Molokai Reef (13 page)

Before
placing the vessel up for auction, the Coast Guard hacked open the
compartments and removed the contents. Because the druggies had
glued the compartments to the outside of the hull, there wasn’t
any structural damage.

Flyn
and her boyfriend repaired the bottom and refitted the boat over one
winter. By the time that Gybe met Flyn on Spa Creek, the boat was
hers and the ex was history.

Gybe
had made no promises when he first bedded Kara. Or, as Kara had
reminded him the next morning, she bedded Gybe. Nonetheless, he
sensed a bit of possessiveness in Kara’s body language as he
described his friendship with Flyn.

While
Gybe and Flyn discussed their voyages to Hawai‘i, Kara sat
silently. Gybe glanced at her often, but she sat there with arms
crossed. Surely, he thought, Flyn’s toplessness couldn’t
offend her. In the short time that he had known Kara, she had seemed
very comfortable with her body, clothed or not.

Finally,
Gybe drew Kara into the conversation. “Kara is here to help
her friend Susan – who is sitting in the Wailuku jail. We just
returned from visiting her.”

Flyn
listened as Gybe described the murders and Susan’s arrest.

“
Everything
points towards Susan’s guilt. She had the opportunity and she
didn’t like the victims. The prosecutor claims that he has
witnesses and physical evidence tying Susan to the murders.”
Gybe summarized.

“
Susan
admits she has no alibi.” Kara sighed. “She went out in
her workboat alone on the night of the murders. The police believe
their job is done.”

“
So,
you’ve got to find out who really did it?” Flyn asked.

Over
the next hour, Flyn, Kara, and Gybe discussed theories and methods to
solve the problem of exonerating Susan. Who wanted to kill the two
scientists? Who would gain from their deaths? Who wanted to see
Susan jailed? Or could Susan be an innocent bystander without an
alibi?

A
business motive seemed unlikely because the scientists worked for
different companies. Gybe admitted that he didn’t know if the
two victims knew each other. Could a jealous spouse or lover be
responsible?

They
agreed that the concrete on the head was a bit bizarre. Was it
significant? Why the mask and snorkels? Why keep the victims alive
and then drown them on the reef? “The bodies weren’t
dumped in the ocean or tossed in a gulch. Someone went to a great
deal of trouble with the concrete, snorkels, and placement near the
reef. Why?” Flyn wondered.

The
reef seemed important, but why? Was someone trying to send a message
to the corn companies, trying to scare them away from Moloka‘i?
Were they trying to draw attention to the dying reef while
implicating the biotech companies? Were they trying to frame Susan?

Susan
claimed that the reef was dying because of the escape of GMOs –
genetically modified organisms – from the experimental corn
companies. “Susan, and I agree with her, believes that the
companies are killing the reef.” Kara noted.

“
Good,
you have confirmed the prosecutor’s theory of her motive.”
Gybe answered. “Her arrests as a protester prove that she’s
responsible for stoking the belief that the biotech companies are
killing the reef?”

Flyn
brought the conversation back to the reef. “Is Susan right?
Are the research labs responsible for the death of the reef?”

Gybe
mused aloud. “I don’t know, but it is dying. Vast
stretches along the south shore of Moloka‘i have little or no
live coral. Without the coral, the reef can’t support the reef
fish. The reef looks like a long dirty pile of rocks.”

“
Gybe,
I’m sailing to O‘ahu tomorrow. Why don’t I snoop
around at the university? See what they think is killing the reef.”
Flyn offered.

“
I
don’t follow.” Kara said. “So what does it matter
who is killing the reefs? Susan is on record as believing it and
that will be good enough for the prosecutor.”

“
You’re
right.” Gybe responded. “But, we don’t have very
much to go with. If we find that there is common belief that the
biotech guys are responsible, then lots of people including
subsistence fishermen share the motive with Susan. It will weaken
the prosecutor’s case. In the prosecutor’s eyes, Susan
is the tie between the corn companies and the reef.”

