by Mary Deal
“I've arranged for the main state library on South King Street to have everything pulled and ready to review.”
“Do you have a map I can borrow?”
“I'll take you there. I can't divulge police information but I might be able to shed some light.”
Thanh's helpful attitude made her feel closer to him, as if she had known him for many years. He was easy to be around, easy to read and seemed to feel deeply for humanity. Maybe it was because of their time in the Vietnam jungle down on hands and knees digging for human remains. That alone had a way of helping each in the group bond with one another, and with life itself. “Oh, did I tell you? I bought the house next door to where Leia and her family lived.”
“Right next door?”
“It's how I heard about Leia's case, from my neighbor on the other side.”
“Hien knew that family.” Again, Thanh spoke quietly while shaking his head. He glanced toward the doorway not wanting Hien to hear. “Hien was on Kauai when Leia went missing. The girl's mother used to run a hula halau. Hien played ukulele in the festival held over there in Homesteads Park. That's where Leia's parents were at the time she disappeared, dancing in the show.”
“What a coincidence.” Sara felt an eyebrow involuntarily flick in response to that bit of news.
Thanh watched her carefully. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight at her. “I don't believe in coincidences.”
Sara was stunned by Thanh's comment but decided to let it pass for now. He made it seem that Hien might know something about Leia being missing. Clearly, Thanh hadn't been able to learn what his son knew; otherwise he wouldn't have made such a revealing statement. Too, why would Thanh keep a thick file of select newspaper articles and his own notes about the case?
Chapter 16
Sara had stayed late, enjoying dinner at a restaurant owned by a friend of Hien and making good her pretense to learn more about Hien. The upscale eatery was situated on Ala Moana Boulevard, at the edge of downtown Honolulu, capturing the lunch trade, and easily accessible to tourists seeking an evening meal along the city's main thoroughfare. The best seats had a view of the harbor and mall shops and business area surrounding the Aloha Tower across the boulevard.
Hien and his friend had a pact that Thanh mentioned during a last bit of conversation about his son when Sara said she would have dinner at the restaurant. The two buddies did things for one another; supported each other in times of need. Hien had helped remodel the restaurant when his friend purchased it in a bankruptcy sale.
Thanh said the friend received a huge favor in that Hien did the work free, charging only for materials installed. Thanh confided that Hien and his friend seemed to have a lot of free-wheeling secret goings-on that made the cop in him feel uneasy. Thanh had never learned why Hien had accrued such a huge debt with his buddy and said Hien always told different versions of his story, leading Thanh with many questions but no real reasons to ask them.
The inter-island flight took twenty minutes in the air to hop from Oahu ninety-five miles north to Kauai, barely time to ponder all Sara had learned. The moon had risen. She was tired and needed to be alone to mull over all the details.
She turned off the car headlights when she entered the cul-de-sac to avoid them flashing into neighbors' windows. Pulling into her driveway with only parking lights on, some shiny bits reflecting the moonlight lay on the concrete surface.
At first she thought nothing about it. Wondering what it could be, she stopped, backed up and strained to see. She left the motor running and got out, eyeing long silver nails strewn over the driveway. The nasty looking points would certainly have punctured her tires. In the dim automatic headlights of the minivan that always stayed on but subdued, she saw nails spread over the entire driveway.
She bent for a closer look. Some nails seemed to be strategically aligned where the tires would run over the heads first, surely flipping the points up to puncture. She went back to the minivan to see if her tires had already picked up any. Who would have dropped all those nails in her driveway? Remaining bent over, she picked up one, crept forward and picked up a few more. Most were long two and three inch nails normally used in construction. Why would anyone have reason to carry nails onto her property? She hadn't yet scheduled crews for work on the house. Why were some of the nails laid out in the path her tires would take? She should call the police and report malicious mischief.
She decided to leave her car parked in the driveway overnight and sweep up in daylight. She turned to secure her new Acura MDX Hybrid Minivan for the night and leave it where it sat. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, a dark figure appeared behind her vehicle. Had Birdie been right? Was there a prowler in the area?
