Death in Hilo, page 15
“I really like how you’ve fixed up the place,” Tanaka remarked to Elle, who beamed her appreciation. “Jarvis would’ve loved it.”
“He does love it, I think,” she said. “I bring him when the weather’s right—not too hot, not too windy. That’s why Kawika and I had the ramp built. Jarvis likes to sit on the porch under the coco palms and look out at the surf and sea. At least that’s what he signals: yuh-yuh-yuh.”
Kawika hugged her with one arm and gave her a quick kiss. “That’s not a great title for your next book, Elle,” he said. “But with a small change, it could be. Instead of yuh-yuh-yuh, how about something more easily understood, like Three Blinks for Yes?” Kawika smiled at Elle, hoping she’d catch their private joke from the night before. But he did often think about how much easier things would be if Jarvis hadn’t lost the ability to blink.
Elle laughed, then said, “Okay, I’ll bring you guys stuff to eat while you talk. I’ll just eavesdrop so I can get material for my next bestseller, Three Blinks for Yes. Jarvis will be the key character, the guru who answers the yes-or-no questions that allow Detective Malia Maikalani to solve the awful crime.”
Ku‘ulei and the men chortled, then seated themselves in a circle in the small living room while Elle stepped into the kitchen. “Beer and quesadillas,” she called over her shoulder. “Fresh fruit too. Coming right up.” Within minutes the dwelling filled with the pleasant aromas of cooking.
Looking at his colleagues—Tanaka, Tommy, and Ku‘ulei—Kawika said, “We’ve got a lot of Big Island names now for your teams to interview. I’ll get back to Honolulu and see how many people we’ve got to interview there. A lot, probably.”
He paused, took a deep breath, then looked at each of them in turn. “But meanwhile,” he resumed reluctantly, “because Terry doesn’t believe in coincidences, I should tell you what I know—or what I suspect—about D. K. Parkes, Keoni’s father, in case that helps us solve Keoni’s murder. I don’t think Keoni’s murder relates to his father’s. It seems more likely Keoni got killed because of the TMT or, as Dr. Phillips believes, for some personal reason in Honolulu. But Terry’s hunches are often right.” Tanaka acknowledged this with a snort. “So just in case there’s a connection, I’ll tell you what I’ve already told Elle about D. K.’s murder.”
“Listen carefully!” Elle called cheerfully from the kitchen. “I’m going to work this into a novel somehow.”
Kawika smiled at that. Then, as his colleagues regarded him closely—and while they ate Elle’s quesadillas and drank beer—Kawika began to lay out the entire tale.
“Before Ralph Fortunato got murdered, he was a murderer himself,” Kawika began. “On the mainland first. But not just on the mainland.”
“On the continent, Cuz,” Ku‘ulei corrected him. “You gotta say continent if you want to sound up-to-date. Remember Grace ‘Ōpūnui?”
“It’s a Big Island thing,” Tommy told Kawika. “You’ll be saying it in Honolulu soon. Mainland makes islands sound inferior, less important.”
Kawika smiled in surprise. “Okay,” he continued. “Correction, then: on the continent. Fortunato was the prime suspect in two murders there, but he never got arrested.”
“They tried, the feds,” Tanaka added for the others. He knew this much of the story.
Kawika resumed with a nod. “The thing is, one of Fortunato’s victims, Bruce Harding, was the guy who sold Fortunato the land for a resort Fortunato was trying to develop. Fortunato paid Harding a ridiculously high price for the land, way above market value, and got a big kickback from Harding. So Fortunato was defrauding his investors, and Harding could’ve been a witness in a fraud case the FBI and federal prosecutors were trying to build against Fortunato. But then Harding drowned while fishing in a lake, right before he was supposed to testify to the grand jury.”
“And the connection to D. K. Parkes?” Tanaka asked.
Now Kawika was in territory he’d never explained to Tanaka. “Once he came to Hawai‘i, Fortunato almost certainly murdered another victim, a man named Thomas Gray, who lived down the street right here in Puakō. Gray was the guy who sold Fortunato the land for Kohala Kea Loa, the resort Fortunato was trying to develop here. And like Bruce Harding, who’d sold Fortunato the land for his mainland resort—his resort on the continent, I mean—Thomas Gray supposedly fell off his boat and drowned while fishing. His boat was found way out in the Maui Channel.”
