Murder on Easter Island

by Gary Conrad

  “No,” Daniel admitted.

  “It is a small crater just outside of Hanga Roa that is the sole source of the red scoria — a type of lava — that is used for the hats of some of our moai. These hats are also called topknots or pukao. Just to be safe, I would stay away from there. Remember, you are an outsider, just as Gomez was.”

  Daniel cocked an eyebrow at the dear lady and asked, “If we chose to believe akuaku really exist, could one actually be the murderer?”

  Tiare paused, obviously thinking. Finally she answered, “Not likely, but certainly one could influence someone — and perhaps even give them special powers — to allow them to do their dirty work.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Enough of that for now,” Tiare suggested, “let’s start learning Rapanui.” She then threw back her head and laughed, “Daniel, you don’t fool me. You’re a smart one, and I know it. A few lessons and you’ll be speaking our language like a native.”

  Daniel was excited about learning the language, but talking about the note Gomez had left behind reminded him of how mutilated the poor man had been. And there had been twenty-six others before him.

  Daniel shuddered at the thought.

  Chapter 10

  September 5, 2014

  Daniel and José sat in front of what used to be Alejandro Gomez’s desk. The meeting with the new Chilean police head of investigation was set for ten a.m. Daniel and José waited for his arrival

  Daniel asked, “Do you know anything about the new appointee?”

  “I’m afraid I do. His name is Salvador Diaz, and he was one of the head police in the Pinochet regime. How much do you know about this period in history?”

  Daniel listened for footsteps and lowered his voice. “I know about Pinochet being a dictator.”

  “I’ll make this quick,” José responded quietly. “Diaz could be here at any moment . . . Pinochet assumed power in Chile in nineteen seventy-three in a coup d’état, overthrowing the democratically elected government. Pinochet’s seventeen years of power were a nightmare; his political opponents were brutally oppressed; thousands were killed and tens of thousands, including women and children, were tortured.”

  José stood and moved to the open door of the office, and glanced up and down the hallway. He pulled the door closed, sat back down and whispered to Daniel, “Hawk, it is widely believed that Diaz was involved in the butchery, but it could never be proven, so he was kept on the police force. He’s very well educated — even got a degree in Criminal Justice at Rutgers before he started his career in law enforcement. He has a reputation as someone who gets the job done, one way or another, no matter the cost — just like when he murdered and tortured his fellow Chileans. If I had my way, I’d put him behind bars and —”

  The door popped open, and a man in a black suit with neatly combed silver hair came into the room, looking as if he’d just stepped out of the latest issue of GQ. He wore a white shirt and a red checkered tie, and his black leather shoes were polished so highly they could blind anyone who dared to admire them for too long. Following him was a tall, muscular man in a grey suit and sunglasses.

  As the silver-haired man sat down behind the desk, he said, “My name is Salvador Diaz, and he—” pointing to the other man now standing behind him, “is my bodyguard.”

  A deafening silence followed as Diaz studied his audience with cold and distant dark eyes. Finally, looking at José, he said, “You must be Detective Tepano, the one who blew the lid on this investigation and completely screwed things up?”

  José’s brow furrowed as he admitted, “Yes, I am José Tepano.”

  “And you,” he said, turning to Daniel, “you must be Detective Fishinghawk — the one who goes by Hawk — from New York City?” He sarcastically added, “The prima donna we’ve all heard so much about?”

  Daniel straightened in his chair and met Diaz’s stare.

  He’s trying to intimidate us, Daniel thought. He felt like laughing in Diaz’s face. But he suspected that might not be such a hot idea.

  Diaz turned back to José. “Young man, after what you’ve done, if I had a choice, I’d throw you in the slums in Santiago chasing drug dealers, and you’d be dead by the end of the week.” Diaz shook his fist at José, a flashy ebony ring on the middle finger of his hand. “How dare you bring this case to the public? The only reason I don’t get rid of you is because in Chile, you’re a hero for blowing our cover. The newspapers would all go crazy if I fired you, and I’d come under public scrutiny. God knows I’ve had enough of that in my life already. I’m stuck with you, and you’d better work hard or you’ll be gone, gone, gone. Understand?”

  José nodded.

  “Good. Now you,” Diaz said with a growl, turning once again to Daniel, “I can’t send you back home with your tail between your legs for the same reason. I’d get rid of you — our hope and our salvation — but there would be a public outcry. I promise you this, though, the minute this case is solved you will be out of here and back to New York City as fast as I can snap my fingers.”

  Daniel refused to respond and continued to stare at him.

  “So, gentlemen,” Diaz continued, “it seems we have an understanding. I have brought in five of my top investigators from Santiago, and I want all of you to crawl under every damned rock on this damned island and find me our killer. I’m telling you — one way or another — in the next month we will have our man. No later. Every second we delay means less money for Chile and this worthless place. If you ask me, we should have left it as it was: an island full of half-naked savages whose only skills were raising sheep, sweet potatoes and carving cheap wooden curios for tourists.”

  José turned beet red and started to stand. Daniel put his hand on José’s shoulder and pushed him back down in his chair.