Sara snatched at the car door handle, placing the door between her and whoever crouched behind her car. Then Birdie stepped out to the side. By the light of the moon, Sara saw she carried a pistol. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Not the least of what you did to me when you drove in with no headlights on, then bent down and moved around like a person who didn't want to be seen.” She tucked the pistol neatly into the waistband of her jeans. With the pistol on her right side, the barrel reached the left side of her scrawny waist. That seemed too much gun for such a tiny woman.
“Didn't you recognize my car?”
“But not the person who stooped over doing something suspicious on the ground with no lights on.” Birdie enunciated every word.
Once the outside house lights were turned on, Birdie agreed that the nails looked strewn purposely to hit the tires.
“Who would do this?”
“Don't think you've been here long enough for people to carry a grudge.” Birdie didn't sound jovial this time. “The locals know your work is to help others, so they wouldn't do this. I'd wager it was Maleko.”
At first Sara felt anger at Birdie blaming Maleko again. “Why would Maleko be in my yard when I told him not to come here? Why would he drop nails and not clean them up? Why nails at all?”
“I told you before. He's a little huhu.”
“We have no proof he did this.”
Birdie stared at the driveway. “Maybe he's a little screwier than we know. Why would all the nails be lined up right where your tires would run over them? Then again, maybe he's not so screwy.”
Sara ripped the cell phone off her waistband and called the police. The officer asked if she might be aware of anyone who might have played a nasty trick. “I don't want to accuse.” She ended the call and waited, realizing this could be looked upon by the police as only mischief and they might take hours to arrive.
“Sara, we're not accusing anyone. I happen to know this is the type of rotten tricks Maleko plays.” She tapped her temple. “His tenants are in chaos.”
After the lone policeman arrived thirty minutes later, as he wrote on his notepad, he turned to Birdie. “Did you see this Maleko guy over here in the driveway?”
“No, but two or three years ago, the neighbor across the street…” She pointed toward the end of the cul-de-sac on the opposite side. “They've moved since. The same thing happened in their driveway and Maleko was suspected. He used to mow their lawn but they fired him.”
The officer must have thought it a situation that needed immediate clarification. He turned on a heel and walked out of the driveway and up the street. Sara and Birdie followed. The lights were on in Maleko's house and glowing over the tall lava rock wall. The officer fumbled to unfasten the gate and headed for the front door. Sara and Birdie hung back at the gate as the officer knocked.
The outside lights went on. When Maleko opened the door and stepped out onto the lanai, he carried a chicken drumstick. Barbeque sauce covered his mouth. He quickly brought up his shoulder and wiped the sauce on his shirt. Under cover of shadows, Sara and Birdie edged closer into the yard to hear the conversation.
“So why were you in your neighbor's yard?”
“She let go.” It seemed Maleko didn't know anything but pidgin English. “She let go
stay on trail. I come go sit, draw pictures, eat ono sandwich.”
Sara was beginning to understand the pidgin English which was freely spoken among the locals. “Birdie, did he just say I gave him permission to use my trail?”
“Well, you did, didn't you?”
“So you were in her driveway in the last few days?” The officer persisted.
Maleko didn't seem to understand the question or simply didn't wish to answer. “Uh….” He was, perhaps, playing dumb. Then he seemed to happily come up with something to save himself. “I fix boards on trail, going down cliff.” He waved the drumstick backward, signaling toward the back of their lots.
“So you went down her trail to fix some boards, but you spilled some nails in the driveway, right?” The officer had a technique of interrogation that could trick Maleko into admitting the truth. “When did you intend to pick them up?”
Maleko looked relieved, as if he had found an escape from explaining. “I try get all, maybe missed.”
The officer wasn't fooled and kept at it. “What was the reason for fixing the trail?”
