Mahu Surfer (36 page)

“Well, I caught a really tough case and nearly got killed solving it,” I’d say. “Came out of the closet, nearly lost my job, saw my life splashed all over the media, fought with my brothers and my parents, saw a friend die and killed a man myself, went undercover and had to be nice to a guy who basically raped me ten years ago. I’ve been pretty busy.”

It was a wonder I hadn’t started knocking back shots, or popping pills or smoking Maui Wowie. I stared at the water for a while, trying to think of what else I had to do. I had my laptop with me, so I plugged it in, got online, and looked for information on The Next Wave. There had been a few police reports to the property, including the time Rich Sarkissian punched out that customer, but nothing in the police system about drug connections there.

I read about the store’s involvement in the community, sponsoring a softball team, collecting funds for an injured surfer, and donating merchandise for charity auctions and raffles. Dario had been a good citizen. I read about Ari and his meetings before the zoning boards. Finally, around noon, I ran out of research. It reminded me of a page Harry Ho had referred to me to once. It read “You have reached the end of the Internet. Go out and have a life.”

So I went surfing. I didn’t want to go to Kuhio Beach Park because of its proximity to the Waikiki station, so I drove out to Black Point. I surfed for a couple of hours, trying to clear my head enough so that everything about the case would come together—but I didn’t have much luck. Eventually I gave up, went home, showered, changed, and drove up to my parents’ house.

My mother did not kiss or hug me when she opened the door, before I had a chance to fish out a key or even ring the bell. “Tell your father he is a silly old man with a heart condition,” she demanded.

“No.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Nice to see you, mother.”

“Maybe he’ll listen to you, since he won’t listen to me.”

“Quiet, old woman,” my father said. He enveloped me in a big bear hug. “You’ve been gone too long, Keechee.”

My father has nicknames for all three of us boys. Lui is Lulu, Haoa is Howgow, and I’m Keechee. Unless he’s angry, in which case I’m James Kimo Kanapa’aka, my full legal name. Each of us has an English first name and a Hawaiian middle name, because until 1962 it wasn’t legal to give a child a Hawaiian first name. Paperwork is complicated in my family, as you can imagine.

“Tell your son what you did today, Al,” my mother said. We were standing in the foyer of our house, a modified ranch with a single story set on a sloping piece of land.

“Can we go into the living room?” I asked. “Or at least the kitchen?”

“Your mother’s a little upset,” my father said.

“Duh. I got that part. Why?”

“I told you I didn’t want to tell Kimo about it, Lokelani. But you insisted.” My mother’s name means Heavenly Rose, and at the moment she was definitely showing her thorns.

“Tell me about what? Will you two stop arguing long enough to let me in?”

“A man at the doctor’s office said a bad thing about you,” my father said. “So I hit him.”

I put my head in my hands. “Ai yi yi,” I said. “Did he call the police?”

“He wasn’t really hurt,” my mother said. “The nurse took him into the examining room, cleaned him up and put a bandage on him. She was very nice. She put us into another room right away.”

“Probably to keep Dad from beating up the rest of the patients.” I turned to him. “Don’t I remember you saying, ‘Violence is the never the answer’ when one of us wanted to beat somebody up?”

“I was wrong. Violence is the answer sometimes.”

“Did they take your blood pressure at the doctor’s office?”

“Two hundred over one-twenty!” my mother trumpeted. “We have to go back again tomorrow for another reading, but your father had to promise the nurse he wouldn’t hit anyone else.”

I sat down on the sofa. “This is all my fault. I should move to the mainland. I heard the LAPD is hiring.”

“No!” my parents both chorused at the same time.

“No one is chasing you away from your home,” my father said. “Not while I’m your father.”

“Dad, give it a rest,” I said. “You’re sixty-three years old, you have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. If I hear about you punching anybody else, whether you’re sticking up for me or Lui or Haoa or some neighbor down the street, I’m going to call in favors and get you locked up. You understand me?”

“See?” my mother said. “Your son talks sense. You should listen to him.”

The whole encounter was surreal. Usually my mother rules our household with an iron fist inside a velvet glove. My father might raise his voice occasionally, but all it takes is a look from my mother and he turns into a penitent schoolboy. Now, though, he was looking sullen and openly defiant. “Don’t make me call my brothers,” I said. “You don’t want all three of us ganging up on you.”

“I’m your father. I have to protect you.”

“No you don’t. I’m younger than you are and stronger than you are. I have self-defense training and weapons training, and I know a little kung fu. If you really want to protect me, you’ll take care of yourself and protect me from ever having to bail you out of jail or visit you in the emergency room.”

“How about some lemonade?” my mother asked, satisfied now that my father had been suitably chastened.

“One glass,” I said. “I can’t stay long, but I couldn’t come to town without seeing you.”

When my mother went into the kitchen, I leaned over and kissed my father’s grizzled cheek. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

“You’re my boy.”

My mother came out with the lemonade, and I knew I had to tell them. It wasn’t fair to keep them in the dark any longer. “I have a confession to make,” I said, running my finger through the condensation on the side of my glass. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

I saw my parents exchange a look. I could only imagine what fresh horrors they were imagining. “Dad, remember when I told you Lieutenant Sampson wanted me to do something for him, something that would make me lie?”

