Molokai Reef

by Dennis K. Biby

  Gybe nodded. Careful, he reminded himself, he wasn’t looking for a full time mate.

  “There ought to be a law against the way you live. Think what would happen if everyone went back to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

  Gybe and Kara slept in the berth formed by the v-shape of the forward hull. Their heads were aft and their feet joined at the bottom of the vee. Above them, struts held the hatch open so they could look up at the night sky.

  Their lovemaking had been gentler tonight. After dinner, Gybe opened the second bottle of wine. They drank and talked about the stars in the sky, about Gybe’s life on the boat, and about Kara’s dreams.

  Asleep in the v-berth, Gybe dreamed of sailing the Aleutian Islands of Alaska. He planned to leave Hawai‘i in the spring, sailing west along the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands to Midway Island. At Midway, he would turn north towards Dutch Harbor on Unalaska Island. After a visit in Dutch Harbor, he would sail along the coastline until he reached Southeast Alaska where he hoped to find a slip for the winter in Sitka. A travel guide for Southeastern Alaska had warned of the rainy season, which ran from January first through December thirty-first. In his dream, raindrops fell on his face. The intensity of the drops increased until they awakened him.

  The drops were real. Gybe sat up and closed the hatch. Within moments, a squall was dumping buckets of rain. He left the berth and secured the other hatches. The dodger, a Conestoga wagon looking affair kept the rain from falling through the companionway’s main hatch. Gybe stood under the dodger and surveyed the storm. From landmarks, he determined that Ferrity was secure on her anchor.

  The squall brought a strong offshore breeze that swung Ferrity so that her bow pointed ashore. The rain came down hard. Kara nuzzled against his back and asked if everything was all right.

  “Fine. Looks like we are in for a heavy rain, though.”

  They returned to the bunk and quickly fell asleep. In Gybe’s mind, there was nothing sweeter than falling asleep with the heavy raindrops pounding on the cabintop three feet above his head.

  18

  The next morning, Kara made coffee while Gybe went up on deck and walked around the boat. The rain had stopped, but not before dumping several inches of fresh water. Reddish brown seawater surrounded Ferrity. More than five inches of water rested in the inflatable dinghy, yet there was no danger of her sinking. Even full of water, the boat would float.

  Gybe stepped over the lifeline and hopped into the dink where he removed the drain plug. The rainwater in the dinghy was higher than sea level. The buoyancy of the tubes would drain the dinghy automatically.

  After coffee and breakfast, Gybe and Kara motored ashore and caught the bus to Wailuku. They got off the bus in front of the county courthouse. “Let’s find the coroner first.” Gybe suggested. “I hope he will talk with us.”

  At the coroner’s office, they introduced themselves to the receptionist and asked to speak to the coroner. Gybe smooth-talked his way into Dr. Abraham’s office.

  “I can’t release the details of the autopsy yet,” explained the coroner.

  “I’m sure you can’t. But, you do know that Kara’s friend Susan, Susan Combs, has been indicted for the murders. Yesterday, the police chief told the press that as far as he was concerned the case is closed. Later in the press conference, the Prosecuting Attorney felt that he had more than enough evidence.”

  “Yes, but …”

  Gybe interrupted the examiner. “We could bring an attorney back with us and get the full report. You would really help us now if you could answer a few questions.”

  The coroner, no friend of the prosecutor, agreed. He informed them that both victims had drowned although there were bruises and scrapes about their chest, back, and under their arms. Both victims were nude and their bodies were thirty feet underwater. Time of death was between 9:00 p.m. and midnight.

  “With the scrapes and bruises, it sounds like the victims fought the killer. On TV, they always find DNA evidence under the fingernails.”

  “Not in this case. Thirty-six hours under water. The crabs and other scavengers had eaten the fingertips.”

  Gybe stymied a shudder as he visualized crabs gnawing on other appendages.

  “How were the bodies held down? We’ve heard rumors of concrete overshoes.” He knew, of course, since he had found the bodies. However, he wanted to hear the coroner’s answer and to watch Kara’s reaction.

