Fire Dancer

by Linsey Lanier

  And then he remembered. He’d left the pouch on the last marine box. It was still there when the police boat arrived. His tools must be at the station with the contraband.

  He fought down the knot of fear forming in his belly. The waves lapped against the cave walls, against his body. It wouldn’t be long before they were up to his chest. He’d have to think of something else.

  And he’d have to think of it fast.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “What do you mean, Sergeant Balondo is busy?” Edward Steele glared into the glassy eyes of the youthful, large-eared clerk behind the front counter of the police station.

  “He isn’t answering his phone, sir. He must be away.”

  “Don’t you have an intercom?” They’d already waited over twenty minutes. They had to see the sergeant before Mikaele lost his nerve.

  Mikaele tapped his arm. “C’mon, Dad. Don’t make a scene.”

  “Scene? I’ll show you a scene.” Edward turned and marched down a little alcove with a door at the end of it.

  The clerk got to his feet. “Sir, you can’t go in there.”

  “Watch me.” Edward grabbed the handle, yanked open the door and bellowed as loud as he could. “Sergeant Balondo? Are you back there? We need to speak with you.”

  A tall, dark-skinned uniform popped around a corner. Before he could speak, a door near the back opened and Balondo stepped into the hallway. “What the hell is going on?”

  Edward blew out a breath of relief. “I apologize, Sergeant. We—my son—needs to speak with you.”

  The sergeant’s face softened when he recognized Keola’s family, but he still looked annoyed. “Now?”

  Edward had a love-hate relationship with cops, but Balondo had seemed genuinely concerned when he came to the house to talk to the family yesterday as a follow-up to the first officer. And just now, he couldn’t be picky. “Yes, sir. Right away,” he said. “We have important information you can use.” His voice nearly broke as he uttered the words. He couldn’t explain any more here in the hall.

  “All right.” Balondo gestured for them to come ahead. “Let’s go to my office.”

  As he stepped forward, Edward whispered to his son, “Don’t say anything until we see Miranda.”

  ###

  Miranda lifted her head from her balled fist and stared at Zabel, who had been quietly jotting down more details of her honeymoon adventure. She knew that booming voice. Had her new lawyer really pulled it off?

  “Is that who I think it is?”

  Zabel looked up and grinned at her as she rose and moved to the door. “I think so. And if everything goes right with the sergeant, in a little while you’ll be out of here.” Then she knocked on the door for an officer to open it.

  When he did, she glided through with even more confidence in her step than before. “I’ll be back as soon as I get this straightened out,” she called out just before the officer shut the door and locked it behind her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The water was almost to his shoulders now.

  Breathe, Parker told himself, forcing back the panic. There was always a way out. It was just a matter discovering it.

  In time.

  A thought came to him. He still had his shoes on. That should do it.

  He drew in another breath and bent his knees to sink down below the surface. In the dark, he used his leg to find the chain and followed it to where it was attached to the stalagmite. He let the chain go and felt his way up. The rock grew narrower as he went.

  His head popped over the water and he drew in air. His fingers touched the spiny top. He let his hands travel down again several inches to a narrower place. There. That ought to do it.

  Now for some leverage.

  Once again he found the chain and held onto it while he angled his body. He raised his free leg and pushed back, his heel coming down against the rock with as much force as he could muster. He plunged forward again, groped for the top. It was still in place.

  He needed more force.

  He repositioned himself and gave the stalagmite another kick. He dove in. Still there, but partly broken now. One more try.

  He repeated the movement, thrust out his leg with all his might.

  He felt the rock give way, heard it plop into the water. He propelled himself toward the spear. “Oh, no you don’t.” His hands found the jagged piece just before it floated out of reach. It was the perfect size.

  The next step would be a tad more difficult. He took a quick breath to calm himself. Then he sucked in all the air he could and dove below the surface once more, the rock pressed to his chest.

