The Green Room

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “Storm, Hamlin,” a man’s voice shouted. Storm recognized Brian Chang’s voice.

  “We’re okay,” Hamlin yelled back, and opened the door.

  Five or six officers burst in, all wearing Kevlar vests. They put away their drawn weapons when they saw the calm but bedraggled welcoming committee. Detectives Yamamoto and Ursley followed the wave of armed police, with Brian close behind.

  EMTs were the next group to enter, with a gurney and equipment. Some of them went directly inside while two approached O’Reilly, who sagged against the wall. Sadness and defeat permeated his demeanor.

  “Where’s Goober?” he asked, and when no one answered, he grew paler. Detective Yamamoto and the EMTs led him outside to a waiting ambulance.

  Hamlin, Sunny, and Storm followed Detective Ursley and Brian into the house. “Dede and Ben are watching Barstow,” Hamlin explained to Brian.

  Brian watched Ursley direct her officers to keep their eyes on the still-unconscious Barstow while the emergency techs loaded him onto the gurney, then put his hand on Hamlin’s shoulder. “Let’s have someone look at that gash.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Hamlin said. “Head wounds just bleed a lot.” He lifted the bag of ice for a moment.

  “Ugh. He can’t see it, can he, Storm?” Brian said.

  “You need stitches,” Storm said.

  Ursley looked over at Storm and Hamlin. “Get on over to Kahuku Emergency Room. We’ll talk to you after.”

  Leila and Robbie had ventured in now that the danger had passed. Leila hugged Storm. “It was so scary when you dropped the phone.”

  “We could hear everything that was happening,” Robbie said.

  “We finally figured out you were okay.” Leila looked grim. “But we also knew someone was hurt.”

  A hush had fallen and Storm and Leila turned to watch Ben enter the kitchen. With Ursley behind him, he knelt to rummage in a cabinet. First, he extracted a commercial-sized blender and set it on the counter. Then he got out a box labeled with a popular protein additive.

  “Dad had some herbs. He’s always been spiritual,” Ben said. “He thought he could win mom back, you know.”

  Storm’s heart squeezed. The boy still wanted to look up to his dad and defend his actions. No wonder it had taken him a while to recognize that he’d gone overboard.

  Ben leaned down, dug further back into the cupboard, and came up with a nondescript, brown corrugated box, about a cubic foot in size. He put it on the counter, then turned away. “It’s in there. I…I think he was using it for his special drinks.”

  Detective Ursley, who wore gloves, opened it. No one spoke. Even Brian Chang, who was out of his territory and stood by to support his colleagues, froze with part-fascination, part-dread. His eyes slid to Storm’s. He nodded gently, a move only she and Leila saw.

  Leila moved away with her hand on Robbie’s shoulder, so that he went with her.

  Storm hesitated a moment, just long enough to see Ursley pull out a wooden bowl.

  White inlays shone around the upper rim. Those would be human molars.

  Storm turned her back. It had been years since she’d seen one of these, but she didn’t need to see another. Especially if she knew the tooth donors. No wonder the Bishop Museum no longer left them on display.

  Hamlin made a low, sad noise, and pivoted away, too.

  Suddenly, Brian was beside them. “Time to get that head looked at.” He nodded toward Ursley, as if to remind Hamlin it was time to obey her directive. “We’ll meet you at the medical center.”

  “Give me your keys. It’s my turn to drive,” Storm said. She was mildly surprised when Hamlin handed them over without protest.

  Storm and Hamlin spent about ten minutes in the waiting room before an ER physician appeared to lead them into an examining room. Just as they stood up to follow, Detective Yamamoto approached them.

  “I’d like to ask you some questions when you’re done,” he said.

  “You might as well come in,” Hamlin said to him. “I’d like the distraction.”

  Everyone looked to the doctor, who shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

  Hamlin, Yamamoto, and Storm all winced when the doctor began to inject around the wound on Hamlin’s forehead with Lidocaine.

  “Ouch,” Hamlin said. “That stings.” He looked at Yamamoto. “Talk to me.”

  “Tell me why you went to see Barstow,” the detective said.

  Storm let Hamlin do most of the talking, though the detective wanted to hear her version of her experience in the cave. Now that she knew Goober hadn’t survived, the telling was even more disturbing, especially when she got to the part where Goober had taken the jet ski.

