Death of a Messenger

by Robert McCaw

  Hook sat with his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Koa. I’m scared for him. He’s all I have. Let me go talk to him alone.” The old fisherman rose heavily from his seat and walked slowly out of the room. He was gone for a long time.

  While Hook talked to Reggie, Koa called Sergeant Basa. “You staying out of trouble, my friend?”

  “Yeah, I’m working on it,” Basa responded cautiously.

  “For you, that’s a full-time job, isn’t it, Sergeant?” Koa chuckled.

  “Cute, boss … real cute. And now I’ll bet you want a favor.”

  “Yeah, run a records check on one Garvie Jenkins, G-A-R-V-I-E. He did time at Kūlani.”

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang. “It’s Basa. I put Jenkins in the computer. One Garvie Jenkins pled a 708-852, class C felony. Drew an indeterminate ten years. Did his time at Kūlani. Paroled about four years ago.”

  Koa thought for a minute. “Forgery?”

  “That’s the code section.”

  “What’d he pass? Bad checks?”

  “I don’t think so. The computer file says ‘forged documents.’ That’s not records speak for a phony check rap. You want me to pull the file?”

  “Yes, and call me back as soon as you get something.” He rang off. He considered going back to Reggie’s hospital room, but thought better of it. An hour crept by.

  Finally, Hook returned to the ‘ohana room and sat down. He took his time in collecting his thoughts.

  “Koa, my telling you something, well, it’s not like Reggie telling you. I mean, I can’t incriminate him, can I?”

  The old fisherman had been around. He was smart, and nothing mattered more to him than protecting his son. “No. I could use what you tell me as a police officer, but I don’t think a prosecutor could use your statement against Reggie. It’d be hearsay.”

  “And you’re going to help Reggie?”

  Although Koa and Hook had reached this sensitive point a number of times over the years, Koa felt obligated to restate the ground rules. “Any way I can, consistent with my obligations as a police officer. As we’ve talked before, there’s a line I can’t cross.”

  Again, Hook paused. Koa watched him struggle to come to a decision. “Okay, you were right. Reggie remembers more than he told the detective. Baxter spooked him. It’s complicated. Reggie and his friends were into the sovereignty thing. That’s how he met Aikue ‘Ōpua.”

  Koa nodded, knowing how that worked.

  “Anyway, ‘Ōpua got Reggie all worked up about Kaho‘olawe. You know about December 8, 1941?”

  “The day after Pearl Harbor? No.”

  “That’s the day the United States seized Kaho‘olawe, forced the residents off, built a mock airstrip, and started bombing. It wasn’t hard to get Reggie stirred up. It’s not hard to get anyone who respects the land …”

  Koa saw anger flare up in Hook’s eyes and inflame his cheeks. Koa understood. Hawaiian society before Western contact had revolved around respect for the land and the ocean. That respect indelibly marked the Hawaiian people, and Hook was Hawaiian to the core.

  “Anyway,” Hook continued, “Aikue got Reggie excited about saving his native heritage. Introduced him to other traditionalists—some in the sovereignty movement an’ others just interested in preserving the old ways. They had meetings. It’s mostly talk an’ more talk.

  “Somehow Jenkins shows up in this group. Reggie remembers seeing him with ‘Ōpua and some of the others, but he’s not sure how Garvie got hooked up with ‘Ōpua. He had some pilina—some connection to archaeology—but wasn’t part of the sovereignty crowd.

  Jenkins was carrying books, articles, and texts about things used by the people of old. Some of it was the usual fishhooks, poi pounders, and stone bowls, but Jenkins mostly talked about things used by the ali‘i. He wanted to find the treasures of Hawaiian history.” Hook’s face twisted with dislike.

  “Reggie didn’t know Jenkins was a bad dude. He swore to me he didn’t know. He says Jenkins talked like a professor, not a convict. Jenkins talked about preserving things. Anyway, they went out to Kaho‘olawe maybe a dozen times. Didn’t find much at first, but on the third or fourth trip they found a rock shelter. On the next trip they found a small burial cave.”

  “They looted a burial cave?” Koa didn’t bother concealing his surprise.

  Hook looked down, not meeting Koa’s eyes. “Jenkins wanted to preserve everything. ‘Ōpua agreed and Reggie went along. They stashed things in a cave on the Big Island for safekeeping.”

