Game Face

by Mark Troy

  "C'mon. What did you expect?" I said. "They're kids. They thought they were in love."

  "I don't care. She's too good for him. She couldn't have known he was taking it."

  "From the expression on her face. I'd say she knew. She posed for him."

  There were others. In only one was Alana completely nude. They were pictures from one lover to another, full of innocence and trust and promise.

  Kimo's notebooks showed little indication of scholarship, but they did reveal him to be a prolific poet. Some poems were not bad. In quite a few he expressed his love for Alana. I wondered if she'd read them. I was beginning to understand what she might have seen in him.

  "Here's his phone," Fryer said. He'd moved over to boxes Kimo used as a dresser.

  I thought it strange a teen-age boy leaving his phone behind. "Why didn't he take it with him, Mr. Hutto?"

  Hutto looked at me in disdain. "No service in the mountains, that's why."

  "Let me see it."

  Fryer handed it to me. I turned it on and a window popped up saying Kimo had unread messages.

  "Give 'em here," Pops Hutto said. "You shouldn't be reading Kimo's mail."

  He made a lunge for the phone, but Fryer was quicker. He got between Hutto and me and pushed him away.

  "Back off," Fryer said. "She's looking for the missing girl."

  "Don't matter who she's looking for. That's Kimo's private concern."

  He lunged again. This time he got past Fryer and swiped the phone out of my hand. It hit the floor and skidded away.

  "Get out, now," Hutto said.

  I had no more interest in staying anyway. I had read the last two messages before losing the phone.

  When we reached the cars, I said, "I need some coffee."

  "Follow me," Fryer said.

  * * * * *

  Once again I followed Fryer's Cherokee onto Kamehameha highway. A mile back toward Terri's house, he pulled into the lot of a convenience store with attached coffee shop.

  "It's on me," Fryer said. "How do you take it? You want a latte or maybe a chai? We might be up country, but we have big city amenities."

  "Black," I said.

  Fryer ordered while I found a table.

  "You look pretty shook," he said, when we finally had our cups. "I'm sorry about Pops."

  "It's not Pops," I said. "The last message to Kimo? It was a call for help from Alana." I sipped the coffee. It was strong and fresh. I let the steam curl up my nose and into my head.

  "Call for help? What did she say?"

  "I'm not sure. '911.' That's how I know it was a call for help. Then she said, 'suit circling.' I don't know what that means. It came at 5:47 the evening she disappeared."

  Fryer narrowed his eyes and he opened his mouth to speak.

  "There's more," I said. "The message before that was also from Alana. It came at 5:34, thirteen minutes earlier. It began with the letter 'c.' Then 'suit,' then the letter 'c,' then 'me'. 'See suit see me,' is how I read it. It didn't say 911."

  Fryer put down his cup. He placed his hands over mine.

  "I think I know what she meant, Val. Alana saw the shark that killed her. She saw it coming. 'Suit' is surfer slang. It's short for 'man in a gray suit,' which is what surfers call a shark. Any shark. The 911 message means that a shark was circling her. The one before that meant that she saw a shark and it saw her or she saw a shark watching her. Alana knew it was coming for her."

  My stomach clenched at the thought. "She had to have been terrified."

  "She was," he said. "I'm sure. It was a terrible way to go."

  "I'm hoping she's alive," I said.

  "You strike me as someone very grounded in reality, Val. I think we both know there's no hope."

  "Do we?"

  In answer, Fryer took out his phone and tapped the screen. He handed it to me. The phone showed a picture of Alana's pink surfboard with when it was found.

  Fryer said, "Look at the piece that's missing. That gap is about fifteen inches across. See the blunt shape of the bit, kind of squarish? That's typical of a tiger shark."

  He took the phone back, swiped rapidly across the screen and showed it to me. Four shark jaws of different sizes hung on a wall. He enlarged the picture until the third one filled the screen. Beneath the jaw was a ruler. The jaw spanned fifteen inches.

  "This is from a thirteen foot tiger," Fryer said. "See the shape?"

  He swiped back to the first photo. "Similar shape. That was a very big tiger that got her. The tiger is the largest top-level predator in these waters."

