by Robert McCaw
“Then what was the cause of death?”
“We—” Dr. Cater tried to interrupt.
Shizuo held up his hand, cutting Dr. Cater off. “I am the county physician. This is my report.” Koa bit his tongue to control his frustration.
“Proceed, Dr. Hiro.” Exasperation hung heavy in Dr. Cater’s voice.
“Asphyxiation is the cause of death.”
It was the last cause of death Koa expected. From the looks of the corpse, he’d assumed the man had died from one of the many blows to his head. “Asphyxiation?”
“Yes, a fractured hyoid bone blocks the tracheae.” Shizuo swiveled in his chair and stood up, stabbing a finger to the center X-ray film on the light boxes behind him.
“This X-ray shows your victim’s neck and head.” Shizuo ran his finger up and down the picture in front of the spinal column. “Here’s the trachea. The hyoid bone is here.” He jabbed the X-ray with his finger. “The hyoid is laterally displaced into the trachea, interfering with the respiratory function and causing asphyxia. It’s a choke hold injury, most common in police brutality—”
An insistent beeping prompted Shizuo to grab his electronic pager and examine its message window. “My delivery calls,” he announced and strutted out of the room.
Dr. Cater shook his head. “I feel sorry for the baby.”
“I usually feel sorry for the corpse. And for me.”
“At least he does OB work. Otherwise, he’d be bleeding patients.”
The men shared a look of consternation before Koa continued. “Seriously, we appreciate your help with less than ideal cooperation.”
Dr. Cater nearly choked. “You’ve got a gift for understatement, Detective.”
“Were you able to learn anything from the autopsy?”
“Only a little, I’m afraid. Your baby doctor”—Cater inclined his head toward the door—“started the autopsy before I arrived.”
Koa should have known. “Christ. It never occurred to me …”
“He made a mess of it. First-year medical students know more about forensic medicine.”
“So you’ve got nothing for me.”
“I didn’t say that. I just want you to understand I did a salvage job. It’s tough enough to autopsy a decomposed body without treading in the tracks of an obstetrician who hasn’t cracked a medical text printed after World War II.”
Although he agreed with this opinion, Koa couldn’t help noticing Dr. Cater’s own tone of superiority. Doctors were a tribe of arrogant know-it-alls. “I hear you. Tell me what you can.”
“All right, let’s start with the cause of death. Your baby doctor’s right about the fractured hyoid bone, but I’m not convinced that’s the cause of death.”
“Why?”
“The blood chemistry doesn’t square with asphyxiation.”
“You can tell despite the decomposition?”
“Yes, with the right sampling technique.”
“Then this hyoid bone”—Koa stepped to the X-ray and pointed to the top of the windpipe—“was broken by a postmortem blow?”
“I don’t think so.” Cater exhaled as he spoke. “Despite the decomposition, we found no evidence of broken skin or torn flesh on the neck. The postmortem blows seem to have been confined to the head and hands.”
Koa had lots of experience with injuries causing death, but he wasn’t following. “I don’t understand. If the hyoid bone wasn’t fractured postmortem …”
“The extreme, but largely superficial, nature of the visible injuries, the lack of hemorrhaging, and the fractured hyoid all suggest strangulation. If the blood chemistry were right, I would conclude, as your baby doctor did, that strangulation was the cause of death. But the blood chemistry doesn’t fit.”
“You’re saying that the deceased was choked, but that strangulation wasn’t the cause of death?”
“You got it.”
The light started to dawn. “You think the killer might have subdued the deceased with a choke hold before inflicting the fatal injury?”
“That’s … that’s my hypothesis.”
“Then what was the cause of death?”
“I suspect some sort of trauma to the brain, but I haven’t been able to pinpoint the physiology because your baby doctor opened up the skull before I arrived.”
“Damn,” Koa swore.
“My sentiments exactly.”
“How do you account for the lack of blood in situ, as my baby doctor refers to the crime scene?”
