Off the Grid, page 20
After another fifteen minutes, Jimmy focused on a particular place. The archaeologist scrutinized the spot from one angle, hopped to the left, checked again, and then moved back to the right to refocus. “There.” Jimmy pointed. Koa saw nothing unusual about the place Jimmy had chosen. “Look for the edges. See how that slab of rock has been fitted into the cliff?”
Koa still couldn’t pick out the slab. Jimmy picked an overripe ōhelo berry from a nearby bush, and with a precise throw, splattered it in the middle of the slab. Instantly, Koa understood. Just above head height, an irregular block appeared to have been fitted into the pali. The subtle outlines disappeared into the jumble of surrounding cracks and crevices. “There’s a cave behind that slab?”
“Dead-on. A cave or maybe just a small crypt.”
Koa felt a surge of anticipation. “Ahuwale ka nane hūnā … the secret is no longer hidden.” Sure they were about to discover Arthur’s secret, Koa moved toward the cliff and reached up toward the slab.
“Stop!” Jimmy’s voice cracked like a rifle shot. He pointed toward the top of the cliff, and Koa saw the problem. A massive stone slab hung ominously over the top edge of the pali, ready to tumble down at the slightest provocation. Koa wondered how they were going to remove the slab and get into the crypt without getting crushed.
“You do much work for us,” an Asian voice said.
Koa knew the voice from Mrs. Furgeson’s tape. It came from behind them. He spun around to see the two Indonesian thugs standing several feet apart, blocking the route back to the orchid farm. Koa took his first look at the two killers. Bambang, the older of the two, was closer. Mrs. Furgeson had described him accurately but failed to capture his aura of menace. He had jet-black hair, a broad face above a narrower chin, and beady black reptilian eyes—cold, calculating, and devoid of any human warmth. The eyes of a cold-blooded terrorist. A man who would find entertainment in torture. Sudomo, although physically larger, lacked the menace of his partner. Both held small-caliber semiautomatic pistols.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jimmy yelled.
At the sound of Jimmy’s voice, Bambang spun toward the archaeologist and fired at Jimmy’s chest. BLAM! The bullet slammed into the former Marine, knocking him off his cushion.
Piki started forward, but Bambang whirled back toward Piki and fired again. BLAM! The bullet hit Piki in the left side, twisting him around and knocking him off his feet. Bambang steadied his weapon to Koa and screamed, “No move.” The Indonesian emphasized his command with a warning shot that barely missed Koa’s head.
Koa stiffened. The Indonesians had somehow slipped by Basa, but the gunshots would alert him. Unless the Indonesians had disabled his backup. Not a good thought. Koa couldn’t tell how badly Jimmy or Piki were hurt, but for the moment he was alone against the two gunmen. “You’re making a mistake,” Koa said, like he was in command.
Bambang fired another warning shot, this one careening off the rocks at Koa’s feet. “Shut up. Drop gun,” Bambang shouted.
Taking his time, Koa backpedaled, moving several steps away from the cliff before unholstering his pistol, and, using only his thumb and forefinger, placing his gun on the ground.
“Back! Back!” Bambang shouted.
Koa backpedaled another dozen paces, moving further from the pali and drawing the killers away from Jimmy.
“Who’s paying you, Bambang?” Koa deliberately used the killer’s name and saw the Indonesian’s face register surprise. “That’s right, asshole,” Koa continued, “we’ve got your name and your prints. You’ll never get off the island.”
“I kill you this time. Not like farm,” Bambang growled as he advanced. He spoke in Indonesian and pointed at Piki. Sudomo moved forward and bent over Piki, who appeared to be unconscious, taking the young detective’s weapon.
Where the hell were Basa and his patrolmen? Koa wondered. While Bambang’s shots must have alerted them to trouble, they couldn’t come busting through the forest. The noise would alert the Indonesians, endangering all of them. Koa needed to stall.
“How’d you know we’d be here, Bambang?” Koa asked.
