Death of a Messenger

by Robert McCaw

  “Leave us alone, Kalā.” The prince waited until the driver closed the door and walked away. “What is it that you want, Detective?”

  “We both now know a vital fact I didn’t know when we met at your estate.” Koa wondered if the prince had picked up on the possible meaning of his use of the singular.

  “And that is the identity of the Pōhakuloa victim?” the prince responded.

  “Yes, and you must want to find Keneke’s killer.”

  “Why should I be more interested than the next man?”

  “You had a bond with Keneke’s grandfather, old Kawelo, the woodcarver.” Koa thought of kūpa‘a, the loyalty that governed the old ali‘i. “And Kawelo would expect you to help avenge the death of his grandson.”

  “One kahuna nui.”

  The response puzzled Koa. “Kahuna nui, a counselor to the high chief, not kahuna kālai, an expert woodcarver?”

  “Both. The gods guided Kawelo’s mind as well as his hands,” the prince responded. “Old Kawelo was my friend.”

  The prince produced a pack of Gauloises and a Cartier lighter with tricolor gold banding. His hand shook as he sparked the lighter and touched the flame to the European cigarette. “Old Kawelo had a premonition that his line, a line that stretched back through many generations of Hawaiian heroes, would end in mea kaumaha loa … tragedy.”

  “A premonition?”

  “Yes, Detective. Kawelo’s nightmare begot reality, an unthinkable tragedy for the Nine.”

  Koa’s mind raced. The Nine were the native Hawaiians who had defied the Navy by trespassing on Kaho‘olawe in 1976 to protest the desecration of the sacred island. Why had Keneke’s death been a tragedy for the Nine?

  “For the Kaho‘olawe Nine?”

  “Kawelo and the others welcomed his grandson into the ‘ohana and taught him the ways of the god Kanaloa—the secrets of the stars, the legends of the huihui hōkū, the constellations, and the skills of celestial navigation.”

  “So Keneke knew the Kaho‘olawe Nine?”

  “He was ‘ohana, family, to them.”

  “Including Aikue ‘Ōpua?”

  “Yes, of course. He is one of the Nine.”

  “Did Keneke know that ‘Ōpua took Hawaiian artifacts from Kaho‘olawe?”

  Surprise showed in the prince’s eyes for a fraction of a second. “You’ve been in touch with the Maui police?”

  The prince hadn’t answered the question, so Koa repeated it.

  “They have misjudged my friend Aikue.”

  Again, the prince had evaded answering. “How so?”

  “The haoles cannot make preservation of our heritage a crime.”

  Koa tried a different tack. “What was ‘Ōpua doing out at Pōhakuloa? He didn’t just stumble on Keneke’s body by accident.”

  “What makes you say that, Detective?”

  “It has something to do with Keanaokeko‘i, the cave of the adze makers. You knew about the workshop before Jimmy and I came to your estate.”

  “I think you already established that, Detective.” It was Koa’s turn to be surprised. The prince’s lips curled into a small smile. “That little trick in my garden with the pack of Gauloises. Not many Hawaiians smoke Gauloises, certainly not policemen. You were passing clever, Detective.”

  Koa could barely conceal his astonishment. He had to admire the man’s savvy despite the rebuke. He thought of himself as more than “passing clever.”

  “When were you last in the workshop?”

  “It shouldn’t have been necessary.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Detective. To visit a secret grave risks disclosure. There are eyes everywhere. There are many evil ones who would disrespect the ancient ali‘i kāne, the ancient kings.”

  “But it was necessary. Why?”

  “Because, as the haoles say, there was a security breach.”

  “How did you learn of this security breach?”

  “In the same way that I learned that you do not smoke Gauloises. Ka ‘io nui maka lana au moku. The great ‘io with eyes that see everywhere on the land. Little escapes my notice.” A shadow of a smile flickered across the prince’s face.

  Koa understood. Someone in the prince’s network—a retainer, a loyalist, a friend—had alerted the prince to something that aroused his suspicions.

