Molokai Reef (4 page)

She
knew exactly who Gybe was. Last evening at the bar, she had made an
excuse to return to her room. Like many single men and women, she
used her favorite Internet search engine to vet Gybe. When she
discovered his involvement in the San Francisco case, she hatched the
plan that led to breakfast aboard
Ferrity
.

Recalling
the San Francisco situation, the police had done their job within the
limits of budget and caseload. The circumstantial evidence that they
developed convinced the District Attorney to proceed with the
indictment.

Like
the police, Gybe subscribed to Occam’s razor, which said
something to the effect that when deciding amongst several possible
solutions to a problem, one should select the one that requires the
fewest assumptions or leaps of logic. Occam, a fourteenth century
medieval philosopher took credit for Aristotle’s law of
parsimony, proposed several centuries earlier. But in fairness,
Occam didn’t have the Internet or even the printed book for
that matter. On the other hand, there was no justification for the
twentieth century plagiarizing by the K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple
Stupid) crowd.

In
the San Francisco case, Gybe discovered that the simplest solution
from the prosecutor’s point of view was incorrect. The result
had been the arraignment of an innocent person.

If he
chose to help Kara, then Gybe would have to find another plausible
solution to the crime. Why should he help her?

True,
he had found the bodies. It was also true that he had considered
dumping them back in the ocean and sailing away. He wanted to work
on his novel. His article on the genetic engineering industry of
Moloka‘i was due in two weeks. While he had completed most of
the background research, he hadn’t begun the interviews for the
piece.

“
So
last night was not due to my rugged physique, charming personality,
or witty conversation? I was the seducee?”

Kara’s
eyes rolled upward and to her starboard. Gybe suspected that her
silence was an effort to shield his fragile male ego.

He
explained to Kara that he was not a private investigator by either
training or experience. He liked solving puzzles but in this case,
Susan’s future was at stake. She could spend the rest of her
life in prison if he failed.

“
Why
don’t you hire a real PI?”

“
I’ve
already checked. The sole PI on Moloka‘i chases errant
spouses. Ick. I’d have to bring someone over from another
island. There would be travel and lodging expenses. She would be as
much of an outsider as you are.”

“
So
I’m cheaper. I’m flattered.”

“
Gybe,
I need help. I know that you believe in justice and I know that you
can look at sides of the problem others will never see. I’ve
read some of your Op-ed columns. You think - to be trite - outside
the cubicle.”

“
Susan
didn’t kill anyone. I’m sure of that. We need your
help. Will you help?” She leaned forward, breasts ajiggle,
and laid a hand on his thigh.

Gybe’s
feral reaction didn’t relate to her question. Breathe, ignore
this creature, write, sail away were the thoughts he sought.

Detective
Kane had told him that the victims were research scientists working
in the field of genetic engineering. Could there be a tie-in with
his article? Could there be a hot novel just waiting for
publication? Could I get laid in the next five minutes? Oops,
thinking had migrated south.

“
OK,
I’ll do what I can. But, remember I’m not a PI and I
make no promises. I don’t know if a PI needs a license here,
so you’re hiring me as a writer. I’ll write the story;
let’s see, I know, I’ll call it Wayward Wench Whacks for
Whales.”

“
That’s
not funny asshole. Susan is my friend.”

“
You
hire me; you get the package – no extra charge for humor or
satire.”

“
How
much?”

Gybe
didn’t answer immediately. This was yet another opportunity to
get away from this mess. Could he? He decided to quote a high
figure for his help.

“
Two
hundred.”

He
watched panic flit across Kara’s eyes as she calculated the
daily cost.

“
Two
hundred per hour?”

Could
he be a real bastard? Could he walk away? He could say that his
rates were two hundred per day; surely, she could afford that. Then,
the thinking shifted to the big head as he told ole one-eyed winky to
settle down. “Two hundred per half day.”

“
Two
hundred per half-day? That’s the weirdest rate I’ve ever
heard.”

“
That’s
my rate. Any half-day or part thereof is two hundred. Plus out of
pocket expenses and exclusive rights to Susan’s story or any
related story that I develop.”

“
That’s
reasonable.”

“
You
haven’t seen my bar tabs. Do we have a deal?”

7

While
Kara dressed, Gybe performed his daily check of the dinghy. Kara had
accepted his rates, so he suggested the first step should be a visit
to Susan at the jail.

The
dinghy was a four-chamber inflatable built by Zodiac. He had painted
Aweigh
on each bow. Two sixteen-inch inflatable tubes
connected at the bow to form the hull. A high-pressure inflatable
bladder created a semi-solid floor. The fourth air chamber was an
inflatable keel, mostly worthless, under the high-pressure floor.
When sailing, Gybe deflated the dinghy, rolled it into a cylinder,
and stowed it in the port sail locker. A 9.9 horsepower Nissan
outboard motor sat on the transom. Just below the motor on the
inside of the wooden transom, Gybe had stenciled ‘T/T
Ferrity
’
– Tender To
Ferrity
. Sailors referred to the small
boats as dinghies, dinks, inflatables, or tenders.

Dinghies
had a way of disappearing, but the resale value decreased as the
amount of personalization increased. To deter the theft of the
outboard, Gybe had stripped the manufacturer’s paint and logo
then repainted it a bright John Deere yellow. Onto the yellow, he
stenciled
Aweigh
on each side.

He
topped off the fuel tank and re-stowed the jerry can aboard
Ferrity
just as Kara emerged from below. “Ready?”

The
outboard started on the first pull. Kara climbed over
Ferrity
’s
lifelines and stepped into the boat.

“
Cast
off the painter.” Gybe directed. “It’s the line
holding the dinghy. Unwrap it from the cleat.”

“
Got
it. Painter. That makes sense. More cliquish male jargon, I
suppose.”

