Death of a Messenger

by Robert McCaw

  “Like most young astronomers, he was struggling to make a professional name for himself, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “But he wasn’t succeeding?”

  “That’s not what I said, Detective Kāne. Contemporary astronomy is a complex field. In the short time Mr. Nakano had been with us, he couldn’t have made a name for himself. I said in the long run I didn’t expect him to develop a significant professional reputation as an astronomer.”

  “He spent a lot of time on the summit?”

  “Yes, as our new adaptive optics program moved into its implementation phase, Mr. Nakano analyzed and adjusted the performance of the instruments on the telescopes. And that cannot be done remotely.”

  “He was allocated observing time for this work?”

  “Telescope time, yes. Observing time, no.” Once again Masters climbed on his high horse, as though lecturing Koa. “The implementation of any complex system requires a lot of trial and error, but in that process the telescopes are usually pointed at well-documented celestial objects. There’s not much scientific originality in that kind of observing.”

  “And he had telescope time scheduled in the last couple weeks of January?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t it unusual for him to leave when he had telescope time scheduled?”

  “Highly unusual, but astronomers do have emergencies.”

  “Any idea of the nature of Mr. Nakano’s emergency?”

  Masters spread his hands wide. “None. I had no idea he would be absent until Miss Benson informed me he’d returned to the mainland, and I still have no idea why he left in such a hurry.”

  “It appears that he never made it to the mainland.”

  “That would appear to be the case,” Masters agreed.

  “Director Masters, can you explain why the Alice Telescope Project, as Keneke’s employer, failed to report his disappearance for two weeks?” Even as he asked, Koa saw from Masters’ eyes that he’d anticipated the question. The man had to restrain himself so Koa could complete his sentence.

  “Unfortunate, but understandable under the circumstances. Mr. Nakano and I had an appointment on January 21. I spoke to a science class at the Hawai‘i Preparatory Academy early that morning. I had asked Mr. Nakano, who wrote my speech, to accompany me. I even called his house that morning to remind him.”

  Koa recalled Masters’ message on Keneke’s answering machine.

  “When I got to the office, Miss Benson informed me that Mr. Nakano had called to say he needed to return to the mainland. Quite frankly, I expressed considerable displeasure. Our whole team was frantically preparing for our big announcement. In retrospect, I should have made further inquiries when he failed to return after a week. I just never thought of it in the whirlwind of activity.”

  That seemed to remind the director of something, and he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a slip of paper. Masters handed it to Koa:

  1/21

  7:32 a.m.

  Mr. Nakano telephoned. Has some emergency. Must return to mainland. Absence not cleared. Told him I could not speak for D., but would convey message.

  JB

  Koa now had not one but two communications from Keneke on the morning of January 21—the phone call reflected in the note and the call for the airline reservation—reinforcing his belief that the astronomer must have been murdered later that day. “I’d like to keep it, if I may?”

  “By all means, Detective.”

  “How did Mr. Nakano get along with others on the Alice staff? Any disputes or disagreements with his colleagues?”

  “No. Nothing like that. As I said earlier, everyone liked him.”

  “Would you mind telling me where you spent the night of January 21?”

  Masters smiled. “Wednesday afternoon, I flew to California for meetings at Caltech and the Alice Foundation. I stayed at the Checkers Hotel in L.A. Miss Benson can give you a copy of my bill.”

  If verified, that would be a conclusive alibi. Koa had thought it a long shot, in any case. “When did you last see Mr. Nakano?”

  “I’m not positive. I think it was sometime around January 12. That’s about when I assigned him to work on my HPA speech.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of any illegal activities of any kind by Mr. Nakano?”

  Masters frowned as if it were a dumb question. “No, no, Detective. None at all.”

  “Any indication that Mr. Nakano was into selling Hawaiian archaeological objects?”

  “Oh, heavens no.” Masters’ sharp jaw took on an even harder line. “The Alice project would never tolerate anything that might provoke the sovereignty fanatics.”

