain’t no fight.”
“Would you like to come down to the station and make a formal statement to that effect?” asked Walter, growing stern.
“Only if you got a warrant that says I have to,” offered Angelo. He put his hat back on, pulling it firmly toward his ears. He turned toward the mower, reaching into the engine. “Otherwise, this law-abiding man’s got work to do, and you’re wasting my valuable time.”
“That’s fine for right now.” Walter smiled. He winked at Angelo, who glared in return. “But I expect we’ll be seeing you around.”
“Oh yeah? When’s that?”
“When the cock crows, pal,” said Walter. “That’s when.”
CHAPTER 14
It was still dark when Kali woke the following morning. The transition from deep sleep to full consciousness was abrupt and instantaneous. One second she was floating above a placid dream lake, perfectly in harmony with the shimmering surface just beneath her; the next, she was sitting upright, heart pounding. She pushed aside the sheet tangled around her legs and swung her feet to the cool, rough floorboards.
She did a mental check: There was no scent of smoke, no sound of an intruder moving furtively through the adjoining room, no storm wind beating against the roof or walls of the house. She moved quietly across the room and into the hall, peeking into the guest room where Makena lay sleeping, undisturbed.
There was nothing obviously out of place, but something was nevertheless amiss. She saw the outline of Hilo standing at the window, watching her with interest. A soft, hopeful whimper left his lips, indicating that he would be more than happy to accompany her, even at this early hour, if she was interested in going for a walk.
She sensed what had shifted in the atmosphere. The Kilauea volcano on Hawai‘i Island was going to erupt. She stood beside Hilo at the window, looking toward the sloping hill that ran downward to the beach. There was nothing to be seen—the volcano was on the southeastern side of Hawai‘i Island, and both the width of the archipelago’s largest land mass and the wide ‘Alenuihh Channel separating the other island from Maui provided a visual buffer—but she knew that by daylight, the roar beneath the surface of the earth would have released its pent-up molten core, and that smoke and ash from Kilauea’s howling mouth would have formed a thick cloud above its head that could very well become visible as it drifted with the wind currents.
She moved quickly through the house to the front door and down the steps onto the lawn. Hilo padded behind her as she jogged parallel to the ocean, searching in the darkness for the short path through the hill’s vegetation that led to the water. The sea was deep in this spot, and there was very little here in the way of beach. To the left where the ground curved away was the small, natural cove and the short dock where the Gingerfish rested, held fast by her anchor. The thought triggered a mental image of the tiny charms decorating the lonely skeletons on Lna‘i. She shook her head, frustrated.
Farther off, to the right, the hillside dropped steadily to where a jumble of lava rocks formed a crude breakwater, running steadily downward in elevation to a curved arm of wild beach. One long, flat piece of lava rock jutted out from the stack of boulders supporting it. She made her way to it, stepping carefully onto the surface, Hilo close behind.
When she’d been a child, this rock had been her imaginary flying ship—part of a larger universe she’d created where she and a band of cohorts that included her grandmother’s cat launched themselves to other parts of the world, where they were then transformed into heroes who helped those in need. Now, she crouched on the rock, her bare feet pressed against the wet surface. She closed her eyes, bent her head, and clasped her knees. Breath after breath, she became still, sensing through the soles of her feet the tumultuous act that was about to take place.
She lowered herself onto the rock and sat there for the better part of an hour. Hilo lay next to her, his long body taking up the empty space beside her, his ears alert. Kali shuddered, but not from cold; seconds later, warning alarms rang on the far coast, undetectable by her ears from this distance, but nevertheless known. She felt the volcano’s wild release.
As the spray from the sea grew in intensity as the tide moved in and the water level rose, she took a deep breath, lying back on the rock next to the dog, feeling the water droplets make contact with her exposed arms and legs. She drifted off for a while, half-dreaming, until the light made a subtle change. Sunrise was imminent. Slowly, she stood and faced the east, stretching her arms over her head. “E ala e, ka la i kahikina,” she chanted, greeting the sun and the new day. “Arise, for the sun is in the east.”
The darkness shifted toward gray light, and the thin red and amber line separating the sea and sky became more pronounced. As the crown of the sun came into view, she climbed carefully off the rock and back to the hillside, followed silently by Hilo. When she reached the steps of her lanai, she sat down again, enjoying the view of color rising from the thin horizon; the light growing steadily on the earth below; the tall damp blades of grass gaining definition; and the sound of the morning birds singing and sharing whatever news birds shared with one another.