“
Every
line, sail, direction, and function has a specific name on a boat.
The syntax is clear so that the sailors know what to do and when.
When sailing, there is no time to waste explaining unclear
terminology. If they know the jargon, as you call it, they know what
to do.”

“
Aye,
aye mon capitan.” Kara smirked and smart-assed a salute.

Before
departing
Ferrity
, Gybe maneuvered the dink to the anchor
chain where he checked the snubber lines for chafe. They were fine.
Then he guided the boat over the anchor where he looked down through
the clear water. On the bottom, he could see the anchor chain
disappear into the sand. The anchor lay under the sand. Satisfied
that the anchor was set, Gybe spun the dink around and aimed the bow
for the dinghy dock next to the causeway launch ramp.

Kara
sat in the bow surveying the anchorage that she had not seen last
night during the raucous trip from the hotel to
Ferrity
.

At
the floating dock, she looped the painter around a cleat, then
stepped onto the dock. The dock was barren of any other craft.

A
taxi was waiting for the arrival of the morning ferry. Gybe and Kara
climbed in.

“
To
the police station and step on it.” Gybe said.

Kara
rolled her eyes.

8

Gybe
couldn’t read the driver’s expression in the rear view
mirror but he suspected it was not a sign of respect. The police
station was less than a mile away. There were no traffic lights,
only two stop signs, and they couldn’t have made a rush hour if
they had collected every car on the island.

The
Rainbow Taxi crunched across the coral gravel in the parking lot of
Moloka‘i’s sole police station. Kara handed the driver a
twenty, who returned a ten and three ones along with his business
card. A scan of the card showed that he was the owner and operator
of Rainbow Taxi, “The best taxi on the island,” he
gloated.

He
failed to mention that there were only two taxi companies with
combined assets of five vehicles. No one had seen all five vehicles
running simultaneously.

Across
the street, Kara noticed a little league softball game and recognized
one of the teams from yesterday’s ferry trip from Maui.
“Little league must be a challenge when the teams compete from
different islands.”

Nine
new Ford Expedition SUVs and five older Ford Crown Vics each bearing
the logo of Maui County Police Department, sat in the parking lot.
With fourteen in the lot and presumably more patrolling, “how
much crime is there on this small rural island?” Gybe wondered
aloud.

In
profile, the island of Moloka‘i resembled a running shoe. The
toe was to the east towards Maui, the heel to the west towards O
‘
ahu.
To the north, Kalaupapa Peninsula – made famous by Father
Damien and his leper colony - protruded as the tongue of the shoe.
Kaunakakai harbor and town lay near the instep on the south side of
the island. Like most island towns, Kaunakakai rested on the flat
coastal plain only a few feet above sea level.

The
island of Moloka‘i was one of the least visited islands of
Hawaii. It lay fourth from either end of the seven populated
Hawaiian Islands. These islands lay generally along a line from
northwest to southeast. Geologically, the oldest islands were in the
northwest with the newest island – Hawai‘i or “the
Big Island” – at the southeast end of the chain. From
northwest to southeast, Niihau, Kaua
‘
i,
O‘ahu, Moloka‘i,
Lāna‘i
,
Maui, and the Big Island formed the populated Hawaiian islands.

Rural
it was, because on the Internet Kara had found one operating hotel, a
disconnected phone number to a second hotel, and reference to a
bankrupt resort. Fewer than seven thousand people lived on Moloka‘i.

Inside
the station, Kara identified herself and asked to see Susan. The
desk sergeant, Hawaiian in appearance, gave her
da stinkeye
.
The quaint cultural custom, a decidedly sneering look, is a sure way
to start a fight thought Gybe.

No
doubt, the coconut telegraph had signaled her arrival in town.
Another officer led them to a small room where he took Kara’s
purse and asked Gybe to face the wall.

Attired
in aloha shirt, surf shorts, and sandals, Gybe had few places to
conceal a weapon. In lieu of the pat-down, he lifted his shirt. The
guard was unimpressed, so he dropped his shorts too. “OK?”

The
guard grunted and turned to Kara. “Face the wall.”

“
You
lay one paw on me and my lawyer will see that you spend the rest of
your career picking pineapples in a sugar cane field.” Kara
threatened.

The
standoff held for a full minute. Then Kara lifted her shirt,
pirouetted, and dropped the shirt. “Unlike the animal over
there, the pants stay.” Kara glared at the guard whose
non-digital mind was still processing the images. He glanced down at
Kara’s tight shorts, which couldn’t conceal a weapon let
alone the mounds and crevices of her buff female anatomy.

Gybe
watched as the guard left the room, probably still trying to
determine what he had seen or what he thought he had seen. Kara’s
motion had been too unexpected and too quick.

By
the clock on the wall five minutes passed before the door opened and
a female officer led Susan into the room.

The
two women greeted each other with hugs and tears while Gybe watched.
This was their first meeting since Susan’s call to Kara after
the arrest. Kara introduced Gybe and told Susan about his
background.

After
a minimum of pleasantries, Gybe began the interrogation.

“
Susan,
Kara has hired me to help get you out of this fix. As I’ve
explained to her, I’m not a private investigator nor do I have
a license to be one. Hell, for that matter, I don’t know if
you even need a license in Hawai‘i. Anyway, my official
capacity is writer. I’m writing a story of what happened to
the victims.”

Susan,
skeptical, looked at Kara who shrugged.

“
There
are two obvious ways to proceed. First, we can establish an alibi
for you on the night of the murder. Or, the much more difficult
method is to find out who committed the murders. Let’s hope
you have an alibi.”

Gybe
waited, hoping Susan would take the cue. In the long silence he
wondered if it was too late to walk away. Remember, there might be a
paying story here. “So Susan, tell me what you do and where
you were that night?”