“Wait, why was Fortunato murdering people who sold him land?” Ku‘ulei asked.
“Simple,” Kawika answered. “He was using his investors’ money to buy huge tracts of land. He’d pay way above fair market value—telling his investors the land was really special, really unique—and then, by getting a kickback, he’d split the overpayment with the guy who’d sold him the land. Bruce Harding became a risk to Fortunato once the feds took an interest in his real estate fraud on the continent.” Kawika smiled. “My guess is Fortunato wasn’t going to let Gray become a risk too.”
Kawika handed them photocopies of an obituary from the Puako Post, dated June 30, 2000. He didn’t mention that Patience Quinn had come across it in 2002, when Kawika was trying to catch the killer of Ralph Fortunato.
Instead he said, “This obituary, and the fact that Bruce Harding drowned while fishing in Washington, were the only clues I had to link Fortunato to both murders. It’s relevant to what I have to tell you about D. K. Parkes. So why don’t you all read it while I eat a bit of my quesadilla?” His colleagues had finished theirs and were starting on the sliced fruit that Elle had prepared—pineapple, mango, papaya, banana. They dried their hands and began reading.
Kawika took his first bite of the quesadilla. “Delicious,” he said to Elle, who’d pulled up a chair next to Ku‘ulei. Both women began reading the obituary for the first time.
OBITUARY
Thomas (“Tom-Tom”) Gray, Loved to Fish
PUAKO—Services were held Sunday, June 25, at Hōkūloa United Church of Christ for kama‘aina Thomas (“Tom-Tom”) Gray, 58, a well-known fisherman of the Kona Coast missing and presumed drowned after his 35-foot sportfisher, the Mahi Mia, was found adrift near the midchannel buoy between Maui and Hawaii on Thursday, May 25.
Gray was born in Hilo on April 8, 1942, the son of William Gray, a Parker Ranch supervisor, and Leslie Mercer Gray, a homemaker. He was educated at Waimea schools and West Point, an appointee of former U.S. Senator Hiram Fong (R-HI). He served in the Mekong Delta of Vietnam as a first lieutenant and won promotion to captain in the U.S. Army. In 1965 he was decorated for bravery in combat. He received the Purple Heart in 1966.
After Vietnam, Gray returned home and started his Puako-based realty firm. In 1999, on behalf of the Gray Family Trust, he sold the land for Kohala Kea Loa to NOH, a Japanese consortium. He retired and realized a lifelong dream by buying the Mahi Mia, on which he set forth almost daily from Kawaihae Harbor in pursuit of his own “grander,” or thousand-pound marlin.
Gray never caught his grander, but he came close with a 904-pound monster in December 1999. He was well-known for sharing catches with neighbors in Puako and Kawaihae. Friends nicknamed him “Tom-Tom” in reference to his frequent boast that he was one-quarter Cherokee.
Authorities believe Gray fell overboard while fighting a fish or attempting to retrieve a fishing rod or other object.
Gray’s children, son Kamehameha “Kam” Gray and daughter Emma Gray, returned from the mainland for the service. They remembered their father with stories of warm aloha. Gray’s wife, Leilani, preceded him in death in 1988. The family suggests donations to Kohala Kats, a feline rescue organization Thomas Gray founded in 1989.
Ku‘ulei was the first to speak. “Okay, we see the pattern. Fortunato murdered the guys who sold him land and made it look like they drowned. But where does D. K. Parkes fit in?”
Tommy suggested one possible answer. “To get back from the middle of the Maui Channel, Fortunato would’ve needed someone with a second boat to pick him up, right? That was D. K. Parkes?”
“Fortunato definitely needed help to get to shore,” Kawika agreed. “Parkes was a captain for hire, a guy who skippered boats for owners like Thomas Gray who wanted to concentrate on fishing. Before Fortunato’s widow left the Big Island, I showed her a photo of Parkes. She recognized him. She said he used to skipper Gray’s boat when Fortunato and Gray went fishing together.”
Ku‘ulei brightened. “So you’re thinking Fortunato and Parkes were both on Gray’s boat and killed him together? They just needed another boat to pick them up, out in the Maui Channel, like Tommy says?”