  I looked closely at the photo. There was blood on the exposed foam and something embedded in it. I pointed it out to him.

  "A tooth," he said. "Sharks often lose teeth when they tear into flesh. Another one behind it will rotate into place."

  He enlarged the picture for a better view. The tooth was triangular and serrated on one side.

  "That looks nasty. Like a knife," I said.

  "That's exactly what the ancient Hawaiians used them for."

  I shivered. "What chance did she have, being hunted by a top-level predator that size? With those teeth?"

  "She wasn't hunted. Most attacks are accidental. The victim gets in the shark's way or the shark mistakes the victim for food. Tigers come inshore to feed at dusk. They seek out places where run-off or a stream empties into the ocean because run-off contains nutrients that attract other fish. The water also tends to be murky in those places and the shark has difficulty discriminating among objects in the water. So, when in doubt, it eats. Alana was surfing at dusk. Where we found her board was close to where Kalunawai Stream dumps into the ocean."

  "Wrong place at the wrong time?" I asked.

  "Yeah, and such a shame, Val. She was a girl with so much talent. I don't think I've had a brighter student."

  Fryer swiped the phone again. This time he stopped it at a photo of five pretty, young, girls near a tide pool. Some of them carried collecting gear but all of them were dressed for the beach. Alana was with them. She wore shorts and a bikini top.

  "My honors class," he said. "These two are going to UH. Another one's going to Pepperdine. Alana was going to study marine biology at UCLA. She was the brightest of the group."

  "What I don't understand, Phil, is why Alana was surfing there at that time. She was an accomplished water woman and, as you say, very bright, so wouldn't she be aware of the danger?"

  "Surfing," he said. "I keep telling these kids, as soon as they step on a board they lose ten IQ points. It's like crack. All they want is the rush. Out goes common sense. I advised Alana to give up surfing and focus on biology. I might as well have been talking to myself."

  "She could have had both and modeling, too."

  "It's a waste." Fryer put away his phone. "What are you going to do now?"

  "Keep looking. She's still missing."

  "Val, I know this is hard, but you have to accept the fact that she might never be found. There are strong currents at that point. If no remains have been recovered by now, chances are they never will."

  "It's the missing tablet that bothers me. Why wasn't it with the rest of her things? Surely she wouldn't take it in the water with her."

  Fryer shrugged. "Maybe she did. Who knows? Why is it important?"

  "Because it's out of place. Everything else points to Alana being killed by a shark, except the missing tablet. Her journal was important to her. She'd protect it. She locked her hoody and her mat in the car, why not her tablet? Either she had it with her, which means she was probably not in the water, or someone else has it. I want to know who and why."

  "I love your determination, Val. You're so like Alana, not knowing when to give up a futile quest."

  "I don't know that it's futile."

  "Are you sure you and Alana aren't related? You're both stubborn and beautiful."

  The last comment caught me off guard. "Are you coming on to me, Phil?"

  Fryer grinned slyly. "I know this isn't the right time, b
ut, yeah, I'd like to see you again. After all this settles down, of course. What do you say?"

  You never know when opportunity will present itself. Had I met a guy with Phil's looks in a bar, he'd already have my number, but I was on the job, not the hunt, so my reflexes were slower. He took my hesitation for rejection.

  "Sorry," he said. "Can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

  "No," I said. "I mean, yes, call me. I'd love that."

  I gave him my number and he entered it into his phone.

  "I don't want to leave," he said, "but I'm meeting my honors class in about ten minutes. This is going to be a tough day for all of us."

  In the parking lot, Fryer held the door as I slid into my low 'Vette. He closed it and leaned in. I turned my face to him and he kissed me. It was brief but full of promise.

  "Good luck on your quest," he said.

  "Call me," I said.

  * * * * *

  I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes after Fryer left, thinking about the half-brothers, about the kiss. About the tingle down there that persisted even after he left. I wanted to see him again. Correct that. I wanted him. Period. Alana had felt the same about Kimo. Why else would she keep going back to him? Had she found a way to be with him over the objections of Terri and Phil?

