Recapping the crime, two paragraphs revealed that a passing sailor had discovered the two victims on the ocean floor, inside the fringe reef on the south side of Moloka‘i. The site of the discovery was near the old Kolo Wharf, about ten miles west of Kaunakakai.
The police identified the victims as Dr. Ray Wilson of Kualapu‘u, Moloka‘i, and Dr. J. Splicer of Kaunakakai. Both victims were research scientists specializing in genetic engineering. Dr. Wilson worked for SynCorn, Inc. GeNesRus, Inc. employed Dr. Splicer. A sidebar provided background information on SynCorn and GeNesRus.
According to the county Medical Examiner, the time of death was between 9:00 p.m. and midnight on Monday, about thirty-six hours before the discovery. The M.E. did not release the cause of death. An anonymous source told the reporter that the bodies were sunk in concrete.
No shit, thought Gybe, as he continued reading. If the reporter had seen the bodies dangling from the chain draped across Gybe’s anchor, she would have been a bit more graphic in the description.
The focus of the article shifted to the murder victims.
Gybe read that Dr. Wilson, the male victim, and his wife had lived in Kualapu‘u, a small town in the center of the island. Sharon Wilson taught school at the Moloka‘i High School, near their home. Married for ten years, the couple had two children.
Dr. Wilson’s hobbies included scuba diving, fishing, and kite boarding.
Dr. J. Splicer, the female victim, worked for GeNesRus, another biotechnology company. Dr. Splicer had joined GeNesRus directly after completing the requirements for her Ph.D. at the University of California, Davis. During her sixteen months with GeNesRus, she worked out of their Moloka‘i research center. The company did not reveal Dr. Splicer’s area of expertise.
Dr. Splicer was single and rented a small home in Kaunakakai.
“The facts are pretty sparse.” Gybe summarized. “There isn’t much about the murders or the reason for arresting Susan.”
He flipped the page and found brief overviews of each company.
Beginning with the SynCorn history, he learned that Dr. Lester Spooner had founded SynCorn three years ago. The privately held firm employed seventeen scientists and technicians. SynCorn conducted research in the area of genetic modification of hybrid corn.
SynCorn had employed the male victim, Dr. Ray Wilson, for two years. He had moved to Moloka‘i from Stillwater, Oklahoma. According to a SynCorn spokesperson, Helena Feedum, “Dr. Wilson, Ray, wanted to test his laboratory findings in the field test plots here on Moloka‘i. Dr. Wilson’s work involved the modification of the gene that gives common corn its distinctive yellow color.”
Remembering that Heinz had introduced green ketchup and then blue ketchup, Gybe surmised that SynCorn was attempting to do the same with corn. Gybe looked up at Kara. “Do you think kids would eat more veggies if they were rainbow colored?”
“The kids or the veggies?”
"For now, let’s assume they are coloring the veggies.”
He returned to the article but wondered if some other company was creating a variety of green beans that were purple or pink. “Remember the artist who created the luminescent rabbit?”
Kara shuddered. “These guys are fucking nuts! I can’t believe we are allowing these genetic hackers to experiment with life. Do they have any idea of the repercussions of their experiments? Do they KNOW what will happen when a farmer plants blood-red corn on his Nebraska fields?”
Gybe ducked back behind the newspaper to avoid the rant.
“How do they change the color of corn? Suppose they are taking the color gene from tropical fish, maybe a clownfish, and splicing it into the corn genome. What happens when some of that corn washes into the ocean here on Moloka‘i? What happens when it enters the pelagic food chain?” Kara ranted on.
“Why do we need colored corn?” As Gybe’s mouth started to move, Kara answered her own question. “Just so some greedy multinational corporation can make more money. I’m so damned mad. Let’s go visit SynCorn right now!”
“Hold on. I’m hearing a lot more emotion than facts. You may be right, but we don’t know that Dr. Wilson was mating Nemo with the Jolly Green Giant. I want to read the rest of this article, OK?”
