Death of a Messenger

by Robert McCaw

  The team examined every nook and cranny of the service shop and the adjacent spaces. The oft-repeated words “shit” and “I can’t believe this bastard’s clean” reflected a rising level of frustration. After three hours they’d found nothing incriminating. As the crowd was getting ready to pull out, Koa walked over to commiserate. “A bust, huh, Zeke?”

  “I was sure we’d find something. This dude can’t be clean after what you found on Kaho‘olawe and in that phony container.”

  “He’s not clean,” Koa responded. “We just haven’t found his stash.”

  “Well, it’s sure not here. I’m clearing out and going back to my office.”

  “Leave the warrant papers with me, will you, Zeke?”

  The prosecutor looked quizzically at Koa. “You think we missed something?”

  “I don’t know. His forgeries and that bogus container tell us something about Jenkins. He’s wily and knows how to keep secrets.”

  “Here,” Zeke said, handing Koa the papers. “Bust your ass.”

  Koa waited until they were all gone, except Basa. Then he began walking around the shop. “There’s something here, there has to be.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Jenkins modified that container. He’s somehow modified this space.”

  “I don’t see how. It’s a simple rectangular building. This shop occupies most of the floor space. The compressor room and the john take up all the space on one side, and the office uses all the space on the other side. There’s no place for a hidden room.”

  “I know. I already paced off the distances. Still, that cocky son of a bitch has something hidden here. I wish we had a set of floor plans.”

  A light sparked in Sergeant Basa’s eyes. “You know, Koa, there might be a set of drawings up in the planning office.”

  The idea gained traction in Koa’s thinking. “It’s possible. Can you check?”

  While Basa drove back to the Hilo government complex, Koa roamed the building, once again pacing off the dimensions of each room. He checked the walls. He walked and measured the outside perimeter of the building. He checked the floor for any hidden access doors. His hopes of finding anything dimmed.

  Nearly an hour later, Basa walked back into the garage with two thick files. “You found floor plans?” Koa asked.

  “Yeah, I got ’em, but it cost me a pretty penny.”

  “Why?”

  “You gotta fill out a form and it takes a week or two. The files are in storage boxes in the basement.”

  “So what did you do for the clerk?”

  “Parking tickets. The clerk’s mother has three unpaid tickets. I told him I’d see what I could do.”

  “The chief’s not going to be happy if he finds out.”

  Basa looked pretty unhappy himself. “You want the files or not?”

  Koa took the files. The first one contained the plans and permits for the existing building. “Looks like they renovated this place four years ago.”

  “Isn’t that about when Jenkins got paroled?”

  “You’re right. Jenkins must have renovated this place right after Kūlani cut him loose. I wonder where he got the money.”

  Basa make a face and gestured around them. “Not much of a renovation. It still looks like shit.”

  “Except for the garage,” Koa interjected. “That’s a first-class service area.”

  Koa spread the plans on the counter in the office. He traced the outlines of the building and checked the dimensions. Still, he didn’t find any discrepancies large enough to permit a hiding place. He shook his head. He had the same feeling he’d experienced on the dock that morning. “We’re missing something. I wish I knew what.” He refolded the plans and returned them to the file.

  The second file contained the original plans for the building, which appeared to be almost identical to the renovated structure. Again Koa traced the outlines of the building and the dimensions. Again, he was unable to find any clue to a concealed space. He started to refold the plans—and stopped. Slowly, he spread the plans back out on the counter and stood staring at the old, pre-renovation plans.

  “What is it, Koa? What do you see?”

  Without uttering a word Koa walked back into the shop. Picking up a steel rod, he moved to the head of the truck bay without the hydraulic lift. He raised the rod and let the end fall to the floor with a thud. He moved a foot down the bay, lifted the rod, and let it fall to the floor again. He moved again and repeated the exercise with another thud. On the fourth repetition, the rod struck with a different sound.

  “It sounds hollow.” Basa’s voice registered surprise. Koa repeated the exercise three more times, confirming the hollow sound.

  “You think there’s a space under the concrete floor?” Basa asked.

  “The old plans, the ones before the renovation, show two hydraulic lifts. Why would an operator remove a hydraulic lift from a truck service bay?”