  Once again he found the chain with his free hand. He pulled it away from his ankle. It barely budged. He was afraid of that. The chain was too tight, the padlock too close. If he tried to break it, he’d shatter bone. Next idea.

  He followed the chain down to the base of the stalagmite, felt for the place where it was attached to the rock. It seemed to be connected with a heavy bolt, held in place with another lock. Jonathan had done a lot of work to secure it. If only he had put his efforts to better use. Parker ran his fingers over the surface. Sturdy, not a speck of rust. Must be stainless steel.

  This was his best bet. The weakest spot in the chain.

  He held the chain taut against the base of the stalagmite, gripped the piece he’d broken off the top in his other hand and rammed it down against the bolt with all his might. The vibration stirred the water, kicking up silt, but overhead the waves were already restless.

  He gave the bolt another hard smack. It shook again, but the hard steel wouldn’t give. He struck it again.

  Still intact. Time for some air.

  He stood and stretched to his full height, until his head broke through the surface. The water was to his chin. No time to rest.

  He took a quick gulp of air and plunged in again. Once more, he maneuvered the chain against the spear’s base and pounded it. Over and over. The makeshift hammer cut into his palm. His hand started to bleed and he hoped no sharks would find their way into the cave.

  On the last strike, the rock gave way and crumbled in his hand. The pieces floated away. He took the chain in both hands and pulled, ignoring the pain of his cuts. No give at all. The link hadn’t loosened one bit.

  He rushed back to the surface and gasped in air, his chest heaving.

  A wave splashed against his face. He shot up, floated.

  The back of the cave. The water would be shallower there. He forced himself to regain composure and got his bearings. That way.

  He swam as hard as he could, but he didn’t get far before the chain went taut and jerked him back. The links bit into his ankle.

  He put his legs down. His head was still above water here. At the bottom of his neck. There was still time before he had to swim. Think, dammit, think.

  But nothing came to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Miranda thought she must have been dreaming when the door to the interrogation room opened and her father strode in with Mikaele, Sergeant Balondo and Zabel following behind.

  She watched them assemble themselves around the cramped little table.

  “Is this satisfactory, Ms. Garcia?” Balondo said, sounding as grouchy as ever.

  Zabel nodded. “Yes, it is, Sergeant.”

  Balondo plopped down into a chair, slapped his notepad down and clicked his pen. “All right, young man. What do you have to say?”

  Mikaele blinked at the faces the room. He looked as if he’d like to turn and run away and hide somewhere.

  Edward Steele, her father, put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, son. Tell the sergeant everything.”

  The boy stared down at the floor, his dark hair falling over his eyes, and swiped at his nose. “I was at the blowhole the night my brother was killed.”

  Balondo raised a brow.

  “And?” her father prompted.

  “Jonathan Ha’aheo was there. My brother went to meet him
there.”

  Balondo made a note on his pad. He was trying to look objective and authoritative, but Miranda could see he was surprised to hear the same name she had given him. “Why did your brother go to meet this person?”

  “He’s the leader of Huaka’i Po. The Night Marchers.”

  That got Balondo’s attention. He raised his head. “The gang? How do you know about them?”

  “I’m a member. Jonathan recruited me.”

  Miranda hugged herself, her stomach in a tight knot. Gang affiliation. She knew it. Mikaele’s baggy T-shirt and droopy drawers only added weight to his words.

  “Go on, son,” Balondo prompted.

  “Jonathan promised me lots of money and that I wouldn’t have to finish school. He took me to his lava cave. He showed me drugs and goods he had stolen from local hotels. He said I could steal stuff like that for him, too, and make lots of scratch. He threatened to hurt my family if I told anyone.” The boy pulled his hair out of his eyes. There was real fright in them.

  “Did he hurt them?” Balondo wanted to know.

  “Not until Keola found out about Jonathan. That I was hanging around with him, at least. He went to the blowhole that night to tell Jonathan to leave me alone.”

