by Eric Redman
The grief counselors the police had sent to the Malos the day before were still there when Kawika and Tommy arrived. So were a half dozen other visitors, all busy cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. Here’s aloha, Kawika thought. Or would the scene be just the same on the mainland? Not with the smell of Spam frying on the stove, he guessed.
Joan’s children looked smaller than he’d expected, and bewildered.
14
The Mauna Lani
Hours later, Kawika sat with Patience, facing the sunset at the Canoe House, the elegant outdoor restaurant she’d picked at the Mauna Lani. It struck him as an incongruous choice for a mainland haole dining with a Hawaiian detective, but he didn’t care—not this night. He felt his exhaustion yet felt, too, some foundation of himself, something holding him up. He’d smelled death the day before but had begun—perhaps on Tommy’s lanai—to smell life as well. The languid Hawai‘i evening began to take effect. A warm wind stirred the palms, and ukulele music drifted in from the hotel nearby.
“How long are you staying, this trip?” he asked.
“Ask me later,” she said, grinning, adjusting a plumeria blossom tucked above her ear.
After dinner and a long conversation about Hawai‘i, their families, their two backgrounds, and with the torchlight playing across her face and blonde hair, he asked again.
“Later,” she laughed.
When the check came and she waved him off it—“I invited you, and I get a discount”—he asked her a third time. This time she didn’t laugh.
“Kawika.” To his surprise, she took his hands in hers. “Your father is the biggest man I’ve ever seen—I told you that. But Kawika, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
He started to say something.
“Shh! Let me finish,” she said, laughing again. “It was hard enough to start!” She lifted her empty wineglass, tried to sip from it, put it down. “I know you can’t stop thinking about your case,” she went on. “I don’t want you to. I’d even like to help you. But tonight, despite all that, I want to be with you.”
Kawika didn’t know what to say. He just looked at her.
“Be with you,” she repeated. “Make love with you.”
Again he started to speak, and again she shushed him, very seriously this time.
“I haven’t been with anyone since my husband,” she said. “In fact, I wasn’t with him much the last few years.” If she blushed, the available light—from torches, stars, the moon—didn’t reveal it. “I want to be with you, Kawika. Tonight.”
He stammered, not quite ready for this, though he recognized his lapse, his complicity, the swell of guilt contending halfheartedly with his desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, temporizing. “So soon?” He didn’t say, I can’t—you’re a potential witness or I shouldn’t; there’s Carolyn.
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Patience replied. “I’m in Hawaii, I’m unattached, and I’m with a man who’s really beautiful. I feel like we’re good friends—family friends. That’s enough. Enough for tonight.”
Once again he tried to speak. Again she wouldn’t let him—not yet.
“I’m not looking for love on the rebound,” she assured him. “I’m not looking for love at all yet. I just want to be close to someone. Physically close. Someone safe—especially the first time. Can you understand?”
Kawika nodded. He wanted to be close to her too. But he didn’t consider it safe. To him it felt like being close to molten lava. In an instant, his image of himself as honorable and decent might be crisped into a cinder.
“The reason I didn’t say how long I’m staying,” she added, “is that I can leave at any time. I won’t hang around your neck, Kawika. There’s no obligation.”
In the end, the temptation was too great. He yielded to it, knowing he shouldn’t, feeling swept away, aware he’d conspired in the sweeping and that he’d feel the consequences later.
Back at her condo, she grabbed a blanket and led him outdoors. “Down there,” she said, pointing. “Under that pandanus tree. By the beach.” It was a long walk, circuitous to avoid the lava rocks. She stopped him several times to kiss. But toward the end, they walked rapidly, no longer stopping at all.
Kawika helped her spread the blanket on the little lawn he’d first crossed two days earlier, when he’d ducked under the crime scene tape. There in the dark, under a tree, mere yards from where Fortunato had died, they felt hidden from view. On the other side of a low rock wall, big waves crashed, rolling sea-rounded cobbles up and down the steep black beach in a rising and falling murmur.
Still standing, they undressed quickly. Urgency overcame them. Sinking awkwardly down to the blanket, they kissed, fumbling. Patience at once lay back, ready to receive him. Kawika savored a brief moment of anticipation: first contact, flesh in flesh, sinking into a new lover for the first time.
But then from some nearby sound or movement, Kawika sensed the presence of someone else, someone right behind the lava rock wall. He yelled involuntarily and spun to his side, scrambling to his knees.
“Don’t mind me, folks,” a man said apologetically from the dark. “I’m just here to pick up a cat trap.”
Groaning, Kawika rolled onto his back. He reached a hand to Patience, lying there beside him. He heard her exhale sharply, a loud puff. Her head thumped softly back onto the blanket-covered turf. For a moment even the waves fell silent. Then a cat yowled plaintively.
Patience began to laugh and couldn’t stop.
Kawika laughed too.
“Let me ask you again,” he said. “How long are you staying, this trip?”
15
The Mauna Lani
The cat had to be released. Kawika needed a statement from the trapper, and Kawika was in a hurry. There wasn’t time to take the cat to the shelter, and making it wait would have been cruel. So the cat went free, yowling one last time as it raced off into the night.
