Molokai Reef

by Dennis K. Biby

  Flyn continued her case for all the common material goods shipped to Hawai‘i. “Food, medicine, imported water, milk, and beer are consumed then excreted into the sewer system. Sewage treatment, depending on island and locale, is minimal before the wastewater flows through outfalls into the ocean. The sewage sludge is dumped in the landfill.”

  Coal and oil fired power plants and vehicles – autos, mopeds, trucks, and buses – emit ash, particulates, and other combustion products into the atmosphere. After combustion, the plant operator trucks the residual byproducts to the landfill.

  Burning released carbon dioxide, monoxide, sulfur compounds, etc. into the air. “Remember your chemistry – burning a kilogram of coal or a gallon of gasoline does not convert mass to energy. The re-configuration of the chemical bonds provides the energy. If you weigh all the emitted products, you would still have a kilogram of material. Much more when you add in the new compounds formed with oxygen during combustion.”

  What rises in the air, falls in the ocean. The particulates return in rain while the gaseous compounds take a longer journey.

  Flyn summarized. “Will you agree that everything – every gallon, pound, ton, square foot, and capsule – lands in either the air, ocean, or landfill?”

  “Agreed,” said Kara “but you said it ALL went into the ocean?”

  Flyn was ready for the question. “The landfill will slide into the ocean. Maybe not today or next year, but it will slide under water.”

  “The islands are volcanic and subject to earthquakes. Either a new eruption, most likely on the Big Island, or an earthquake, possible on any island, could cause the landfill to slide.”

  “Because Hawai‘i is in the tropics, the islands receive lots of erosion-producing rain with some areas receiving more than one hundred inches per year. Mount Waialeale on Kaua‘i receives nearly five hundred inches. And don’t forget the hurricanes, rising sea levels due to global warming and the tsunamis?”

  Flyn paused then presented her final summary.

  “Everything, and I mean everything that is shipped into Hawai‘i is thrown into the ocean. Imagine if every day, all of the cars and trucks that leave Home Depot, Costco, the Ala Moana Shopping Center, or a gas station were driven to Honolulu Harbor and rolled into the ocean.”

  For emphasis, Flyn added. “Is there any wonder the reefs are dying?”

  Silence captured the others as they pondered the merits of Flyn’s argument. Time was a key factor because the landfills wouldn’t slide in the ocean tomorrow. Probably not. However, they knew that much of the material destined for the landfill ended up on the side of the road or at an illegal tree-shadowed dump site. It was clear that the fossil products and food products went almost directly to the ocean.

  The listeners realized that Flyn’s prognostication for Hawaiian trash also applied to every other state or locality. Hawai‘i provided a quantifiable foundation for the argument because it was easier to determine the net amount of imported products. On the islands, the erosion, volcanic activity, and landslides were evident to anyone who looked.

  Gybe broke the silence. “Susan is wrong about the seed companies. At worst, they are but one of hundreds of ways to destroy a reef. There isn’t any evidence they are guiltier than the rest of the humanity in this archipelago.”

  Gybe glanced at the surfer. A dense fog had rolled across his eyes.

  Sensing Gybe’s glare, he stood. “There’s an eight to ten foot northwest swell predicted for this afternoon. I’ll catch a ride to the north shore.” At that, he dove over the side, swam to Flyn’s boat, grabbed his surfboard, and paddled ashore.

  “Flyn, what are you doing with that guy? I didn’t catch his name.” Gybe said.

  “Boy toy. I don’t remember his name either.” Flyn’s eyes widened. “Firm, lean muscles. Below the neck, that is.”

  “Kara, what did you learn from your visit with Susan on Maui?”

  45

  While Gybe sailed to Lono Harbor, Kara had taken the ferry Moloka‘i Princess to Lahaina where she caught a bus to Wailuku. The trip to Maui’s north shore was the same one that she and Gybe had taken earlier. In Wailuku, she checked into a motel, then visited Susan in the county jail.

