Bones of Hilo

by Eric Redman

  She was beyond soothing by jokes. But at least she let him hold her. He thought of her Hawaiian-ness, its depth and ingrained nature. Once again he sensed his love of it in her—and his love of her for it. It had never become ingrained in him. Neither Hawai‘i nor the mainland ever had, he realized. And that helped explain the upending of what had seemed, until a few days ago, his settled existence.

  By ancestry and blood, Carolyn was no more Hawaiian than he. He knew her name Ka‘aukai survived only because her Portuguese grandfather, a fisherman, assumed it from his half-Hawaiian wife when he learned it meant “man of the sea.” But Carolyn was somehow Hawaiian, and despite this morning’s emotions, at peace with being Hawaiian, in a way and with a completeness that Kawika never quite could be.

  “Carolyn.” He spoke softly. “Babe. There isn’t even a restoration program on Kaho‘olawe yet. We’ve got time to work this out. We don’t have to solve it this morning, do we?”

  Tearfully, she shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “No, we don’t. You’re right.”

  “Then come back to bed,” he said, leading her toward it.

  He made love to her, not believing it would fix anything—much less everything—but feeling stupid that he couldn’t think of anything else to fix things. He felt responsible for her sadness. Somehow, he sensed, it all related to Patience, not his work—to his guilt, his confusion, to the hundred ways one’s doubts betray themselves to a lover even when the existence of another lover remains a secret.

  Carolyn fell back asleep. He held her, thinking of Kaho‘olawe, the pummeled isle. He’d often seen it on flights to Honolulu, looking like nothing but dirt, without a green thing on it. He remembered Ku‘ulei saying the ancient Hawaiians used the channel between Kaho‘olawe and Maui to align their canoes for the voyage to Tahiti. He felt like paddling to Tahiti, taking Carolyn on the long voyage. But when he suggested it—he must have dozed off too, and dreamt—she murmured that Tahiti, too, was ruined.

  When next he woke, Carolyn was pummeling him again, playfully this time, her eyes bright with blinked-back tears.

  “Constable of Kaho‘olawe,” she laughed. “You don’t find me some breakfast ‘āwīwī, I’m gonna lock you up with your own keys and have the Navy drop one great big bomb on you.”

  25

  Hilo

  “Murder. In general, you shouldn’t generalize about it,” Tanaka began.

  Kawika waited to see if Tanaka would smile. They were both a bit rattled. Safe now, seated in the room with the big whiteboard, they’d had to push through a knot of noisy demonstrators to get in the building. They hadn’t expected that. They’d thought the news media would scoff at S&R’s press release. Carolyn had said she wasn’t so sure. Still, no demonstrators recognized them. None knew what they looked like.

  “But,” Tanaka added, “in this case, some generalizations are worth considering. One: The victim generally knows his killer. Fortunato knew his killer, right? He wasn’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Right.”

  “Two: Generally the killer hates the victim. The feeling is white-hot, at least for that moment. Extremely personal.”

  “Well, not if it’s a contract killing, right? Maybe the Japanese had him hit. Shimazu, that bunch.”

  Tanaka nodded, then moved on. “Drug killings aren’t personal either,” he said. “Just business. Generally.”

  “Generally. But you don’t see this as a drug killing, do you?” Kawika asked. Tanaka shook his head.

  “No, that’s Shark Cliff,” Tanaka said. “Enough murders there for the druggies. They’re having a war, I think.”

  “That reminds me,” Kawika said. “I need to ask you about those handcuffs.”

  “Later, okay? We’re getting somewhere here.” Tanaka moved to the whiteboard. “Who really hated Fortunato?”

  Kawika started counting. “Pukui, of course. And not just for the heiau, right? Probably for Melanie too.” Tanaka wrote 2x after Pukui.

  “Sex, betrayal—lots of white-hot hatred there,” Tanaka observed. “Causes a bunch of murders. Including one of yours, right?”

  Kawika lurched slightly in his chair. “What?” he asked.

  “The one you solved in Puna,” Tanaka said. “That stoner who killed his wife. He thought she’d cheated on him, right?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Kawika remembered. “You cheat, you die,” the stoner had said.

  “So, for sex-and-betrayal suspects, besides Pukui we’ve got …?”

