by Debra Bokur
Nodding, Kali rose to her feet. “Okay.”
Walter met her eyes.
“What are the chances it’s only one more grave?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
He looked grim.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
She turned, looking out across the lawn to the lava-edged coast where land and water met. Beneath the softly undulating blue-green expanse of the ocean, and between the blades of tall green grass growing in front of her, other battles were in full play: deliberate deaths on vast scales, many plotted and premeditated, over everything from terrain and food to breeding grounds and shelter. Nor was the idea of people killing other people anything new. It was, she reflected, something humans had done since the first dispute over a hunting ground or a desirable woman had taken place.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the veil of darkness that was falling around her, fighting to keep it at bay. She looked at Walter and thought of his determination, his kindness, his belief that it was his duty and calling to strive for order and some semblance of decency, to mend the broken things that filled the world.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll head over to the harbor first thing in the morning. I’ll give you a call once I’m there.”
With some difficulty, Walter began extracting himself from the deck chair. He stood and stretched, the ukulele in one hand.
“Oh, and Kali?” he called as he started down the steps. “Special request from the crime scene unit. They said to leave that dog at home, or they’d make you build your own raft to get back to Maui.”
The steps creaked ominously as Walter made his way carefully down them.
Kali watched, half smiling. She whistled for Hilo, who appeared from beneath the lanai where he’d been dozing in the cool shade, and began a slow jog toward Elvar and Birta’s home, her constant companion following; she was ready to make her request for more babysitting help. “Might be time to lay off the coconut pancakes, Walter,” she called over her shoulder.
As he walked toward his car, Walter waved his free hand in the air without turning around, his middle finger pointing skyward.
CHAPTER 7
Kali stood in the roadway in the faint morning light, looking for oncoming traffic. There was none. She was on a small hill on Highway 31 close to where it became Highway 37 as it curved north, but her path was blocked by the carcass of an enormous pig. The feral pig population had spread throughout the island as droves of animals were forced to search for new sources of food in the wake of sugar plantation closures, and traffic encounters with them had increased in direct proportion. She guessed from bits of glass on the road near the carcass that it had likely been struck by a heavy truck.
By her estimation, the dead pig in the road weighed about three hundred pounds. It was positioned across the centerline, spilling into both narrow lanes. She could probably get around it by navigating the sloping, grassy road verge, but it had rained during the night, and the ground was soft. She sighed. The pig’s body was on a blind spot, and someone coming along at a fast clip might wind up in a crash trying to avoid it.
Looking up and down the road in both directions, she willed another motorist—preferably one in a pickup truck with a winch—to show up. There was no one. From the hillside sloping down to the road, several chickens appeared, followed by a huge rooster. A few seconds later, more chickens spilled across the crest. She calculated that there were about forty altogether. She was aware of the wild chickens that were as much of a problem as the pigs, and even more cognizant that they were coming to feed on the remains of the carcass. Kali grimaced at the thought, knowing that the chicken problem had developed after 1992, when the destructive forces of Hurricane Iniki had smashed through the islands, destroying buildings that included enough chicken coops and holding pens to launch a feral population. Now they were everywhere, ubiquitous to the landscape, helping to feed the underground cock-fighting organizations that operated illegally throughout Maui.
She’d already activated her hazard lights, which blinked in a steady warning as she opened the back of the Jeep. There was a shovel there, but she knew the pig was too heavy to lift. Reluctantly, she hauled out the heavy towrope coiled in a corner in the back. Swearing under her breath, she dragged the rope out and wrapped one end around the smashed remains of the pig’s hips above the splay of intestines and guts, hoping the whole animal wouldn’t simply fall apart as she moved it.
After securing the rope to the rear of the Jeep she walked back to the newly re-installed driver’s door, then hesitated. There were streaks of blood and inner pig workings on her hands and arms, and stains on the front of her jeans. She reached into the glove box and pulled out the rag she kept there to wipe Hilo, doing her best to clean her hands. It was useless. She climbed into her seat and released the parking brake, then slowly moved the vehicle forward until the slack in the towrope had been taken up. Carefully, she eased forward, dragging the pig until it was on the edge of the road, no longer blocking the passage of motorists.
She got out again, standing by the dead animal, surveying her handiwork. There were still pieces of pig and broken glass on the pavement. She removed the shovel from the Jeep’s rear, scraping as much as she could onto the verge. It would have to do. She glanced at her watch, aggravated by the delay, doubly annoyed by the state of her clothing. The scent of the pig filled her nostrils.
The movement of the Jeep had caused the flock of chickens to temporarily disperse, but now they were returning, picking at the flecks of pig on the road surface as they closed in on the carcass. She climbed back into the front seat and radioed the station, telling the police cruiser to go ahead. She was a good forty-five minutes late already, and was going to have to clean herself up before she went anywhere.
By the time she’d reached the harbor parking lot in Lahaina, the first passenger boat of the morning was already pulling away from the dock. Her mood plummeted. She got out, taking her overnight duffel with her, and locked the Jeep. Shoving the car keys deep into her canvas messenger bag, she hung it cross-body style over her shoulder and chest, and shouldered the duffel. It had rained during the night. She navigated her way around the puddles that had formed in the parking lot’s unevenly paved surface, and made her way toward the public restrooms.