“It might have happened that way,” Kawika agreed. “I do believe Parkes helped Fortunato kill Gray on the boat.”
“But then who killed Parkes?” Tommy asked. “Who threw him off Shark Cliff?”
Kawika and Tanaka exchanged wary glances. Elle looked steadily at Kawika, her expression unchanging. She didn’t look at Tanaka.
“Gray had two adult children—Kam and Emma,” Tommy began, as if trying to answer his own questions. “It says so right in this obituary.” He waved the paper in the air. “They would’ve had a motive for killing both Parkes and Fortunato, if Parkes and Fortunato murdered their father. Is that what you’re telling us, Kawika? That Gray’s kids killed them both? That we got the Fortunato murder investigation all wrong, that Cushing’s innocent? Innocent of killing Fortunato, at least?”
That awful possibility hung in the air and silenced everyone.
No one responded to Tommy’s questions.
Tanaka interrupted instead. “Just a minute, Tommy,” he said, and turned quickly to Kawika with questions of his own—questions he hadn’t asked twelve years earlier. “Then who picked them up out in the Channel, Kawika? Fortunato and Parkes, I mean. Who came to get them? Who drove the getaway boat?”
But just then Kawika’s cell phone rang. “Oof,” he said, looking at the screen. “It’s a reporter. Bernie Scully from the Star-Advertiser.”
Everyone exchanged glances.
Kawika decided to answer. “Aloha, Bernie, what’s up?” he said into the phone. He listened as his wife and colleagues waited inquisitively. Finally, Kawika said into the phone, “We’ve released no information on that case yet, Bernie. So I can’t comment.” He listened again briefly. “Sorry,” he said. “Again, no comment. Yeah, that’s right. No, nothing new on the Slasher either. So, ah, good-bye.”
Then he turned to the others, a look of consternation on his face. “He and Zoë know the headless victim we found in Kapi‘olani Park is named Keoni Parkes. He says they know Keoni was the son of D. K. Parkes and that he worked for the TMT. No idea how they got that information. But here’s what’s weird: he says Zoë has a source here on the Big Island who told her Keoni was killed because of his work for the TMT. Told her that for a fact, Bernie said. ‘Definitely killed because of TMT,’ according to Zoë’s source. Bernie wanted me to confirm it.”
“Where’d she get that?” Tanaka asked angrily.
“No idea,” Kawika replied. “But we know she’s got Sammy Kā‘ai’s phone number.”
“Sammy,” Tanaka said in disgust. “I bet that’s it. Shooting his mouth off again.”
Ku‘ulei had an entirely different reaction. “Just a minute,” she said. “If that’s right—if the reporters know Keoni was killed because of the TMT—then we don’t need your moldy old fishing boat story, do we, Kawika? The only reason you were telling us about the Mahi Mia was in case it could help solve Keoni’s murder, right?”
“If Bernie’s right,” Kawika replied, “and Keoni really did die because of the TMT, then true, you don’t need my moldy old fishing boat story, as you call it. What happened on the Mahi Mia wouldn’t matter.” Kawika looked at the others, but no one spoke. He was glad to drop the topic, although he knew he might be dropping it too quickly. But after Scully’s call, he wanted time to think.
Tanaka grunted. “If the reporters are right,” he added, casting a skeptical look at Kawika. “We’ll probably know soon enough if they’re not.” He rose from his chair, signaling the end of the evening—he was the boss of the other Big Island detectives in the room—and leaving Tommy’s questions unanswered. Kawika caught Tanaka’s eye, thankful Tanaka had cut the discussion short. But Tanaka looked away.
Ku‘ulei apparently didn’t want more edification either. She folded the obituary, put it in her shirt pocket, said her good-byes, and followed Tanaka to the door. She thanked Elle but said nothing to her cousin. Kawika knew that Ku‘ulei, like Tanaka, resented his having kept important things from them—and that they both further resented having had to be the ones to end the discussion in order to allow Kawika to preserve secrets they evidently could tell he’d prefer not to disclose.