  I hoped she had. I wanted her to be alive. I didn't want Phil Fryer to be right about what happened to her.

  But I'm a realist. Much as I wanted to find Alana alive, I had to accept Fryer's judgment about what happened to her. I had no realistic hope of finding her. All I could do was try to get some understanding of her last hours. That meant finding the guy she had tried to reach as the shark came at her. I put the 'Vette into gear and headed to the school in hopes of finding someone who could help me contact Kimo.

  I didn't see Fryer's Cherokee in the parking lot, which surprised me because he had rushed off to meet his students. But maybe there was another lot for teachers that I missed.

  A sign on the main door told visitor's to check in at the office, so I made my way there. At ten minutes to eight, the high school was rapidly filling up with students. I went to the main office where about a dozen students had congregated in front of a counter staffed by a single receptionist. She was patiently explaining to a student the school policy on absences, a lecture he had apparently heard before without any comprehension. I had the sense that she would repeat the lecture many times before the morning was over. Finally, she was able to send the kid on his way.

  The office cleared quickly by the time the first bell rang, leaving only me and a gangly kid who had come in after me. "I'm sorry," the receptionist said to me. "We're understaffed because some of the others went to help look for that missing student, that's why."

  "Actually, that's why I'm here," I said. "I'm trying to find Kimo Hutto. I'm hoping someone can tell me where he is."

  "Are you police or youth services?" she asked.

  "I'm a private detective working for the family."

  "If you're not police or youth services I can't help you."

  I hadn't really expected that she would. Schools have become very careful about the information they reveal about students. They are not so strict about the teachers.

  "Well then, can you tell me if Phil Fryer has a class now?"

  She consulted a schedule. "Not until next period."

  She told me where to find his classroom. I thanked her and headed in that direction.

  Fryer's classroom was locked. The door had a narrow vertical window through which I saw a combination lab and classroom. Bubbling aquarium tanks filled with colorful fish lined one wall beneath posters of shark anatomy and three mounted shark jaws, but no Fryer and no students. I wondered why he'd lied to me.

  A voice behind me said, "For real, you're a private detective? A shamus?"

  "Why is a private detective trying to find Kimo? He do something wrong?"

  "He hasn't been seen since Alana disappeared. I want to ask him why."

  "That's Kimo being Kimo."

  "You know him well?"

  "Sure. It's a small school and I know everybody. I'm the editor."

  He was just the person I needed to talk to.

  "Do you have class now?" I asked.

  "No. Only study hall this morning. I'm going to see what's happening at the search site."

  "I'll drive you," I said.

  "Cool," he said.

  Roland kept up a steady stream of chatter as we headed out.

  "You're not the only one wanting to find Kimo. This is a big story. I get an interview with Kimo, a human interest story about a guy losing his girlfriend to a shark, maybe the Advertiser will run it. Maybe even CNN."

  "They broke up right? Alana and Kimo?"

  "On and off. Rumor mill says on again. That's one thing I'm gonna ask him."

  We had reached the parking lot. My 'Vette was the lone occupant of the visitor's slots.

  "That's yours?" he asked. "Awesome! Just like Magnum."

  "Magnum drove a Ferrari. Get in."

  Roland slid into the passenger bucket at the same time that Fryer's Cherokee pulled into the lot. I told Roland to wait for me and went over to him as he shut off the engine.

  "You lied to me, Phil. You said you were meeting students."

  "We did meet. You think I'd lie to you, Val?"

  "I just came from your classroom."

  "Really? I wish I'd been there. I'd love to show you our aquarium. There's nothing like it in any other school. Why don't I show you now?"

  I nodded towards my 'Vette. "I'm on my way to the search area. I'm taking Roland with me."

  "Another time, then."

  "What about your students, Phil?"

  "They're with a counselor that the district sent. We met off campus." He named a coffee shop in a shopping plaza close by. "The counselor's suggestion. She thought a neutral site would be better."

  Roland was throwing anxious glances our way. I knew he wanted to get going.

  "I have to go," I said.

  "I'll just sit here and watch," he said.

  I turned to go and then remembered something.