Kawika peppered the trapper with questions, even as he and Patience struggled into their clothes.
“You trapping feral cats?”
“Yup.”
“For whom?”
“Kohala Kats. Local group. We neuter ’em, give ’em shots, then turn ’em loose again, back where we found ’em.”
“You trap here often? In this spot?”
“Every night.”
“You here three nights ago?”
“Yup.”
“See anything unusual?”
“The killing, you mean?” asked the trapper.
“Yeah, the killing.”
“Yup, I saw the killing.”
“You saw it? You’re an eyewitness?”
“Yup. Guy stuck a spear through another guy? Yup, I saw that.”
“Jesus. Were you thinking of maybe telling the police?”
“Yup. I was thinking of maybe doing that. Haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, I’m the police. Detective Wong. I’m in charge of the investigation.”
“Wow. So you want me to help you?”
“Of course.”
“The way this pretty lady was helping you? Not sure I can.”
A little later they all sat on Patience’s lanai. She brewed fragrant Kona coffee, and they each had a cup. Then she booted up her laptop. At Kawika’s request she began typing an official-sounding statement for the trapper, just a preliminary one in the middle of the night, a document to have before Kawika interviewed him formally at the station in the daytime. Patience cleaned up the cat trapper’s answers to Kawika’s questions.
My name is Jason Hare. I am fifty-two years old. I have no fixed place of residence, but generally live in or near Kawaihae, Island of Hawaii. My address is P.O. Box 173D, Kawaihae.
“I recognize you!” Patience had exclaimed once they’d stepped into the light. “I see you out on the highway.”
“Yup,” the trapper said. “That’s me, the guy who walks along with no hat, no shirt, just my shorts. I look for scat.”
“What?”
>
“Cat crap. Days, I look for cat crap, try to find the cats. Nights, I trap ’em.”
As he continued, Patience typed:
I work as a feline retrieval officer for Kohala Kats. My duties include locating feral cats and trapping them. If a cat is ear-clipped, indicating it has previously been captured and treated, I release it. If not, I take it to the shelter in Kawaihae.
“Why do you trap here?” Kawika asked. “At this part of the Mauna Lani?”
“Shitload of cats here, that’s why.” He said that for the past month he’d kept a trap near the championship tee box on the fifteenth hole of the South Course at the Mauna Lani, because nearby homeowners had complained about the cats. Patience put that in the statement.
Kawika: “Tell me what happened three nights ago.”
Jason Hare’s statement continued:
On the night in question, I went to check the trap around midnight. The darkness and my location behind a rock wall apparently hid me from view. I heard someone approaching. A man was talking but I could not make out his words.
I observed two men, one behind the other. I could not see their faces. They were of similar height and build. The man in back sometimes pushed the man in front, who sometimes stumbled. The man in front had his hands bound before him at his waist. His elbows were behind him and a pole was inserted in the space between his elbows and his back, so he could not move his arms.
Kawika: “Why didn’t you say something? Shout? You might have saved him.”
Jason’s statement:
I did not alert the men to my presence because I was unsure what was happening. I realized the situation might involve potential violence, but the men might also be drunk or involved in some dare or party game. I thought that if violence was imminent, by disclosing my presence I might end up becoming a victim myself.
Kawika: “Describe the killing.”
The men climbed the steps to the tee. I raised my head to see what was happening. Both men were standing. The man in back withdrew the pole from behind the other man and leaned it against a railing. He unfastened the other man’s hands and refastened them again in back. Then he pushed the other man to the ground. From below the tee, I could no longer see the other man.
“So you didn’t see the actual killing?” Kawika asked.
“Not exactly,” Jason said. “But I did see the blow. It was like someone plunging a harpoon into a whale, like in a movie.”
As soon as the other man was lying on the ground, Jason said—and Patience typed—the man who’d pushed him grabbed the pole, raised it above his head, and plunged it straight down with great force. Then the killer bent down and did things Jason couldn’t see. “After that he walked toward the golf path. I stayed out of sight. I thought he might kill me too, if he saw me.”
Kawika looked at him. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Well, I didn’t want to get involved. How do you think the cops would treat me? I’m the guy who walks along the highway without a shirt. They’d treat me like a bum. They’d probably beat me up.”
“Patience, don’t add the last part, okay?”
Instead, she typed:
I considered calling the police and was still considering doing so when I met Detective Wong. My reluctance reflected concern for my safety if I were identified as an eyewitness to a killing.
When she’d finished drafting the statement and read it aloud, Patience printed it, and Jason Hare signed it on her teak table. “Thankee kindly, ma’am,” he said slyly. “That’s a right-purty statement. Sounds just like me.” Handing the statement to Kawika, he asked, “Can I go now, Detective? Got lots of traps to check.”
“Yes, you’re free to go tonight. But this statement is just preliminary. You’re an eyewitness. We need to interview you at the station,” Kawika said. “Up in Waimea.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“We’ll pick you up. You have a phone?”
“No.”
“How do we reach you?”
“Just call Kohala Kats, I guess. They always manage to find me.”