“You much stupid,” the Indonesian responded. Sudomo moved forward to where Koa had placed his gun on the ground. The Indonesian picked it up and retreated toward Bambang, handing one of the police guns to Bambang and pocketing the other. Again, Bambang spoke in Indonesian and pointed to the slab in the rock wall marked with the red skin of the ōhelo berry. Behind the two Indonesians, Koa searched the edge of the forest for Sergeant Basa. Jesus, where was he?
Sudomo reached the base of the cliff and used a pocket knife to pry the edge of the stone slab loose. Millimeter by millimeter he edged it outward. It stuck, and he moved to the opposite side to continue. Neither Indonesian noticed Jimmy slowly pushing himself up off the ground. Thank God, Koa thought, we put him in body armor. The archaeologist forced himself to a sitting position. He was fifteen feet behind the two Indonesians. Bambang must have assumed his shot had killed Jimmy and had forgotten his presence. Koa watched out of the corner of his eye as Jimmy picked up a round stone the size of a baseball. Koa saw Jimmy’s massive arm, honed into solid muscle by years as a substitute for his legs, pulse in readiness.
Koa needed to keep the Indonesians occupied. “Bambang, who hired you to kill Sapada?”
“Fuck you,” the Indonesian killer shouted.
Bambang made a show of aiming his pistol toward Koa.
The two thugs never saw the end coming. Focused on Koa and the rock wall, the two killers had completely dismissed the crippled archaeologist. Bambang, coaxed forward by Koa’s gradual retreat, had his back to Jimmy. They had no idea of Jimmy’s courage or the extraordinary strength of his upper arms. Neither of them saw Jimmy cock his right arm and take careful aim.
With a last vicious twist of his knife, Sudomo dislodged the huge chunk of rock. It started to fall, and he jumped backward. A sound like a thunderclap rang through the forest and echoed off the pali. The mass of rocks at the top of the cliff seemed to hang in the air for an instant before crashing into Sudomo, crushing his skull.
Jimmy timed his throw perfectly, launching the rock at the moment the massive rock slide hit Sudomo. It slammed into the back of Bambang’s head with a crack. Koa launched himself at the killer but need not have bothered. Piki scrambled to his feet, and Sergeant Basa, joined by three patrolmen, charged out of the forest with guns drawn. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Koa said, “About time, guys.”
Only then did Koa climb over the pile of rocks to peer into the grave Sudomo had opened. A yellowed human skull, laid sideways across a pile of bones, glared accusingly back at him. He shivered at the macabre sight. There was nothing else in the crypt. They’d disturbed the dead without finding Arthur’s secret.
While Basa, Piki, and the patrolmen took Bambang, woozy but conscious, to the lockup in Hilo, Koa enjoyed an enormous sense of relief. He and the team had eliminated a deadly threat to himself and Nālani. He shuddered when he remembered the killers had been inside his house, planting the listening device. It could just as easily have been a bomb.
* * *
Koa knew the invasion of their home had upset Nālani and called her cell from the Campbell place to share the good news. He checked to make sure she was at work, and not at home where an eavesdropper might overhear, before telling her what happened. Overjoyed, she asked for details. He gave her a truthful description of the trap he’d set and the ensuing fight with the Indonesians. He was struck by just how close to death he’d come and feared Nālani’s reaction. When he finished, his concern grew at her pregnant pause. Maybe calling her hadn’t been such a good idea.
After a moment, she said, “It’s a good thing you were wearing body armor and had the other guys with you.” Then she added, “I’m tired of texting, Koa. Can we get rid of the damned bug?”
He thought for a moment. With the kepala, the Indonesians’ boss, still on the loose, there was some risk in leaving the bug in place, but the capture of the actual killers had drastically reduced the danger. And, he’d kept the listening device in the house only in part to catch the Indonesians. What he really wanted was to smoke out the kepala behind the two killers. There was also another problem. If he shut down the bug in his house, the eavesdroppers would likely figure he knew about the one in his office. With some trepidation, he decided to press his luck. “Can you live with it for another few days?”
“Your loss,” she responded with a naughty inflection.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE CHIEF—HIS face red with fury—stood behind his desk with his hands on his hips glaring at Koa. “I ordered you to turn over the Campbell investigation to Agents Christopher and Nelson. You disobeyed that order.”