  “Joan Malo, I suppose.”

  Tanaka frowned. “I suppose,” he agreed. “Throws her life away to be with the guy, and he abuses her in every way. Even cheats on her with Melanie Munu.”

  “I doubt she knew it,” Kawika said. “When I interviewed her, she was depressed, not angry. She’d made a bad mistake and it was eating at her. If she’d killed someone, she would’ve acted differently.”

  “I believe you. Still, you can’t cross her off the list.” Tanaka wrote Joan Malo.

  “Cross her off the list.” Tanaka’s matter-of-fact words stung; Joan was dead and Kawika still felt responsible. “Can’t cross Kai Malo off either,” Tanaka added. “Not yet, anyway.” Kai Malo joined Joan.

  “Then there’s Melanie Munu,” Tanaka continued. “Sleeping with Fortunato, cheating on Peter. Running some big risks. Fortunato said he’d pay her to claim she’s an heir of Ku‘umoku and challenge his legal title in court, part of some fraud of his. But then he calls off the deal, beats her up. Hell hath no fury, and all that.” Kawika noticed Tanaka always said sleeping with, never fucking.

  “She’s someone Fortunato might meet at night,” Kawika agreed. “She could blackmail him. She could make it look like Hawaiians killed him too.”

  “Right,” Tanaka said. He wrote Melanie on the board.

  “Of course, Melanie may not fit,” Kawika said. “Or Joan, for that matter. Jason Hare said the killer was a man. And Dr. Smith said it was a heck of a powerful blow.”

  Tanaka didn’t reply. He waited, smiling at Kawika enigmatically.

  “Ah,” said Kawika. “I get it. You’re remembering we can’t trust Jason Hare or Dr. Smith—not entirely, anyway. And even though Joan was small, she was strong. Melanie could be a power lifter for all we know, right?”

  “Right. Very good. Iiko, iiko.”

  Kawika frowned at a new thought. “Then should we at least consider Corazon Fortunato?”

  “Probably,” Tanaka agreed. “But we both hear a little voice saying, ‘It’s not her.’ Those little voices are worth listening to.”

  “Generally?” Kawika asked.

  “Generally,” Tanaka agreed with a laugh.

  Kawika got up and walked, like Tanaka, to the window, trying to see if the demonstrators had dispersed. Evidently they’d left. Whew, Kawika thought.

  “Corazon’s small,” Kawika said. “Not dainty, just small. Could she strike that blow? And did she know where her husband was going that night? Plus, she’s got a baby.”

  “So the logistics seem tough?” Tanaka asked.

  “Yeah, but would she kill him anyway? She and the baby might be better off with Fortunato alive and earning money, even if she divorced him. And she was angry when I talked with her. Practically ballistic about Peter Pukui and HHH. Though I suppose she could be a great actress.”

  “But guilty people can’t act,” Tanaka said.

  “Generally?” asked Kawika, following his boss and resuming a seat.

  “Generally.” Tanaka smiled. “You know all this.”

  Kawika did know it. An innocent person doesn’t have to act. A guilty person does. A guilty person has to imagine how an innocent person would act, what an innocent person would say.

  “There’s always—okay, generally—some telltale hesitation,” added Kawika, ever the good protege. “The guilty person has to think up the script before acting it out, right?”

  “Right,” replied Tanaka. “There’s that little hitch or delay when you talk with them. You
can’t use it to prove guilt, but you can spot it.”

  “Corazon didn’t seem to be acting, though,” Kawika said. “But we’ll question her some more, check those logistics.” He wrote himself another note. “Who’s next?”

  “The Murphys, our California doctor couple,” said Tanaka. “You make them for the murder?”

  “Hard to say. Haven’t met ’em yet. But it looks bad for them. They were in a legal battle with the guy. He went to their house, never got his Tevas back on. And then the Murphys took off. They must’ve been the last people to see him alive.”

  “Except for the killer and Jason Hare.”

  “Yeah, but the Murphys and Hare could be the killers,” Kawika said. “That’s what the Waimea cops think. Or the Murphys might’ve bought off Hare to silence him—maybe by giving a lot of money to Kohala Kats.” Kawika knew Hare accepted donations; he’d taken Patience’s check.