  She choked up. “I thought he had a better chance than I did. Now I think he knew it didn’t have enough gas. And I had the only surfboard.”

  Yamamoto’s expression was sympathetic. “You thought Goober robbed your house?”

  Storm twisted her hands together. “His words were, ‘Talk to O’Reilly.’ So I thought O’Reilly made him break into the cottage.” She looked miserable. “But now I think he was telling me who I needed to see to put the story together.”

  “That jibes with what I’ve been hearing.” Yamamoto looked grim. “But it was probably Barstow who made him do it. It looks like Barstow offered him a spot in the lineup for doing certain jobs.” The detective glanced at his notes. “It was Barstow who pushed to shorten today’s meet, which coincided with the spreading rumor that you’d been rescued from the water and were in the medical tent.”

  Yamamoto continued. “O’Reilly saw Goober give you something. But he didn’t know what it was. Nor did he know that you’d followed Goober off the beach.”

  “Have you talked to any of the other surfers?” Storm asked.

  Yamamoto nodded. “Seems like the day Matsumoto disappeared, Barstow and he had a big confrontation in the water. From what I hear, Matsumoto was kind of a rich kid with a big ego. He made a big deal of accusing Barstow of snaking him.”

  “What?” Hamlin asked.

  “Dropping in on his wave,” Storm explained. “Among surfers, it’s considered stealing.”

  She remembered how Gabe had snaked Sunny. That day, it had been a direct threat. She frowned. “That was a week before Nahoa died. Were Barstow and O’Reilly in the islands?”

  “Barstow was, though he’d told O’Reilly he was in California, working on a real estate deal. Ben told us he’d met his father for lunch, but Ben wasn’t to let anyone know he was in town.” Yamamoto shook his head. “Ben’s almost an adult, but it was still painful for him. The father kept chipping away at the relationship with the mother, but still wanted her back. And he wanted his son’s respect.”

  “He was insecure,” Storm said.

  “Seems that way. The way he played the kid.”

  Storm stared down at the worn linoleum floor. An idea had flitted through her mind, and she struggled to regain it. She looked up suddenly. “Ken Matsumoto died of a head wound, right?”

  “He had some water in his lungs, but the head wound would have been fatal. He had a V-shaped wound, consistent with the nose of a surfboard. We’re looking for the board.”

  “Talk to Mo'o Lanipuni. He may recognize the board, or its shaper.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  “Did you talk to Gabe Watson?”

  Yamamoto snorted. “Another big ego. He said Matsumoto was buying his way onto the lineups of some of the meets. Specifically, the Sunset Triple Pro.”

  Storm wasn’t finished with her hunch, though. “Did Nahoa die as a result of a head injury?”

  “No, water in his lungs showed that he drowned.” Yamamoto was on her train of thought. “You’re thinking about the taser, right? Unfortunately, he’d been in the water too long for the ME to tell if he’d been zapped.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said. She watched Hamlin rub the area where the barbs had stuck. They’d left red welt
s on his skin.

  “Can you prove Barstow killed Matsumoto and Nahoa?” she asked.

  “We’re working on it. We’ve got the teeth, but I hope Barstow will brag or want to justify his actions. A lot of people knew about that cave.” Yamamoto tapped his pen on his notebook. “It’s too bad Goober’s not here to share what he knew.”

  The detective asked a couple more questions, then left Hamlin and Storm about the time the ER doc handed Hamlin a prescription for painkillers. They thanked the doctor and made their way into the ER waiting room.

  O’Reilly sat in one of the molded plastic chairs, his head in his hands. Someone had given him a faded T-shirt and some rubber slippers. He looked up at them. “Do you have a minute? Please?”

  “Let’s go outside,” Hamlin said. “I could use some fresh air.”

  “Me too,” O’Reilly said. His skin was still pasty. Bruise-hued skin underscored his eyes.

  Out in the nearly deserted parking lot, O’Reilly folded his arms across his chest. Storm looked up at the sky, which was brilliant with stars. The cloud cover had dissipated to a few wisps, which tumbled across the indigo expanse like scraps of lace. For a few minutes, no one spoke.

  O’Reilly broke the silence. “What’s that term surfers use when you’re held deep underwater and everything is the same color? You can’t even tell up from down?”

  “The green room,” Storm said.

  “Yeah.” O’Reilly sighed. “That’s where I’ve been. I wanted to say how sorry I am.”

