by Debra Bokur
“On behalf of the Maui Police Department, I thank you for your help and your opinion.” Walter’s face was a stone. “You’d get the Good Samaritan award for today, except for the handcuffs and the animal cruelty charges.” Walter turned to the vice officer. “You can escort Mr. Lee, please.”
Kali and Walter watched them walk away, listening to Alan Lee’s voice as he cajoled the vice officer at his side.
“Eden’s River again.” Kali shook her head. “The name still sounds more like an outdoor adventure outfitter or some kind of yoga retreat than it does a church.”
They walked from the barn into the open space outside. Someone had turned on a floodlight that partially illuminated the parking lot. Kali did a quick calculation, and estimated there were about ninety vehicles, parked in makeshift rows and clusters. They stood watching as the team from the vice squad finished rounding up the last groups of people.
“I’ll get Hara to add in a records search for anything about Abraham Waters and his cult that Bobby didn’t already share,” he said. “Just in case there’s more. Somebody’s got to know where he is now.”
“Call me in the morning?”
Walter looked at the sky. “I think, technically, it is morning.”
“Yeah.” She rubbed at her arm again, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Then don’t call me at all. I’ve probably already got some crazy rooster disease and won’t be able to crawl to the phone anyway.”
“You shouldn’t have pissed off the rooster god.”
“He was a kupua that belonged to a king. Nothing to do with me.”
“Shapeshifter god, right?”
“Yeah. And mean. Could take on a ferocious human form, or a terrifying rooster that was a master fighter that killed his rivals and won every fight.”
“Guess there’s a lesson there.” He took her arm, looking closely at the gashes. “Go home and wash your arm and put something on it. Maybe you should get a tetanus shot or something. Those scratches are pretty deep.”
“I’ll be fine. Battle scar.” She grimaced, poking at the blood dried along her wrist where it had trickled from the wound. “Someday we’ll laugh about it.”
“Sure. Maybe you can add another tattoo. Bitty’s face around the scar. You know, kind of a tribute.”
Kali shivered involuntarily at the image. She already had enough nightmares in her life. What she needed was a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER 21
The sound of Hilo barking happily wafted through the open window of the kitchen. Kali looked out, and saw him rolling in the long grass. A few feet away, she could see Makena picking a mango from one of the many fruit trees in the yard. She was reaching upward into the branches, studying several plump golden fruits, each of them tinged with crimson. As Kali watched, Hilo climbed to his feet and began running around the tree, inviting Makena to chase him or throw a mango for him. The scene was oddly domestic, and Kali felt an unfamiliar surge of something close to contentment.
She reached for her ringing phone, losing the moment. It was Stitches, who wasted no time on pleasantries.
“We have a positive ID on the couple. The adult female body is Helen Stafford. Her sister, Marcia, found an old sweater in Helen’s belongings, mixed in with the things she had stored at her house in Reno, all of which she turned over to the local authorities after you spoke with her. The Reno forensics team found several hairs on the sweater and were able to get an exact DNA match with the sample taken from the hair on the female skeleton.”
Kali sucked in her breath.
“Reggie McCartney’s family was traced to California,” continued Stitches, “and familial DNA samples combined with medical records and general physical characteristics are enough of a match to confirm identity.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Both adults have smashed skulls, as mentioned before. Based on that, I think it’s safe to assume that Matthew Green’s neck wasn’t an old injury, but also the cause of death since his own skull is fully intact. The killer, or killers, may have acted on opportunity, rather than a modus operandi that was consistent from one killing to the next.”
“What about the baby?”
“Ah . . . now that’s something interesting. The baby appears to have been stillborn, and not quite to term. I estimate around thirty-two weeks. And, as we noticed when the body was uncovered, it had a deformed skull.”
In her mind, Kali pictured the infant nestled close to the woman’s body. She wondered if the mother had had any inkling that her own life was about to end, and whether the loss of her child had left her depressed and distracted, allowing the killer to take advantage of her. Her mind leapt to the body in the refrigerator, and to Matthew Greene. She asked herself how these people had been connected, and what had made each of them a target of their killer.
“Right. I don’t suppose there’s any news on the pineapple man?”
“Nothing definitive yet,” said Stitches. “A male somewhere between eighteen and twenty is the best estimate so far. Other than the missing head, of course, there is no obvious cause of death. He could have been shot, had his throat slit, been poisoned, died of asphyxiation, or had any number of unpleasant endings. Or, like the others, he may have died of a broken neck or a blow to the head. Without the rest of him, I’m afraid we may never know.”
“Any luck on ethnicity?”
“The Honolulu team is working on that now.”
After she hung up, Kali considered what had been learned. Out of five bodies, four had been identified. That wasn’t too bad, considering. But the fate of the pineapple man, and the story of who he had been, continued to nag her. She pushed back her chair, ready to head over to the station, when the phone rang again. This time it was Walter. He sounded breathless.
“Found him,” he said.
“Waters? Where is he?”
“Right here on Maui.”
“How’d you track him down? Tax records?”