“No, sir,” Koa responded. He spoke softly, trying to lower the tension. “You ordered me to turn over the Arthur Campbell investigation, but not the Gwendolyn Campbell investigation,”
“Oh, for chrissakes. It’s the same fuckin’ investigation.”
“No, sir, I don’t think so. Remember, a county dump truck hit Gwendolyn, and the driver did a runner. We had to investigate to protect the county from losing a lawsuit. That’s why the mayor wanted me out there. At least that’s what you told me.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” the chief responded, sounding less antagonistic. Koa hoped he’d found the right response.
“That’s not fair, sir. You ordered me to turn over the Arthur Campbell investigation. I briefed Agents Christopher and Nelson. I turned over the file. Pursuing the Gwendolyn Campbell investigation didn’t violate your order.”
“But it did. At the very least, it violated the spirit of my directive. And you deliberately disobeyed my instructions by continuing the Arthur Campbell investigation.”
Koa’s stomach churned at the chief’s harsh accusation. He’d pushed the envelope by continuing to run with the case, but he wasn’t sorry. He’d caught two heinous killers, goons those DIA bozos had no interest in pursuing. He thought about telling the chief about his appointment as an assistant prosecutor, but Zeke had warned him against doing so, and Koa’s close communication with the county prosecutor would only reinforce the chief’s fury.
“You went behind my back, called out the tactical team, staged a raid on the farmhouse used by those two Indonesians, and nearly got everybody killed.”
“I didn’t go behind your back. You were out of town. And I tried to arrest them because they stole a county truck, created an acetylene bomb, killed Gwendolyn Campbell, and injured a county firefighter. And nobody got killed because I sensed a trap.”
“You’re playing games. They’re the principal suspects in the torture and murder of Arthur Campbell.”
“That may be true, but I was after them for Gwendolyn’s murder.”
“Bullshit. And you were on Arthur Campbell’s orchid farm, searching for his papers.”
Koa said nothing.
“Answer me.”
“We caught the Indonesians who murdered Arthur and Gwendolyn.”
“That’s not the point.” The chief’s face grew redder. He was running out of patience. “I can’t have a chief detective disobey my commands.”
The chief paced back and forth across the office. He stopped and turned to assess Koa, and then resumed pacing. Koa had worked with Chief Lannua for years and never seen him so upset. “The governor called me this morning. Do you know why?”
“No, sir.” Koa had a bad feeling.
“He wants your head. You stepped in shit, deep shit. You ticked off powerful people in Washington. They jumped down the governor’s throat, and he blistered my ass.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“A fucking lot of good that will do.”
Koa said nothing, maintaining his stance of innocence.
“You are suspended from the police force as of this moment, Mr. Kāne. I’ll take your gun and your shield.” The chief held out his hand. “And I’ll have you terminated from the force by next week.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Koa surrendered his shield and his Glock pistol. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist. “Give my regards to the future governor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BACK IN HIS office, Koa ripped off his shoulder holster and hurled it across the room. It bounced off the wall and fell with a useless plop to the floor. He thought about removing his artwork, but instead stormed out of the building without his badge for the first time in a dozen years. Once in his Explorer, he exceeded the speed limit all the way to his home outside Volcano.
Koa had downed two Black Sand Porters before Nālani arrived. She stopped short in the doorway, surprised to find him slumped on the sofa, beer bottle in hand, with empties on the floor. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“The chief fired me. I’m unemployed,” he announced more abruptly than he’d intended.
“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. She ran to the sofa and put her arm around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Tell me what happened?”
“Maybe it’s for the best. I couldn’t do my job. Fuckin’ politics. Goddamn fuckin’ politics.” He downed the rest of his beer. “Did you know Arthur Campbell had a Distinguished Service Cross? That’s almost like a Congressional Medal of Honor. His country honored him as an exceptional hero, and nobody cares he got tortured to death. Nobody gives a flying fuck. Not the police chief, not the goddamn fuckin’ politicians.”