“That’s a puzzle. Putting aside improbables, such as anticoagulants and extreme cold, it would appear that the victim may have been dead for an hour or two before the killer inflicted the external injuries. In fact, it’s possible—we can’t tell for sure—that the killer may have choked and killed the deceased somewhere else, moved the body into the lava tube, and then mutilated the corpse, most likely to conceal his identity.”
Koa whistled softly. “So the killer either spent a couple of hours in that lava hole killing the victim, waiting all that time, and then mutilating him, or else he killed the victim somewhere else and carried the body out to Pōhakuloa, mutilated it, and then left.”
“Exactly.” Dr. Cater nodded.
“What about the date and time of death?”
“None of the standard methods for determining time of death works. When the victim’s been dead for days, temperature, rigor mortis, and skin color tell us nothing.”
Koa really wanted a time of death. That way he could match it with the disappearance of any missing persons, and later with the actions of possible suspects. “You mean you can’t give me any kind of estimate? None at all?”
“I never said that. The standard methods don’t work, Detective, so I used a relatively new technique called the vitreous fluid potassium test. You see, after death the red cells in the blood break down. Potassium, one of the resulting chemicals, seeps into the vitreous fluid inside the eyeball.” Dr. Cater produced a graph showing the expected increase in potassium with the lapse of time. “The process occurs slowly.” He ran his finger over the graph.
“Unfortunately, the vitreous fluid test has a wider margin of error than traditional methods, but when properly conducted in an adult victim, the test results are accurate to within twenty-four hours in the first 200 hours postmortem. Based on the amount of potassium in the eye fluid and the temperature in the lava tube, I estimate that your victim died between 208 and 256 hours before the police found the body and Dr. Hiro drew the vitreous fluid sample. So about eight to ten days. That would put the time of death between 1:00 a.m. on January 20 and 1:00 a.m. on January 22.”
That was more like it. Koa could work within that window.
“Moreover, his stomach contents show he died about five to six hours after eating lamb. That’s a guess, but it’s not too far off the mark. If the deceased ate a lamb dinner between 5:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m., that would put his death in the 10:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. time range.
“Combining these data, your victim likely died during the early morning hours of Tuesday, January 20; Wednesday, January 21; or Thursday, January 22. Pinning down exactly when he ate lamb would allow you to fix the date and time more precisely.”
“Excellent, Doc.” That could prove to be crucial information. “What about the cuts? I figure a razor or knife with a sharp edge.”
“Without a doubt. And brace yourself, Detective—it was used on the genitals, too.”
The words came at Koa like a body blow. “Jesus. That’s all I need … a ritual sex killing.”
“The killer cut off the head of the victim’s penis, an act that should tell you a good deal about the mental state of your killer. I’m not a psychiatrist, but …”
“Christ.” Koa frowned. “If the newspapers get hold of this … You better keep the file locked up and caution all your medical personnel who are privy to this information.”
“There’ll be no leak from my end, but you’ll have to put a lid on your baby doctor.”
“I�
�ll talk to Shizuo,” Koa muttered. “Say, you got anything for me on identity?”
“Not much.” Cater opened a red folder and started to read from his notes:
“Almost certainly a Hawaiian male …”
“How can you tell?”
“Ethnic identification is hard. But, given the nature of this killing, we used DNA tests. Went to military data banks for DNA comparables. They give us a high degree of confidence that the deceased was of Hawaiian ancestry.”
Koa couldn’t understand that at all. “That only adds to the puzzle.”
“Why?”
“If the deceased was Hawaiian, that increases the chances he was local. Family, friends, an employer … someone should have reported the victim missing. Why no missing-persons report?”
“Can’t help you on that one, Detective.”
Koa realized he was thinking out loud. He couldn’t expect this doctor to know that side of the investigation. “Your exam tell you anything about the killer?”
“Yes, at least I can offer you a couple of tentative guesses.”
“Like what?”
Dr. Cater closed the red folder. “You understand, these are just guesses.”
“Sure.”
“There was no evidence of external trauma to the neck, such as would have been present if the victim had been strangled with a rope or garroted with a wire. Therefore, I’d guess that he was strangled from behind using a choke hold.”