  Diaz pretended not to notice. “Now get out of my office and hit the streets. We’ve got a murderer to find. And believe me, we will find him.” With that he picked up the phone on his desk and waved Daniel and José out the door.

  As the door closed behind them, José whispered to Daniel, “He’s exactly like I thought he would be — a real piece of shit.”

  Daniel was worn out after a long day of doing interviews with some of the local population who happened to speak English. He had gathered all sorts of useless information. Daniel knew this was not the way to find the killer, but it was clear that Diaz didn’t care to utilize Daniel’s investigative skills; instead, Diaz made him do grunt work as a way of putting Daniel in his place.

  Daniel glanced at his wrist watch, which showed the time to be 6:25 p.m. He was already running late — he was to meet Tiare at 6:30. He hopped in his SUV and drove to her home.

  He knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again; still no response. He was about to try again, when he barely heard her voice.

  “Just a minute!”

  When she appeared at the door, she was wearing round wire-rimmed glasses that The Beatles’ John Lennon might have worn. “Sorry you had to wait so long.” She opened the door for him to enter. “I was in the back studying on my computer.”

  Daniel couldn’t believe it. “You’re doing what?”

  Tiare closed the door and motioned him to sit in the living area. As he sat on the couch, she settled in a chair across from him, removed her glasses and said, “I’ve already gotten online degrees in English and Spanish, and now I’m working on getting a degree in cultural anthropology. I’m enrolled at Ashford University in the United States. Have you heard of it?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Not many universities offer these courses online. It’s quite a challenge because our Internet speeds are so slow. Do you know what anthropology is?”

  “Isn’t it the study of people and their cultures?”

  “Close,” she answered, “but not exactly. It’s actually the science that deals with the origins, physical and cultural development, biological characteristics, social customs and beliefs of humanity.”

  D
aniel could tell she had memorized the definition, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  Tiare said, “Just because I’m ninety-four doesn’t mean I should stop learning. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely.” He looked at his watch and said. “Mrs. Rapu . . . I mean Tiare, I had planned to eat before I came, but I ran late at work. Could I buy you dinner at a place where we could talk privately?”

  “Of course you may,” she replied with a smile. “I recommend a little vegetarian restaurant called Laguna Azul. It’s only a short drive away. Around ten years ago I gave up eating meat when I heard being a vegetarian was healthier.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” she repeated. “And it’s better for the environment as well. It takes a lot more water to produce meat protein than it does vegetable protein, and the waste produced by animal production contaminates our ground water. Here on Rapa Nui, where our water is in such short supply, conservation is an important issue.”

  Daniel smiled and thought: What an amazing woman!

  Daniel and Tiare were seated at an outside table at the quaint Laguna Azul restaurant. Original island artwork that hung on the wall welcomed them, and a sea shell wind chime tinkled in the background. As they sat eating their salads, Tiare asked, “Daniel, what’s on your mind this evening?”

  “Well, Tiare,” he said, feeling a little uncomfortable bringing this topic up at a vegetarian restaurant, “I suppose you’ve heard that all of the murder victims were cannibalized?”

  “I have.”

  “Let me get right to the point,” Daniel said, “does Rapa Nui have a history of cannibalism?”

  Tiare ducked her head. “Well . . . I . . .”

  “Yes?” Daniel asked.

  Tiare took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Before I answer, let me give you some background. You see, Daniel, my studies in anthropology have taught me that cannibalism has occurred over much of the world, and in more recent times by those who were starving. Two examples are the Donner Party in the American west and the crash of the Uruguayan Air Force flight in the Andes in the nineteen seventies.

  “Here in Polynesia cannibalism has been practiced in certain places. Fiji, for example, once was known as the Cannibal Isles. Sailors would prefer to land anywhere rather than Fiji. There was one Fijian chief, Ratu Udre Udre, who kept a stone for every person he ate. It is said at his gravesite there were eight hundred and seventy-two stones. Hard to believe —”

  “Almost too strange to be true.”

  Tiare added, “I’m sure you know Mark Twain. He once said, ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’ ”

  She was all over the map, and Daniel had to get her back to his question. “Yes, I know Mark Twain. But — what about cannibalism on Rapa Nui?”

  “The definitive way that archeologists can determine if cannibalism has occurred in a specific location is to check bones for cut marks, which are actually nicks or scratches made on the bone by a sharp tool as the flesh is removed.”

  Daniel nodded encouragement.

  “These cut marks have been found in excavated sites on Rapa Nui. Yes, I must admit it, cannibalism has occurred here. Sometimes history reveals the dark side of a society, and cannibalism is the dark side of Rapa Nui.”

  Their server arrived to place before them plates of steamed vegetables on beds of pasta and grated cheese.

  “Ah, this looks good,” Tiare commented. “I don’t eat out often, so this is special for me.”

  Daniel gazed warmly at her. “Tiare, the sad truth is that every society has places in their history they are not proud of. For America, one of the darkest moments occurred with the Trail of Tears. Have you heard of it?”

  Tiare asked, “Isn’t that where some American Indians were forced from their homes in the southeast part of the United States?”