  This was adding up to a felony. There was no excuse for grave robbing. “They always brought things back?”

  “I don’t know about every trip. On one trip they found a tiny figure carved from a sea urchin spine. Jenkins got excited. He knew something about it. Said that Kaho‘olawe was the only place in the Pacific where the natives had carved sea urchin spines.”

  “And they brought it back to the Big Island?”

  “Yes. And obsidian. They found some obsidian beads. According to Jenkins, obsidian beads were rare in Hawai‘i.”

  Koa had misjudged ‘Ōpua. The high and mighty sovereignty activist was a thief—or worse. “And they kept going back?”

  “Yes. The rock shelter wasn’t far from the coast and away from the bombing range, but Jenkins wanted to explore Pu‘u Moiwi. He told Reggie about quarries near Pu‘u Moiwi.”

  “Quarries?” Koa felt a tickle of excitement.

  “Yes, adze quarries. Reggie wasn’t keen on going that far upslope into the bombing range, but Jenkins insisted. Said that’s where they might find really interesting stuff.”

  “How did Jenkins know about the quarries?” Koa asked.

  “According to Reggie, Jenkins had done research and knew a lot about Kaho‘olawe.”

  “Did Reggie say more about Jenkins’s background?”

  “He was in some kind of business. It had some kind of connection to research. Reggie didn’t know the details.”

  Research support for grave robbing came to mind. “Okay, so they went up toward Pu‘u Moiwi?”

  “Yeah. They worked their way ma uka, up toward the ridgeline. They were careful. It took time. They found the Pu‘u Moiwi adze quarry. It’s just an open pit covered with partly made tools and stone chips, nothing special. Reggie was disappointed. He had taken a risk going that far inland and they found nothing. That’s when Jenkins told them about a cave where the ancients dug volcanic glass.”

  “Jenkins told them to look for a cave?”

  “Yes, a cave with a—what do you call it—a band, a section—?”

  “A vein?”

  “Yeah, a cave with a vein of volcanic glass.”

  “Did they find it?”

  “Not on that trip. But on the next trip, Jenkins used a machine. According to Reggie, it was the size of a package.” Hook used his hands to illustrate a rectangular shape about briefcase size. “It had a short folding antenna. Garvie also had many peg-like things with antennas. They drove holes into the ground and placed the pegs in a straight line about three hundred yards long.

  Garvie fiddled with some controls on the box and then set off a small explosive charge in the middle of the line of pegs.” Koa instantly recalled the windswept slope of Mauna Kea where Piki had found a piece of fuse cord and wax wrapping from an explosive charge. There was a connection to the Pōhakuloa cave, Koa thought excitedly.

  “Go on …”

  “They moved the line of pegs and repeated the whole thing five or six times. Jenkins told them that analysis of the data would help them find the cave.”

  “Did it?”

  “On the next trip Jenkins had a detailed map of Pu‘u Moiwi, more detailed than any map of Kaho‘olawe Reggie had ever seen. It showed positions for the pegs and explosive charges and two possible caves. This time Jenkins had a different machine, like a small electric lawn mower with a computer attached to the handle. Jenkins rolled it around over the possible cave sites. Then they started digging. That’s how th
ey found the cave, a cave untouched for centuries.”

  Koa’s cell rang, and he snatched it up. It was Basa. “Koa, I’ve got the R&I file on Garvie Jenkins. It wasn’t bad checks. He operated—”

  “Slow down, Basa. Let me make some notes.” Koa hadn’t been taking notes as Hook spoke because he hadn’t wanted to spook the old fisherman, but now he extracted a small notebook and began scribbling. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Jenkins operated a bookstore in Kona, a place called The History Buff. An upscale place, selling expensive items, old prints, maps, lithographs, rare books, and an occasional artifact.” Koa could tell that the sergeant was proud of his digging.

  “Seems like Jenkins couldn’t get enough inventory. He started printing his own old maps. Printed them on an ancient newspaper press—sold expensive forgeries to wealthy tourists. One of his marks turned out to be a well-connected New Yorker. This buyer takes Garvie’s maps to a dealer in New York who tagged them as forgeries. The mark had friends in the FBI and raised a shit storm.