“So? Spell it out for me.”
“The hyoid bone is at the top of the windpipe. It would most likely be broken by pressure angled back and up. To get upward pressure with a choke hold, the killer must have been taller than the deceased.”
“How tall was the victim?”
“Five feet, nine inches.”
“How tall would the killer have to be?”
“I figure at least six feet, minimum, maybe even six-two. That, of course, assumes that the killer and the victim were both standing on level ground. It is possible that the killer could have pulled the victim over backward and applied the upward pressure while the victim was falling.”
Koa knew all about choke holds. The department frowned on their use because of the risk of killing the perp, but sometimes with a big, drug-crazed moron a cop had no other way to bring the offender down without undue personal risk. You simply got behind the subject, wrapped an arm around the neck beneath the chin, and pulled backward. The more the perp struggled, the more you tightened your hold. It was even easier if you started on a higher level than the bad guy.
“But your best guess is that the killer was six feet or taller?”
“Yes, and strong too, Koa. You have to be pretty strong to strangle an able-bodied adult male. Even with a sharp knife, it takes a strong, steady hand to slice up a man’s chest that way. I have little doubt that your killer is physically powerful.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that the killer has nerves of steel.”
“Why?”
“Those cuts across the chest—they were straight, like railroad tracks—could have been made with a razor and a straightedge. Those cuts were administered almost professionally … without the slightest sign of nervousness or panic.”
“Great. So I’ve got a tall, strong, psychologically unbalanced killer with nerves of steel. The perp from hell.”
Koa racked his brain trying to figure how a Hawaiian had been killed and missing for more than eight days without a missing-persons report. That most likely pointed to a native who had left the islands and recently returned. Maybe a native connected to archaeology. He needed to explore that angle. Maybe Jimmy Hikorea had a missing colleague.
CHAPTER NINE
KOA FELT A keen sense of anticipation as he and Jimmy drove up the winding forest drive. Koa had asked Jimmy for an introduction to an expert in Hawaiian artifacts and possible black-market outlets for antiquities. Jimmy had suggested Prince Kamehameha, a remote descendant of the most powerful king in Hawaiian history. It wasn’t every day Koa got to shake hands with a prince. However, he tamped down his expectations, reminding himself that he’d come to gather facts for his murder investigation. As always, he was determined to focus on his mission.
Although the prince still used his ali‘i, or royal title, he had no governmental function. Still, many old Hawaiians revered his family heritage and paid special attention to his views. Thus, his considerable influence derived from his wealth, his illustrious name, and his behind-the-scenes role in community affairs.
They entered the prince’s secluded villa on the slopes of Mauna Kea through wooden gates in the north wall. Verdant green lawns extended on either side of the road. In the center of the garden stood a black wrought iron aviary, perhaps sixty feet high. Squat royal poinciana trees with long, spreading branches sprouting flamboyant clusters of crimson flowers ringed the ornate cage.
Inside the aviary three ‘ios, Hawaiian hawks, perched; and Koa asked Jimmy to stop so he could take in the scene. “He ‘io au ‘a‘ohe lāmā kea ‘ole … I am a hawk; there is no branch on which I cannot perch.” The ancient words came to Koa from the recesses of his mind, surprising him with his own memory.
“The symbol of Hawaiian royalty,” Jimmy replied in the same reverent tone. The hawks held themselves regally, surveying their visitors with stony black eyes.
“They shouldn’t be in captivity,” Koa said sharply. His intensity drew a concerned look from Jimmy.
“Please …”
“Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you with our host.”
Past the aviary, a tall man with snowy-white hair and a cream-colored shirt, who looked to be in his seventies, stood on the lawn, facing away from the road. A wicker box lay on the grass near his feet. The solitary figure’s rigid posture projected tension, and when he turned, Koa saw an ‘io perched on the man’s black-gloved hand. The hawk sat regally erect, bound by the legs to a thin leather leash and blinded by a tasseled hood of intricately dyed leather.