  At first, Susan didn’t want to discuss Jean, the murdered woman. Kara impressed upon her how important it was to know everything about Jean. She and Gybe needed to follow all leads if they hoped to free Susan.

  Kara had suspected that Susan’s sexual orientation didn’t lie north and south, but like most people of her generation, she didn’t care. Susan hesitated, but then told Kara about her first arrival on Moloka‘i.

  Something had happened soon after she won the contract to reconstruct several of the pilings at the commercial pier. As she had explained earlier, although she was an avid, some say rabid, environmentalist who believed we had done enough damage to the ocean, she knew that mankind would not stop building in the ocean. She could write letters, protest, scream, chain herself to a dock, and lobby, but the ocean structures would be built anyway. Susan chose to continue her protests and lobbying for better regulation and more conservation, but on a practical level, she decided that as an environmentalist, she was the best choice for performing the hateful work. She would cause far less damage to the environment than a profit-driven industrialist would.

  During the first week of the project, she had swum from under the pier on a Friday afternoon. It was the end of her workday. When she pulled up her mask, she had been startled to see a woman standing above her staring down. Susan shimmied into the workboat and stripped off the dive gear. The woman called down to her and they started talking.

  After a few minutes, Susan invited the woman to join her on the workboat. The woman introduced herself as Jean. She offered the woman a soda and the two women continued to talk.

  Jean expressed an interest in the work on the pier – especially when she found out about Susan’s environmental background. It was the end of the day, so Susan accepted Jean’s invitation to go out for a drink.

  Susan rinsed off, slipped into clean shorts and shirt, then walked to Jean’s car.

  They went to the Hotel Moloka‘i and grabbed two barstools at the Lanai Bar. The women had talked for almost an hour before Jean revealed that she was a genetic engineer at GeNesRus. As expected, Susan had not taken the news lightly. Instead of leaving, Susan took the opportunity to learn more about genetic engineering.

  “Susan is smart, very intelligent,” Kara told Gybe. “She knows that you can work a crowd of greenies into a powerful, emotional frenzy with repetitious chants of short rhyming or alliterative phrases. The veracity of the phrases is unimportant.” Kara explained her conversation with Susan. “But, she also knows that the resultant flock of emotion-charged, mindless sheep is no more aware of the consequences than are the illiterate followers of a militant mullah.”

  Gybe nodded in agreement. Politicos, preachers, mullahs, saviors of this and that, and Starbucks-nurtured protesters, groupies, jihadists, rioters, and individuals too lazy to think or too cowardly to stand up for their beliefs. Individuals no more influential than a yak in a herd, a drone in a colony, or a can in a six-pack. Kara’s voice brought Gybe back to the tale of Susan and Jean.

  Susan and Jean had visited the Lanai Bar on a Friday night. Soon, the bar area began filling with ukulele players shoving tables together. On Friday evenings, uke players from around the island joined at the bar. New arrivals added more tables. During one song, Susan had counted twenty-three players aged from eighteen to eighty. Kapunas, older ones, was what they called themselves.

  As the drinks flowed, the two women discovered that they shared many interests, including the environment. Despite their opposite thoughts on genetic modification, the basis of a friendship developed.

  Susan had told Kara that she and Jean began spending almost every night together. On weekends, they often went to Maui where they explored Lahaina, Hana, and once rode bicycles down Mt. Haleakala. On their last weekend trip together,
they had ridden the ferry to the Manele Bay Resort on Lāna‘i.

  Early Saturday morning of that weekend, they caught the shuttle bus to Lāna‘i City – the only town on the island. After exploring the small town, they returned to the beach and enjoyed a lazy afternoon followed by an excellent meal in the resort restaurant. That night Jean told Susan that the relationship was over.

  Jean explained that she and her boss Dr. Elizabeth Miller, the founder of GeNesRus, had maintained an exclusive relationship while at UC Davis. The relationship ended when Elizabeth accepted a position with a biotech firm on Moloka‘i.

  Jean wanted to get back together with Elizabeth.

  “Susan was devastated.” Kara sympathized.