  They had already covered that. Koa switched direction once again. “Do you know where we can find Mr. Nakano’s computer?”

  Masters looked confused. “Not if it isn’t at his house …”

  Feeling that he had exhausted his questions, Koa rose. “I meant to start this meeting by congratulating you, Dr. Masters. I understand that you’re about to announce an important discovery.”

  “Do you follow scientific developments, Detective?”

  “In criminology, yes. Otherwise, only when they make the front page of the newspapers, I’m afraid.”

  “We all have our own orbits, I suppose. Would you like to attend the discovery announcement? You might learn a little about astronomy.”

  Koa was going to ask for an invitation, but Masters beat him to the punch. “I’d appreciate an invitation. And I’d also like to attend the party Monday night. I understand that most of the Alice staff will be there.”

  Masters smiled. “Sure, but I’d prefer you not come as a policeman. I don’t want to cause unwanted speculation among our guests. You can join Nālani. Since she doesn’t know all the scientists, I’ll have Deputy Director Nelson escort you.”

  Koa liked the suggestion and responded, “That would be great.” After what Nālani had told him about Gunter Nelson’s falling-out with Keneke, he welcomed the opportunity to get a close-up reading on the man. Besides, the party would give him perhaps his only opportunity to size up the verification team—people who’d been around when Keneke disappeared.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KOA RETURNED TO Aikue ‘Ōpua’s farm with Sergeant Basa and Mickie Durban, one of the crime scene techs. Once again ‘Ōpua, apparently alerted by some signal from the gate, greeted them on the lānai. “Ahh, Detective Kāne, what brings the māka‘ikui to my door?”

  Why, Koa wondered, did this case involve slurs from both sides? The word meant detective, but literally translated as spying police. “Only the lawless fear the māka‘ikui.”

  “I do not fear you,” ‘Ōpua responded coldly.

  “That’s good.” Koa turned to the business at hand. “We have a search warrant for your collection of knives.” With some satisfaction, he detected a fleeting look of apprehension in the activist’s eyes.

  “So big māka‘ikui man, the haole cops have nothing better to do than harass us few true Hawaiians,” ‘Ōpua said bitterly, while making no effort to block their access to the house.

  Koa ignored the challenge and walked directly to the far wall to examine the knives displayed in carved wooden holders. “That’s quite a collection you’ve amassed,” he said.

  “I like old knives. There’s nothing wrong with that,” ‘Ōpua shot back. “The haoles haven’t yet outlawed knives, have they?”

  Koa ignored the hostility and turned to the crime scene tech. “Mickie, start with the four whalebone knives, but check all of them.”

  Wearing plastic gloves, Mickie removed a long bone knife from the wall, placed it on a cloth, and illuminated a powerful ultraviolet light. No dark spots appeared, nor did they show up on the reverse side of the blade. He repeated the exercise with a second knife and got the same results. Only when he placed a whalebone pāhoa, or dagger, under the light did they see a black spot and streaks of black where the blade met the handle. The test had revealed probable bloodstains.

/>   “Want to tell us where you got the pāhoa?” Koa asked.

  “From my makua kāne, my father.”

  “Is that so?” Koa had seen many people dig themselves into a hole when they began to make up stories. If, as he suspected, the traces of blood on the dagger came from Keneke Nakano, ‘Ōpua had just admitted to owning the knife before the murder. He wondered how deep a grave the man would dig for himself.

  “How long has that pāhoa been in this display?” Koa asked.

  “Many years.”

  “Ever butchered anything with it?”

  “No. It’s a family heirloom.”

  ‘Ōpua was digging himself in deeper. He’s not half as clever, Koa thought, as he pretends. If the knife hadn’t been used for butchering, how had it come to have blood on it?

  Basa was now eyeing the activist with open disbelief, bordering on hostility. Koa wasn’t surprised—Basa had good reason—but Koa wished his colleague weren’t so obvious. The disapproval of a haole would only get ‘Ōpua’s back up.

