May There Be a Road (Ss) (2001) (16 page)

"It's all we have," Roberts said, "unless the bullet gives us something."

The figure was not over fifteen inches in height, and carved from that ancient ivory that comes down to China from the islands off Siberia. The image was that of Kuan-yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy, protector of shipwrecked sailors, and bringer of children to childless women. It lay upon the sand near Teo's outstretched fingers, its deep beige ivory only a shade lighter than the Hawaiian's skin.

Wind stirred the dry fronds of the palms, whispering in broken sentences. Somewhere down the coast a heavier sea broke among the rocks.

"What would he want with a Kuan-yin?" Roberts was puzzled. "And where did he get it?"

Gavagan got to his feet and brushed the sand from his hands. He was a tall man with a keen, thoughtful face.

"You answer that question," Gavagan said, "and you'll be very close to the man who killed him."

Roberts indicated the Kuan-yin. "What about that? Anything special?"

"The light isn't good," Gavagan said, "but my guess is you'll find nothing like it outside a museum." He studied the figure in the better light from Roberts's flash. "My guess is that it was made during the T'ang dynasty. See how the robe falls? And the pose of the body? It is a superb piece."

Roberts looked up at him. "I figured it was something special, and that's why I called you. You would know if anybody would."

"Anytime..." He was thinking that Teo had called and left a message with his service just two days ago. Odd, not because they had spoken only rarely in recent years, but because Teo had never liked using the telephone.

He was a man at home with the sea and the winds and not comfortable or trusting around modern conveniences.

Gavagan had intended to stop by and see the old man the night before but had gone to a luau up in Nanakuli instead.

Gavagan indicated the statue. "After you've checked that for prints, I'd like another look at it.

You may have stumbled into something very big here."

"Like what?" Roberts pushed him. "Teo was just an old fisherman. We both knew him.

Tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't know, but it's a rare piece, whatever it's doing here.." no doubt it's why he was killed."

A car from the police lab had drawn up on the highway sg the beach, and Tom Gavagan walked back to his convertible. In the eastern sky the clouds were blushing with a faint rose, and Gavagan sat still in his car, watching the color change, thinking. To most things there was a semblance of order, but here everything was out of context. What would an old fisherman like Teo be doing in the middle of the night on a lonely beach far from his home? Andwitha museum quality ivory statue, of all things?

Roberts had said little, for he was not a talkative man when working on a case, but Gavagan had noticed there was scarcely any blood upon the sand.

The bullet wound must have occurred somewhere else, and Teo had evidently staggered out upon the beach and died.

If so, why had he gone to that beach? And why would anyone shoot an old fisherman who was without enemies?

The only answer to that must be that Teo had something somebody wanted.

The Kuan-yin?

It was a valuable piece, a very valuable piece, but not many people would be in a position to know that. Kuan-yin figures, inexpensive ones, could be picked up in almost any curio store, and only an expert or someone with a rare appreciation for art would know this was something special.

It was a starting point, at least, for no one in the islands owned such a piece or Tom Gavagan would have known of it. Most of the islanders knew of his interest in art, and from time to time he had been asked to view almost every collection in Hawaii, sometimes to evaluate a piece for the owner, sometimes merely to share the pleasure in something beautiful.

Tom Gavagan was a curious man. He also was more than casually interested. His first voyage on deep water had been in old Teo's ancient schooner, the Manoa, and much of his own knowledge of the sea had been acquired from Teo aboard that vessel.

Gavagan had grown up with Teo's three sons, one lost at Pearl Harbor, a second at Iwo Jima. Kamaki was the only one left, the last of his family now, for Kamaki had no children.

The sun was a blast of flame on the horizon when Gavagan reached the deck of the Manoa. For a minute or two he stood very still, looking around.

There was no sound but the lazy lap of water against the hull, yet he felt uncomfortable, and somehow wary.

Teo had lived on his boat, and for years had moored it at this abandoned pier down the shore from the village. Gavagan stood listening to a car go by on the highway a quarter of a mile away, and then he walked forward, his footsteps echoing on the deck.

Suddenly, he paused. On the deck at his feet lay some splinters of wood.

He had seen such wood before. It was aged and had a faint greenish tinge. Squatting on his heels, he felt of the fragments. They still seemed faintly damp. These might be slivers from the pilings of the old pier, although there was no reason for their presence here.

Or they might be wood brought up from the bottom of the sea. They looked as wood does when it has been immersed in salt water for a long time.

He dropped the fragments and walked to the companionway. Hesitating there, he looked down into the darkness below, and then once more he looked around.

There was no one in sight. At the village a half mile away, there seemed to be some movement, and across the deep water a fishing boat was putt-putting out to sea. The mooring lines creaked lonesomely, and Gavagan put a foot down the ladder, then descended sideways because of the narrowness.

The small cabin was empty, but nothing seemed unusual unless it was a pulled-out drawer. He started to go on into the cabin, then stopped.

There were indications here that the Manoa had recently been out to sea. There were coiled ropes against the wall, not a place that Teo would store such things but, perhaps, a place he might put them while reorganizing his gear. Sacks of food lay in the galley, opened; rice, salt, both partly used.

In the forward locker Teo's ancient copper helmet and diving dress lay crumpled, still wet where the rubberized fabric had folded. Kamaki was not around and there seemed no indication of why Teo had placed the call.

Somewhere within the schooner or against the outside hull, there was a faint bump. His scalp prickled.

Turning swiftly to climb the ladder, he glimpsed something on the deck to the left of and slightly behind the ladder. He picked it up, startled and unbelieving. It was a bronze wine vessel in the form of an owl or a parrot, and covered with the patina of time. He had seen one like it in the Victoria and Albert Museum; behind it there was another one. It was .. . the hatch darkened and when he looked up, Also Ribera was standing up there, looking down.