Walter snorted. “Hardly. Turns out he’s got a brand-new venture since the Eden’s River scheme caught up with him, though he’s using the same name. He may be a surgeon, but he’s clearly an idiot. He’s living up-country on an old farmstead. So far, he’s kept it pretty low-key. There’s nothing officially going on as far as a registered retreat or church of any kind, and to all appearances he’s dropped any reference to whatever shenanigans he was up to on Lna‘i, but there’s a complaint on file from a local woman that her daughter was lured up there under the pretense of a yoga and wellness weekend with seminars and camping.”
The daughter, explained Walter, had emptied out her bank account and given away all of her belongings, then moved into the new Eden’s River. “A later interview with the daughter, who was in her early twenties at the time, quoted her as saying that Abraham was a ‘divinely inspired healer’ who helped her get her life on track.”
“Is that it?”
“There was a call-in from another woman, who says she was seduced by Abraham and abandoned her husband and two kids to go and bask in his holy light. Her words, not mine. She eventually came to her senses and went home, but so far she hasn’t had anything really bad to say about the commune or about Abraham—just that it turned out to not be her thing. She declined to make an official statement.”
Walter texted her the current address for Abraham Waters, and Kali noted that the latest version of Eden’s River was north of Hana and west of Pali Village, about a half hour away. She gathered her things, prepared to head out. She couldn’t wait to meet him.
* * *
Kali drove slowly through a set of open gates. They were built of wood, and the paint had long ago worn away. A close look revealed remnants of a dark blue tint still embedded along the edges of the posts supporting the gates, suggesting they’d enjoyed a former, far more colorful life.
The dirt track was rutted and muddy. She followed it for about a hundred yards as it wound deeper into the mauka side of the road away from the sea and towards the dista
nt slopes of Haleakal volcano, its slowly eroding exterior blanketed by verdant vegetation.
The Jeep bounced along. There had been no attempt to control the dense foliage encroaching from either side of the road, and a wild profusion of branches and shrubs, many of them in flower, created a sort of tunnel-like portal that gave way suddenly to a wide, sloping field. She slowed to a halt in front of a collection of low buildings that were scattered across the field, mentally calculating the dimensions. The visible complex seemed to cover about three acres of land. The buildings were mostly in poor repair, and she could see that one small area of no more than a quarter of an acre appeared to have been cultivated, with stakes supporting tomato plants.
There was movement near the closest building, so she sat, waiting, as a youngish man and two women stepped out from behind the structure. The man was pushing a wheelbarrow full of soil and plants. The plants were upside down, their roots showing. All three people stopped suddenly as they caught sight of the Jeep. As Kali watched, the man turned to the women and said something. One of them nodded in response, placing her hand on the other woman’s arm. The man let go of the wheelbarrow handles and began to walk toward Kali.
As he drew closer, she saw that his jeans were covered in dark stains, and that there were multiple soil smudges on his short-sleeve shirt. As he walked toward her, he pushed back his shoulder-length hair, which curled over his forehead, smiling in a friendly way. She noted that the smile did not extend to his eyes, which regarded her with caution.
She opened the door and slid off her seat onto the ground.
“Aloha,” the man said. “Can I help you?” He gestured behind himself. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but this is actually private property.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Who is the owner?”
The man looked uncomfortable. “That would be Abraham Waters,” he said. He turned briefly, looking toward a path leading in the direction of a building set upon a rise among the trees.
“Is that where Mr. Waters lives?” she asked.
“Yes, but . . . he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“Are you related to him?”
The man frowned. “I’m sorry, but you’re asking a lot of questions, and you still haven’t explained what you want.”
“Answers,” she said. She pulled her badge out from beneath the loose, short-sleeve cotton shirt she wore unbuttoned over a tank top. The badge glinted in the sun. “I’m Detective Kali Mhoe, Maui Police. According to public records, this is a leasehold property. Mr. Waters may own the buildings, but he doesn’t own the land. So, let’s try this again. Who are you?”
He looked taken aback. “Sorry. I’m Jake. I just work here, taking care of the garden for Mr. Waters.” He looked meaningfully at the house in the distance. “I can tell you that he doesn’t like it when people just show up.”
Kali raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so? I’m not interested in what he likes or doesn’t like, so I’d appreciate it if you’d show me where to find him.”
A wave of uncertainty washed over Jake’s face. He led the way across the lawn, toward the left of the building where the two women were still waiting, staring openly at Kali. They smiled shyly as she and Jake passed near them. Kali saw that they were both wearing jeans that were partially covered by long, flimsy cotton dresses that fell to mid-calf, and that they both had long blond hair. She estimated them to be in their early twenties, and pregnant, by the looks of them. The way they were dressed reminded her of the women she’d seen on the ferry, the very same who’d been holding signs in the field with Chad and his group.
“They work here too?”
Jake didn’t bother to turn around. “They help with the garden.”
“Is that some sort of uniform they’re wearing?”
“God demands modesty. They’re dressed appropriately for outdoor work,” he said.
Kali waited, but he didn’t elaborate. She picked up her pace so that she was walking abreast of him, rather than behind. “My understanding is that Abraham Waters disbanded his church a long time ago.”
Jake laughed. “God doesn’t require a building, you know.”
