Murder on Easter Island

by Gary Conrad

  At the top of the crater the sunshine warmed his face and a cool breeze blew through his dark hair. Daniel screwed up his nerve and looked back at the bottom of the crater. No sign of Hitirau, and Daniel’s backpack still lay on the ground where he had left it.

  To hell with the backpack . . .

  Daniel hurried away from the crater and down the path as fast as he could run.

  Chapter 13

  September 20, 2014

  Daniel was in his SUV driving to the hospital to see Tiare and couldn’t escape the terror of his experience at Puna Pau. Diaz had given him a laundry list of interviews to do that afternoon, but he just couldn’t concentrate on anything else for the time being.

  So instead, when he returned from his confrontation with Hitirau, Daniel chose to sit in his room at the hotel and focus on his breath, as his grandpa had taught him. With time he began to feel less anxious, though the events of the morning starkly reminded him of how thin the veneer was between life and death. Daniel had no idea what had kept his life from being snuffed out, but whatever it was, he was glad to still be breathing.

  At Puna Pau he had entered a foreign world — the world of the unknown, of spirit. His grandpa had often talked of Native American spirituality, but only in generalities. Any doubts Daniel previously had about existence of the ethereal world were cruelly snuffed out. What had happened to him was not vaporous, it was real and substantial.

  Promptly at six p.m. Daniel parked his car and entered the hospital. He walked past the uniformed bodyguard sitting outside Tiare’s room and discovered her sitting up in bed reading a newspaper, her John Lennon glasses hanging low on her nose.

  “ ‘Iorana,” Daniel said as he sat at her bedside.

  “ ‘Iorana,” Tiare repeated as she lowered the paper. She stifled a gasp. “Daniel, what happened to you? It looks like you lost a fight with a rabid cat.”

  “Tiare, I have a confession to make — I went to Puna Pau this morning.”

  “You didn’t!” Tiare exclaimed with a shocked look on her face. “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say that Hitirau didn’t take kindly to me being there, and this,” he confessed as he pointed to his face, “is the end result.”

  “You never should have set foot in his domain. But now, since you have, do you have any doubts about his existence?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Good. While it was reckless for you to go there alone, if you’ve learned from your experience without any permanent damage, then it was well worth it.”

  “Good way to put it,” Daniel responded, feeling a bit foolish.

  “Now,” Tiare said, “let’s put all this behind us for the time being and get on with the history of Rapa Nui. Where were we at?”

  “I believe you were talking about the moai.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Tiare. “As far as our moai were concerned, the carving and placing of them on Rapa Nui peaked in the fifteenth century. After that, things began to deteriorate.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Unfortunately, my ancestors were not environmentalists. They adopted the same slash and burn philosophy as their Polynesian forefathers. So, when the forests became depleted, widespread erosion occurred, which led to crop failures and the drying up of the perennial streams.

  “Once they were without large trees, they were no longer able to build boats capable of going out to sea where the larger fish were. So they had to rely on fishing close to shore, and soon even that resource became depleted. They were landlocked on an island with not enough food to feed everyone.”

  “They must have felt trapped,” Daniel concluded.

  “Indeed. So when there was a lack of food, the social order broke down and moai production stopped. It eventually led to the weakening of the once all-powerful ‘ariki mau of the Miru clan and emergence of the warrior class, and as a result frequent clashes occurred between the eastern and western clans. During that difficult time, eventually all of the moai were toppled, and the warriors put forth the ancient god Makemake as a replacement for the mana of the moai. That led to the establishment of the Birdman Cult.”

  “The Birdman Cult?”

  “Yes. A competition put in place by the warriors to establish the Birdman for the year. But there was a darker purpose, that being to take away the religious authority of the ‘ariki mau and put it in the hands of the warrior class, represented by the Birdman — the tangata manu — a supposed incarnation of Makemake.”

  “What exactly was the competition?” Daniel asked.

  “In September of each year the shamans of all of the clans selected one or two contestants who they thought gave them the best chance to win. Often this was the warrior leader, his proxy, or both. The competitors first gathered at the ceremonial center of Orongo, and when the arrival of the manutara birds was imminent, they climbed down the one thousand foot cliffs of Rano Kau, the inactive volcano.”

  Daniel grimaced as he recalled seeing the steep cliff from the airplane. He couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind who would try to climb down it.

  “Once at the bottom, they paddled on reed mats packed with provisions to Motu Nui, the islet located southwest of the island, swimming almost a mile through shark-infested waters.”

  Daniel got a cold chill just thinking about it.

  “After arrival, they camped out in caves and stayed there until the arrival of the manutara birds. It has been said that the first to find a manutara egg was the winner. He announced his find to the other contestants and placed the egg in a little reed basket, which was strapped to his forehead before he swam back across the ocean. He then scaled the cliff and delivered the egg to Orongo, where he, or the one he was proxy for, was declared the Birdman.

  “While this may be true, I believe it is more likely that many of the contestants would find eggs close to the same time and it would be a mad race to be the first back. I might guess the contestants would try anything to be the winner of the competition, even if it meant pulling their opponents off the cliffs or trying to drown them.