  “They wouldn’t,” Basa responded thoughtfully.

  “And why would a garage paint the bay floors battleship gray?”

  “Maybe to hide a concrete patch,” Basa suggested.

  “That’s what I think.”

  “But how would anyone get under the concrete?” Basa asked.

  Koa again studied the service bay. His eyes moved from the arc welder to the tool chests, then to the belts and other parts hanging on the walls, and finally to the hydraulic tire changer. Nothing. He saw no possible entrance to an underground chamber. Then his eyes lit upon the hydraulic lift in the adjacent bay. He pointed to it. “How do you operate that lift?”

  They found the switches for the compressor and the controls for the lift. When Koa pressed the lever, the lift rose, exposing a deep pit, nearly ten feet wide and eighteen feet long. As the lift jerked to a stop at its maximum elevation, Koa picked up a flashlight from one of the workbenches and examined the walls of the pit. At one end, a set of iron rungs formed a ladder. Koa turned and started down the ladder.

  “Be careful, Koa. I don’t trust this lift. Mechanics have been crushed under these things.”

  Koa stopped. “It should be okay. There’s no weight on it.”

  “Sure you don’t want to get some experts out here? Maybe from fire and rescue?”

  “Let’s see what we find first.”

  “Be careful … be damned careful.”

  “Okay.” Koa held his damaged neck as he climbed slowly down into the pit. He swung the flashlight around, examining the floor and the walls. The front wall, back wall, and side wall closest to the office appeared to be solid concrete, but he spotted something on the pit wall closest to the second bay. It was hard to make out in the dim illumination. Koa edged toward it.

  “There’s a metal plate here. It’s covered with grime.” Koa ran his light around the edges of the large steel plate. “Looks to be about five feet tall and maybe thirty inches wide.”

  “Sounds like a door. See any way to get it open?” Basa responded from above.

  “This light’s terrible. Is there an electric torch up there?”

  Moments later Basa dangled a hooded electric work light over the edge of the pit. “Yeah, here you go.”

  Koa caught the cord and held the light close to the steel plate. Moving slowly, he examined its entire outline. “I don’t see anything on the plate. No bolts, no rivets. Wonder what holds it in place?”

  “What about the frame? Any kind of catch or locking mechanism?” Basa asked.

  Koa moved the light around the edge of the steel panel. “Wait a minute, there’s a recess here with a hole. Could be some kind of keyhole. You didn’t see a key anywhere, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hand me a crowbar. I’m going to see if I can pry this plate loose.”

  Basa handed Koa a long, heavy crowbar and glanced overhead. “Be careful, Koa.” Koa hooked the blade under the edge of the steel plate and put his weight against the bar. The plate creaked, but didn’t move. He threw his weight against the b
ar. Suddenly the plate gave way and began to swing outward.

  “Look out!” Basa screamed.

  From the corner of his eye, Koa saw the hydraulic lift coming down. He dove for the opening where the plate had been moments before.

  The underside of the hydraulic lift hit the edge of the steel plate. The shriek of twisting metal rent the air, followed by a thunderous crack as tortured metal bent beyond the breaking point. The concrete floor shuddered. A shower of blue-white sparks flared from the severed electrical cord. The torch died, plunging the pit into darkness. The smell of burned rubber and ozone filled the pitch-black pit.

  “Koa … Koa … can you hear me?” Basa screamed. “Koa, can you hear me?” Basa’s voice rose to a near panic. Grabbing his cell, Basa dialed the emergency center. “Betty, it’s Basa. I’ve got an officer down. It’s Koa Kāne. I need fire and rescue with heavy equipment.” He gave the address.

  “Koa … Koa … can you hear me?” Basa screamed again.

  Koa found himself in utter blackness. At first, he thought he might be dead or unconscious. He tried to move his fingers, and to his surprise, they responded. He rolled over and carefully sat up. His neck and shoulder were shrieking with pain. He remembered banging his face against something and reached up to feel for blood. Ouch! No blood, but he was going to have the mother of all bruises and a shiner as well. Nālani was going to be livid with him for risking his life. He heard Basa’s voice: “Koa, for God’s sake, answer me!”