Then the image of skeletons in the fallow field intruded, dimming the enjoyment of the dawn’s light. She rose and stretched. Hilo watched her, waiting for some further indication of her intentions.
“Come on, fella,” she said to him, leading the way up the steps and into the kitchen. Makena stood in the doorway, looking sleepy and confused.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
Kali looked at h
er. “Didn’t you feel it?”
Makena shook her head, not understanding. “Feel what? The kid?” One hand reached down, touching the small, almost imperceptible swell above her sharply defined hipbones. “I think it’s too soon.”
“No, not that. The volcano.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Kali tried to be patient. “Kilauea. It’s erupting.”
Makena rolled her eyes and scowled. “And you felt it? From all the way over on the other coast of Hawai‘i Island? You are so freaking weird. Of course I didn’t feel it, and neither did you or anyone else unless they were standing next to it.” She looked around the dim kitchen. “I’m going back to bed. Hilo can come with me.”
She walked back into the small bedroom, followed by the dog. Kali watched her, saying nothing. She waited until the door was closed, then went to the counter and lifted the electric kettle from its base and filled it with water. She switched it on, and as the water heated, she measured coffee beans into a grinder, then poured them into the glass press. When the water was hot, she poured it carefully over the ground beans, relishing the scent of the coffee as it filled the small kitchen space. She opened the fridge, removing the loaf of raisin bread that had garnered George’s disapproval at the market, and placed two slices in her old toaster. She filled a mug with coffee, and reached into a cabinet for a small plate. By the time the toast popped up and she’d buttered it and carried the plate and her coffee mug to the table, her dark mood had begun to dissipate.
The printed list of missing persons was on the table. She read through it as she ate, frustrated that the list would have to be expanded significantly to include the new discoveries. So far, there was little in common between any of the people described on the current list: a middle-aged banker, a high school science teacher, two car mechanics from different parts of the country, one ballroom dancing competitor, and a mix of other professions that seemed completely unlinked to the pineapple industry. There were several workers missing, but they didn’t appear to match the age and height range suggested by Stitches.
She considered briefly that the location of the bodies might be unrelated to the victims themselves, but dismissed the thought. The carved pineapple was too much of a direct link. She pictured the burials, considering the differences and similarities. The first body had been placed in a container, while the others had been wrapped and placed directly into the ground, their shrouds long-disintegrated. One had been beheaded, at least one had a broken neck, and the trio of bodies had been laid carefully side by side. Except for the infant, each person had been buried with their hands folded over their chest. The most obvious and important connection was the small anchor found in each grave. That was a similarity that proved there had been a relationship between the burials. Even if the silent, hidden dead had been strangers to one another, it seemed a given that they had each known the same killer.
She picked up a pen from the table and sketched the anchor in the margins of her printed list. Then came a buzzing sound, and Kali reached for her phone. The voice of Stitches emanated from the speaker.
“Very sorry to have disturbed you at home, Detective. You weren’t at the station when I called.”
Kali bit her lip. “My apologies, Doctor. You apparently begin the day a little earlier than me.”
“Quite all right. I’m calling because I have the preliminary report for you on the four new bodies, and some news on the first. I called Walter, but there was no answer, so I left him a message. I’m sure he’s still enjoying breakfast somewhere and doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
Kali smiled involuntarily. Walter’s love of breakfast food—in all its incarnations—was well-known, and Stitches was probably correct in her assumption. Kali imagined that her uncle was most likely seated at his favorite table at the Ranch Restaurant, dousing a plate of coconut pancakes with sweet syrup, and polishing off his second or third cup of coffee. For a moment, she wished she were with him.
Stiches shattered her placid imaginings. “Meanwhile, it’s getting quite crowded over here. I’ve just had a couple of traffic fatalities delivered, and I’m running out of tables and storage units. But about our latest pineapple-field finds: There was enough hair on each of the adult skulls to collect DNA samples,” she informed Kali, her voice crisp. “They’re with the lab, awaiting comparison from the DNA that’s been provided by Matthew Greene’s relatives. To summarize without a firm identification yet: From the latest dig, we have one adult female with long, blond hair; one female infant, and two males—one with dark hair, who was found next to the female, and the other buried alone, who had brown hair and lots of dental work, and was about six feet three inches in height. I would hazard a guess from the fact that there’s significant wear on the remaining natural teeth and an impressive collection of fillings, extractions, and other fun things, that this man will have left behind significant dental records.”