Gybe finished the SynCorn story and sailed his eyes over to the GeNesRus company overview.
In the GeNesRus sidebar, Gybe read that Dr. Elizabeth Miller had founded the company two years earlier. The company enjoyed the status of woman-owned although there was no public record of government contracting.
The privately held firm hadn’t released any financial data. A press release eighteen months ago indicated that a Boston venture capital firm had invested in GeNesRus.
In a telephone interview with Dr. Elizabeth Miller, the founder and CEO, the reporter had learned that nineteen employees worked at the laboratory on Maunaloa Highway west of Kaunakakai. When asked about the specific business of GeNesRus, Dr. Miller told the reporter “GeNesRus is researching the transfer of genetic material from one plant species to another.” When pressed, the CEO refused to elaborate.
“They sure don’t reveal much about either the victims or their employers.” Gybe amplified his earlier comment. “I guess the companies are worried about their trade secrets.”
“Public opinion is their real fear.” Kara offered. “Why do you think they perform their research on Moloka‘i, an island with little industry and few job opportunities? There is no daily newspaper and no scheduled airline flights. Because Hawai‘i has only one mayor per county, the mayor of Moloka‘i sits in the county seat on Maui. And how much will the state help? The state capitol is in Honolulu. Frankly, they care more about waders on Waikiki than mutants on Moloka‘i. The greedy multinational corporations are taking advantage of these people.”
Wow, she never stopped to breathe once. Greedy-multinational-corporation came out as one word. “You seem to know a lot about Hawai‘i for someone who flew in yesterday?”
“We have a network of volunteers within Oceans Now who contribute to a master database. I read the report on the flight from San Francisco.”
“So I take it that you are opposed to genetic engineering?”
“Damn straight. We don’t know if it is safe. We don’t know the long-term effects on the environment. We don’t know if the genes can migrate from one species to another in the wild. There are a hundred things that we don’t know about the process.”
“But if the scientists can make crops that produce more food or require less fertilizer and pesticide, isn’t that good?”
“Only if it is safe. Today, we don’t know that. Europe has banned genetically modified organisms (GMOs) because we can’t prove they are safe. Besides, marketing reasons drive the creation of many of the GMOs. They’ve spliced terminator genes into crops so their seeds are sterile. This forces the farmer to buy new seeds every year. They’ve modified tomatoes so that they hold up better for shipping, but they taste like cardboard.”
Rolling along, Kara continued, “Remember back in the nineties when they created BtCorn. The genetic engineers designed it to be resistant to the European corn borer. Well, it also killed monarch butterflies.”
“Hold on,” Gybe interrupted, “that isn’t true. More than a dozen studies countered that report. It was a flawed study. Don’t let your emotions overrun the facts.”
“That’s what you say. Do YOU know the effect of the BtCorn twenty or fifty years from now?"
“No. Our grandparents didn’t know the effect of automobiles, jet planes, or electricity either. How many butterflies have they killed? How much poison do they produce? You’d be waist deep in horse shit if it weren’t for the automobile. Is the car better than a horse?” Gybe paused. “I don’t know. The answers aren’t simple.”
“OK, then do you agree we should use the precautionary principle?”
Gybe was familiar with the principle. It stated something to the effect that when an activity raises threats of harm to human health or the environment, precauti
onary measures should be taken even if some cause and effect relationships can not be established scientifically. In other words, we should protect the environment and human health first – even if we have no clear evidence of harm. We should err on the safe side.
“You’re suggesting that if we have no evidence of harm from a genetically modified organism then we ban it because it MIGHT harm the environment or people?” Gybe questioned.
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Good thing that the precautionary rule was invented recently.”
Kara wrinkled her forehead and then played the part. “Why?”
“For starters, you wouldn’t be able to eat cooked food. You’ve read of the studies that list all the carcinogens created during frying and how other forms of cooking break molecular bonds. If you had just invented cooking, could you get it past the precautionary principle?”