The sight took Koa back in time to a darkened movie theater, where he had first seen a man, or rather a boy, launch a hawk into the air. The movie had been The Falcon and the Snowman. He remembered watching the great bird, its hood suddenly removed, seeing daylight and blue sky, sensing the freedom to spread its wings and fly. He’d grown up watching ‘ios sailing majestically over mountain slopes, symbols of the grace of creation. Before the movie he had never imagined a hawk in captivity, let alone submitting voluntarily to hooded darkness. The idea repulsed him now as it had then.
The broad-shouldered man on the green unclipped the leash from the jesses and loosened the strings fastening the leather hood. The hook-beaked bird, its eyes still sheathed, tensed. Taking hold of the tassel, the man lifted the hood, restoring the bird’s sight. The raptor quivered, spreading its wings before resuming an alert pose. The man’s arm shot forward, carrying his gloved fist above shoulder height.
The hawk launched into the air, its powerful wings driving it upward. Sweep after sweep of its wings carried the predator higher. The princely bird, its wedge-shaped tail extended and its wings spread nearly forty inches, rode thermal updrafts over the mountain slope. Only the narrow straps of its leather jesses, trailing beneath the hawk, marred its majesty. Koa silently urged the bird to vanish into the wild, but instead the ‘io circled, awaiting its master’s command.
The big man stooped to the wicker box and extracted a speckled dove. After spotting the hawk, he raised the dove over his head and released it. With a hurried beat of its wings, the little creature flew from his grasp. The man gave a sharp, loud command.
The hawk wheeled out of its circle and swooped, quickening the sweep of its wings, accelerating earthward toward the escaping dove. As the raptor closed the distance with astonishing speed, Koa felt his own body tense.
The dove, oblivious to the threat, flew toward safety. Too late it sensed the hawk and panicked, veering to the right. The hawk, its legs forward and its curved talons extended, plucked the dove from
the air. In an instant, the raptor spread its wings, like air brakes, and descended swiftly to the ground, gripping its prize in vise-like talons. A single screech chronicled the savage killing.
The falconer walked slowly to the hawk, which was pecking disinterestedly at its prey, and extended his gloved fist. Koa felt a stab of regret as the ‘io remounted the black fist and took morsels of food from its master. The hawk accepted the tasseled hood without protest, and the man reattached the leash to its jesses.
The show over, Jimmy restarted the car. Cresting a small hill in the center of the plateau, they arrived in front of a virtual castle. A huge open lānai with intricately carved koa balustrades fronted the two-story structure. Multiple windows soared from the roof of the lānai to gabled peaks.
Jimmy parked the Bronco at the foot of the steps leading up to the carved entrance doors. By the time Jimmy extracted his wheel-chair, two Hawaiian retainers arrived to carry him up the steps to the lānai.
The falconer greeted Jimmy with obvious respect. He was casually, but expensively, dressed in Italian loafers and finely tailored slacks. Up close Koa could see that his short-sleeve silk dress shirt was embroidered with matching cream-colored thread.
Prince Kamehameha introduced his companion, Aikue ‘Ōpua, before turning to Jimmy. “Mr. Hikorea, your reputation as one of the most knowledgeable and insightful Hawaiian archaeologists since Professor Kenneth Emory precedes you. It is an honor to welcome you to my home.” The prince spoke in a refined voice with a touch of a British accent.
Aikue ‘Ōpua, Koa thought, surprised to see him. First, he pops up looting antiquities from Kaho‘olawe with Reggie Hao, and now he’s hanging out with Prince Kamehameha. What’s more, ‘Ōpua must have been in the house while the prince was out with the falcon. That reflected a degree of familiarity between the two men. Strange. He wondered if ‘Ōpua had talked Reggie into risking his life.
“O ke ali‘i wale nō ka‘u makemake … my desire is only for the chief,” Jimmy said. Although Koa knew the identity of his host, Jimmy’s use of the word “chief” still surprised him, as did Jimmy’s bow of his head. Such deference belonged to a bygone era. “Let me introduce my friend, Koa Kāne, chief of the Investigation Division of the Hawai‘i County police. Koa, this is Prince Kamehameha.”