She looked up sharply, but kept her voice even. “How many people live here besides Mr. Waters?”
Jake looked straight ahead. “If there’s anything else you want to know, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
He hurried forward across the grass to the front door of the house. It was modest in size, and set back beneath the trees. Like the gates leading into the property, the wood siding on the structure had seen better days. There was a wood-slatted porch swing hanging at a slight angle from hooks in the ceiling of the covered lanai. A cat was curled into one corner, lifting its head and yawning lazily as they came up the steps and stopped in front of the screen door. Instead of knocking, Jake called through the screen into the dark, shaded recess of the entrance.
“Father? You have a visitor.” Shifting side to side, he added, “There’s a lady here from the police. A detective. I’m sorry to bother you, but she insists on speaking with you.”
Kali heard the sound of someone moving across a wooden floor, presaging the arrival of a man in the door frame moments later. A shorter, much younger man stood behind him, looking out. She recognized the taller of the two men as Abraham Waters, though an older version than the photo she had seen. He looked at her, his gaze steady. She couldn’t help but notice that he was still quite handsome, or that he seemed to be appraising her.
“Welcome,” said Abraham. His voice was melodious, as though singing might come more natural to him than speaking. He directed his gaze toward Jake. “Open the door, please, Jacob. I’ll speak with our guest inside where it’s cooler. You may return to the garden.”
Jake held the door open, and the young man behind Abraham stepped back. Kali walked inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. She could hear Jake’s footsteps retreating on the stairs, fading as he reached the grassy lawn.
“Did I hear correctly that you are a detective?” Abraham smiled at her, his hands resting easily by his sides.
“That’s right.” She looked him over. He struck her as strong and virile. Though the information gathered on him indicated that he was sixty-nine, his skin was tight and oddly undamaged by the sun. There was nothing frail about him. He wore his thick hair long and loose around his shoulders. He was slender, but she could see through his short sleeve jersey that his shoulders and upper arms were toned, defined.
“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever actually met a detective before.” He reached out to shake her hand. “Abraham Waters, but I expect you already know that. And this,” he said, gesturing to the silent man standing behind him, “is my grandson, Nathan. How may I be of service to you?”
Nathan was about twenty, as far as she could tell. There was something childlike about him, unfinished and undefined. She regarded him with interest. The muddy brown of his eyes and his judgmental expression stood out in sharp contrast to the bright, curious light in Abraham’s blue eyes. Kali noted the way his eyes kept darting from her face to the edge of the tattoo encircling her upper arm.
“Did I hear Jake address you as his father?” she asked, remembering that records showed he had a daughter, but that there had been no mention of a son.
“It is a term of respect and familiarity,” he said.
“I see. I understand that you ran a private church on Lna‘i from 1993 until around 2000. You operated it as a commune, correct?”
Abraham smiled again, spreading his arms wide. “A wellness retreat center. Commune has such a negative connotation, doesn’t it? Perhaps you’re asking if I shared a small farmstead with other members of my family, and if I preached the Good Word to those whose hearts were open to hearing God’s message?”
“I’m asking you if you accepted financial and other donations from people not related to you, and if those people also lived with you on your farmstead.”
“We are all related. You are both m
y daughter and my sister.”
She returned his gaze, unblinking. “I am neither of those things.”
“Then you are a heathen, and you’re going to hell. You have carved your body with the marks of the devil!” It was Nathan who spoke, his voice thick with venom. He raised his volume, pointing at Kali’s arm in condemnation. “You shall not make any cuts in your body for the dead nor make any tattoo marks on yourselves: I am the Lord. Leviticus 19:28.”
“It’s all right, Nathan,” said Abraham. He reached up and placed his hand gently on the boy’s outstretched hand, pushing it down so that it was no longer pointed at Kali. “Not everyone has heard the laws set forth by God. We must be generous and patient.” He turned to Kali. “My grandson is passionate about the teachings of the Bible.”
Kali felt her skin crawl. She thought of all the crime and pain and fear she had seen in the world that had sprung from the arrogance of those who felt entitled to judge others, or to disregard the sovereign rights of those around them. When the arrogance was rooted in religion, she found it particularly repugnant. She also knew it was generally a waste of time to point out to any kind of fanatic that there was almost always more than one viewpoint to be considered.
“Have you reestablished your commune here on Maui, Mr. Waters?”
“As I’ve just explained, what you refer to as a commune is, to me, a home where my family dwells.”
“Then tell me, please, who dwells here besides you?” She met his eyes, tilting her head slightly, ignoring Nathan’s glare.
“My wife, Ruth, and our daughter, Abigail, share this place with me.”
“And the farm? Jake and the two young women helping him today? Where do they dwell?”
Abraham smiled. “Elsewhere.”
She felt her temper flare. “Elsewhere on the property, or elsewhere on the island?”
“I’m afraid I don’t feel compelled to keep track of the comings and goings of those kind and generous souls who come to help with picking fruit and harvesting the crops from our gardens.” He leaned forward slightly. “If you like, Nathan would be happy to show you our little patch of lettuces and herbs. The basil is doing especially well right now.”