She glanced down at the bloodstains on her jeans, rueful. Dealing with them would have to wait until she had access to a washing machine, but she took off her shirt and did her best to rinse the flecks of pig parts and blood streaks that marked it. She wrung it out and stuffed it into the bottom of her duffel, then scrubbed her hands and arms and put on one of the clean sleeveless shirts she had packed.
The next ferry was already boarding by the time she felt presentable. At the ramp, Kali spoke briefly with the crew member checking tickets, receiving a head nod as she showed her badge. She made her way through the hatch into the interior behind a group of three oddly dressed women in long, matching blue cotton skirts. One of them was old, with beautiful white hair, and Kali estimated the other two to be somewhere in their early twenties. Their hair was tied back in loose ponytails, their tanned skin giving the impression that they spent a lot of time outdoors.
The ferry crossing didn’t actually take much longer to make the trip across the channel than the cruiser, and she consoled herself with the thought that the larger boat was far less bouncy and considerably more comfortable than the small speedboat. Other than the group of women, there were very few passengers on board. She chose a seat on the starboard side toward the bow as the boat’s engines rumbled to life. As she wedged her duffel beneath the empty seat next to her, she looked around. Sitting against the bulkhead on the port side was a man with sunglasses and a black baseball cap with the brim pulled down, obscuring his face. He was holding an open magazine. Kali frowned. There was something familiar about him. Despite the attempt to camouflage his identity, a thick strand of bleached blond hair was visible beneath the bottom edge of his cap.
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Kali felt herself bristle with annoyance. It was Chad Caesar, an actor from Lights Out Maui, a canceled television series that had been largely shot locally on Maui. He’d played the lead character, an investigative journalist from the imaginary Honolulu Record newspaper who managed to break a big story, uncover crime and injustice, catch a criminal, and wrap it all up neatly by the end of every episode.
The series had been hugely popular, having run for multiple seasons before being canceled abruptly, much to the dismay of legions of loyal viewers and fans. Kali had heard from several trusted sources that the show’s cancelation had been the direct result of ridiculous salary demands from Chad. Instead of leaving Hawai‘i with his tail between his legs, Chad had capitalized successfully on his status as a local celebrity to launch a blog and podcast focusing on local events, emphasizing crime, supernatural phenomena, UFO sightings, sea monsters, mermaid encounters, and occasional run-ins with a tropical, mountain-dwelling cousin of Bigfoot that he had dubbed the Palm Man.
Chad’s public persona as Ruler of the News—a title he had chosen for himself to promote his podcast—was familiar to Kali. She also knew that his presence on the morning ferry was unlikely to be random. Instead of sitting down, she walked toward him, waiting in the passageway next to his row of seats. As the boat pulled into open water, she watched him tug the brim of his hat lower over his forehead, and turn his gaze to the back cover of his magazine, peering intently at the ad there. He was studiously ignoring her presence.
She crossed her arms over her chest and spoke clearly. “Good morning, Chad. What are you doing on this boat?”
He looked up at her, a brilliant, practiced grin on his face that gave full play to his unnaturally white teeth. He took off his sunglasses and pushed his cap back on his head, allowing a mass of artificially enhanced golden hair to spill onto his forehead and over the tops of his ears. His grin grew wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
Kali assessed him dispassionately. In her opinion, he was more pretty than handsome. His face was perfectly symmetrical, the features almost too well proportioned. It lacked what she privately termed “an element of interest.” It wasn’t, she believed, a face that she’d enjoy looking at for any length of time. Her thoughts flashed briefly to Mike: his crooked smile, the way the hair in his dark eyebrows had a tendency to spike in wild directions, the small scar on one cheek from crashing his bicycle into a fence when he was ten, how his ears were slightly uneven. It had been a face with character and grace, one that told stories.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Chad turned his charm dial to its fullest setting. “Why, if it isn’t my favorite lady detective! Fancy meeting you here. I mean, what are the odds?”
She snorted derisively. “What are the odds, indeed? Let’s factor in your illegal police scanner and see what kind of numbers we come up with.”
He made a pretense of surprise. His eyes widened as he regarded her solemnly. “I have absolutely zero idea what you’re talking about.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, Chad, you just aren’t a good enough actor to be convincing.”
Ignoring the slight, he looked at her more closely, then drew back with a wrinkled nose. “I have to say, Detective—your perfume choice is a little . . . pungent this morning, not that you asked.” He was staring at her jeans. “Is that . . . blood?” His eyes grew even wider in mock fear. “Oh hell, are you trying to make a getaway? Did you kill someone this morning?”
Her eyes narrowed. She leaned toward him. “Not yet.”
He smiled. “Then maybe you’ve just found another body abandoned somewhere?”
She straightened, staring directly into his eyes. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding here, Chad, you will not be getting off the ferry when it docks. In fact, I encourage you to keep the same seat you’re in now so you have a different view on your way back to Maui.”
“But Detective,” he said, pretending to be offended, “I have a whole day of hiking and snorkeling and cocktails already planned. My readers and viewers can’t wait to hear about it.”