  Storm gazed at him. The man looked like he’d been to hell and back. “I’ve been there,” she said softly.

  “Me too,” Hamlin said.

  “Goober tried to tell me, but I got carried away with the idea of success and greed.” They had to strain to hear O’Reilly speak. “He was a good kid. I guess you know that.”

  “He was,” Storm said. “I think he got sucked into it too, for a while.”

  O’Reilly nodded. “Maybe. But he figured it out.”

  “So did you,” Storm said.

  “Not soon enough.” O’Reilly finally met their eyes. “I was too wrapped up in my own issues.” He scuffed his slippers against the blacktop.

  “I feel responsible for Goober, too,” Storm said.

  O’Reilly looked up at the stars and shivered a little. For a few minutes no one spoke.

  “You said you’d been there before. Does it get any better?” O’Reilly’s voice was soft and low.

  Storm grimaced and hoped he couldn’t see her face in the dark. She remembered her dream, and how she had felt responsible for Bert Pi'ilani’s death. Why had she survived when he hadn’t? How was she going to deal with Goober’s death, now?

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “But you find a way to live with it.”

  She looked over at Hamlin, whose eyes were dark pools in the starlight. He knew, too. He’d survived his brother.

  O’Reilly nodded. Storm thought she heard him sniff.

  “You want a ride?” Hamlin asked.

  He looked up as if Hamlin’s question had startled him from thoughts a hundred miles away.

  “The moon’s bright tonight,” he said. “I’ll walk. I can use the exercise.” He gave them a twisted smile, though his eyes stayed sad.

  “You sure? You’re a ways from your house.”

  “I’ll be okay.” He shrugged. “I need to think. Some people jog farther than I’m going.”

  Storm and Hamlin walked to the car. “You think he’ll be all right?” Hamlin asked when they got out of earshot.

  “Yeah, I do,” Storm said. O’Reilly was learning some tough lessons, but she had a hunch he was also going to find a core of strength when he faced them.

  “He’s growing up.”

  And so am I, she thought.

  Glossary

  ‘āina—land, earth

  ‘aumakua—family totem

  ama—arm of an outrigger canoe

  awa—Piper methysticum, shrub known in some Pacific regions as Kava. Used as a drink at special ceremonies, also for medicinal purposes.

  hali‘a—nostalgia

  hanohano—honor

  haole—originally meant stranger, but has evolved to mean white person.

  ho‘oponopono—to correct, to put in order or put to rights, mental cleansing, family conferences in which relationships are set right

  huhū—angry, irritated

  kai—ocean

  kaki mochi—salty crackers, a local snack

  kapu—taboo, forbidden

  keiki—child

  keiki hānau o ka ‘āina—native son, literally a “child the land gave birth to”

  kolohe—mischievous, naughty

  kōnane—ancient game resembling checkers, used to teach strategic thinking to warriors

  kuleana—concern, business, responsibility

  kumu—teacher

  lōlō—crazy

  lomilomi—to massage, or to crush

  lua—ancient Hawaiian martial art, extensive study in the art of life and death

  lua‘ai—series of bone breaking techniques in the art of lua

  makai—toward the ocean, as opposed to mauka, or toward the mountains

  make—dead

  malihini—newcomer, stranger

  manju—popular island pastry, usually filled with coconut, sweet beans, or fruit

  nori—seaweed used to make sushi

  pau—over, done with

  popo—Chinese for grandfather

  pūpule—crazy, reckless, wild

  ‘uku—body louse (plural?)

  ule—penis

  References

  Readers who wish to learn more about surfing in Hawai‘i may enjoy the following:

  The Big Drop: Classic Big Wave Surfing Stories, edited by John Long and Hai-Van K. Sponholz, Falcon Publishing Inc., Helena, Montana, 1999.

  Surfing Hawaii, Leonard and Lorca Lueras, Periplus Editions (HK) Ltd., Singapore, 2000.

  Surf Rage, by Nat Young, Nymboida Press, 8 Bay Street, Angourie, NSW, 2462 Australia, 2000.

  For more information on the Eddie Aikau Big Wave Invitational, which last took place at Waimea Bay on December 15, 2004, visit www.quiksilver.com/eddie_aikau_04.

  For information on tow-in surfing, including links and great photos, go to www.towsurfer.com.

  More from this Author

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  www.poisonedpenpress.com/deborah-turrell-atkinson

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