  Balondo put down his pen and folded his arms. “And what happened?”

  “Jonathan laughed at him. They talked a while. Argued, really. And then my brother swung at Jonathan. He shouldn’t have done that. I could’ve told him that. You don’t rile that hot head.”

  “You saw what happened?”

  Mikaele nodded. “Keola came to see me before he went there. He told me he was going to meet Jonathan. I got scared and followed him. But there was nothing I could do.” His eyes began to well up with tears.

  “Your brother got into a fight with this Jonathan Ha’aheo?” Balondo asked to keep the boy on the facts.

  Again he nodded. “Like I said, Keola took a swing at Jonathan. Jonathan wasn’t gonna stand for that. He hit back. Really hard.” Mikaele’s voice broke.

  “And then?”

  “Keola fell back on the ground. Jonathan jumped on him. He pounded him. Really pounded him. He took his head in his hands and smashed it against the rocks.” He made a sickening gesture to mimic the action. “Those sharp lava rocks. I saw the blood spurt out of him.” The tears were streaming down his face now.

  Balondo pulled out a chair. “Sit down, son.”

  Mikaele sank into it and swiped at his face. Zabel produced a tissue from her briefcase and handed it to him. The boy took it and blew his nose.

  Her father stepped up behind the boy and laid comforting hands on each shoulder. “It’s all right, son. You’re doing fine. Go on, Sergeant.”

  Balondo leaned forward. “Did Keola fight back?”

  “He tried to. But he couldn’t fight that maniac. He got up and ran. He almost got away.”

  “Did he make it to the warning sign?” Miranda wanted to know.

  Mikaele nodded. “He tried to grab onto it, but Jonathan is so strong. He dragged him back, threw him on the ground again. I heard his head hit the rocks this time.” He put his hand to his mouth like he was going to be sick. He wiped his eyes with the tissue again.

  “What happened then, son?” Balondo’s voice was the gentlest Miranda had ever heard it.

  Mikaele took a deep breath. “After that, my brother…didn’t do anything. I couldn’t see him moving any more. Jonathan got to his feet and picked him up. Keola’s head and arms fell back…like he was dead.” He pressed the tissue against his eyes. “I thought he’d killed him. Jonathan carried him over to the blowhole and threw him in.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran. I ran like hell and got out of there. I went to a tattoo parlor and got this.” He held up his arm with that tattoo of the fiery torch. “It wasn’t for the Night Marchers. Yeah, it’s their mark. And I was scared of Jonathan and thought it would prove my loyalty. But it wasn’t really for him. It was for Keola. Because he was dead. Because Jonathan had killed him and I couldn’t stop him.” Breaking into deep sobs, he got to his feet, turned to his father.

  Edward Steele held him as the boy buried his face in his chest and wept. Miranda watched the tears flow from her father’s eyes as well. She couldn’t keep them back herself. These were her brothers. Her family.

  Everyone sat in silence for a long moment.

  At last, Balondo brought them all back to reality. “So Jonathan Ha’aheo is the drug dealer and the killer. Do you know where he lives, son?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Miranda sat up. “I do. Or I think I do. Jonathan’s father, Robert Ha’aheo, was a career criminal as well. My husband and Detective Nakamura chased him down four years ago. Parker told me where Ha’aheo used to live. He thought Jonathan still lives there.” She gave him the address she’d memorized.

  Balondo made a note on his pad, snapped it shut and shot to his feet. “I’ll get my men on it right away.”

  “Parker and I will go with you.”

  “This is police business, Mrs. Parker. You’re free to go. Now if you’ll all excuse me.”

  Miranda gritted her teeth as the sergeant brushed past her and out the door.

  Zabel laid a gentle arm on hers. “Let’s go, Miranda.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Miranda’s head was spinning as she hurried down the corridor. She’d get Parker and they’d beat the police to Ha’aheo’s house. If she caught that bastard, she might be back here on charges for murder. Real ones this time. But as she reached the alcove that led to the waiting room she came back to the present.