  “And you went to see for yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “In December. I walked where only Pele knows the way and entered Keanaokeko‘i. Four hundred moons, more than thirty years, had passed since I had last entered Keanaokeko‘i. The evil one had preceded me.”

  “The evil one?” Koa inquired.

  “An expression, Detective. Ka po‘e kahiko, the people of old, attributed all man-made evil to the poisonous priest Pā‘ao, who brought human sacrifice to the islands.”

  “The evil one was a trespasser?” Koa asked.

  “Worse, a grave robber.”

  “A recent grave robber?”

  “Yes.”

  “Couldn’t the open grave chamber off the workshop have been robbed years, even decades, ago?”

  “No. Evil just recently walked where only Pele knows the way.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Ka ‘io nui maka lana au moku. Believe me, Detective, I know.”

  “What stranger walked where only Pele knows the way?”

  “I wish I knew. Someone was up on Mauna Kea with explosives. When word first reached my ears, I thought they must be hunters, but they were not hunters. Someone was setting off explosive charges.”

  Koa recalled the fragment of explosive cord and the heavy yellow paper that Piki had found near the cinder cone. “Explosive charges, plural?”

  “Yes, at least ten of them scattered along the southern side of the mountain.”

  “Why would anyone plant explosive charges up there?”

  “I have no idea, Detective.”

  “How did you make the connection between the explosive charges and unauthorized entry into the lava tube?”

  “Mehue, footprints. There were footprints leading to and from the entrance.”

  “Did you track them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Nalowale, lost. The trail disappeared in the lava rocks.”

  Koa pictured the scene around the cinder cone. An intruder would disturb the loose cinders, at least until the wind smoothed them, but would leave no trail once he reached the surrounding bedrock. “Did he come back?”

  “Not after my visit in December.”

  “So you sent Aikue ‘Ōpua out to Pōhakuloa to see whether anyone had been poking around out there.” Koa saw from the prince’s eyes that the guess had hit the mark.

  “Not a bad deduction, Detective.”

  “You knew before Hikorea and I came to your home that we had found the workshop?”

  “Of course.”

  “You planted the electronic detector.” The prince’s reaction showed in just the slightest flicker of his eyes. Koa would bet a month’s pay that he had surprised the man.

  “You left it in place, didn’t you?” the prince asked, conceding the point.

  “That’s how you know that the grave robber hasn’t been back. You had the detector installed after your visit.”

  “Yes. You left it in place, didn’t you?”

  Koa ignored the repeated question. “So your apparent surprise when we disclosed the existence of the underground workshop was an act?”

  “In part. I was aware of the workshop, and I knew that there were burial crypts nearby, but I’d never been inside the crypt with the red canoe. I had no idea about the bird woman. You see, if the grave robber had come back, I would have stopped him.”

  Koa had followed the Zimmerman-Trayvon Martin killing in Florida and other so-called self-defense killings. He disliked vigilantes. Intensely. “Stopped him? How?”

  “That’s a hypothetical question, isn’t it, De
tective?”

  “Is it?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Prince or no prince, Koa had a golden opportunity he wasn’t about to pass up. “I’ve been told that ka po‘e kahiko, the people of old, would kill a stranger who trespassed on the grave of a Hawaiian ali‘i kāne and mutilate his body as a warning to others who might trespass.”

  “I did not carry the spear of pueo.”

  The admission hit Koa like a jolt of electricity. If Aikue ‘Ōpua’s pāhoa had sliced Keneke’s body and the prince knew of the spear of pueo, had one of them killed Keneke? Why? Because Keneke knew something about the Pōhakuloa workshop or the looting of Kaho‘olawe? Was ‘Ōpua part of the tragedy of Keneke’s death? Was the prince covering for his friend ‘Ōpua?

  “How did you know about the spear of pueo?” Koa watched the prince intently as he posed the question.

  “That is not a secret.”

  “It was known only to the police conducting the investigation and to the killer. So I ask you again: How did you know the precise way that Keneke died?”

  The two men stared at each other for a long time before the prince broke the silence. “The mayor told me.”

  “Damn!” Koa swore before he could stop himself.