She looked critically at the small knapsack on the seat beside him. “Got all your gear stashed in that?”
He smiled broadly. “Yes, ma’am.” He lifted one foot into view. “Hiking boots, check.” Reaching for his knapsack, he loosened the drawstring top and pulled out a water bottle. “Hydration, check.” He held the pack open so she could see inside. “Plus an apple and a protein bar to stave off starvation, and my ID in case anyone needs to see it before accepting my martini order. So unless you plan to arrest me for wanting to take a day off, I have every intention of having a relaxing time on Lna‘i.”
“Where’s your snorkeling gear?”
“Ahhh. I’m trained to hold my breath for very long periods of time. I learned how to do that while free diving for pearls in the Maldives.”
He winked at her, but she stared at him, unsmiling. “Free diving? I have half a mind to toss you overboard right now to see if you can dog paddle to shore.”
He chuckled. “Let me prove it to you. Come spend the day with me. I don’t mind if you forgot to pack your swimsuit. Or—maybe you already have plans? Something keeping you busy today?”
Taking a deep breath, Kali forced herself to turn away, silently cursing Brad and Jan and their big mouths. She moved a few steps back from him, into the space between the rows of seats. With an effort, she kept her voice calm as she looked over her shoulder. “Do not let me catch you anywhere within my sight today, Chad.”
She grabbed her overnight duffel from where she’d left it, then made her way out onto the deck. Lna‘i was already in view, its towering cliffs clad in thick, emerald-hued vegetation. The waters of this channel were warm and relatively shallow, compared to the deeper seas beyond the islands. The channel was a primary migration route for humpback whales that returned each year to give birth and nurture their young. On many past occasions, she’d watched the huge animals frolic and breach in the channel during the crossing between the islands. Today, the sea appeared to be empty. She stood at the rail, enjoying the sensation of the moving air as it cooled her face and lifted her hair, trying to release the irritation Chad’s presence had awakened in her.
She stayed on deck until the boat eventually slowed, and the ferry pilot maneuvered skillfully into a slip and cut the engines. The few onboard passengers made their way to the area on the deck across from the dock as the gangplank was locked into place. Kali was the first person off. She waited briefly on the dock, watching as Chad made his way behind the other passengers and across the gangplank. The three women in the long, blue skirts were just ahead of him, and passed her on the pier. The woman closest to her was the elder of the three. She slowed, staring openly at the tattoo on Kali’s upper arm, shaking her head. She muttered something, but Kali couldn’t make out the words.
“Excuse me?” she said. “Were you speaking to me?”
“That mark on your arm,” the woman said with disdain. “You shall not make any cuts in your body for the dead nor make any tattoo marks on yourselves: I am the Lord. Leviticus 19:28.”
Kali watched in bewilderment as the woman walked away, and turned just as Chad stepped past her. She was about to warn him again, but he spoke before she had the chance.
“Five o’clock, Detective? Shall we say the lobby bar at the Four Seasons? The property by the water, not the up-country hotel. Drinks are on me, natch.”
She raised her brow at him, determined not to let him get a reaction out of her in public. “I can’t imagine ever being thirsty enough to say yes, Chad. But best of luck to you chatting up someone less discerning and far more desperate. And,” she added, “remember that it’ll be tough to hold a glass if your hands are handcuffed behind your back for interfering in a police investigation.”
His face lit up. “So you are here on official business. Good to know. And as far as the handcuffs go, you have my permission to slap a pair on me any time you like.” He blew a kiss in her direction before ma
king his way rapidly along the waterfront, away from the small harbor.
Tomas was there, leaning against the hood of his police car, waiting for her. He watched Chad’s retreating figure.
“What was that all about?” he asked as she drew closer. “One of those fleeting cruise ship romances? He looks vaguely familiar.”
Kali groaned. She opened the rear door of the car and placed her duffel on the seat. She watched as Chad disappeared from view around a bend in the road. “Yep. That’s the one and only Chad Caesar.”
“Oh. The actor, right?”
“Pain in the ass. I think of him as a tall, blond hemorrhoid.”
Tomas threw back his head and laughed. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Just keep an eye out for him near or at the crime scene. He has a podcast blasting made-up news all over the islands. We’re pretty sure he’s using a police scanner, though we haven’t found one yet. He probably heard about the body being discovered on local news, thanks to that couple blabbering. But he’s definitely got some kind of inside scoop on what we’re doing before information is released to the public.”
They climbed into the car. Tomas started the engine and turned the conversation to the investigation.
“You’ll see the search efforts have stepped up considerably since we don’t know what else—or who else, rather—is out there, and there’s a lot of field to dig. We’ve had an aerial map created, but nothing clear has shown up, so Honolulu sent over a couple of people with additional ground-penetrating radar equipment to assist in the field.”
She nodded as he continued speaking.
“Here’s what we’ve got so far on the second body: male, buried about one hundred yards from the first, but not in a kitchen appliance. This one was wrapped in some kind of material, mostly rotted away. Nothing but a skeleton and what’s left of the clothing. It appears to be fully intact. Stitches is waiting till you’ve had a chance to see it before we move him.”