  She turned to her attorney. “Thank you so much, Zabel.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “And you, too.” She took the boy’s hand. “Thank you, Mikaele.” She meant it with all her heart.

  “You’re welcome…sister.” He reached around her with his thin arms and gave her a hug.

  She hadn’t expected that. Or the tears stinging her eyes as she reached out for her father’s hand. “And thank you, Dad.”

  He squeezed her hand, a sad smile on his face. “Keola’s memorial is tomorrow. Will you come, Miranda?”

  She opened her mouth, not sure what to say.

  “Please come. He would have wanted you to be there. You and your husband. Please?”

  Holding Mikaele’s hand, she stepped through the door and into the open area. Husband.

  She spun around, scanned the waiting room. “Parker?” Where was he?

  She trotted across the room and peered through the window. He wasn’t in the parking lot. She ran to the desk where a young clerk sat. “Where’s my husband?”

  He looked up from his magazine, a blank expression on his face. As if coming out of a trance, he scanned his desk, ran a hand over his face. “He left a little while ago.”

  Miranda felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He gave me this note. I was supposed to give it to Sergeant Balondo.”

  At the sound of his name, the sergeant appeared in the aisle in front of the divider behind the reception desk. “What is it? Something else?”

  “This is for you.”

  Miranda snatched the note out of the clerk’s hand before Balondo could get it. She read it aloud.

  I’m going to meet Jonathan Ha’aheo at the sea cave. He is Keola’s killer. If I haven’t brought him back in forty minutes, send someone after me.

  “When did he leave?”

  The clerk looked up at the clock. “About an hour ago.”

  “Oh, my God. Parker’s in trouble.”

  She turned to Balondo. “We’ve got to get to that sea cave. Now.”

  This time, he gave her no argument. “We’ll take the police boat.” He shouted toward the back. “Yamagata, Andrews, you’re coming with me.”

  The instant reply came over the divider. “Yes, sir.”

  Balondo turned to Mikaele. “What kind of boat does Ha’aheo have?”

/>   “A Hustler Rocket,” the boy said without a beat. “Red and black.”

  Balondo nodded and gave Miranda a somber look. “I’m sorry. There’s not enough room in the police boat for you civilians.” Then he disappeared.

  Miranda pulled at her hair. “What do we do now?”

  “We’ve got a boat,” Mikaele offered.

  She spun around to him. “Is it fast?”

  “Our Stingray cruiser? It can do eighty.”

  That would do. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It seemed to take forever to get down to the dock and get the two vessels launched, but it was only about fifteen minutes before they were zipping over the water toward the cave.

  Praying they weren’t fifteen minutes too late, Miranda held onto her seat with a white-knuckle grip.

  The waves were choppier now and more people were out but Balondo cleared the way in the police boat with his megaphone.

  Finally, they neared the cliffs.

  “Is this the cave near the blowhole where Keola was found?” Pumehana shouted.

  “Yes. It’s just beyond it.” She gestured overhead. “You can see the blowhole from here.”

  “She’s right, Dad,” Mikaele said. “Jonathan showed it to me once.”

  “You said he took you there?”

  “Yes. He said now that I’d seen the secret spot, I could never leave him. He threatened to slit my throat if I ever told anyone about it.”

  “We’ve got to get to that bastard,” Miranda grunted from the back seat.

  She saw concern mixed with pride flash in her father’s eyes as he nodded in agreement. He was at the wheel, his dark hair and open Aloha shirt blowing in the wind. His strong, tan arms steered the cruiser around the cliffs with ease.

  Mikaele sat next to him, a sharp eye on the police boat.

  Miranda glanced in that direction. Over the roar of the motors, she couldn't be sure, but it looked like Yamagata was on the radio. He said something to Balondo. The sergeant nodded then picked up his megaphone and turned it toward them.