  “The Waimea cops probably want the killers to be haoles,” replied Tanaka. “Shimazu would do too—he’s not Hawaiian.”

  “Maybe, but they might be right,” Kawika said. “Even if the Murphys didn’t kill Fortunato, they might have set him up for the Hawaiians. They’re working pretty closely with Hawaiians on those Pohano lawsuits.”

  “Well, question them,” Tanaka said. “As soon as they get back. Do it at their house. Make them walk you through their meeting with Fortunato. See if you can trip ’em up. See what you can learn.”

  “Okay,” said Kawika. “But you really don’t make the Murphys for this, do you?”

  “Just a hunch,” Tanaka replied. “To me, they don’t seem like guilty people trying to act innocent.”

  Kawika laughed. “You mean, guilty people trying to act innocent wouldn’t take off, they’d stay put?”

  “Not bad,” Tanaka said, “But there’s a simpler explanation.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Kawika. “Time for Occam’s Razor?”

  “What?” Tanaka wrote Murphys on the board.

  “Nothing,” Kawika replied. “What’s the simpler explanation?”

  “The simpler explanation is they had no reason to kill Fortunato. They were going to beat him in court. He didn’t have good legal title. That’s what they convinced themselves, anyway.”

  “So you figure they’d be smug—cocky, arrogant, something like that—but not white-hot with hatred?” Kawika asked.

  “Yeah. They might enjoy humiliating him—and I bet that’s what they did. But why kill him?”

  Kawika paused to think. “Same goes for the hunters? The tenants? Still, we should question them. Especially if Fortunato taunted them about using spears.”

  “Absolutely,” replied Tanaka. “Have Tommy do that. So, who’s that leave us?”

  “Bingo Palapala, the guy who gave the bulldozing permit,” said Kawika. “Him and his firm, after Fortunato stiffed the firm—and probably threatened them.”

  “Agreed.” Tanaka went back to the whiteboard. “I could see them doing it—and just the way it was done.” Hunters, he wrote. Bingo & firm. “Who else?”

  “Shimazu?” suggested Kawika. “Fortunato was up to something. The Japanese would have been the marks, right?”

  “Had to be, I guess.” Tanaka added Shimazu to the list. “Shimazu had the opportunity, if he had a motive. Besides interviewing him, we’ll have to see the company books, do some forensic accounting.”

  “I’m sure we can do that,” Kawika said, making another note.

  “Not sure anyone Japanese would’ve killed him with a spear, though. And how would Shimazu have gotten it?”

  “We may know more when we know where the spear came from. We’re still working on that.”

  “Good. Okay, who’s next?”

  “Mainland guys,” Kawika offered. “Someone connected with Fortunato back in Washington where he blew up the Indian site. And we know the Feds were after him for fraud there. So the mainland guys could’ve had more than one motive.”

  Tanaka scratched his head. “Same problem as with the Japanese. Why would mainland guys use an old Hawaiian spear and cord? Or have him hit that way? I can see them killing him. But with all that Hawaiian stuff?”

  “I don’t know. But I gotta follow up anyway with Frank Kimaio, the FBI guy. I’ll do a deep dive with him—check the mainland angles, find out if Fortunato made enemies back there. Anything Tommy doesn’t get from him.”

  “Good.” Mainland guys, wrote Tanaka. “Anyone else?”

  “Who’re we missing?”

  “Michael Cushing?” Tanaka suggested. “Sometimes the number-two guy offs the number one.”

  Kawika smiled and shook his head. “Talk about someone who didn’t have to act innocent,” he told Tanaka. “You should’ve seen him with Tommy and me that day, Terry. The guy was scared he’d be next—scared shitless.” Tanaka frowned—at the word shitless, Kawika realized. “Sorry, Terry,” he said. “How about ‘The guy was quaking in his slippas?’”

  Tanaka smiled and moved on. “Well, what about Ms. Quinn?” he asked. The woman who found the body.”

  That startled Kawika. He tried to imagine Patience as a diabolical killer, someone whose every action since he’d met her could suggest a guilty person trying to act innocent. Someone who was toying with the police, with him. It seemed crazy. Could it fit? He had to think for a moment. Finally he said, “Everyone else has some kind of motive. What would her motive be?”