“Okay,” Kawika said, and stood up. “Then stay in touch with them. We’ll want to talk with you soon.”
The trapper nodded, also stood, picked up his trap, and started to leave. Patience restrained him gently with a hand on his arm.
“Mr. Hare?” she said. “Wait a minute, please.” She walked indoors, returning with her checkbook. “I’d like to make a contribution to your organization. To thank you for helping the cats.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” the trapper said. “Remember, that’s Kohala Kats, two Ks.”
16
The Mauna Lani
The moment Jason Hare departed, Kawika and Patience headed straight for her bedroom. Going back outdoors wasn’t even mentioned. Within a minute she was on top of him, rocking back and forth. Within another minute she groaned sharply, convulsed, then began laughing—laughing and laughing as she collapsed against his chest.
“Oops,” she said, embarrassed. “I wasn’t expecting that quite so soon.”
“You—?” Kawika started to ask.
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding her head against his. “Guess I’m Impy tonight. Sorry.”
Kawika held her and began to laugh too. “God,” he said, the two of them chuckling together now. “What a night.”
A few minutes later it was Kawika’s turn to groan.
“P—” he began, then muffled his moan with a pillow.
“What?” she laughed, looking up. “What did you call me? ‘P?’ That’s a new one!”
Now Kawika felt embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking Patience-and-Impy-and-Flea, all confused, and then when I said something aloud, it came out P.”
“P,” she said, trying it out. “P. I have to tell you, I kind of like it.” He hadn’t expected they’d be laughing in bed, but they were. They kissed and lay close. She fell asleep, but Kawika stayed awake for some time, listening to the waves, to her breathing, to his own heartbeats. He began to feel troubled. He’d known he would.
When Patience awoke in the night, Kawika was staring at the ceiling fan. “Just thinking,” he said, turning to her and kissing the top of her head.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.
He kissed her lips, smiled. “Depends on what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking Jason Hare lied to us.”
“Me too.”
“What’s your reason?” she asked. “Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
“Because,” he replied, “if he was scared three days ago and every day since, why wasn’t he scared tonight? He didn’t ask for protection or even ask to keep his statement confidential.”
“You mean, he’s still an eyewitness? Someone the killer would try to silence?”
“Exactly,” replied Kawika. “He didn’t make that story up. Not all of it, at least. It fits with the autopsy; Fortunato’s left wrist was cuffed twice, for example. So he saw something. And he obviously does trap cats here at night, so he was in a position to see it. Yet he’s not afraid of the killer now, if he ever was.”
“Well, that fits with what’s bothering me. He’s unbalanced, Kawika. If you lived in South Kohala, you’d see him out on the highway in the sun, no hat, walking along half naked. His skin looks like leather. He’s nuts, Kawika. Or at least a bit loony.”
“Okay. And so?”
“Well—don’t laugh—maybe he suffers from Lizzie Borden Syndrome. You know, loves animals, incapable of loving people.”
“Lizzie Borden, as in ‘Lizzie Borden took an ax, gave her mother forty whacks?’”
“Right. She killed her parents, got acquitted, inherited their fortune, then left it to charity to prevent cruelty to animals.”
“You think he didn’t care, seeing someone murdered?” Kawika asked.
“Worse. He’s an eyewitness who’s not afraid of the killer—as you say—and he lives in Kawaihae.”
“Sort of, if he lives anywhere.”
“Well,” she said, “Peter Pukui lives in Kawaihae too, right?”
“So?”
“So, I bet Jason Hare belongs to HHH. I bet he’s Peter Pukui’s accomplice.”
Kawika snorted, jostling her with the arm he kept tight about her. “C’mon, Patience,” he said dismissively.
“P,” she insisted. “I earned that nickname honorably.”
“All right, P.” He laughed and jostled her again, kissed her. “Jason Hare wouldn’t belong to HHH. He isn’t even Hawaiian.”
“Kawika!” she said, jabbing him playfully. “You think everyone in HHH has lots of Polynesian blood? Where’ve you been, Kawika? We’ve got, what, about two dozen Polynesian Hawaiians on the whole Big Island?”
“More than that; don’t exaggerate.”
“Okay,” she conceded, “maybe three dozen.”
“P,” he protested.
“Kawika,” she insisted, “the old Hawaiians are gone. We’re all Hawaiians now—you, me, even Jason Hare. It’s not old Hawaiians or even just Native Hawaiians who organize things like HHH. It’s Hawaiians, Kawika. Hawaiians.”
“You’re a Hawaiian?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes, Kawika,” she insisted. “I’m a kama‘āina Hawaiian. I just happen to be from San Francisco.”
Kawika considered her point of view. She stirred against him. “Well then—aloha,” he said, not accepting what she’d said, but kissing her, rolling her slowly onto her back.
“Aloha,” she murmured in reply.
“Aloha ‘oe,” she added somewhat later. Kawika understood what she meant; it wasn’t farewell. They both smiled.
When Kawika next woke, it was nearly morning. Patience slept soundly. He rose quietly, slipped on his shorts, and crept out to the lanai. Except for the waves, the night remained silent. Kawika started thinking about how to write his first report on the murder of Fortunato.