Koa gazed blearily at the bottle in his hand. He had a mind to drink himself into oblivion, but Nālani’s arrival had changed the tenor of his party. At any other time, he had zero use for self-pity.
Nālani stepped back outside the house with her cell phone, while he continued to reel from his blowup with the chief. A long string of images flashed through his mind: sitting at his grandfather’s feet, listening to stories of his Kāne ancestors … that awful day when they’d pulled him out of school to tell him his father had been crushed to death … the death scene in the Kohala cabin where he’d killed Hazzard … Jerry’s bright face talking about becoming a cop in Seattle.
He’d kept true to his promises to himself and Jerry and reached a place in life far beyond anything his father or grandfather could’ve imagined. And now everything he’d worked for had vanished. Doing the right thing had cost him his job. All because of fucking politics and goddamned politicians. He opened his wallet and stared at the dog-eared picture of the Hāmākua Sugar Mill where his father had died, for him the symbol of failure. Koa had escaped the fate of his father. Until now.
The guilt he’d long ago buried returned like a flash flood. He’d gotten away with killing Hazzard, and created his own penance, but it wasn’t enough. This must be his punishment for the Hazzard killing. He descended into a black mood.
Then, like a seesaw, his cop instincts came back. Why had the chief blocked the investigation? The question kept nagging at him. Just because he’d been stripped of his badge didn’t mean he’d stop asking questions. Lannua had blamed telephone calls from the mayor and the governor. True, the chief was a political animal, but he held one of the top law enforcement jobs on the island. Even the chief wouldn’t let a killing go by for political reasons. That mystery led to another. Who had given the wiretappers access to the secure telephone cabinet in the police station? Suddenly, Koa felt bad about the chief. Except now he lacked the power to do anything about it.
He went to the fridge, opened another beer, and called for her. “Nālani … Nālani.”
“Here.” She came back into the house.
He looked at her, his beautiful, lighthearted Nālani. He’d lost his job. Now, he was afraid he’d lose her, too. The image of a former girlfriend filled his mind—a beautiful woman whom he’d loved and whom he’d lost. Lost because of his job, because he hadn’t appreciated the magic they’d shared, because he’d let trivial annoyances infect their relationship. They quarreled about stupid things. She’d met another man and left him. He’d been in shock for weeks. And he’d vowed if he were ever lucky enough to find another wonderful woman, he’d never let her go.
In a rush of emotion, he understood how vital Nālani was to him. In his self-pity, he’d ignored something that mattered greatly to her. She had her dream job at Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park, and any uncertainty in his job situation would make her nervous, afraid his unraveling would be her own undoing. “I’m sorry, my ipo.” He spoke softly, using their Hawaiian term of endearment. “I’ve screwed it up. I’ve screwed up our lives.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She cupped his chin, lifted his face to hers, and kissed him. “You did what you thought right, what is right, so don’t be sorry, my ipo.”
“I’ll find another job on the island.”
“Of course you will. After today, no one will ever have any respect for Chief Lannua.”
* * *
Hook Hao came through the door carrying a plastic bag from the Suisan fish market and two six-packs of Paniolo Pale Ale. “I brought a‘u. We’re gonna be rid of this trouble.” Hook made a play on words. A‘u, Hawaiian for swordfish, also meant trouble because a jumping swordfish could maim any fisherman who got speared. Hook lit the grill and loaded kiawe wood, Hawaiian mesquite, on top of the charcoal. He bustled around the kitchen, slicing a dozen swordfish filets, firing up the rice cooker, and preparing a giant skillet full of hō‘ i‘o, an edible native Hawaiian fern like a thin asparagus.
Basa and Piki soon arrived. Chef Hook drank Paniolo Pale Ale and regaled the group with fishing stories. Hook’s energy, storytelling, and friendship slowly lifted Koa out of his dour mood. The charcoal grill burned hot with the rich smell of kiawe. Combined with Hook’s marinade of ginger and wasabi, it perfumed the air.
“You okay, Koa?” Sergeant Basa asked.
Koa nodded, and then felt a pang as he realized he and Basa would no longer be working together. “It’s tough, really tough, after twelve years, but I’ll find something. I’ve been through worse.”
