He went on. “Unfortunately, it turns out Captain Vancouver’s men saw a heiau being built along this coast. They even saw the human sacrifices, wrote about it in their journals. Kamehameha built it to stop a lava flow. The lava’s ‘a‘ā here. You know, the rough kind, not pahoehoe, the smooth kind. Doesn’t move fast, just sort of rumbles along. But it was headed for Kamehameha’s fishponds—probably the ones at the Mauna Lani these days. So he built a heiau on the mountainside, sacrificed some guys.”
“This the same heiau?” Kawika asked.
Cushing shrugged. “Who knows? It’s a big mountain; no one recorded the spot. But HHH claimed it was the same one. And they could be right.”
Cushing stood up, lifted the acetate overlay, traced a lava flow on the aerial photo. “See, a lava flow does split here, just uphill from the heiau. One part goes almost to the highway, then stops. The other part, over here, goes all the way to the ocean. But it misses the fishponds. So this might be Kamehameha’s heiau.”
And human sacrifice might have worked, Kawika thought. Not like ritual killings, the sort you find in murder mysteries.
“Tell me about the extortion attempt,” he said.
“Extortion?”
“Mrs. Fortunato said HHH tried to extort money from her husband, or from KKL.”
“Corazon told you that? Jesus.”
“It didn’t happen?”
“I’m not saying that. You have to understand: Ralph could be stupid sometimes. Plus hot-tempered. Sorry, but it’s true. He took offense easily. I would never call HHH extortionists—never. Certainly not to their faces. But Ralph did.”
“So what actually happened?”
What actually happened, Cushing explained, was that HHH eventually realized Fortunato wasn’t going to give them anything. He’d restore the heiau, make it an attraction at the resort, spend some money on a little interpretive center. But he wouldn’t offer HHH any cash. He wouldn’t pay them to go away.
“Did they demand money?” asked Kawika.
“They asked for money. They said they wanted to hire experts to find sacred sites on other property. Ralph called that extortion. But maybe they just wanted a success—declare victory, get some funding, move on. Most Hawaiian cultural groups have serious causes and are completely responsible; HHH probably started out that way too. But Ralph just outraged them—that’s the only way to put it. He did it on purpose.”
“Well, we can probably find out whether it really was extortion,” Kawika said. “Mrs. Fortunato said her husband taped the key meeting.”
Cushing grimaced, then shook his head. “That must be what Ralph told her. What he told me was, ‘I should have taped that meeting.’”
“Were you with him?”
“At that meeting? No, but I was with him at the next one—after he’d bulldozed the site. They were furious. Ralph loved it. He was taunting them. I thought they’d kill us both right on the spot.”
“Why’d he bulldoze it?” Kawika asked.
“Why?” Cushing shrugged. “Because he had incredibly bad judgment? Because HHH really pissed him off? I don’t know. None of it made sense. We should’ve given them money and stuck to our plan—rebuilt the heiau, made it a feature of the resort. A nice outcome for all concerned. But now they’ve killed Ralph and they’ll be coming after me.”
Kawika started to speak. “I know, I know”—Cushing held up his hand—“you’re going to protect me. Great. But how about the resort? Can you save it too, Detective?”
“Well,” said Kawika, smiling politely, “let’s work on saving you first.”
More questions: Had Cushing seen Mr. Fortunato the day before? Yes, Cushing said: at work, all day. They’d eaten lunch together. “Right outside—the burrito place. In the afternoon Ralph went somewhere to meet with Makoto—that’s Mr. Shimazu. He heads the investor group from Tokyo. Ralph got back around four. We locked up around five fifteen, maybe five thirty.”
“Mr. Shimazu seems to have flown home this morning. Was that expected?”
“Yeah,” Cushing replied. “He was here for two days, as usual. Just likes to see things, talk to Ralph in person.”
“Does he do that a lot?” Kawika asked. “Fly over here for a day or two?”
“Couple of times a year, I guess. We don’t see him often.”
Kawika switched topics. “Could Mr. Fortunato have gone anywhere else yesterday?” he asked. “To the mountains, say?”
“I don’t see how,” Cushing replied. “He didn’t have time to get up there with Makoto, and otherwise I was with him till we went home.”
“Did he have enemies? Apart from HHH, I mean.”
“Nothing serious, far as I know. Ralph could be an asshole. But I don’t know who’d kill him, other than HHH. Last time I saw them, they were ready to murder him, me, and the horse we rode in on—like I told you.”
“Mr. Cushing,” Kawika asked, “do you know if Mr. Fortunato might have had a girlfriend? Maybe a boyfriend? Someone besides his wife?”
Cushing didn’t respond at once. He regarded Kawika for a moment. Then he glanced at Tommy, who looked quite alert under his baseball cap. Cushing turned again to Kawika, raising his eyebrows slightly: a question. Kawika nodded, intent on the answer.
“Okay,” Cushing sighed. “Yes, he had a girlfriend. It’s messy; they’re both married. But his love life didn’t kill him. I don’t suppose that’s good enough for you?”
“Afraid not,” Kawika said, smiling politely again. “No, as you can guess, we’ll need to know who she is, talk to her. But we can be discreet.”
Cushing sighed, this time more deeply. “It’s our receptionist and office manager, Joanie. Joan Malo. She’s Hawaiian too. But I’m telling you, she has nothing to do with this. Neither does her husband. He doesn’t even know.”
“Receptionist?” Kawika asked, looking around the empty office. “She’s not here today?”
“No. She left when we got the news. Around ten maybe. Went home. She lives right here in the Village. Here’s her number.” Cushing wrote it on a Post-it Note and handed it to Kawika. “But remember, her husband doesn’t know.”
“We’ll talk to her alone,” Kawika assured him. “Up in Waimea. Right now we’ll go find Peter Pukui and Melanie Munu. Meanwhile, you want police protection at