  “In a nutshell, yes. For the Cherokee tribe, this happened from eighteen thirty-eight through eighteen thirty-nine. Around seventeen thousand Cherokees made the trek to Indian Territory, now called Oklahoma. Of that group, over four thousand died, either in the detention camps or en route.”

  Tiare sighed. “That’s almost a fourth of them.”

  “So,” Daniel said as he patted her hand, “don’t be too concerned about your island’s history of cannibalism. There are those in my country who have done much worse and on a much greater scale. But about the cannibalism that’s happening now. Do your senses give you any idea what the motivation might be?”

  The old woman placed her fork aside and said thoughtfully, “I cannot be certain of this, but I have an idea.”

  “Go on,” Daniel urged.

  “First of all, I believe the reason for these murders is clear — the killer does not want tourists on this island. And perhaps, if we can believe the note left by Detective Gomez, the murderer may be under the influence of Hitirau. Think about it. What better way to keep visitors away than the possibility of not only being killed, but also being eaten alive?”

  “Agreed. What should we do next?” Daniel asked.

  “There is nothing we can do. As long as the tourists stay away from Rapa Nui, I feel certain the murders will stop. If, for whatever reason, the tourists return . . . well, we can only wait and see what happens. Then we can choose our next step.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we,” she said. “Since I was a little girl, I’ve always been interested in adventures, and this will be the grandest one of all.”

  “But this exposes you to far too much risk — I can’t take that chance.”

  “Daniel,” she said, “I am certain that the killer is somehow already aware that we are meeting, and I will do all I can to stay safe. But there’s no turning back now.”

  Daniel studied Tiare closely. Their professional relationship had evolved into a friendship, and if anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself. “Very well,” he conceded, “but only if you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Keep this close at hand.” Saying that, he reached down to his right side, pulled his Beretta from its holster and slipped it under the table onto her lap. “Tuck that in your carry bag — it could come in handy one day.”

  When she fingered the pistol and realized what he’d done, she grimly said, “Let’s hope not.”

  Chapter 11

  September 19, 2014

  Daniel and José sat at a table for lunch at the El Tiberon restaurant, which overlooked the small but beautiful Pea Beach in Hanga Roa. Salvador Diaz had been cracking the whip, and they, along with the investigators he had brought with him from Chile, had investigated every square inch of the sixty-three square mile island. Like all the other days, Daniel had gathered up all sorts of data, which was of little or no use to the overall goal of finding the killer.

  As he cut into a tasty nanue fish, a local favorite, Daniel asked, “Any news from your side?”

  José lowered his voice. “Well, there’s an interesting rumor floating around.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Seems Diaz has a prime suspect,” José said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. We should know more in the next week or so, but he’s honing in on Roberto Ika. Do you know of him?”

  “No,” admitted Daniel.

  “He’s a little old man in his seventies who has a history of mental illness; I believe his diagnosis is paranoid schizophrenia. In other words, he’s crazy and thinks everyone is out to get him.”

  “Besides that,” José continued, “he was one of the protesters who occupied the Hangaroa Eco Village and Spa in August of two thousand-ten before being forcibly evicted the following February. The protest occurred because my people believe they were cheated out of the ancestral land the hotel is sitting on. The protest, as you might have guessed, fell on deaf Chilean ears. Unfortunately for Roberto Ika, this makes him an easy target, one Diaz’s supervisors would approve of.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Daniel s
aid. “First of all, the evidence is clear that our killer is someone who is physically strong. No way a seventy-year-old man could overwhelm each of the twenty-seven victims, most of whom are younger than he is. And there are the fingerprints. As you know, there are no matches with anyone on the island. Nothing about this fits.”

  José nodded agreement. “Of course you’re right, but Diaz wants someone behind bars to restart the flow of money into Rapa Nui. And he’ll stop at nothing, even putting an innocent man in jail.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Daniel said. “By the way, do you have family on the island that might be affected by this?”

  “Not any more. I was an only child, and my parents and grandparents are all dead.”

  “It’s the same with me. I’ve got no living family.”

  “Well, then,” José concluded, “we have something in common. Any girlfriends back home?”

  “No,” admitted Daniel, “how about you?”

  “I could only wish. When I returned from Chile after my training at the police academy in Santiago, the one Rapanui woman I was interested in got tired of waiting and married a local man. On this island, good Rapanui women don’t grow on trees.”

  “I imagine Rapanui women might say the same thing about Rapanui men,” Daniel said.

  José grinned at the dig and grabbed the check. “I need to get back to work. Before we go, tell me, how are things going with Crazy Tiare?”

  Daniel was surprised to find himself offended at José’s words. “She’s not crazy at all, and she has been a great help in teaching me Rapanui. We’ve been meeting every evening for lessons at her home. After only a couple of weeks I’m already getting a pretty good handle on conversation. Besides that, she’s a smart as a whip and seems to have some intriguing ideas about the killer.”

  “Anything worth repeating?”

  “Not just yet, but tonight she is going to share with me some of the history of Rapa Nui. I believe it will be interesting.”

  “Good luck,” José said. “You’ll need it to sort out the truth.” He threw money on the table to settle the bill, and they both stood and walked out to their vehicles.