Flyn
volunteered to sail to Honolulu where she planned to talk with
professors at the University of Hawai‘i. Gybe knew that before
talking with the profs, Flyn would spend a few hours in the library
acquainting herself with background material on the reef and its
ecology.

Flyn
had helped Gybe before. He hadn’t planned to involve her.
Hell, he hadn’t known she was in the islands, but now that she
offered to help, he was glad she was onboard. Tomorrow, he and Kara
would sail back to Moloka‘i where he hoped to learn more about
the victims and their companies.

“
I’ll
see you back on Moloka‘i in a week or so.” Flyn waved to
Gybe and Kara as they motored towards
Ferrity
.

21

The
next morning, Gybe and Kara had an easy downwind sail to Moloka‘i.
Gybe steered
Ferrity
into Kaunakakai harbor and dropped the
hook. He was careful to position
Ferrity
well into the harbor
clear of the turning basin for the interisland supply barge.

After
securing the boat and prepping the dinghy, he motored
Aweigh
the short distance to the dinghy landing. The ’vair was still
in the parking lot.

“
Whoa,
what is that smell?”

Roadkill,
rotten papayas and other thoughts drifted through his odor banks as
Gybe tried to name the aroma. Aha, dead fish. Rotting fish layered
both the front and rear seats of the ’vair. Flies swarmed the
car.

The
harbormaster trotted over, approaching from upwind. “This car
yours?”

“
We’re
borrowing it.” Kara replied.

“
You’ve
got to move it now. I’ve called for a tow truck.”

“
Don’t
suppose you saw who did this?” Gybe asked.

The
harbormaster knew nothing. Gybe got in and drove the ’vair to
the dock used by commercial fishermen to unload their catch. He
found two plastic grocery sacks in a trash can and handed one to
Kara. “Put this on as a glove and start shoveling.”

With
the doors wide open, Gybe pitched the rotten fish, one at a time,
from the driver’s side into the ocean. Kara began on the
passenger’s side. The flies struggled against the easterly
trade wind to follow the flying fish into the water. When the fish
were gone, Kara grabbed a water hose coiled in front of the first
sailboat and began washing out the floorboard. Forty years of
oxidation provided numerous outlets for the water.

“
I’m
going back to the boat for some cleaners.” Gybe headed for the
dinghy as Kara continued to rinse out the ’vair.

An
hour later, Kara guided the ’vair up the causeway trying to
outrun the odor. They had cleaned with Clorox and Simple Green but
the breathtaking smell remained.

Gybe
decided that they should visit Dr. Splicer’s house before
meeting the dead scientist’s boss. With a map, he directed
Kara through the town to the house two lots from the end of Makia
Street.

Notices
on the doors denied entry without police permission. Gybe walked
around the house, noting the layout of windows and doors. In the
back yard, he spied a long narrow greenhouse.

He
had opened the door and was staring at row after row of nipple-high
corn stalks when Kara whispered “police.”

Donning
his most casual attitude, he led Kara back through the yard and
towards the ’vair. The police officer asked what they were
doing.

Gybe
explained that he was a writer and that he was working on the murder
story. “Is that OK?”

“
Don’t
go in the house. It’s a crime scene.”

“
Still?
I thought you guys locked up the murderer.” He pulled a
spiral pad from his pocket and pretended to flip through the pages.
“Susan, wasn’t it?”

“
Yeah,
she did it.” The cop slung a thumb over his shoulder towards
the ’vair. “But don’t bullshit me, that’s
her car. What are you doing with it?”

Gybe
continued his ruse of writing. He introduced Kara and told the
officer that Susan had loaned the car to Kara. “After I
interviewed Kara – Susan is affiliated with Kara’s
company – she offered to drive me over here.”

The
officer didn’t appear to be buying any of the explanation.
Apparently remembering a lesson from Intimidation 101 at the academy,
the officer puffed up his chest, plastered an ugly scowl on his face,
and reached down for the deepest voice. “The house is
off-limits. Do not come back unless you want to join your little
greenie friend in the jail.”

