“Let’s get him out of the boat, then we’ll take him where his family can be with him,” Douglas said.
Chief Koo interrupted. “The medical examiner needs to see him first, Douglas, to pronounce him and then determine cause of death. This isn’t negotiable.”
“Look, Terry. Ella explained what the wounds look like, what she saw before the copter went down. Let the M.E. meet us at the funeral home. His family will be there—”
Ella stepped between the two men before past bad blood could surface. She raised her chin to Douglas, spoke compassionately to her dear employer, patriarch, friend, and ally, with the common sense required to get Chester’s body where it needed to go as soon as possible.
“It will be all right, Douglas. His neck—no coroner will be able to get past those wounds as cause of death. The autopsy should be quick.”
Chief Terry Koo chimed in. “My guess is that the M.E. won’t need more than a day, Douglas. Let’s let everyone do their jobs so we can get the bastard who did this, okay? Don’t fight me on this.”
“Language, Terry,” Douglas said.
“You know what I mean, Douglas. Sorry, Ella. We’ll get this done as soon as possible so he can be turned over to his family without a significant delay.”
Douglas acquiesced. The four police officers removed Chester’s wrapped body from the boat and laid him on a medical stretcher for the short trek through the sand to the coroner’s vehicle just arriving.
“Hold it,” Douglas called, Ben and Ella bringing up the rear. “I need to see him before he goes. It’s—I just need to see him, please…”
Chief Koo halted his men. “I’ll make you a deal, Douglas. I need to get some people onto the island to see the helicopter crash site while the NTSB does its work. You can take a quick peek if you promise not to argue with me on that. Deal?”
Ella held her breath a moment. Douglas had never been keen on allowing people onto their precious island other than current and former Miakamiians and the U.S. Navy, plus paying safari participants for controlled commercial hunting trips.
“Deal,” Douglas said.
“Fine.” Chief Koo gestured for his Kauai officers to lower the stretcher to the sand. “Make it quick, Douglas, please.”
Douglas, Ella, and Ben caught up. “I did the wrapping, so let me undo him,” Ben said.
Ben undid the clips along one side of Chester Kapalekilahao’s canvas-clad body, then unwrapped the top section to expose his upper torso and the barbaric wounds on his neck. From the looks of it, the two wounds in combination had nearly decapitated him.
“Lord have mercy,” Douglas said, his eyes widening, but with no gasp. He placed his hand on his friend’s chest. “Chester. I am so sorry, son. May you rest now, dearest Chester.”
Chief Koo’s cell rang. “Koo. Fine, got it. Douglas, we have to get him to the morgue right now. I’ve got another crisis. My officers are needed elsewhere.”
Chester’s hands had been gathered together and placed near his waist, in a coffin pose. Douglas patted one, lifted and kissed it—“We’ll find who did this to you, Chester”—then laid it back down. He stepped away from the body and Ben rewrapped it.
Chief Koo addressed his men. “Officers, after we load up Mr. Kapalekilahao, one of you needs to call the dispatcher. Probable home invasion near the Navy base. One dead…”
4
Hawaiian Missile Training Outpost
Howling Sands, Kauai
Philo was first in line inside the visitor center. “Tristan Trout, with Patrick Stakes, to see CO Evan Malcolm.”
“How’s everyone doing today?” the guard said, Seaman Long per her nametag. A rote question. The greeting held no cheer and was unsmiling, her blank eye contact an indication that the outpost’s mood was grim. The murder of the commanding officer’s fiancée could do this to an installation.
“I’m a close friend of the CO,” Philo said, feeling the need to mention this. “I’m aware of his loss.”
She nodded. “A sad day. You’re on today’s list, Petty Officer Trout. Show me some personal ID and info on your car, please. I’ll process you first, sir, then your associate.”
Tristan “Philo” Trout, Petty Officer First Class, Retired, dropped his driver’s license, car rental agreement, Uniformed Services ID card, and permit to carry a concealed weapon onto the desk blotter in front of the seaman.
“Are you carrying your firearm today, sir?”
“Not today, Seaman. Not on my person or in my car.”
“Good.” She checked off a box, passed it to an associate at a desk behind her. “Very well. Please stand over there. Seaman Kerry will wand you, then take your picture. Next, please.”
Patrick presented his official State of Pennsylvania ID card to the seaman, the only form of ID he had.
“No driver’s license, Mr. Stakes?”
“No, ma’am, just that. I have dissociative amnesia. Someone helped me get the state ID. There’s nothing else. I’m, uh, here in Hawaii…”
Patrick eyed Philo eyeing him. Philo’s nod said, You’re doing great, Patrick. Stay with it.
“I’m here in Hawaii because I hope to, um, I want to—”
You got this, Patrick bud…
“I need to know who I am, ma’am. These islands… they might tell me who I am.”
“Hold a minute for me, please, Mr. Stakes, while I confirm the protocol.”
She punched some numbers into her console, spoke quietly into her headset. A nervous Patrick moved from foot to foot, Philo’s wink doing little to calm him.
Seaman Long listened to instructions, held the ID away from her face, and toggled it in the reflective light. “Yes, it has a hologram, sir,” she said into the mouthpiece. “Yes, sir. Mr. Stakes?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You’re good to go. Stand over there. Seaman Kerry will wand you.” To Philo: “After your friend’s picture is taken, we’ll issue your temp IDs and vehicle pass. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
They returned to the SUV, their passes on dog tag chains around their necks. Time check: they were due in CO Malcolm’s office on the south end