By this time Maleko seemed to have formulated some answers. “I building handrail, in back.” He again used the drumstick to signal toward the back of his own property. “I wearing construction belt.” He smiled, like he felt he had answered the question well. He took another bite of the drumstick and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued chewing.
Sara cringed. This was her neighbor.
The officer half-turned and then motioned for them to come forward. On Maleko's lanai, the officer asked, “Is there anything you wish to say to this man?”
Sara wondered why the officer hadn't mentioned all the nails being turned in a specific direction, but she wasn't so dumb as not to know this could be used later as evidence should Maleko do anything more serious. She spoke immediately. “Maleko, I don't want you coming into my yard again.” He continued chewing. “I don't want you using my trail. I don't want to be responsible should you fall. Please stay out of my yard and off my trail.” She watched Maleko's response. Her words had sunk in.
Maleko first showed a feigned sense of apology. Then his expression soured and he glared at her. He threw the chicken bone into a tall clump of nearby weeds. “I no come go no more? No can use trail?” He threw back his shoulders and struck a stubborn pose. “Ainokea!” With that, he stepped back inside and slammed the door.
As Sara and Birdie walked back to Sara's driveway, Sara asked, “What does that mean, 'Ainokea'?”
Birdie snickered. “You better learn a bit of pidgin if you're gonna spend some time here. The locals rattle it off so fast it'll make your brain feel like you're driving over a rumble strip.” She waited only a second or two. “Pronounce it: Ai-no-kea. I no kea. I no care. I don't care.”
The officer asked Sara to turn on her headlights which added to the house lighting in the driveway. He took some pictures, mainly of the way the nails had been neatly placed. “I'll swing back early tomorrow morning and take a few shots of the whole drive in daylight.”
After crashing into bed exhausted and sleeping soundly through the night, Sara woke before dawn to find the nails removed.
Chapter 17
Sara took Ka'imi for several walks on the howling cliffs during the following weeks. The climb was good for both of them. Sara huffed and puffed less with each climb, which helped her lungs and muscles strengthen. It was a message about staying in shape, which she hadn't realized she was neglecting. She had always been active.
The intermittent clouds and sunshine complimented her need for the sun's warmth and the cooling of the trade winds. The brief tropical sprinkles that blew in from the ocean left the air smelling sweet and fresh.
When alone on the trail, Ka'imi's retractable leash was loosened. She ran along at her own pace and did just fine. Occasionally, Sara took her off the leash. The bond between them continued to grow. Now she could trust Ka'imi to stay close. She was such a loyal pet.
After Mandy, her nineteen year old Yorkshire terrier, died while she lived in Puerto Rico, she felt the need to have another dog in her life, but the absence of a pet presented a taste of freedom. Dogs especially required as much care and guidance as a child. Like Esmerelda's two pit bull puppies in California, Ka'imi appeased her companionship needs just fine without the responsibilities of ownership.
Birdie wasn't about to give up her cherished pet and Sara was happy having a friend along on the trail.
Arriving at the park that afternoon, she noted only few tourists' cars parked along the stream bank before the bridge. A couple snapped pictures of views from the parking area, not realizing vehicles could be driven across the water bridge. With few people about, the hike would be quiet and meditative.
Sara appreciated the safety of Kauai where crime was low, limited usually to car break-ins. She carried nothing of value in her minivan. Still, it was not wise to leave a vehicle unlocked. If thieves looked through her windows, they would see the empty area behind the rear seat. Nothing available for a rock heaved through a window and a quick snatch and grab.
Approaching the summit, Sara anticipated hearing Ka'imi yowling and wanted to quickly pass through the area. She couldn't help wondering why the dogs howled. The more it happened, the more the intrigue intensified. She had to know and vowed to come back one day purposely to investigate the area. For now, other projects took precedence.
She attached Ka'imi's leash and walked swiftly past the howling spot. Ka'imi pulled on the leash and sat down anyway, wailed and refused to budge. Sara took hold of her harness and dragged her away. What could the dogs possibly know that humans couldn't comprehend?