"Hello, Gavagan. Looking for something?"

There had never been anything but active dislike between them. Ribera had been a private detective in San Francisco and Honolulu until he lost his license first in one place, then the other. He was an unsavory character, and it was rumored that he was a dangerous man. Tom Gavagan did not doubt it for a minute.

"I was looking for Kamaki."

"Kamaki?"

"Old Teo's son. I came to tell him about his father."

Also Ribera's face was only mildly curious. "Something wrong?"

"He's dead.." murdered."

"Tough." Ribera glanced around. "Son? I didn't know he had a son. Friend of mine over from the coast wanted to charter a schooner for some deep-sea fishing."

"Teo doesn't charter.." didn't charter, I mean."

Ribera shrugged. "My friend wanted a Hawaiian. You know how these mainlanders are."

Gavagan thought swiftly. Not for a minute did he believe Ribera's story. There were too many dressed-up charter boats around Honolulu, boats that would appeal to a tourist much more than this battered schooner of Teo's.

Gavagan went up the ladder, and Ribera reluctantly stepped aside, glancing down the ladder as he did so. It was obvious to Gavagan that Ribera very much wanted to get below and look around.

"Where were you last night?" Gavagan asked.

Ribera's features chilled, and he measured Gavagan with cold, hard little eyes. "Are you ki. In'?

What's it to you?"

"Teo was a friend of mine and Art Roberts grew up with Teo's boys, like I did."

"What's that got to do with me? If it makes any difference," he added, "I was with a doll last night."

Taking a cigarette from a pack, Ribera put it between his lips, then struck a match. He was stalling, not wanting to leave.

Gavagan leaned back against the deck house.

"Hope Kamaki gets back soon. I've got to be back at the Royal Hawaiian to meet a guy in a couple of hours."

"I think I'll go below and have a look around."

Also Ribera threw his cigarette over the side.

"No."

"What?" Ribera turned on him, angrily.

"Who's telling who around here?"

"I'm telling you." Gavagan studied the man coolly. "The police want nothing disturbed .. . especially'hhe glanced over--"the bronze owl."

Also Ribera stiffened sharply, then slowly let his muscles relax, but Gavagan knew he had touched a nerve. "Who's interested in owls? I don't get it."

"A lot of people are going to be interested,"

Gavagan explained, "especially when a man who has fished all his life suddenly turns up with a bronze owl of the Chou dynasty which any museum would cheerfully pay thousands of dollars for."

Also Ribera spread his legs slightly and lit another cigarette. He showed no inclination to leave, and Gavagan began to grasp the idea that somehow Ribera intended to get below before he left the schooner, even if it meant trouble. There was something here he wished to cover up, to obtain, or to find out.

"That owl," Gavagan said, "is a particularly fine specimen of Chinese bronze. I'd like to own it myself."

"You're welcome to it, whatever it is. I'll not say anything."

"Somewhere," Gavagan suggested, "Teo came upon several valuable pieces of art. There's nothing like any of this in the islands, and pieces like this can't very well be stolen. Or if they were stolen the thief would get nowhere near the real value from them.." they're known pieces."

Ribera's hard eyes fastened on Gavagan.

"I expect," he said slowly, "from what you say there aren't many people in the islands who would know these pieces for what they are. Am I right?"

"Maybe two.." there might be a half dozen, but I doubt it."

"You're wasting time." Gavagan stood up. "The Manoa isn't for charter."

Ribera turned angrily and started for the gangway, but at the rail he paused. "Suppose I decided to go below anyway?"

"I'd stop you." Gavagan was smiling. "What else?"

Ribera threw his cigarette into the water. "All right," he said, more mildly, "another time, another place."

The big man walked to his car, and when he started off, the wheels dug into the gravel, scattering it behind him like a volley.

He got back to the gallery around five. It was a dim, tunnel-like shop that displayed African and Oceanic art by appointment only. A long canoe with outriggers hung from the ceiling, primitive drums, carved life-sized human forms, and cases of stone idols lined the walls. He snapped on the light over his desk and called his service.

He had waited several hours for Kamaki to show up, but there was no sign of him. The bronze owl he had given a quick once-over and it was as fine a piece as the Kuan-yin. He hesitated to call Roberts about this new find and the fact that Ribera had been by until he had spoken with Kamaki... something was up and he had no intention of getting his old friend in trouble. Finally, he'd walked down to the village and asked a couple of people to tell Kamaki to call if they saw him. He also asked them to keep an eye on the boat, suggesting that they might call the police if they saw anyone lurking about.

There were two messages: Art Roberts wanting to know if he'd had any further thoughts and a woman comnamed Laurie Haven. She'd been by the shop, got the phone number off the door, and would be waiting until six at a place down the street called Ryan's.

The girl at the table was no one he had ever known, and not one he would have forgotten. She was beautiful, and she dressed with a quiet smartness that spoke of both breeding and wealth. He walked to her table and seated himself. "I'm Tom Gavagan," he said.

Her eyes, in this light at least, were dark blue, and her hair was brown. "I am Laurie Haven.

I wanted to know if you had any information regarding the Madox collection."

"Those were some fabulous pieces." He was surprised and immediately cautious. Madox had once had a superb collection of Chinese art. Once, however, was the operative word. Both the man and his artifacts had disappeared. "A man who would take such a collection to sea was a fool," Gavagan said.

"Not at all." Laurie's eyes measured him coolly. "My uncle was an eccentric man, but he was also a good sailor."