  The coroner stalled, studied the ceiling. Gybe met Kara’s eyes with a wait signal. The second hand on the wall clock climbed from the bottom of the clock to the top before the coroner continued. “I’ll deny this if you try to quote me. It’s in the report which as you say, Susan’s attorney will receive.” He hesitated. “Each victim’s head was enclosed in concrete.”

  No one spoke for several seconds. Then Kara blurted. “My god, you’re saying they drowned in concrete?”

  “Not what I said.” The coroner replied. As an experienced courtroom witness, he chose his words carefully.

  The doctor explained that he had found cardboard residue on the outside of the “concrete helmets” as he called them. He theorized the killer had placed a box, something similar to the box that copier paper comes in, over the head of each victim. Before pouring the concrete, the killer had fitted each victim with a dive mask and snorkel.

  “This allowed them to continue breathing as the box filled with concrete. As long as they remained calm, they could breathe air as the concrete hardened.”

  “Calm?” Gybe thought. “Someone places a box over your head and starts filling it with concrete – it would be hard to imagine a pleasant outcome!”

  The doctor shrugged. “When the killer finished, the victims wore a concrete block on their heads. They were still alive because there were hollow cavities in the concrete around the neck area. These cavities formed when the tissue collapsed after death. If the victims were dead when the concrete was curing, then these cavities wouldn’t be there.”

  “After the concrete hardened and the box was removed, I believe that the victims could still see their killer. The killer positioned the boxes or forms so that the faceplate of the dive mask was clear of the concrete. And as I said, they could still breathe through the snorkel. Talking was impossible, but they would have been able to hear muted sounds through the snorkel tube.

  Kara, still grasping at the horror summarized. “You mean doctor, each victim was aware of what was happening and could see their murderer through the masks?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Gybe inquired about the weight of each block. The coroner revealed that the man’s block weighed eighteen pounds while the woman’s weighed twenty pounds. He didn’t know if this was significant but he noted it in his green spiral notebook.

  “Anything special about the concrete? Any way to trace it?”

  From the doctor’s hesitation, Gybe knew that there was something unique about the concrete. The doctor was still thinking when Gybe asked, “Doc, you’re silence has answered the question. If the concrete was unusual, then it narrows the field of suspects. The prosecutor won’t be able to hide this.”

  “The concrete contained an additive called Mellose. It’s a viscose agent based on under water Cellulose – Hydroxy Propyl Methyl Cellulose. As I understand it, the product is a self-leveling agent that increases viscosity of flowing concrete. Something to do with concrete that is used underwater.”

  “What does it look like?” Gybe asked.

  “From the company’s Web site, it is sold in powder form.”

  Gybe scratched in his notebook for a few moments. “Is that why the concrete is so light? A cubic foot weighs around one-fifty as I recall.”

  The coroner smirked. “What line of work did you say you were in? Gybe – is it?”

  “I didn’t. I’m a writer. Yes, it’s Gybe.”

  The coroner glanced at the ceiling for a moment. “What kind of a name is Gybe?”

  “It’s Hindu for the one who breaks
horses. Now about the concrete?”

  “You’re right about concrete. Beyond the Mellose, the killer added Styrofoam packing peanuts to the concrete. Before you ask, the woman’s weighed more than the man’s because she had a smaller head. Ergo, more concrete to fill the box.”

  Kara and Gybe absorbed the information before Gybe changed the subject away from the concrete helmets.

  “Were the victims using any drugs?”

  “Only small amounts of THC, the active ingredient in marijuana. Hardly anything to note in today’s society.”

  “Other than the Mellose that might tie underwater construction, was there any other physical evidence to tie Susan to the victims?”

  The coroner shook his head. Gybe and Kara thanked him for the information and reaffirmed their agreement not to reveal the conversation.

  From the coroner’s office, they walked to the jail where they asked to see Susan.