Tommy, however, had something to say before leaving. “You never told me, Kawika. We worked the Fortunato case together from day one. We became best friends, we talked about that case a hundred times—we even shore-fished all night long, more than once. Yet you never told me. You’ve let me believe for twelve years—twelve years, Kawika—that Cushing’s hit man killed Fortunato. You never told me anything about who killed D. K. Parkes—not even one word—much less that the same person might’ve killed them both. And as soon as some reporter tells you Keoni got killed because of the TMT, you cut off the whole discussion.”
“Tommy—”
“Stop, Kawika, just stop.” Tommy held up his hand to fend Kawika off. He backed away, moving toward the door. His voice broke with emotion. “If you didn’t tell me back then, didn’t tell your best friend and your partner on the case, don’t bother telling me now. I’ll wait and read about it when Ana Carvalho finishes her report. I’m sure there’ll be a big article in the paper—one that will make all of us who worked on the Fortunato case look bad.”
After Tommy left, Kawika turned to Elle. “My God,” he said in distress. “Tommy’s right. I could’ve told him the truth back then. He would’ve kept the secret. He would’ve protected Terry and me. But Elle—I never even considered that. How good a friend was I?”
Elle grimaced. “Now it’s even worse, in a way,” she said.
“Worse?”
“Yeah, Kawika. You let him leave here believing Thomas Gray’s children killed Fortunato.”
“Oh shit. I did, didn’t I?”
PART THREE
[The botanist David] Douglas, on a fact-gathering expedition on the rugged slopes of Mauna Kea, never returned. His body was found at the bottom of a deep pit that was used at the time to catch feral cattle. Douglas had spent the previous night at a cabin occupied by an Australian who had been a convict. Many suspected that the Australian had murdered Douglas in a robbery attempt and thrown his body into the pit to hide the deed.
—J. D. Bisignani,
Big Island of Hawaii Handbook (1998)
23
On the Saddle Road
Early Monday morning Kawika and Elle prepared to close up the house in Puakō. Because soon all they’d hear would be Honolulu traffic, they took their coffee out to the still-sandy front lawn and paused for a few last moments to listen to the surf crash rhythmically and then roll across the Puakō reef. Foamy spent waves slowed before retreating softly a few yards from the little lava rock wall protecting the yard.
After a minute or so, Kawika put down his cup and reached to take Elle’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about the responsibilities of fatherhood,” he said. “Maybe because my parents divorced when I was eight, or maybe because your dad left when you were little. Whatever the reason, I’m remembering something I read that really resonates with me now.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that the greatest gift any man can give his child is to love the child’s mother. And I do really love you, Elle.”
Elle nodded slowly, lips pursed. Then she spoke—a bit irritably, to his surprise. “Yes, Kawika, I’ve heard that one. I imagine most fathers have heard it too. But you know what? The greatest gift you can give our child is even simpler: don’t get killed. That’s it, Kawika. Just don’t get killed. You’ve been shot once already. Once is enough.” She tossed her remaining coffee on the lawn and turned to take her cup back toward the kitchen.
Kawika drove Elle to Kona so she could catch her flight to Honolulu. They traveled most of the thirty miles in silence. Kawika had thought of things to say, but when he stopped at the airport curbside, Elle spoke first. “I’m sorry for losing it back there, Kawika. Careening hormones, I think. I’m not used to being pregnant; I’m still a bit befuddled by it. I apologize.”
“And I apologize for getting shot,” he replied, trying to lighten her mood. “I won’t let it happen again.”
“Stabbed?”
“Nope.”
“Strangled?”
“Never.”
“Drowned? Poisoned? Thrown off a cliff?” Elle was starting to smile now.
“No, Elle, I won’t get killed. No matter what. Not even to help the plot of Three Blinks for Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Well, unless Ana crucifies me at the station in Hilo today, of course.”
They shared protracted good-bye kisses. “Okay, I’m not befuddled anymore,” she assured him, opening the car door to get out.
“So now you’re fuddled?”
She laughed and kissed him again. “Yeah, now I’m fuddled.”
“Good,” he said. “But I hope you’re not sotted.”
“You goofball!” she teased, shaking her head. “Yes, I’m still besotted. Now get out of here.” So Kawika drove away, heading up the long slope of Hualālai toward the Māmalahoa Highway and its junction with the Saddle Road. It was the shortest route to Hilo and a journey Kawika was compelled to take.