My father nodded. “I did it. I lied.” I took a deep breath. “I lied to you both. I never left the police. I’ve been working undercover on the North Shore, trying to solve a series of homicides.”

“The surfers who were killed?” my father asked.

“Yes. Sampson didn’t want me to tell you, because he didn’t trust Lui. He was afraid that if you knew I was still a cop, eventually you would tell Lui, and he would make news out of it.”

My mother opened her mouth to protest, but stopped herself. I guess she knows her oldest son well. “I think the case is going to break open soon, and my cover will be blown. I wanted you to know before that happens.”

“I knew it!” my father trumpeted. “I knew you wouldn’t quit.”

“What your father means is that we both know how much being a detective means to you,” my mother said. “What will happen when this case is solved?”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably go back to headquarters, though I know there are people there who don’t like me.”

“Which people?” my father demanded.

“You don’t need to go down there and start smacking people around, Dad, though I appreciate the thought. Whatever happens, I’ll work it out.”

“I don’t like what’s happening here,” my mother said. “You lying to us to keep information from your brother. We are family, Kimo. You must remember that. When the police suspended you, who was on your side? Your family.”

An acid taste began creeping up my throat from my stomach. “I know, Mom, and I appreciate it.”

“Do we have to prove something to you, Kimo? How do we know when to believe you now?”

“We accept what he tells us,” my father said. “Kimo is a grown man, with his own secrets. He is not a child who has to answer to his parents.”

“We all must answer for our actions.” My mother glared at both of us.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” I said, getting out of my chair. “I’m going out to Terri’s tonight. She’s still very shaky.”

“You give her our love,” my mother said, standing so I could kiss her cheek. It was obvious, though, that this topic had only been tabled temporarily.

Wailupe

Dark had just settled on the Wailupe peninsula as I drove down Terri’s street, my headlights illuminating the well-manicured lawns, the stately royal palms, the expensive cars and boats on trailers in driveways. “Danny insisted he had to wait up for you,” Terri said, holding him in her arms as she answered the door.

Her son was barely keeping his eyes open, but he mumbled, “Uncle Kimo,” and I took him in my arms and gave him a kiss on the forehead and a big hug.

“Will you go to bed now that I’m here?”

“Okay. If you tuck me in.”

“I can do that.” I waved hello to Harry in the living room as I carried Danny to his bedroom.

I had to be introduced to all his stuffed animal friends, and begin reading him a story, but within minutes he was snoring softly. I turned the lights out and went back to the living room, where Harry had a beer waiting for me.

“Man, I need this,” I said, taking a grateful drink. “You’ll never guess what my father did today.” I told them the story.

“Poor thing,” Terri said. “It’s sweet the way he stood up for you.”

“It’s stupid. I can’t tell you how many cases I’ve seen where people do dumb things like that and the outcome is a lot worse.” I took another long swallow. “I also told them that I’ve been working undercover.”

“How did they take it?” Harry asked.

I tore at the label on the beer bottle. “I shifted all the blame to Lui—said Lieutenant Sampson didn’t trust him not to make news out of me, so I couldn’t tell anyone. My mother wasn’t real happy. Even so, it feels great not to have to lie to them any more. Though God knows if they’ll believe anything I say for a while.”

“Your parents love you,” Terri said. “They’ll believe whatever you tell them.”

We caught up on Danny’s school, Harry’s girlfriend Arleen and her son Brandon, and life in general. Finally, Harry said, “So any chance of you getting back to Honolulu in this lifetime?”

“I think I’m getting close.” I drained the last of my beer and got another, and we moved to the kitchen table, where we dug into the Chinese takeout. “I’ve been assuming that the target was Tommy Singer, because he surfed, and that Brad Jacobson was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suppose it was the opposite?”

“Somebody wanted to kill your friend?” Harry asked. “Why?”

“I think the killer knew I was getting close to him, and he killed Brad and Tommy to throw me off the scent, and confuse me, and maybe even make me into a suspect.”

“Because of your personal relationship with Brad?”

I nodded. “It could have been a warning to me. Or maybe somebody’s who so homophobic that he wanted to make sure the gay ex-cop would get blamed. There’s no ballistics match to the previous crimes, but I still think they’re related.”

“And don’t forget the idea that someone wants to clean out the North Shore,” Terri said. “Remember how we talked about land values. Somebody like your friend Ari, that ‘nice Greek fella,’ could buy up more property at a discount, or push through the approvals he needs, if business on the North Shore goes way down.”

“He’s not exactly a nice Greek fella,” Harry said. “He was actually born Harold Pincus, but changed his name after dodging a fraud conviction.”

We filled Terri in on Ari’s background, and then I told them both everything I had learned about Dario, The Next Wave, and the possibility that Dario, Kevin Ruiz and the ice trade on the North Shore were all connected.

“That’s a lot of material,” Terri said.

“You bet. I’ve been trying to get my mind around it for days now.”

Harry opened his laptop and started creating a matrix for all the information. Terri chimed in occasionally with ideas, and by the time we were done, at least I had everything organized—a sequence of events, possible perpetrators and motives, and additional details for me to track down.