  19

  Susan was in a small room talking with her court-appointed lawyer when Gybe and Kara asked to meet with her. After consultation with Susan’s lawyer, the guard showed Kara and Gybe to the conference room. This time, they walked through a metal detector.

  Susan introduced her lawyer as Maka Hong.

  Kara took the lead. “Ms. Hong, how many murder cases have you tried?”

  “Maka, please call me Maka. This is my first murder case. I’ve been in the public defenders office for almost a year. Don’t worry though; I am not afraid to ask the other attorneys in our office for help.”

  “Susan, this is your life. From what I have read, Hawai‘i doesn’t have the death penalty – right Maka.”

  “That is correct. Life imprisonment is the stiffest penalty.”

  “No offense Maka, but you have no experience with a murder trial. Susan, are you OK with Maka as an attorney?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t kill the scientists.”

  Gybe broke in. “Susan, you’re presumed innocent – but the way the evidence stands right now, the prosecutor thinks he has a strong case. Unless you want to rely upon the skills of your eager, but inexperienced attorney, we need to prove you innocent. Ms. Hong will have to convince a jury that the prosecutor’s evidence is faulty. Do you trust her with your life?”

  Susan glanced at her attorney. “What choice do I have? I don’t have the money to hire the O.J. team. It isn’t fair. I’m innocent.”

  Maka locked eyes with Susan. “Susan, I’ve been honest. This is my first murder case. But, like you and your environmental activism, I believe in what I do. The evidence that I’ve seen so far is circumstantial. Unless they have more that ties you with the crime, I can convince a jury that you are not guilty.” She paused. “I guarantee you that I will defend you to the best of my abilities.”

  Nice speech, Gybe thought. It would be moot to argue or pursue this conversation further. “Ms. Hong, Susan – Kara and I just came from the coroner’s office. Although he wouldn’t give us a copy of the autopsy report, he answered some of our questions.”

  “He talked with you?” Maka showed her naïveté in the question.

  “Yes, off the record. I believe that you are entitled to the report. Have you asked for it?”

  “No. I came to talk with Susan the first thing this morning. I’ll request the report as soon as I leave here. Susan has told me that you are helping her. Are you a private investigator?”

  “No. Just call me a concerned citizen with an overactive skepticism gland.”

  Gybe and Kara replayed their conversation with Dr. Abraham in the coroner’s office. “It seems that the only physical evidence from the coroner that ties to Susan is the concrete additive Mellose. Susan, are you familiar with the product?”

  Susan nodded. “It’s a new product used in underwater projects. The state contract that I’m working on to repair the pier requires that I use Mellose.”

  “Is it hard to get? Who else would use it?” Kara asked.

  “No, anyone can buy it although only a contractor would know enough to use it. It is sort of expensive so I wouldn’t expect anyone to use it unless the contract explicitly specified Mellose.”

  Gybe still wasn’t satisfied with Susan’s alibi for that night. He pressed again.

  The big hand on the wall clock chunked twice before Susan relented. “There was a full moon that night. Whenever there is a full moon or a new moon, I like to scuba dive off the reef. Every fortnight, I go to the same spot.”

  “Who went with you?” Gybe asked.

  “No one. I went alone.”

  Gybe was a diver and he knew that one of the sacred rules was to always - always dive with a buddy. “Who was your dive buddy?”

  “I am very safety conscious, but I started diving when I was eight. Sometimes, I go alone. Didn’t I hear Kara say that you sailed from San Francisco by yourself? Is that safe? How can you maintain a proper lookout around the clock, day after day?”

  “Fair enough.” Gybe agreed. There were more rules than he could keep track of or obey. “Where did you go that night?”

  “I have a favorite spot that to me is a spiritual place. On nights like that night, with a full moon I mean, I anchor the boat at this spot.” Susan explained that instead of dropping the anchor onto the ocean floor where it could damage the sea life, she dove into the ocean and tied a line around a Volkswagen-sized boulder. The boulder rested on the ocean side of the reef.