The clearing around a small bend in the trail offered a pleasant setting for the lunch Sara sometimes packed. She laid out a small bowl of water for Ka'imi and then unwrapped and ate her sandwich feeding Ka'imi bits of roasted chicken. Ka'imi knew how to beg by tilting her head just right if you ate in front of her without sharing. The whispering of the trade winds relaxed. The warmth of the sun felt like heaven surely must. After eating, with Ka'imi at her feet, Sara leaned back against a rock, covered her face with her straw cap, and promptly fell asleep.
She woke to the sound of excited male voices. Ka'imi jumped up with ears pointed. Sara couldn't tell whether the voices were happy or angry, sounding sometimes laughing, at times argumentative. She glanced at her watch. She had slept for nearly half an hour.
As she headed back down the trail approaching the voices, she realized the commotion was coming from below the howling area. She forcefully dragged Ka'imi along, not giving her time to sit, and reached three young island men nervously pacing about. All seemed in disbelief looking upward at a tree branch hanging over the trail above them.
Keeping a tight grip on Ka'imi's harness, she dragged her and hurried down toward them. “What's all the commotion? Did you find out what makes the dogs howl?”
“Look.” One of them pointed to a tree branch on the mountain side of the trail, giggling like a teenager. Many locals in their twenties looked like teenagers. It was difficult to tell their ages.
Sara looked but wasn't sure what she was seeing at first. Then she smelled the stench of drying flesh, maybe blood, or…. “What is that?”
“Skin from boar.” One of the guys exaggerated, pinching his nose and rocking his head side to side.
A pelt looked to have been skinned whole from the animal was draped over a tree branch. It was from a huge animal with black fur appearing stiff and bristly. The severed edges and underside were caked with dried blood. The blowing trades caused the pelt to swing back and forth. The stench was overbearing. One of the young men prodded it with a stick. Some of the flesh still attached under the skin showed blood red.
“No touch! Kapu!”
Hunting wild boar and goat was allowed during controlled seasons on the Island. Hunters usually took their kills home for eating and hung the skins on their fences. One hunter in Anahola on the north shore who lived along
Kuhio Highway was known to have a dozen or more skins on the fence bordering his property. It was a way the islanders showed off their trophies and an intent to advertise hunting tours.
Yet, to see a relatively fresh kill along this trail, someone must have been stalking prey in the wild nearby even though this recreational area would never be designated as a controlled hunting spot. Too, why would anyone hang a pelt along a trail instead of taking the animal home to skin? Or why would someone bring a fresh pelt up on the hill if killed elsewhere?
Ka'imi paced back and forth across the trail as if following a scent. She sniffed the air and then sniffed the ground. She growled and hobbled across the trail again. Sara watched her carefully. Reaching the howling area, she didn't make a sound, just sniffed around and then sniffed her way back, looked up at the pelt, and sat down.
“Why is it hanging here?”
“You not know what that mean? It mean kapu. Stay out.”
“Someone's trying to tell hikers not to climb up that rocky mountainside? Does anyone actually climb up that steep—?”
“You ha'ole?” The guys giggled.
“Well, I know enough about Hawaii that I don't wish to be called ha'ole.” She hoped she had pronounced it correctly. “I'm recently from the mainland and not familiar with what kapu means.” The term haole, when spoken smoothly meant happy. When spoken the way the young man said it, breaking it into sounding like two words with a guttural stop in between, meant no breath. The term was given to the early missionaries who did not approve of the ancient Hawaiian culture. Pronounced the way the young man had said it carried a negative white man connotation.
“Someone like all stay off trail. No like people come.” He kept his hand across his mouth, like he might break out laughing, though he also seemed serious.
Why would anyone want to keep people out of the area? “It's a public trail.” This trail, like many, was established by the ancient Hawaiians. The most devout Hawaiian descendents might revere the site. Both locals and tourists alike used the trails for recreational purposes and, to her knowledge, all were open for anyone's enjoyment.