  After a moment of contemplation, Gybe said. “Great. With Flyn’s information about the reef, we eliminate the Franken-corn motive. Then an hour later, you reveal another motive for Susan. She was a jilted lover?”

  46

  The four sleuths – Gybe, Kara, Mongoose, and Flyn – ate lunch aboard Ferrity. Gybe summarized their findings.

  They hadn’t found any evidence to exonerate Susan. Her belief, or motive in the eyes of the prosecutor, was flawed. The seed companies weren’t any more responsible for the death of the reef than other industries. To the prosecutor, it was still a motive.

  “On the bright side, if we blow the biotech motive, the prosecutor will replace it with the jilted lover motive.” Gybe jested.

  The concrete used for the helmets contained a special underwater additive. Who else on the island used the additive? “Mongoose, check around and see who sells and uses the concrete additive. I haven’t noticed new shoreline development, at least on this island, so there can’t be many that need it.”

  “Uh, not sure this is important, but Susan told me she was missing two bags of the additive – she called it Mellose.” Kara offered.

  “Is there anything else you forgot to tell us?” Gybe bounced back.

  “No.” Kara huffed. “Susan assumed the bags were stolen from the boat. She didn’t have anywhere to stow them one night so she left the bags on the deck of the workboat. Any item not locked down, someone would steal, at least according to Susan. No big deal.”

  “Mongoose – go ahead and find out who else uses this stuff. We’re not likely to find who ripped off her boat.”

  “Kara. Susan hasn’t come up with an alibi – has she?”

  Susan had told Gybe and Kara when they visited her the first time that she had taken the workboat for a ride. She had left Kaunakakai Harbor around seven and returned just before midnight. Gybe hadn’t believed her story.

  “Nope, she went to her secret spot on the sea floor and practiced her yoga.”

  “I find it hard to believe that she was gone for three hours, by herself, and never came ashore or saw anyone.” Gybe grumbled.

  The briefing continued when Kara took the lead. “Gybe was with me when we talked to Ray’s widow. To me, she didn’t seem very upset about her husband’s murder. I’d like to know more about her. Could the widow have murdered her husband?”

  “If she did, then why would she kill Jean too?” Flyn asked.

  “Maybe she thought Jean and her husband were having an affair.” Kara proffered.

  “She couldn’t have done it alone.” Gybe added. “Two healthy people, the concrete on their heads, the placement of the bodies near the reef – I don’t think she’s strong enough. Besides, what’s the point? Why not dump them in deep water or on a back road? If we assume that she murdered Ray and Jean then we should look for an accomplice.”

  It was too complicated, Gybe thought. Killing your husband wasn’t unusual, but there was no evidence that Jean and Ray were having an affair. In fact, so far, they hadn’t found evidence that the victims knew each other.

  “Since Kara’s paying the bills, let’s look for a motive for the merry widow. Goose – find out if the good Dr. Ray left his widow a fat insurance policy or inheritance or coin collection. Flyn, see what the coconut telegraph has to say about the widow.”

  “Kara’s paying? Gybe, you omitted this minor detail,” the ’goose queried.

  Spiking Gybe’s response, Flyn interrupted. “You say that Jean was having an affair with her boss, Dr. Miller. That fits with what Mongoose discovered in their e-mails. Right?”

  Mongoose nodded.

  “You also said that Jean’s gardener told you of a man who was at Jean’s house every Saturday morning?

  Gybe and Kara nodded their agreement.

  “So Sherlock, is it possible that Dr. Miller, Jean’s boss/lover, discovered her cheating, with a man no less, and offed them both?”

  “Indeed my faithful Watson, Kara and I shall talk with the gardener again. We’ll learn the name of the mystery suitor.” Gybe assumed the role of Sherlock.

  In his head, a headache erupted at the competing theories. The Jean as lesbian theory required that her boss/lover found Jean cheating with a man – Ray – and killed them in a fit of passion.

  In the other theory, Ray’s widow killed Ray for any of a dozen common reasons that spouses kill each other. Jean was either an active or a passive bystander.