“That’s absurd.” Kara appeared to be searching for a deeper answer before she blurted. “Besides, I’m a vegetarian.”
Gybe let the knowledge of her mahimahi sandwich for lunch slide by. “OK, if you don’t like that one, then how about raising corn in Africa?”
“What about it?”
“Corn wasn’t invented in Africa. It came from Mexico.”
“So?”
“Who tested corn in the growing conditions of Africa? How did they know that corn wouldn’t interbreed with endemic plants to create a new Frankenplant? Suppose there was an organism in the soil of Kenya that interacted with corn plants to create a toxin that killed giraffes?”
Clearly angered, Kara butted in, “You don’t care what the mad scientists create in their genetic labs?”
“Didn’t say that. I’m saying that the issue isn’t as simple as a bumper sticker. Biotech promises great new positive developments for the environment, agriculture, medicines, quality of life, etc.” Holding up his hand to stop her response, he continued. “AND, it holds the potential for great danger. It’s not a question of either we do it or we don’t. The masses need to learn that milk does not come from a carton and electricity does not come from an outlet. Society is scientifically illiterate, ignorant, and stupid.” He may have been redundant, but Gybe held the masses in very low esteem.
Though he had known Kara for only a couple of days, he knew she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t buy his arguments at face value, but he suspected that she would ponder some of the things he had said. Of course she would never admit this.
While Kara steamed, Gybe finished reading the newspaper article.
Finished with the Star-Bulletin, Gybe traded papers with Kara and scanned the reports in the other major newspaper.
He glanced up at the kitchen clock, saw that it was nearly 6:00 p.m., and flipped on the small countertop television.
12
On the TV, the face of a pretty woman filled the small screen. She was pretty because five test audiences gave her a high rating during her hiring process. She won additional points for white, straight teeth and perfect hair. On cue and at random, she could call up any of seven pre-defined facial expressions ranging from laughter to misty-eyed gloom. Tears spoiled her make-up, so she never used them. Her agent negotiated a contract stipulating that during a broadcast, she would never utter more than four consecutive sentences. Each sentence would contain no more than eleven words – no more than three syllables per word.
Or at least, that was what Gybe imagined after listening to the woman speak.
Gybe watched as she announced the top story. “In Wailuku today, the Maui County Prosecuting Attorney held a news conference.” She hit her maximum word count, so she started a new sentence. “He discussed the recent murders on Moloka‘i.” Hawaiian words, such as Moloka‘i, were exempt from the three-syllable rule. She stumbled through their pronunciation. Turning her head, she directed the audience to follow her eyes to the growing inset of the reporter on the scene.
The on scene reporter’s head oscillated between her notes and the camera. Reading from her notes, she reported that during the news conference, the Prosecuting Attorney (PA) had told reporters that at one p.m. today, Susan Combs had appeared before a District Court judge via video link to the Kaunakakai jail. The purpose of the hearing was to set the date for a preliminary hearing to determine if sufficient evidence warranted proceeding to trial.
The state charged her with two counts of first-degree murder. The prosecutor had sufficient evidence to show pre-meditation in the killings. Further, he said that several eyewitnesses had placed her in the area of the crime; that she had a documented history of “violence” (his word) against the companies that employed the victims; and that Susan had access to specific physical evidence used in the commission of the crime.
A video clip of the news conference bloomed on the screen as the reporter’s image faded to a small corner. The Prosecuting Attorney was speaking: “Under Hawai‘i Revised Statutes, a conviction of first degree murder carries a mandatory life sentence without possibility of parole. This heinous crime will not go unpunished.”
Already building his case for the jury and possibly political office, Gybe thought.
The prosecutor continued, “A civilized society tolerates no justification for murder. A life cannot be traded for the environment.”
Was the converse true? Gybe wondered. Was it OK to trade the environment for a life?
Several reporters jumped up with questions. “What was the cause of death?” yelled Melinda, the on-scene talking head of the television station they were watching.
“No comment.”