  “The feds called the county prosecutor, who raided Garvie’s shop. His records showed the sale of more than forty-five phony maps. He netted almost a hundred fifty grand. We initially charged him under 708-854, possession of the implements of forgery, as well as 708-853 for forgery. He pleaded out the forgery rap. Does that help?”

  “It fits a lei on a hula dancer.” Koa smiled for the first time since he’d walked into the hospital. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. I want a complete workup on Jenkins—employer, bank accounts, known associates, travels, the works—and Basa, you remember that blasting stuff we found on Mauna Kea?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See if our federal friends can figure out the manufacturer, the dealer, and the buyer. Tell them it might have come from a seismic testing company, maybe in the oil or mineral exploration business, and check to see whether anybody uses that stuff here in the islands.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Save the sarcasm for your drinking buddies. And Basa, send someone back up Mauna Kea where Piki found the blasting materials. Have them do a grid search for more materials of the same type. Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  “Good. Now let me go. I’m in the middle of something.” Koa hung up and turned his attention back to Hook. “So what happened when they opened up the cave?”

  “There was lots of dust, maybe two inches thick over everything, like it had flaked off the walls, maybe from the bombing. One of the walls had a glassy black color an’ showed marks where it had been chipped away. Garvie said it was obsidian, a kind of volcanic glass.”

  “So they found an ancient volcanic glass mine?”

  “Yeah. They had battery-powered lights and began digging through the dust. That’s when they found the glossy black figures, figures of the Hawaiian god Kanaloa. Some of the figures were three inches high, but another stood nearly a foot tall. It gleamed. Reggie said it was beautiful. Jenkins became really excited, yelling and whooping.”

  “I’ll bet. Obsidian Kanaloa figures must be worth a fortune on the black market.”

  “Jenkins was into the black market?” Hook asked incredulously.

  “I think so, based on his criminal record, but I still don’t know what happened out there—how Reggie got hurt.”

  “Jenkins said something about selling the Kanaloa statues to a collector he knew. Reggie objected. They argued, and then they were screaming at each other. Reggie called him a traitor. They fought. When Jenkins pulled a knife, Reggie ran. Jenkins chased him, screaming that he wasn’t going to let a fuckin’ Hawaiian ruin his chance for a fortune. That’s when Reggie triggered an explosion. He remembers a blinding flash and then nothing.”

  “He’s lucky it didn’t kill him.” Koa put his hand on Hook’s shoulder. The two men sat in silence as Koa sorted through this gigantic mess.

  “What do you think?” Hook finally asked.

  “I think Reggie’s going to come out of this okay, but we got some work to do. I’m out of my jurisdiction, and I don’t trust Baxter. You need to get Reggie a lawyer, Hook. Try Bernie Ponabi. He’s got a lot of credibility with the authorities.”

  Hook frowned at the suggestion. “What can Ponabi do?”

  “He can negotiate immunity for Reggie in exchange for his testimony against Jenkins.”

  “You mean, Reggie’s gonna be a snitch?”

  Koa gave his friend a hard stare. “It’s better than going to Kūlani on a felony charge.”

  The gravity of the situation was sinking in for the old fisherman. “Okay, Koa, I’ll talk to Bernie Ponabi. I’ll see what he thinks.”

  “Good. Now, where is the equipment that Jenkins used? Is it on the island or in Reggie’s boat?”

  Hook hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know. Reggie didn’t say.”

  “Go back and ask him. Another thing. Ask him about a blue backpack, full of fishhooks and stones, volcanic glass, and some ‘aumakua objects. The Navy found it out there.”

  “Okay.” Hook disappeared into Reggie’s room, but returned a few minutes later. “Reggie last saw the box and the pegs when they unloaded back in Hilo after the last trip. The lawn mower device was at Pu‘u Moiwi when the dud exploded.”

  “That’s odd. The Navy didn’t report finding anything like that.”

  “Can’t help you. Reggie says they pushed it off to the side when they started digging.”

  “And the backpack?”

  “Each of them had a backpack. Reggie had a red one. ‘Ōpua had a blue backpack. Jenkins had two packs, both black. They carried them on each of their trips.”