  Had the mayor really been so indiscreet? Or, Koa considered, had the prince made up a clever cover story, knowing that Koa would never cross-examine the mayor?

  Koa wrestled with a host of new revelations as he left the prince and walked back to his Explorer. The prince and Aikue ‘Ōpua were up to something on Kaho‘olawe. They had worked together to protect the Pōhakuloa adze makers’ cave. ‘Ōpua had discovered the body. He had the dagger. And the prince knew about the spear of pueo. The myriad of connections sparked Koa’s deepest suspicions. Collectively, it was almost enough to make an arrest.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE DAY AFTER the burial service, Uncle Kimo accompanied Soo Lin, Keneke’s girlfriend, to police headquarters. As they set up in a conference room, Koa took two more pain tablets and brought in a straight-back chair. He wanted to conduct this interview without the nagging distraction of pain running across his back and down his arm.

  Although Soo Lin knew of the murder, Kimo hadn’t been able to bring himself to burden her with the hideous details of her lover’s death. Koa could see why. Her red eyes and dark circles told him she’d been crying and probably hadn’t slept. His heart went out to her, and he wondered if she would be able to get through the interview.

  Against this background, neither Kimo nor Koa expected her insistence on knowing the details. “I want to know everything. I want to know exactly how he died.” Koa looked at Kimo, the official next of kin, whose permission he needed before revealing confidential police information to anyone outside the legal family.

  “Soo Lin is the closest Keneke had to family. She’s entitled to know, but”—Kimo turned to the young woman—“Soo Lin, Keneke died a horrible death. Maybe it would be better for you, if you didn’t pursue it.”

  Soo Lin bit her lip and fought to control her emotions.

  “Do you know the story of ‘Ōhi‘a and Lehua?”

  “Of course,” Koa responded. All Hawaiians knew of the love story of the handsome ‘Ōhi‘a and the beautiful Lehua. So much did ‘Ōhi‘a love Lehua that he rejected Pele’s advances, angering the old fire witch, who burned the couple to death in a fit of jealousy. Later, feeling guilty, Pele turned ‘Ōhi‘a into a tree and Lehua into its magnificent red blossoms, forever joining them in the ‘ōhi‘a lehua trees that grace the island forests.

  “Keneke and I were like ‘Ōhi‘a and Lehua. That’s how we met. He called me Lehua and told the story of the ‘ōhi‘a lehua tree. Later he admitted it was the craziest thing he’d ever done, approaching me like that, but by then we were in love. I loved him very much and I have to know how he died.”

  Koa told her about their discovery of Keneke’s body, neither emphasizing the grisly details nor omitting any significant facts. She listened in grim-faced silence, occasionally pressing her palms against the sides of her head. She recoiled when Koa told her of the missing left eye and the spear of pueo. Koa withheld information about the burial cave, the adze makers’ workshop, and the passage to the collapsed pu‘u on the side of Mauna Kea. When he’d finished, the three of them sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

  Virtually all police officers dreaded notification of next of kin, and Koa found the first interview with a grieving lover just as difficult. He had to ask hard questions and still tread gently to avoid aggravating a wound that hadn’t even started to heal. He watched Soo Lin’s face as she forced back her tears. Her large black eyes took on a determined look. Finally, he said, “If you are up to it, I must ask some questions.”

  “I want to help bring the animal who did this to justice. Does Hawai‘i have the death penalty?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “It should for crimes like this.”

  “You’re right about that,” Kimo added.

  Koa’s feelings about the death penalty were complex, but he agreed that life in prison was too good for anyone who sliced up a man and left him in a lava cave. “When did you last speak to Keneke?”

  “Monday, January 19. We talked on the phone that evening before I left for my observing run in Cerro Tololo, Chile.”

  “What did the two of you talk about?”

  “I was excited and a little anxious about Cerro Tololo. Keneke encouraged my enthusiasm and tried to calm my anxieties.”