  “Once the new Birdman was declared, he shaved his head, eyebrows and eyelashes, and his head was painted. He lived a life of luxurious isolation, and, in the year to follow, he was not allowed to bathe himself or cut his nails, which grew as long as the talons of a bird.”

  “That sounds appealing,” Daniel jested.

  Tiare briefly smiled and said, “Meanwhile the Birdman’s thugs ran amok on the island, terrorizing and plundering all of the clans who were not strong enough to resist. It was organized chaos, and in spite their efforts to unseat him, they never truly took away the religious power of the ‘ariki mau, who still ruled as the paramount chief.”

  Daniel asked, “When did the Europeans first discover the island?”

  “The first was Captain Rosendaal, a Dutchman sailing one of three boats commanded by Jacob Roggeveen. The sighting occurred on April fifth, seventeen twenty-two, on Easter Sunday, so it was named Easter Island.”

  “I had wondered where that name came from,” Daniel said. “It’s not exactly Polynesian-sounding.”

  “We islanders prefer Rapa Nui. No one likes the idea of our home being named by a European. Later, many others eventually visited our island, but one of the worst periods for the Rapanui occurred from the period from eighteen sixty-two and eighteen eighty-eight, when around ninety-four percent of the population died or emigrated, sometimes by force. Probably the worst example was when Peruvian slavers kidnapped — also called blackbirding — around fifteen hundred Rapanui, and of the twelve survivors that were finally returned to their homeland, one had smallpox. That dread disease nearly wiped out the remaining population.”

  Daniel said, “My Native American ancestors also suffered greatly from exposure to European diseases.”

  Tiare added, “As the world shrinks, it would have to happen at some point in time, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.”

  “Not at all,” Daniel agreed.

 
Tiare took a sip of water from a straw on her bedside stand. “That’s enough history for now; we can finish up later. I do have some homework for you. Tomorrow I would like for you to go to the Father Sebastian Englert Anthropological Museum. It’ll be open in the morning. Have a look around. I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Daniel said. His phone then rang and he held it to his ear. “Really? Okay, I’ll be there.”

  When Daniel hung up, he said, “That was Detective Tepano. It seems that Salvador Diaz is holding a press conference tomorrow morning to announce he has captured the murderer.”

  “Who?” Tiare asked

  “Roberto Ika.”

  “That can’t be,” she said.

  Daniel shook his head in dismay.

  Chapter 14

  September 21, 2014

  Daniel and José sat in the front row of the packed meeting room at the Moana Nui Hotel. At least a hundred were in attendance, most of them reporters. Also present were a handful of Rapanui who somehow managed to slip inside.

  Salvador Diaz, dressed in an immaculately pressed grey suit with an equally crisp white shirt and navy paisley tie, moved to a place behind the podium. Standing behind him was his ever-present bodyguard, his arms tightly folded in front of him as he intently looked over the audience.

  Diaz lightly tapped the microphone and, when he was sure it was live, spoke in English — the international language. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have called this press conference to let you know some very good news. For over six months Easter Island has been terrorized by a madman who has killed and mutilated many people. Now, due to some excellent investigative work by our detectives, we have our man, and the islanders can relax.”

  He paused as a muffled gasp went up from the crowd.

  Diaz cleared his throat and moved on, saying, “The killer is Roberto Ika, a mentally ill man who just yesterday confessed to all of the murders. He —”

  A cry came from an old Rapanui man standing in the back of the room. “It can’t be! Roberto is crazy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

  Diaz motioned to a small group of Chilean policemen. They escorted the thrashing man outside to a waiting paddy wagon.

  “As I was saying, he has already confessed to the murders, and not only that, his fingerprints match those from each of the crime scenes.”

  Daniel and José glanced at each other.

  Then an elderly woman next to José stood and spoke, “I am Roberto’s neighbor. He comes home early every night and watches television, and I’ve seen his lights on during the times the murders were committed. Why would he confess to crimes that he didn’t commit? Was he tortured?”

  Two more policemen appeared and ushered her to the exit.

  José whispered to Daniel, “Do you get the feeling that there are some raw feelings about how Chile has treated the people of Rapa Nui?”

  Daniel nodded.

  Diaz turned as red as a beet and yelled at the woman as she was escorted out, “He was not tortured! That hasn’t happened since the Pino —” he abruptly stopped before finishing the sentence. He cleared his throat again.

  “And I’m sure he fooled you into believing he was there by leaving the lights on. He is guilty, guilty, guilty!” he screamed into the mic, the sound reverberating through the small room.

  Diaz quickly regained his composure. In a lower, more compassionate voice, he said, “He is a sick man who needs professional help, and today he is being flown to Santiago for evaluation at a mental institution. Once he is certified insane, he will be locked up in a place where he can never hurt anyone again.

  “At this time, I also want to thank all of those who helped make this possible, especially Daniel Fishinghawk, from the New York City Police Department.”

  A smattering of applause rose from the audience.

  He glanced at Daniel and announced, “Thank you, Hawk, for all of your assistance, and I’m glad to say you are no longer needed here.”