  “I’m here.” Koa’s voice echoed off the walls as though he were in a tiny chamber.

  He didn’t have to see Basa to recognize his tremendous relief. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s pitch black. I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

  “I’ll get a torch.”

  “Watch out. I think the lift severed an electrical wire. Don’t get electrocuted.” Koa heard footsteps on the concrete above him and then a small noise in the pit.

  “There’s no electric power. I’m going to lower a flashlight.”

  Koa saw a dim glow coming from a gap along the floor. Basa was lowering the light into the pit, but something didn’t make sense. With a start, Koa realized that he was no longer in the pit with the hydraulic lift. He remembered diving into the hole behind the steel plate. He was in another space altogether—the pit for the second hydraulic lift before it had been covered over during the renovation.

  He crawled to the hole previously covered by the plate, now half-blocked by the shattered metal undercarriage of the lift. No more than six inches separated the bottom of the undercarriage from the floor. He realized with a shudder how close he’d come to being crushed. He’d been exceptionally lucky.

  “I’m going to need help getting out of here. You’d better call the fire and rescue guys.”

  “They’re already on the way.”

  Still on his hands and knees, Koa peered through the gap, but the flashlight dangled far out of reach. “Lower—drop it down a foot more and over this way.”

  At last he caught the flashlight and pulled it into the chamber where he knelt.

  The batteries must have been old, but the weak yellow beam cast enough light for Koa to identify a dozen or so bales stacked against the wall. He didn’t need a chemist to know that he’d found several thousand pounds of marijuana. Alongside the bales were numerous plastic bags, most likely containing cocaine. The room held a fortune in illicit drugs.

  Koa aimed the dim yellow beam toward the other end of the room. He felt a chill. Adrenaline jolted his system. Shiny black eyes seemed to reach through time, eyes both beautiful and sinister. Below the eyes were heavy breasts, weighted down with age and drooping nipples, and open legs, crooked outward at the knees. Human, yet not human. The twin sister of the bird woman from the Pōhakuloa burial cave, standing on a small desk. He shook himself free of the bird woman’s stare. Next to her lay a bound ledger, perhaps a book of accounts.

  “You’d better get Zeke on the horn,” Koa called upward. He recalled the ridiculous gang of officials who’d tried to search the building and smiled. “The feds are going be scraping egg off their faces for months.”

  “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Koa heard the mirth in Basa’s voice, then the sirens of emergency vehicles in the distance. They wouldn’t be able to extricate him for quite a while, so he might as well use the time.

  Lowering himself into the chair in front of the desk, he rubbed his sore shoulder before slipping on a pair of plastic gloves and opening the ledger. He aimed the slowly dying light toward columns of numbers, weights, and amounts—large amounts. Drug deals, by the look of it.

  He flipped through pages and pages of weights and amounts. No doubt about it—they had stumbled onto a major drug kingpin. He continued flipping the pages until he came upon blank pages and more blank pages. He almost closed the book, but some stray thought made him flip to the end. There. A different accounting system, and a list of objects—talisman, adze, carved bowl, feathered ornament, figurine, hammerstone, etc. At the end of the list, he found numbers, large numbers, many times his annual salary, and a name—a name he recognized.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  KOA, BASA, AND an accompanying uniformed officer found Gunter Nelson sitting at his desk inside the Alice headquarters in Waimea. He looked up when the men entered unannounced.

  “Gentlemen, to what do I owe this honor?”

  “Thought you might be expecting us.”

  “Can’t say I was.”

  “Your buddy Garvie Jenkins sends his regards.”

  Gunter gave away no tell at all. “Garvie Jenkins?”

  Koa was sick of all these smart guys thinking they could get away with anything. “Save the stage acting for the courtroom, Mr. Nelson. You want to tell us a little bit about your trafficking in archaeological artifacts?”

  “Perhaps I should consult a lawyer.”

  “We have a warrant for your arrest for violations of the Hawai‘i antiquities laws.” Koa read him his rights. “Please come with us. You can call your lawyer from the police headquarters in Hilo.”