  "Phil," I said, turning back to him. "You showed me a picture of four shark jaws, but I saw only three on your wall."

  The question confused Fryer. "Huh?"

  "What happened to the fourth jaw?"

  "Oh," He said. "Sorry. I was mesmerized by your locomotion. You have the most beautiful . . ."

  "The missing jaw?"

  "Science Fair. One of the kids borrowed it. She's looking at the ratio of jaw size to bite strength."

  "Ah," I said. "Locomotion? Really?"

  "Chugga chugga."

  I chugged back to the 'Vette, acutely aware of Fryer's eyes on my caboose.

  Roland was also aware of Fryer's interest.

  "You really made an impression on Dr. Suit," he said, as we pulled onto the highway. "He couldn't take his eyes off . . ."

  "Dr. Suit? You mean Mr. Fryer? Why do you call him Dr. Suit?"

  "He knows all there is to know about sharks, that's why."

  "Ah," I said. "Surfer slang. The man in the gray suit. Do you surf?"

  "Some. Not like Kimo. Definitely not like Alana. This is one awesome car."

  My experience is that a hot car is as effective as a short skirt and some extra locomotion in getting men to talk. The car seemed to be doing the trick on Roland. He rubbed his hands over the dash, fingering the embossed Corvette insignia, touching the buttons on the armrest, and squirming around in the leather bucket. I could have been naked and he wouldn't notice. I mashed the accelerator. The car's leap pushed us against the seat back. Roland's mouth formed a big O. We reached the speed limit in three seconds. I shifted up to six and let the car cruise. The top was down and the wind in my hair added to the exhilaration.

  Roland pulled out a phone and poked at the screen.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Tweeting some kids. 'Lady dick riding with her top down.'"

  I did
n't care much for the phrasing, but it was better than some teen speak I'd heard.

  "How well do you know Alana?" I asked. The present tense was a conscious choice on my part. I couldn't think of her as gone.

  "Well as anybody, I guess. Except maybe Kimo, and I don't mean in that way. That girl has talent. She was the best reporter on the paper until she got hooked on surfing in a big way."

  "How many reporters do you have?"

  "So one in each class. Small school, yeah? Alana, though, she was going to be an investigative reporter. That was her plan for college."

  "What about marine biology? According to Mr. Fryer, Dr. Suit, that's what she's planning to study."

  "Nah," Roland said. "That's bogus. She just told Dr. Suit that."

  "Why? Why would she lie to her teacher?"

  "She just wanted get into his honors class to find out if the stories are true or not.

  "What stories? About Phil Fryer?"

  Roland nodded. "Dr. Suit, he's got a thing for the wahines."

  "So? Don't most men?"

  "Yeah, but the kids think he likes young girls."

  "You mean his students?"

  Roland nodded again. "His honors class, most of them are girls. The field trips, almost always wahine. There's any school function where they take pictures, there's Dr. Suit, right in a group of the femmes."

  I recalled the photo Fryer's phone. Five girls and Fryer, grouped so tightly he could have touched them all simultaneously. "Do you think he engages in improper behavior with students?"

  "Naw, it's all smoke, kids making up stories about their teacher. There's stories about every one of 'em. Miss Yi, who teaches Math, is supposed to be a dom who dresses up in leather and whips fat men."

  "Sounds like some kids have over-active imaginations," I said.

  "Where there's smoke there's fire. Alana used to say a good investigative reporter sniffs out the smoke."

  "Sounds over the top to me."

  "Can believe Miss Yi," Roland said. "She's smokin'. Her, we call Miss Yeehaw."

  "But you don't believe it of Mr. Fryer."

  He shook his head. "Alana and me, we used to talk about that when she was still on the paper. We thought, man, what a scoop if we could find some real dirt on Dr. Suit to back it up. But, it wasn't there. I even asked Alana about it after she got into his class. I said, 'So, has he groped you yet? Is the biology hands-on?' Kidding, you know?"

  "What did she say?"

  "She said it's all bullshit. The reason there's mostly girls in his classes is because the guys around here have nothing to do so they surf and smoke pakalolo. Since the guys are always wasted, the girls have nothing to do but study."