Gybe
limp-wristed a salute, perfected by a draft-dodging President, and
escorted Kara to the ’vair.

22

Playing
along with the cop who had found them at Dr. Splicer’s house,
Kara and Gybe drove to the company that had employed Dr. Splicer.
Kara parked the car in a visitor’s space near the front door.
As they walked to the front door, Gybe glanced up at the sign -
GeNesRus, Inc. Juh-ness-russ – what could that mean?

Inside
the front door, they found a small reception area. Kara introduced
them and asked the receptionist if they could meet with the
president. Ten minutes later, Dr. Elizabeth Miller entered through a
door behind the receptionist and introduced herself.

From
his research, Gybe knew that Dr. Miller was a scientist besides being
the CEO of GeNesRus. He expected a white lab coat with pens in the
pocket, running shoes, thick-lens eyewear, and unshaped hair.

What
he saw was a woman who looked him in the eye and matched his height.
Each lens of her eyewear was paper-thin and set in a large frame.
They may have been a fashion statement rather than a necessity. Her
hair was spiked on top, layered on the sides and back.

She
wore a business suit tailored to the fine contours of her athletic
body. The short skirt revealed a lot of leg; legs that ended a long
way down at her bare feet where several pinkies sported toe rings. A
bit provocative, but this was Hawai‘i, Gybe thought.

Dr.
Miller caught his glance and flushed with embarrassment.

Gybe
explained why they were there and asked if they could talk with her
for a few minutes. Dr. Miller escorted them to her office. The
office abutted the reception area behind the door through which she
had entered.

Moments
after they took the two chairs in front of Dr. Miller’s desk,
the receptionist carried in a tray with a large juice pitcher and
three ice-cube laden glasses. She sat these on the corner of Dr.
Miller’s desk and then served the fresh mango juice.

Dr.
Miller’s office was spacious. Gybe quickly counted ceiling
tiles – ten rows of five tiles. A standard acoustic tile was
two by four feet. The office was twenty by twenty or four hundred
square feet. A deep pile maroon carpet covered the floor. She sat
behind a massive desk made of an exotic dark wood. Solid wood, not
veneer. Behind Dr. Miller, a large window opened towards the ocean.
Because the research center was a couple hundred feet above sea
level, there was an unobstructed view to the water and across the
channel to the island of Lāna‘i.

Floor
to ceiling and corner-to-corner bookshelves covered one wall. At
least one third of the book titles were technical. In addition to
the tech journals, Gybe saw an assortment of classics and recent best
sellers. The opposite wall supported five quality prints. Gybe
recognized them as the work of the longhorn-mustachioed Salvador
Dali. Gybe recalled a quote by the surrealist: “The only
difference between myself and a madman, is that I am not mad!”

A
sofa, end chair, coffee table, and wet bar filled the half of the
room not taken by Dr. Miller’s desk and the leather covered arm
chairs now occupied by Gybe and Kara.

“
Nice
office, very nice. I take it you are a reader.” Gybe motioned
to the wall size bookshelf.

“
Thanks,
but I must credit the former occupant. Except for a few of the books
and the prints, the office was this way when I leased the building.”

Not
prone to dance around niceties, Kara asked, “Can you tell us
about Dr. Splicer?”

Dr.
Miller turned to the window. She appeared to focus on a distant rock
formation, but Gybe suspected that she was fast-forwarding through a
movie, a movie that only she saw. A movie of memories.

“
Her
death was terrible. She preferred to be called Jean or some of the
staff called her Dr. Jean when they joked about her work. She was
very intelligent. She was funny. She worked hard. She had a good
ethos, an absolute must in this business. She was one of my best
students. I taught her when I was at UC Davis. In fact, I’m
the reason she is –was – on Moloka‘i. As soon as
she completed her dissertation and passed her boards, I offered her a
job here at GeNesRus.”