  In other words, Daniel thought, he’s telling me to get lost.

  Diaz then flashed his biggest smile at the television cameras, his teeth glistening. “For all of you out there listening, you need to know that Easter Island is now one hundred percent safe, and you can once again travel to our Chilean paradise without fear or concern. We welcome you back.”

  He then glared at his audience, adding, “There will be no further questions.”

  With that, he and his bodyguard beat a hasty exit from the group of stunned onlookers.

  Daniel heard a reporter from behind him grumble, “What do you mean no further questions — there were no questions from the reporters — at all!”

  As the crowd filed out, Daniel and José remained in their chairs.

  When Daniel was sure no one was within earshot, he said, “Can you believe Diaz planted the fingerprint evidence? There’s no way the ones at the scenes matched with Ika’s. And not only that, Tiare’s protection will now be stopped, and when the tourists return our killer will be back. Does Diaz believe he’ll just go away? What is he thinking?”

  José answered, “I can tell you what he’s thinking. Like I told you before, the almighty tourist currency is what’s on his mind, and he’s been told by his Chilean superiors to get the money flowing again, whatever the cost.”

  “And the cost will be enormous,” Daniel added. “I’m going to have to think about what I should do next — I can’t leave Tiare unguarded. For some reason, the killer believes she’s a link to discovering his identity.”

  “Perhaps so,” José said, “or maybe if you’re gone he’ll just leave her alone.”

  “José, I can’t take that chance. I’m going to hang around for a while longer just to be sure. And maybe, just maybe, when the killings start again, I can find a way to catch him.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. Our suspect is craftier than all of us put together. So far he’s avoided the entire Chilean police department and the best the United States has to offer. Somehow I don’t believe that’s going to change.”

  Daniel claimed, “In my experience, every killer — no matter how smart he or she is — will at some point make a mistake. And when our killer does, I will be on him like a fly on crap.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” said José

  “After what he did to Tiare, I promise you, I will find him, one way or another. Right now, though, I’m headed over to the Englert Museum. Would you like to join me?”

  “No, I’ve been in that dusty old place too many times to count over the years, and there’s nothing there that draws my interest anymore. But since you’ve never been, I believe you’ll find it intriguing. I’ll check back with you later.”

  “Sounds good,” Daniel replied. He was starting to get the feeling that before too much longer he would have some answers to this seemingly unsolvable mystery.

  But where would the answers come from?

  His instincts quickly spoke to his own question:

  Somewhere I’d rather not go.

  Daniel climbed into his car and was en route to the museum when his phone rang. A familiar voice spoke:

  “Hawk! You ol’ son of a bitch! I hear you’ve solved another case and are headed back soon to your favorite city in the world.”

  “Chief Kelly! How did you know? I left the press conference only a few minutes ago.”

  “Seems your new boss, Diaz, had his secretary call my office this morning with the news. What the fuck, Hawk? You’ve never taken more than a day or two to figure out who done it.”

  “Well,” Daniel said, “there’s a little problem you don’t know about. You see, the case has not been solved.”

  “What do you mean?

  “Let’s just say the Chilean police needed to make an arrest, and they did.”

  “Are you telling me this is a frame-up?” Kelly asked.

  “That’s what I’m saying. I’m sure once the tourists come back, the murders will start again. I need to hang around here until we
get the real killer nailed.”

  “But that’s impossible. They don’t want you around any longer. In fact, Diaz’s secretary tells me your flight out has already been booked for tomorrow. Whatever, I need you back here. I’ve got a backlog of unsolved murders I want you to sort out.”

  “Chief,” Daniel insisted, “I need to stay here — even if it’s in an unofficial capacity.”

  “Hawk, listen up! The Chilean police don’t want you there — period! I don’t like doing this, but I must order you to return.”

  “I don’t like doing this either, but you’ve backed me into a corner.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I quit,” said Daniel

  There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. “Damn it, Hawk, are you sure? I’ll throw in a big raise and an extra week of vacation just to sweeten the pot. What do you say?”

  “Sorry — can’t do it.”

  “Well, shit,” Kelly said, “I think you’re making a big fucking mistake, but if you change your mind, let me know. I’ve always got room for you with the NYPD.”

  Daniel then heard a loud click.

  Daniel parked his vehicle in front of the museum. It was a bright, sunny day, and the royal blue ocean next to the museum was calm and serene. As he got out of his SUV and strolled up to the front door, he heard the echoing sounds of seabirds. He entered, paid his admission fee and began to look at some of the objects on display.

  The first exhibit to catch his eye was one that contained the hand tools used to carve the moai. He had previously learned that it would take six men around twelve to fifteen months to complete a sixteen-foot-tall moai. Considering the large number constructed, the amount of labor involved for such a feat was astronomical.

  He then saw a female moai in the museum, obvious because of its breasts. He wandered over to couple of large wooden planks with symbols on them, one in the shape of a fish, and discovered the inscriptions were representative of Rapa Nui’s own unique rongorongo script. Granted, these were not originals. A plaque explained that all those were on exhibit in other museums across the world, but none were here.