Undaunted, the reporter fired back. “I’ve heard that the victims were wearing concrete overshoes. Is organized crime involved?”
Like the wave at a football stadium, the other reporters leaned forward to hear the prosecutor’s response.
“No comment. It is irresponsible for the media to give credence to unfounded rumors.”
Another reporter, Connie from the Maui News, gained the floor. “Sir, is the ice epidemic in Hawai‘i the result of the arrival of organized crime? Is there a turf war on Moloka‘i?”
The prosecutor reddened; clearly his necktie was too tight. “Listen Connie, you know better than to ask that question. Organized crime has nothing to do with this murder. WE have the perp.”
With his fingers, he enumerated the means, motive, and opportunity of prime time television detectives. Physical evidence collected at the crime scene showed a link to Susan’s company. She had a documented history of conflicts with the employers of the victims. Finally, the prosecutor explained that witnesses placed Susan in the vicinity at the time of the murders.
“She is in jail. She is an enviro-fanatic. No more questions.” The PA, as they were called in Hawai‘i, exited through a door on the left side of the stage.
In Gybe’s opinion, the prosecutor was laying the groundwork for next fall’s gubernatorial race.
Turning to the television audience, Melinda re-stated the results of the news conference for those who weren’t paying attention or somehow missed the paucity of facts offered by the Maui Prosecuting Attorney. Then she handed the cue back to the station.
The perfect broadcastress at the anchor desk thanked Melinda, which counted as a sentence, then tossed the ball to her perfect co-anchor.
Gybe killed the set. He placated his disgust with sound bite news as he recalled Mongoose’s project. Mongoose was developing an animation program to replace the talking heads. During the demo, the ’goose typed in a script and then pressed the Action button. An animated head, very life like, began talking. Included in the head selection were several ethnicities, races, hairstyles and colors, wardrobes, and seven choices for gender. The script language, he called it Emotion Text Markup Language or ETML, allowed an expansive variety of characters and emotions.
Gybe faced Kara. “Sounds like the prosecutor has a pretty tight case. Susan’s civil disobedience has returned to haunt her.”
“She’s innocent.” Kara retorted. “I believe that.”
>
“The prosecutor won’t take YOUR word for it. If you believe in Susan’s innocence then we have to prove it. After that news conference, the police are going to look no further for the killer. Occam rides again. In their mind, Susan, now locked up in their jail, had the motive, opportunity, and means.”
Gybe reconstructed the facts. He was worried about the prosecutor’s claim of physical evidence connecting Susan to the crime. And who were the alleged witnesses?
The victims worked for two separate companies, companies involved in genetic engineering. Ample evidence revealed that Susan held genetic engineering responsible for the destruction of Moloka‘i’s reef. The Maui Prosecuting Attorney believed this was Susan’s motive. Were the genetic scientists killing the reef?
According to the reports, Jean, a recent graduate, moved from California seven months ago. Ray, ten years older than Jean, had moved his family from Oklahoma two years ago. Jean was single. Ray had left behind a wife and two young children. There weren’t any apparent connections between the victims. Or were there? Gybe made a mental note to search for a connection.
Why would Susan, or anyone for that matter, murder two unrelated scientists?
13
Kara guided the ’vair down the causeway. After the news, Gybe had asked Kara to drive him back to the harbor.
Because of the shallow water inside the reef, the pier anchored the end of a half-mile long causeway. The west side of the pier handled the ferry and barge traffic. According to the charts, the controlling depth was nineteen feet with a width of about ninety yards. There was room for one barge to tie alongside the pier at the makai end, while leaving space for the ferry landing at the mauka end. Used tires from jetliners and earthmovers hung along the pier to cushion the cargo barge.
From the air, the causeway was the shaft, the pier the blunted arrowhead.
“Kara, your Hawaiian words for the day are mauka and makai. Mauka means inland, towards the mountains, or towards shore. Makai mean towards the sea.” He pronounced the words as mau-ka and ma-kye.
Molokai Reef Page 5