  So where was all the potential evidence? “Something’s fishy. Something doesn’t add up.” Koa thought for a moment. “Go back to Reggie. Get the location of the cave.”

  Hook didn’t emerge from Reggie’s hospital room for nearly ten minutes. “He says it’s east of Pu‘u Moiwi. He’s not sure about the exact location, but it’s south of most of the pegs.”

  Koa wasn’t looking forward to dinner with Lieutenant Baxter, but he knew he had to honor his commitment. He prided himself on dealing fairly with his colleagues, but wanted them to meet him halfway. Baxter’s racist attitude was completely out of control, infecting both their collegial relationship and Baxter’s professional performance. That crossed Koa’s red line. He’d help Reggie, and not think twice about screwing Baxter and his headlong rush toward an unfair prosecution.

  He caught a taxi for the ten-mile trip across the narrow neck of the island to Mā‘alaea Bay. He looked for Baxter inside the Waterfront restaurant before spotting him on the patio overlooking the bay. He was flirting with a Hawaiian waitress who had just delivered the overweight lieutenant his second, or maybe his third, martini.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Koa asked as he slid into the chair across the table from Baxter.

  “No. Alana here was just gittin’ me anotha martini on your tab,” Baxter said, slurring his words. “What’s ya drinkin’, Koa, my man?”

  Koa ordered a beer. The waitress had barely left the table before Baxter asked, “That snot-nosed kid tell you anything?”

  Koa shook his head. Baxter’s conceit wouldn’t allow him to believe that a native detective could get information that had eluded him. So be it.

  “Didn’t think so. He was lyin’ through his fuckin’ teeth this afternoon. I’m gonna teach that little cocksucker. I’m gonna git his butt locked up. Maybe one of the hard timers at Kūlani will do his ass for him … serve the little cocksucker right.”

  Koa could ill afford the $170 tab when it came, but the dinner did have one saving grace. It wiped out any guilt that Koa might otherwise have felt for going behind Baxter’s back. That night he called Hilo to brief his chief on what he had found and what he intended to do. The chief wasn’t keen on his plans, but neither did he veto them. Koa was going to Kaho‘olawe, and, if Reggie was telling the truth, he’d turn Baxter’s case on its head and ge
t Reggie out of a nasty jam.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER A LITTLE wrangling with Rear Admiral James B. (“Happy”) Cunningham, commander of the Coast Guard’s Fourteenth District, Koa arranged for a ride to Kaho‘olawe. At six the following morning, he was back at Kahului Airport, watching a red-and-white Coast Guard Aerospatiale HH-65 Dolphin helicopter settle onto the pad outside the FAA control center. When the side door slid open, he crouched low to avoid the spinning rotors, grabbed his neck to avoid pain, and eased himself aboard, glad that Nālani was unaware of his latest adventure. She didn’t like helicopters, considering them unsafe as well as a serious threat to the native bird population.

  Jimmy Hikorea, who had readily agreed to join the proposed outing, grinned from ear to ear. He introduced Navy Specialist John Carter above a deafening roar as the chopper leapt into the air. The machine turned south, skimmed across the saddle between the Maui mountains, flew almost directly over the Waterfront restaurant, and left the coastline, heading toward Kaho‘olawe.

  As they approached the center of the low-lying island, huge arrow patterns of white stones pointed toward the central target area formerly used by US warplanes. Acres of barren, eroded red earth marked the impact area where thousands of warheads had exploded and countless duds waited like time bombs. Within this wasteland lay the Pu ‘u Moiwi quarry, damaged by explosives and the ravages of time. As they neared the quarry, Koa saw a makeshift landing zone laid out on the hillside, where four seamen were waiting for them. Admiral Cunningham had pulled out all the stops. Koa hoped that the effort wasn’t going to be wasted.

  After landing downslope from the quarry and unloading Jimmy’s wheelchair, Koa, Jimmy, Specialist Carter, and the four seamen gathered for a conference. “I appreciate your help,” Koa began. “We’re here to find a cave, one recently opened by three trespassers. The intruders used seismic technology to locate the cave. We should find multiple lines of holes from data recorders and the remains of several small explosive charges. If we can find that stuff, we can probably locate the cave. I don’t need to tell you to be careful. There is unexploded ordnance all around us.”