  Tanaka smiled. “Good,” he said. “Iiko, iiko. Still, does she have an alibi?”

  “Probably the same alibi everyone has for a murder at midnight,” Kawika replied. “Asleep in bed.”

  “Then see if she might have had a motive,” Tanaka suggested. “She’s a writer. Who knows? Maybe she wants to write real-life murder mysteries, has to start out with real murders.”

  “Ah, Terry, c’mon. She wasn’t acting when I told her the victim was Fortunato. She was really shocked, almost fell over. Not scared, like Cushing, but genuinely shocked.”

  Tanaka shrugged and smiled slightly. “I’ve gotta go work on Shark Cliff,” he said. “And by the way, there’s nothing on the dead haole yet, the handcuffed guy. Nothing about the cuffs either. They didn’t leave distinctive marks, not like those on Fortunato.”

  “Hmm. Maybe no connection,” Kawika said. “Well, go ahead then. I’ve got this under control, I think. This helped a lot.”

  “You feeling confident?” Tanaka inquired.

  “Yeah,” Kawika answered. “Generally.”

  Tanaka laughed, seemingly proud of the protégé who’d become his colleague. “Iiko, iiko,” he said, for the third and final time.

  26

  Hilo

  “You know Fortunato’s been murdered?” Kawika looked across the desk at Bingo Palapala, the county official who’d granted the bulldozing permit.

  “Yeah. I heard.”

  “You hear how he died?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty bad, eh?”

  “We all gotta die.”

  “It’s possible he died because of the permit you granted. I want to know why you gave it to him.”

  “He brought us the right report. No reason not to give him the permit.”

  “You give lots of permits to bulldoze old heiau? Ones built by Kamehameha?”

  “Have you read the report?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Bingo Palapala vanished. When he returned, he slapped a half-inch-thick document on the desk. “Here,” he said.

  “What’s it say?”

  “Read it yourself.”

  “How about a quick summary?”

  “Okay, mister. First, this wasn’t a heiau.”

  “What? Not a heiau?”

  “It was probably just a boundary marker.”

  “Boundary marker for what?”

  “For an old land division, an ahupua‘a. Maybe a boundary marker, or maybe an ahu, an altar where people put their tax money. Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t significant and it was already destroyed. Nothi
ng but a pile of rocks.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kawika said. “The University team said it was a heiau Kamehameha built for Pele, to stop a lava flow. Vancouver’s men saw the human sacrifices. They wrote about it in their journals.”

  “Mister, you and the University don’t know shit,” Bingo Palapala said. “No one made human sacrifices to Pele. They made them to Kū. Kū was the god of war, see? Pele was the goddess of fire. So stick with washing people’s shirts, Mr. Wong. Now get out of here.”

  “Not so fast.” Kawika brushed off the racist slur; with Wong as a surname, he’d heard it before.

  “Yes, mister—so fast. Go read the report. KKL’s on lava from Mauna Loa. Mauna Loa never threatened any Kohala fishponds in Kamehameha’s time. That came later—forty years later. Kamehameha was dead. Guess what died with Kamehameha, mister? The old religion. Heiaus. Human sacrifice. Got the picture now?”

  “You’re saying the English never saw a lava flow that threatened his fishponds?”

  “Maybe the English saw a lava flow; who gives a shit? It would’ve been the 1801 lava flow. That one came from Hualalai, not Mauna Loa, and it hit the ocean in Kona, not Kohala. You’ve seen it yourself, mister. The airport’s built on it.”

  “So you’re saying …?”

  “Whatever the English saw, it had zilch to do with this broken-down piece of shit on KKL’s land. There was nothing to save and no reason to save it. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Kawika got the fuck out of there. The menace from Palapala clung to him like sulfurous steam from a fumarole. He went to his office, adrenaline pumping, skimmed the report, and called Tanaka in the field.

  “Terry, the County guy’s scary. But he’s got some cover. The private archeology report says whatever Fortunato bulldozed wasn’t even a heiau. It might’ve just been an old boundary marker.”

  “You’re kidding. Not a heiau?”

  “Nope, if that report’s right. I’ve got an idea, though. Remember after S&R yesterday, Carolyn said destroying an archaeological site could be a federal crime? Maybe it’s not a heiau, but even an ancient boundary marker is still an archeological site.”