“Normally we ask folks not to disturb potential evidence,” Kawika responded. He looked at Tanaka and thought, She really is impatient.
“I know, but I figured you’d want me to preserve it. The Murphys might destroy it. Now it’s safe. I can always testify about how I got it, can’t I? Explain why I took it?”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
“Did I make a mistake?” she asked. “If I made a mistake, I’m very sorry.”
“No, no,” Tanaka reassured her. “You didn’t make a mistake, Ms. Quinn. You did fine. Thank you. We’ll show it to Mrs. Fortunato, just as you suggest. It might even have Fortunato’s DNA. We’ll have the Waimea police pick it up.”
“Whew,” Patience said. “I’m glad I did the right thing. You had me worried, Detective Wong.”
“Keep it safe,” Tanaka added.
“Keep yourself safe,” Kawika insisted. “Don’t tell anyone you have it. No one. Don’t go near the Murphys’ again. Promise you’ll be careful, P. No more sleuthing around, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Tanaka regarded Kawika closely as he hung up.
“P?” Tanaka inquired.
“Pizza,” his assistant announced from the doorway.
21Café Pesto
“You and Terry reach any conclusions last night?”
Kawika had joined Carolyn for dinner at Café Pesto, her favorite, on Kamehameha Avenue facing Hilo Bay. Evidently she wanted to keep discussing his case—a relief for Kawika, compared with any more romantic topic.
“We made some progress,” Kawika said.
“So, tell me.”
“Well, you know Terry: start with what’s true. Someone wanted to send a message. That’s true. We don’t know the intended audience. But someone took a lot of trouble to kill this guy in a conspicuous manner.”
“So if HHH killed him, that’s why they didn’t throw him off a cliff?” Carolyn asked. “Because they wanted it to be conspicuous?”
“Well, right now, throwing people off a cliff is pretty conspicuous too.”
“Shark Cliff, you mean. What do you think is going on there, anyway?”
“There, I’d guess someone’s sending a message to drug dealers, and the message is pretty simple: you’re next. So that killer is probably some rival dealer or maybe a vigilante.”
“Or a cop,” Carolyn added. “Maybe a vigilante cop.”
“A cop?”
“Yeah, you know—some guy who doesn’t have time for niceties. Decides to make himself judge and jury. Executioner too.”
Kawika smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said. “If you catch a drug dealer, you can convict him. You cuff the guy, you can send him away.”
“But that’s all you can do,” she insisted. “You can’t kill him. No death penalty. So if you cuff the guy, you can send him to jail. Or you can throw him off a cliff.”
“Funny you should say that,” Kawika said. “Terry says one victim actually had been cuffed.”
“Ha!” She beamed with triumph. “Can you trace the handcuffs?”
“Don’t have ’em. Killer took ’em, before he gave the guy the push.”
“Well, start questioning cops—that’s my advice,” said Carolyn, disappointed. “So what do you guys think is true back at the Mauna Lani?”
“We know it took a lot of planning,” Kawika resumed. “Special site, the old spear, and—once again—handcuffs. Probably a vigilante cop, right?” He smiled at her.
“Right. Probably the same cop, Kawika.” She returned the smile. “Keep going.”
“Okay, there’s also the olonā cord, another deliberate clue of some sort. You tell me—you’re the expert.”
“Makes me think someone’s trying to frame HHH.”
“Possibly,” he allowed. “Plus there’s the mountain naupaka in Fortunato’s pocket. We don’t think he spent time in the mountains before he died.”
“You can grow it,” Carolyn suggested. “Not hard, I bet. Maybe he just happened to have some in his pocket.”
“We also know he visited a couple named Murphy the night he died,” Kawika continued, “and we believe he was snatched at their house. One of his sandals turned up outside their door. His widow identified it to the Waimea cops today.”
“One of his sandals? A slippa?”
“Well, a Teva.”
“What about the other one?”
“Slipper Dog strikes again?” Kawika suggested, invoking Hawai‘i’s most common explanation for a shoe or sandal or flip-flop missing at the door. “I don’t know. But I think that’s what Terry would call a ‘stray.’”
“Maybe. Or maybe the slippa you found is planted evidence.”
Kawika cocked his head at her. “Ever heard of Occam’s Razor?” he asked.
“The principle of logic, you mean? If you can explain something in more than one way, go for the simplest way first?”
“Jesus,” he said. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Hey, I am getting a doctorate, after all,” she replied. “So is the simplest explanation that someone wanted to frame somebody?”
“Possibly,” Kawika replied. “Not necessarily.”
“You think the simplest explanation is that someone snatched this guy off a lanai? Knew he’d be at a house near the fake heiau, had the spear and the cord and the cuffs ready, then walked him barefoot—how far?”
“Quarter mile, more or less,” Kawika answered.
“Walked him barefoot a quarter mile across the lava and then killed him?”
“Not across the lava. There’s a path. It’s mostly paved.”
“No lava at all?”
“Some pretty sharp cinders,” Kawika admitted. “The last bit is grass. Autopsy found cinders and grass stains on his feet.”
“Cinders and grass stains—that sounds like something true. The rest sounds like speculation, Kawika.”
“There’s more,” he said. “This Murphy couple hated the man. They’re suing to stop his resort. They knew he’d come see them that night; they had time to prepare. And then they blew town. Never talked to the police. The Waimea cops think the simplest explanation is that they killed him and tried to make it look like Hawaiians did it.”
“Which could explain …” she began.
“… the cultural illiteracy of it all,” he added, and she laughed.
“You’re one hell of a detective,” she said teasingly. Smiling, she let down her hair and shook it out. “Does this couple grow naupaka at their place?”
Kawika smiled again. “We’ll ask. Terry called ’em in California today, told ’em to get back here—not now, but right now. Wikiwiki.”
“Wikiwiki’s for tourists, Kawika. Say ‘āwīwī—if you want to