  “And that’s the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Yes. I tried to call many times from Cerro Tololo, but never reached him. I guess he was already dead, wasn’t he?” She looked down and again held her head in her hands, slowly shaking it. Just above a whisper, she said, “I was angry at him for not answering.”

  “We know that he called the Alice Observatories and made plane reservations between 7:30 and 7:45 a.m. on Wednesday, January 21. We don’t know what he did for the rest of the day, but we’re pretty sure that he died that night.”

  “I tried to call him that afternoon,” Soo Lin said, wringing her hands as she talked.

  “I know. We have the answering machine tape.” Soo Lin turned to what had puzzled Koa. “I just don’t understand why he would go to Los Angeles.” Anger crept into her voice. “He knew I had left for Cerro Tololo, and that I lived outside San Francisco, not Los Angeles. He had no family or relatives in L.A.”

  “That’s right,” Kimo added. “We’ve never had a single relative in the Los Angeles area.”

  “Tell me about his relationship with the observatory people—Masters, Nelson, Harper, and the others,” Koa asked.

  “He viewed Masters as a compulsive, driven genius, but Masters taught him a lot about adaptive optics. He respected Masters.”

  “Did he ever talk about any tension or disputes with Masters?”

  “No. Masters pushed him to perform, but no disputes.”

  That aligned with what Masters had told him, albeit filtered through the director’s massive conceit. “How about Gunter?”

  “That’s more complex. At first Keneke and Gunter got along well and spent a lot of time together. Keneke shared his archaeology theories with Gunter—”

  Koa leaned forward at the mention of a link between these two worlds. “What archaeology theories?”

  “Keneke believed that Pele had buried archaeological treasures beneath the overlapping lava flows in the Humu‘ula Saddle. He wanted to X-ray the whole saddle.” She was suddenly engaged and stopped wringing her hands.

  “What?”

  “An astounding idea, isn’t it? Isn’t it strange, he said, that we have powerful telescopes to search out the mysteries of the distant universe, but no machine to show us what’s right here under our feet?”

  “He shared these theories with Gunter?”

  “Yes. They spent a lot of time together out in the saddle. Then Gunter disappointed Keneke and their relat
ionship cooled. Keneke’s attitude toward him changed.”

  “What happened?” Koa asked.

  “I don’t really know, but Keneke said he couldn’t trust Gunter. He said something about Gunter’s bitterness getting the better of him.”

  “Bitterness?”

  “Yes. Gunter’s failure to become director ate at him like battery acid. I think those were Keneke’s words.”

  Keneke’s assessment of Gunter’s state of mind lined up with Koa’s own impressions, but did nothing more to answer the more important questions: Had Gunter’s resentment driven him to act, and if so, how?

  “What about Harper?”

  Soo Lin’s lip curled and her eyebrows dipped. She obviously shared Nālani’s distaste for Harper. “Keneke thought Alice should fire Charlie Harper.” The hand wringing started up again.

  “That’s pretty strong. What did Keneke say?”

  “That Harper was lazy. He did sloppy work. He treated his wife like a pet bird, and he couldn’t keep his hands off the female astronomers and techs. Keneke really disliked the man.”

  Koa recalled Linda Harper’s note to Keneke. He pondered how he could ask the question delicately. “Did Keneke ever meet Linda Harper?”

  “Sure. Keneke belonged to a historical society. Linda Harper showed up at one or two of their meetings. Keneke described her as the most timid human being he’d ever encountered.”

  “So there was no …”—Koa struggled for the right word—“inappropriate relationship?”

  Soo Lin stopped wringing her hands and looked him in the eye. “No … not a chance. Keneke felt sorry for her, but he didn’t much care for weak women.” There was a tiny twinkle in her eye for just an instant.

  Koa nodded as he thought of his own interaction with Linda Harper at the astronomy party. For her, a wonderful, marvelous time might be nothing more than an intellectual conversation with a normal man. But Charlie Harper must have feared more had happened, given his reaction at the party. A paranoid’s jealousy could still motivate murder.

  “Did Keneke have words with Charlie Harper?”

  “I’m not sure about words, but Keneke wasn’t subtle in his dislike for Harper.”