“ Tony's meeting me later. We'll manage.” He got to his feet and she followed suit.
“ Well, thanks for the drink and the foreign-language lesson.”
“ My pleasure, really. Thanks for… for sharing, earlier.”
She forced a marginal smile, recalling all that she'd told him about the Mad Matisak vampire case and the case of the Claw. Quickly reverting back to the lighter subject, she said, “Going to have to get a dictionary if I stay much longer. I think I love the language and this place.”
“ Good, maybe we'll make an islander of you yet.”
She smiled genuinely now, accepting his hand on her arm. Parry gently guided her toward the exit. It'd been a long time since a man assumed she might like such treatment, not that she couldn't find her way solo from the table to the door.
They left the lounge unaware that they were being discreetly followed by a native man in casual Hawaiian shirt and shorts, keeping at cautious distance. The man was darkly tanned, his skin the color of red earth, his clothing loose and fluid. He took a separate elevator and at ground level, when he saw the two FBI agents get into Parry's car, he rushed to his cab and got on his C.B. radio and announced that Parry and Dr. Coran were leaving the I Aloha Tower going south toward Waikiki, most likely the Rainbow Tower, where she was staying.
A voice returned on the C.B. radio, saying, “Aloha, Toma. Excellent work. I'll take it from here.”
“ You got it, aikane.”
“ Hele on outta deah, and say hello to Nola.”
“ Shaka, brah.”
“ And no talk story, eh?”
“ Garans, brah!”
The C.B. went dead.
Parry balled his fist up and allowed his pinky and thumb to stand upright, and twirling this peculiar fist at her, he said, “Shaka, shaka, brah. It means everything's cool, friend!”
“ See you later,” she called out.
Parry left her at the entrance circle by the Rainbow Tower where cabs scurried in and out, tour buses trundled past and people lolled about, mostly tourists whose steps told others that they had all the time in the world. It was what Parry called the “tourist gait.” In the crowd there were a number of Japanese women, and one, with a little skin toning, might for all the world be another Linda Kahaia, her long trailing hair near her hips, the bone structure fine and petite, the twist at the edge of the mouth, the dark eyes. This young woman, traveling in the company of her parents, it appeared, looked like the ideal target for the killer.
Something inside Jessica made her want to rush up to these strangers and warn them, but she was too practical for such a step. They would think her mad, and they most likely would understand nothing she had to say, given the language barrier and the morbid nature of her message. Warnings were seldom heeded anyway, and if a warning were to be of any use, it might perhaps be done better via the media as Jim was thinking. The investigation into the Cane Cutter case was leading in that direction. There was no artist rendition of the killer, but there most certainly were enough faces and evidence to make a rendition of the typical victim. A Linda Kahala-type pencil drawing could be flashed over the TV channels throughout the island and presented in the press. It might be the right thing to do at this point, but Jim Parry had said that it was too soon, that with her coming in on the case, he didn't want to have the killer suddenly fleeing the jurisdiction, vanishing as most serial killers did.
From the corner of her eye, she saw someone watching her, a lone figure who stopped suddenly short, turned and was pretending to hail a cab. When she turned back and started for the hotel, he quickly pursued. He was a short, stocky Hawaiian whose step was lively and quick. She was about to lift her cane and strike when from the doorway stepped Joseph Kaniola, the newspaperman and father of the slain cop. She recognized him from their brief encounter at the airport.
Kaniola shooed the other, younger man off before saying to her, “I have come for some answers.”
She stared into his unwavering, dark Hawaiian eyes at a smoldering light there. 'There's really not much I can help you with, Mr. Kaniola.”
“ As a father? Off the record,” he pleaded. “I've got to know what's being done.”
His anguish clearly undeniable, she suggested they go inside.
They entered the open, airy lobby of the hotel, where the trade winds were allowed to dust everything in the place, going straight through to the seaside exit, where they found a table. Birds flew so close she might reach out and touch one. A waitress asked them if they'd like to order something to drink. She asked for iced tea and Mr. Kaniola asked for a beer.
“ There's truly not much I can tell you,” she began.
“ That's not good enough,” he challenged.
“ All right, but this is in strictest confidence, sir.”
“ Accepted.”
“ It cannot go beyond this table.”
“ Accepted.”
“ Your son's murderer is the same man who has been killing young island women.”
He sat in silence, the news sinking in. 'To finally hear it from someone in authority… that Alan's death… that he didn't die for nothing, shot by some stoned drug-head… that he was so close to solving the Trade Winds killings… I knew it… felt it here.” He finished by beating his chest with his fist.
“ We believe your son stumbled onto the Trade Winds Killer.”
“ Stumbled? That's not exactly right. He followed the case closely. He knew every detail about the victims. He was on the bastard's trail.”
“ Perhaps… at any rate, the killer surprised him; got the upper hand.”
“ There's more you're not saying.”
“ I can't tell you any more. I've already overstepped my bounds just by talking to you.”
“ Did Parry tell you that you could not speak to me?”
“ No, to the press in general.”
“ I tell you I am here as a father.”
She cast out a long breath of air as if this might return some investment. He continued to stare, his eyes glistening over with the loss he had suffered. He reached for a napkin, dabbed his eyes which were red and swollen.
“ His mother and I… his wife and children… we have all suffered a great deal. We have to know all that we can learn. We have to know that his killer will be brought to justice.”
“ He will,” she said, knowing she could make no such promise.
He continued to bore through her from a purely Hawaiian visage with the eyes of a man seeking truth. She wondered momentarily about his ancestry.
“ You must promise that nothing I say will find its way into your newspaper.”
“ I swear on the graves of my ancestors that nothing revealed here, from you alone, will be made newsprint.”
'That's an old newsman's trick, Mr. Kaniola. Take what I tell you, run it by another source and then claim it came from the secondary source whom you fooled into nodding yes or no. I guess Parry was right about my not talking to you.” She got up as if to leave, but he stopped her with a firm hand on her wrist. Nearby, she saw the Hawaiian man who'd earlier been following her, and she saw the glint of metal where a shoulder holster bulged beneath the Hawaiian shirt. She sat back down.
“ Please, I must know, as a father.”
She sighed heavily and sat back down. She told him about the profile of the victims, hoping this would suffice. She also confirmed that Linda Kahala was the first of the missing women to be identified and that this came as a result of a limb spewed forth by the Blow Hole. It was information that was generally circulating anyway, she rationalized. “God, that could've been one of my grandchildren.” He was horrified, his eyes wandering far from the table now. “Please, anything else about my son?”
She then added, “At some time your son was in close proximity to the killer, it appears because-”
“ I knew it.”
“- because-and this for certain you don't want to get around, Mr. Kaniola-your son's hands made contact with