  After handcuffing Gunter Nelson and sending him off to Hilo, the officers executed a search warrant on the neat white clapboard house Gunter called home. Located halfway up a large pu‘u in Waimea’s version of Nob Hill, it overlooked the little cowboy town and the dry grasslands beyond.

  The mess of books and clothes strewn about inside contrasted not only with the simple building but also with Koa’s image of German correctness. For Koa, the disorder reflected the conflict between Gunter’s public persona as perhaps the second most senior astronomer on the island and Gunter’s corrosive unhappiness at failing to win the Alice directorship. Frustrated ambition was written large in the way the man kept his home.

  The disarray inside slowed the search, but didn’t stop them from turning the place inside out. While Koa reviewed Gunter’s financial records, looking for evidence of proceeds from the sale of artifacts, Basa searched the house and the garage.

  “Koa,” Basa called, excitement palpable in place of his usual calm, “we’ve found something even bigger than we thought. Come look.” Koa walked down the back steps to an unusually large detached workshop-garage. A heavy lock lay smashed on the ground, and the door to a brightly illuminated work area stood open. Inside, a long table occupied the center of the room while workbenches lined three of the four walls. A number of stone artifacts lay scattered on the table and the workbenches.

  Koa stood in the room surveying its contents. Three heavy-duty computers, a printer, and a giant monitor occupied one of the workbenches, and immediately to one side stood a commercial graphics plotter, capable of handling poster-sized sheets. A rack on another wall held an array of electronic equipment and a set of aluminum tubes, each about two feet long and three inches in diameter, pointed on the bottom, with whip-like antennas mounted on top. Koa guessed they’d found the seismic testing ge
ar Gunter had used on Mauna Kea, and that Jenkins had employed to find the obsidian mine on Kaho‘olawe.

  Huge sheets of corkboard affixed to the walls above the benches held giant, highly detailed geologic maps. Pinned here and there atop the maps were extraordinarily high-resolution satellite photographs and long strips of graph paper covered with multiple wavy black lines, like seismograph readings after an earthquake.

  Upon examination, the maps displayed tiny sections of the Big Island, portions of the southern slopes of Mauna Kea, the saddle lands, and Mauna Loa. Various points on the maps bore large and small circles, penned in yellow ink, while four or five other locations were marked with bright red X’s. Koa noted a red X on the collapsed pu‘u on the south side of Mauna Kea where the tunnel emerged from the adze makers’ workshop.

  Another map seemed to be a duplicate of the one Piki had found in Skeeter Slade’s helicopter. It bore the same straight red parallel lines across the Pōhakuloa Training Area with the same coordinates at the ends. Unlike Slade’s map, this one featured a large red X over the lava tube where they had found Keneke Nakano’s body. As Koa had guessed from the ledger in the hidden space beneath Jenkins’s truck shop, Jenkins had been feeding the data that Skeeter collected to Gunter, who had the skill to analyze it for the location of hidden caves. And this map proved Gunter’s knowledge of the cavern where they’d found Keneke’s body.

  As he thought back on his encounters with Gunter—Koa had developed a rapport with the man—he reflected on Escher’s Reptiles etching on his office wall. Gunter was a chameleon—an upstanding, even esteemed, member of the community by day and a grave-robbing thief by night. It was so often that way. Everyone harbored secrets. Most were just human foibles … but once in a while you came face to face with real depravity. Koa had yet to figure out the litmus test to tell one from the other. Maybe Gunter could shed light on that quandary. Koa was looking forward to interviewing the German.

  The evidence pointed to Gunter as Keneke’s killer. Gunter knew of the remote cave where they’d found the body. He’d had a falling-out with Keneke, mostly likely because Keneke had discovered Gunter’s thefts of antiquities. Fearing disclosure, Gunter would have had a powerful motive to kill the young Hawaiian. Gunter had no alibi. Still, Koa doubted that Gunter had the physical strength or the steely courage to have committed the grotesque murder. Then he remembered Dr. Cater’s caveat that if the killer were less than six feet tall, he might have applied a choke hold as he pulled Keneke over backward. Still, Koa wasn’t sure … he just couldn’t see the puppy-eyed Gunter killing and mutilating the Polynesian Tannhäuser, as Gunter had dubbed Keneke.