  The more he thought about it, the more confidently Koa believed the blood on the dagger was Keneke’s. The young astronomer’s murder appeared to be a perfect copycat inspired by the old Valentine’s Day murder. There was just one glaring exception—the absence of a whalebone dagger. A killer attentive enough to copy the earlier killing wouldn’t have forgotten the dagger. Maybe ‘Ōpua had done the killing and kept the dagger, but Koa doubted that ‘Ōpua would kill a member of his own ‘ohana huna—his own secret family. The sovereignty activists typically couldn’t agree among themselves on the time of day, but it would be extraordinary for one of them to kill a member of their own club. That left the possibility that ‘Ōpua—a collector of old Hawaiiana with an obvious fascination with knives—had filched the dagger from the murder scene before dialing 911.

  “It’s been in this display case for years. Is that what you’re telling me?” Koa asked, deliberately letting the skepticism show in his voice.

  ‘Ōpua glared defiantly at Koa as he taunted, “So the māka‘ikui has become so corrupted by the haoles that he doesn’t accept the word of his Hawaiian brother.”

  Koa had had enough of the slurs. He stepped forward, invading ‘Ōpua’s personal space, getting almost eye to eye with the activist. “The lab will tell us whether that’s Keneke Nakano’s blood on your dagger. You’d be well served to tell us now if the dagger came from the lava tube out at Pōhakuloa.”

  They stood inches apart, eyes locked in a staring contest for a long moment. Koa wondered if ‘Ōpua understood that Koa was trying to help him, to give him a way out of the box he’d created for himself. Then ‘Ōpua broke eye contact and turned away.

  Still he hesitated. “No, māka‘ikui. It’s been in my family since before the haoles stole these islands.”

  Some people were their own worst enemies. ‘Ōpua could cast all the slurs he liked, because they amounted, like his sovereignty rants, to so much hot air. Koa lived in a world where hard facts had hard consequences. Even in the Hawai‘i of old, a man was punished for murder.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HEEDING THE CLARION call of Thurston Masters, the elite scientific community swarmed the Big Island like fans to a rock concert. The gathering of minds read like a virtual United Nations of learned men and women: optical engineers from Russia, university professors from South Africa, and science fiction writers from Europe. They represented every scientific discipline: Asian astronomers, South American astrophysicists, and American cosmologists. By late Sunday evening, 889 assorted scientists and camp followers had checked into the Waikoloa Hotel for the meeting of the North American Astronomical Society. Amid the throbbing of Hawaiian drums and the wafting scent of plumeria, the place buzzed with anticipation.

  Koa arrived at the Waikoloa Hotel shortly after eleven o’clock on Monday morning. NAAS convention signs guided him to the hotel’s huge Monarchy Ballroom, arranged like an auditorium. Masters had invited him to learn astronomy, but he had come to observe the Alice personnel and outside scientists who had been around when Keneke disappeared. Rarely did he miss an opportunity to observe potential suspects in their own private worlds. And he wanted to get some context before meeting up with Gunter Nelson, his escort for the NAAS party, where Nālani would join him. He staked out an inconspicuous spot against the left rear wall with a view of the entire room.

  Rows of narrow tables set with light green linen, along with metal folding chairs, covered a seascape carpet. Each of the five hundred places was marked by an obligatory hotel notepad, a pencil, and a water glass.

  Onstage, three armchairs flanked each side of the speaker’s podium. Two giant, flat monitors hung from the ceiling on either side. Along the front, metal tripods held television cameras from which cables, taped to the carpet, snaked up the aisles.

  Scientists and other assorted guests streamed in, chatting excitedly about the impending announcement. By 11:45, attendees filled every seat. By 11:55, the latecomers perched on the shallow steps and stood two to three rows deep across the back of the room.