  Gybe also knew that Jean’s sexual preferences pointed northeast. “Anyone want dibs that a pony shows up next?” He mumbled.

  “Don’t forget about the hashish and the drug brothers?” Kara reminded.

  “Mongoose and I have a plan to visit the brothers.” Gybe answered.

  “Shouldn’t you wait until your face heals?” Kara kidded.

  Flyn had known Gybe for several years, so she was unconcerned about his rematch with the brothers. On the other hand, she had been surprised at the results of his first meeting with the brothers.

  “I have a plan.” Gybe announced. Gybe shifted the focus to Dr. Spooner or Les, as he preferred.

  Without naming Lagoonabago or Andrea, Gybe gave an abridged version of the events leading up to Les’s hasty departure from the boat. They were curious about the mystery boat and the girls, but Gybe ignored their questions.

  “SynCorn needs money. Some of his employees are accepting promises as pay. I don’t see a tie-in with the murders, but …. I felt he was blowing smoke – cigar smoke – up my shorts when Kara and I met with him.”

  “Flyn, he doesn’t know you. Can you snoop around at his company – SynCorn? Also, see what you can pick up in the local hangouts - bars, cafés, wherever he might go after work. Goose has broadband Internet on Makani. Get on that and see what you can find on the Internet. Okay ’goose?”

  Mongoose nodded and Flyn agreed.

  Everyone split to his or her assigned tasks. Kara and Gybe took the dinghy towards shore. “Gybe, ’goose has satellite driven high speed Internet on Makani? I saw lots of other toys. Does he have a rich uncle? Is he a bank robber? Drug dealer?”

  47

  “Mongoose is an inventor.” Gybe replied.

  He held several patents crossing a range of technologies. Last April, Mongoose had sold his most recent startup, a company he founded three years earlier. The preeminent product combined the latest generation of night vision technology from Russia with a face recognition software algorithm developed for airport security. The ’goose modified and merged these technologies to create the NOFOD system.

  “What’s NOFOD?”

  NOFOD, Gybe deciphered, stood for No Outside Food Or Drink. The system scanned movie auditoriums and identified those moviegoers who had smuggled outside food and drinks into the theaters.

  They secured Aweigh to the dinghy dock and approached the ’vair from upwind. The stench was so strong that even dogs stayed away. Kara herded the ’vair towards town where they hoped to find the gardener.

  Gybe assumed that the gardener was working today. There were few streets, fewer than ten through streets, and maybe a dozen culs-de-sac in the town. Using a simple grid search, he told Kara which streets to drive.

  Before beginning the search, they drove to Jean’s house hoping to find him in the greenhouse waterin
g the corn. His pickup was not there. Jean’s neighbor to the right of the house stood near her mailbox. Kara asked if she knew the gardener and if so, where he lived.

  She didn’t know the address, but she gave them directions to the gardener’s house. “Live on last street, mauka side of town.”

  When Kara turned into the street, Gybe recognized the gardener’s pickup in front of the third house on the left. Kara drifted to the left side of the road and parked face to face with the pickup.

  The gardener remembered them from Jean’s house and invited them to sit under a monkeypod tree in the side yard. Gybe showed him a picture from the paper of the dead Ray Wilson. Well, actually, it was a picture of Ray Wilson before he was dead.

  “That’s him. That’s the fellow who used to work with Jean in the greenhouse. I’m sure.”

  “How often did you see them together?”

  The gardener told them that he had seen the man and Jean together every weekend. He added that during the week, he took care of the corn. Jean and the man tended it on weekends. The gardener saw Jean only when he swung by to pick up his pay. He liked to stop by early Saturday morning before going to the farmer’s market.

  Accomplishing their goal, Gybe thanked the gardener, then he and Kara returned to the ’vair.

  Kara started the ’vair while Gybe pushed the car back from the pickup. At the end of the cul-de-sac, Kara ricocheted the car off the right curb, bounced off the left one, then accelerated out of the turn.

  “If Jean and Ray were having an affair, they weren’t very secretive about it.” Gybe mused. “I think we should visit the not so grieving widow.”