“You mentioned the neck was broken.”
“Yes, technically an occiput-C2 fracture—but a cervical fracture doesn’t necessarily mean death, unless the spinal cord was severed. Since many people recover from broken vertebrae, we can’t assume this was the cause of death.”
Kali remained silent, waiting for Stitches to continue.
“As for the rest, our family burial consists of an adult male and adult female with skull damage consistent with being struck on the head with a heavy object, and also one very young female infant. All with their skulls present, but the infant has a misshapen skull consistent with fetal hydrocephalus. When untreated, that condition can certainly be fatal, but we don’t know yet if that was the reason for death in this particular case.”
“Hydrocephalus? What would cause that?”
“Many things. Poor spinal development, genetics . . .” Stitches took a deep breath. “As for the headless man, we’ve sent the body over to Oah‘u, where a forensic anthropology team connected to the Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam is working on the remains. We’re in the midst of preparing the other bodies and will send them over as well.”
“Do you—”
“Please,” said Stitches, cutting her short. “You know better than to ask me how long it will take. I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps by the time I have those answers, you and Walter will have come up with some possible names to connect to the bodies.”
“We’re working on it,” said Kali, trying to keep her voice from betraying her own frustration.
“Yes. That’s what we’re doing as well. Enjoy your day, Detective.”
The call ended, and Kali dropped the phone onto the table. In her mind, she saw the little metal anchors lined up in a row, shiny and silent. Calling cards. She knew they meant something. If she could work out that part of the puzzle, maybe it would lead her to a killer who had found it necessary, or at least convenient, to take a man’s head and end the lives of four other people—and then leave behind nothing but a wooden carving of a fruit, and a tiny, shining charm.
CHAPTER 15
Chief of Police Leo Pait stood in the doorway of the Hana station, his tall, narrow figure somehow managing to block most of the light. He had one hand on each side of the doorframe, giving the impression that he was holding up the building. He leaned inward slightly, peering around the main room with obvious interest. Kali, Walter, and Hara were clustered around Walter’s desk, looking at an image on Walter’s computer screen. Kali held a sheet of paper.
“Goodness,” said Pait. “Must be six or seven years since I was actually inside this station.” He looked at Walter and winked. “Not much in the way of ambience, I have to say. Redecorating my own office has turned out to be one of the best moves I’ve made in the last few years. New paint. New furniture. Very uplifting. I had someone come in to feng shui the whole place. Enhances the flow of energy, you know.”
Kali could sense that Walter was about to say something that not only he, but she and Hara as well, were likely to regret. She spoke before he had time to say anything.
“Chief Pait.” She made an effort to smile in a convincing way. “It’s quite a surprise to see you here today.”
“Out in the wilds, yes.” He walked into the room, lifted a stack of papers from the corner of Hara’s desk, and placed them carefully next to the computer keyboard, then sat down on the newly cleared edge. Even seated, he seemed taller than the others. “But I’m not here to discuss the psychological boost to cognitive processes that the right combination of paint colors and textiles can deliver. I’ve had a great idea, and wanted to discuss it with you in person. Two great ideas, actually.”
There was an immediate increase in the tension level in the room, moving like a wave between Kali and Walter, who had each lived through several of Chief Pait’s great ideas in the past. Even Hara, who had heard stories, looked apprehensive.
“Oh?” said Kali, continuing to force a smile. She folded the piece of paper she’d been holding and placed it in the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, we’re all ears.” She looked encouragingly from Walter to Hara. “Aren’t we?”
They nodded slowly in response, their eyes glued to Pait’s face.
“Here’s the thing, team,” Pait said, leaning forward as though they were all co-conspirators in some undefined game. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to repair the image of our islands as havens of serenity and safety. Mass grave sites and a killer on the loose for years—perhaps even decades—taints the illusion of tranquility we all strive so hard to maintain. Sunsets and whales leaping through the blue waves into the blue sky. Music and aloha—that’s what we want the tourists to be focused on. All of that.”
Walter shook his head as if to clear it. “How about boiling lava spewing from the core of it all? Drugs and alcohol abuse? Domestic violence?”
“Exactly,” said Pait, looking fondly at Walter. “That’s it exactly. It’s opposite the image the tourism board wants to promote. So let’s give our visitors a little extra aloha, shall we?”