  “I dive alone. The water is less than twenty-five feet deep and it is one of the few places on the Moloka‘i reef that hasn’t been killed by the corn companies.” Susan nearly spat when she said corn. Her face flushed.

  Gybe wanted to react to her epithet about the corn companies, but decided that this wasn’t the time. What was with Kara, and now Susan, in their crusade against the companies? Could Susan be guilty? Was Kara as naïve about the deaths as she appeared? He scribbled a note in his spiral pad and looked up at Susan.

  “Where is this place?”

  She shrugged. “My secret. It is my place. My place alone.”

  “Before you went into the water, did you see any other boats around?”

  “No. I was the only one out there that night. It was a very clear night – no clouds. With the full moon I would have seen another boat if one had been there.”

  “What did you see while you were diving?”

  “On a full moon, with clear skies, the reef is alive with dozens of fish. The moonlight penetrates to the bottom so a light isn’t necessary. On the night of a new moon, the opposite happens. The bottom of the ocean is pitch black – as black as the depths of a cave.” Susan’s eyes dilated as she recited her experiences diving alone on these special nights.

  After a brief pause, she continued. “Then I practice my yoga.”

  “Huh? Meditate?” Not what Gybe expected.

  “Yoga. I work through a set of asanas – dhanura, nataraja, chakra, sirsha, et cetera. Finally, I assume padma-asana.” Sensing that her lawyer was unfamiliar with yoga, Susan explained each of the positions, then added. “Padma-asana is commonly called the lotus position. It’s probably the first image you visualize when someone mentions yoga.”

  “What? You’re saying you lay out your yoga mat and work through your asanas while wearing a scuba tank, BC, fins, and mask?” Gybe practiced yoga when he had time, but he couldn’t visualize the postures while wearing scuba gear. Reacting to Kara’s puzzled look, Gybe added. “BC is a buoyancy compensator.”

  “Sort of. On the sand, which is several inches deep, I don’t need the mat. As for the scuba gear, I remove everything but the weight belt. Although the water is cool, low 70’s, I don’t wear a wetsuit.”

  Susan piled her equipment at the edge of the sand and attached a twenty-foot long hose to her regulator. On her weight belt, she used a small air bottle and bladder to achieve neutral buoyancy at the depth.

  “With the full moon illuminating the water, the experience is surreal.” Susan described the reef life. A moray eel, she called him Morrie – ho
w original - lived between two rocks near the base of the reef. There were dozens of fish drifting about the reef. Sometimes, the fish bumped into her as she sat perfectly still. She had seen squid, octopi, and green sea turtles. And barracudas were around most of the time.

  Kara jumped in. “You meditate underwater in pitch black when the moon is new? What about sharks, eels, and other critters? Aren’t you afraid?”

  Gybe noticed that a serenity had settled on Susan’s face as she discussed her underwater yoga antics. As unusual as it sounded, he made a mental note to try it sooner rather than later.

  “There’s nothing like it. If the Hindus had had scuba, yoga would be an underwater activity today. Under a new moon, I meditate with my eyes open. I’ve learned to control my fears. Think of the self-esteem after such a practice. Besides, the critters as you call them are mostly friendly.

  “But what of the danger?” Kara wouldn’t give in.

  “We – the collective we of mankind – have killed and are killing many of the predators of the ocean. Here on Moloka‘i, the seed corn conglomerates with their genetic engineers have killed the reef. Much of the reef is just dirty, brown dead coral with few fish, little live coral, no anemones, no eels, no nothing. There is little reason for the higher predators – sharks if you will - to visit most of the reef.” Then as an afterthought, “there’s nothing for them to eat.”

  Anger had replaced serenity on her face and in her posture. The transformation was as abrupt as an octopus camouflaging itself. Whether Susan killed the scientists or not, Gybe observed, her passion ran deep. Deep enough for murder.

  Not willing to give up on the image of the new moon, Kara continued. “But on the new moon, it must be so dark down there?”

  “During a new moon, twenty feet under water, it’s darker than inside a Black Angus bull’s belly at midnight,” she philosophized, “with his tail down.”