  The room dimmed and the television lights came on. As a woman ascended the stage, a disembodied voice announced, “Dr. Beverly Gottleib, the Chilling Professor of Cosmology from Cambridge University.” A buzz of voices erupted when Professor Jeremy Cocroft of the Institute for Advanced Studies at Princeton University followed Dr. Gottleib onto the stage. “They’re archenemies,” Koa heard a man whisper. “I never thought I’d see the two of them on the same stage.” Four more scientists took their seats as several people close to Koa expressed surprise at the awesome brain trust on the stage.

  Following a brief introduction by the president of the North American Astronomical Society, Masters made his appearance. The man of the hour carried his six-foot frame with the confidence of a conquering hero. In a voice devoid of sentiment, Masters began speaking:

  “Esteemed colleagues. Hubble defined a universe in which virtually every galaxy is receding from every other galaxy, an expanding universe. But at what rate? That question has haunted astronomers and cosmologists since Hubble’s time. To determine the answer, we need to measure the distance to remote galaxies. Yet, as we know, great distances are extraordinarily difficult to judge from our position in the universe.

  “Using the Alice telescopes, I have identified four vastly distant galaxies and determined the distance between them. But how, you ask.” Masters activated the large LED screens at the corners of the stage.

  The audience registered a collective “Wow.”

  “Look at the detail,” someone said. Electronic flashes popped.

  Koa didn’t have the background to follow Masters’ scientific discussion, but he knew enough to understand that Masters had panache. He played his audience like a concert pianist.

  Equations filled the screens, followed by graphs and more equations. “With the newfound possibility of exact distance measurement to a pair of compact galaxies more than halfway to the edge of the universe, we programmed Alice’s supercomputers to simulate the growth of the universe over billions of years.” Pointing to the screen to his left, Masters continued, “This graph will show the results.”

  The vertical axis showed the size of the universe, while the horizontal axis displayed time in billion-year increments. A red line on the graph moved gradually, tantalizingly, upward, showing the expansion of the universe over time as Masters advanced in billion-year increments. Then the rate of expansion slowed, and the red line bent toward the horizontal until finally it peaked and began creeping down as the universe began to contract. A murmur rose from the audience, and then as people grasped the full significance of Masters’ work, the noise swelled to a crescendo.

  “It’s closed! It’s closed! The universe will end!” The shout came from somewhere out in the audience. People jumped to their feet. More yelling and pandemonium ensued. The TV cameras panned to record the excitement. A full five minutes passed before the storm subsided. All the while Masters stood at the podium,
basking in his glory.

  “I declare the universe CLOSED … CLOSED,” Masters’ voice boomed. He began to speak more rapidly. “The universe will reach its point of maximum expansion in a mere 4.3 billion years, well before the death of our sun. Then it will begin to contract, accelerating into a headlong rush. We will head toward the Big Crunch. And perhaps another Big Bang. The Second Coming of the universe.”

  Over five hundred guests in the packed auditorium rose from their seats, and a thunderous applause swept through the room. It went on and on before Masters was finally able to resume.

  Composing himself, Masters resumed speaking in a more restrained pace. “I want to offer special thanks to members of the verification team.” He spread his arms, indicating the scientists sitting in the armchairs. “Each member has spent many nights with the Alice telescopes, checking and rechecking these observations. Together they have consumed thousands of hours of computer time checking my calculations, and they have verified my work beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  On the terrace of the hotel bar, Koa popped two more pain pills and massaged his neck as he sipped an O’Doul’s. As he waited for Gunter Nelson, he added up everything he knew about Keneke Nakano’s disappearance. Just after 7:30 a.m. on January 21, a young astronomer calls his employer saying he has to return to the mainland—it’s an emergency. Something to do with his girlfriend. But Nakano knows that his girlfriend isn’t in the United States. She’s at Cerro Tololo in Chile. He misses an important event with his boss. At 7:42 a.m., he makes a reservation to fly to Los Angeles.

  His SUV turns up at the Hilo airport. He’s in such a hurry he leaves his keys in his unlocked car, but he fails to show up for his scheduled flight. His mutilated body is then found thirty miles away in an isolated lava tube. What drew him toward California? And what happened after he made that phone call to the Alice administrative offices and reserved his flight?