Silversword (20 page)
Authors: Charles Knief
She paused on her way out, looking back at me and smiling in a maternal kind of way.
“If you get out of this, and I hope that you will, you had better think of old Wyatt the next time you return to the Bay Area. It apparently didn't agree with you any more than it agreed with him.”
T
hen hearing seemed pro forma. Tala had done her spadework prior to stepping into the courtroom. The prosecution was local and listless, as if this were a favor for a distant and demanding cousin. California was not directly represented. The hearing had been set so fast they could not react, and so they had reluctantly agreed to let a local prosecutor stand in for them.
hen hearing seemed pro forma. Tala had done her spadework prior to stepping into the courtroom. The prosecution was local and listless, as if this were a favor for a distant and demanding cousin. California was not directly represented. The hearing had been set so fast they could not react, and so they had reluctantly agreed to let a local prosecutor stand in for them.
The judge was a tiny blond haole woman with a no-nonsense attitude and the air of a harried schoolteacher. We were on the docket with two dozen other cases. When the bailiff announced “People of California versus John Caine,” we assembled before the judge. I felt no particular terror at this stage of the proceedings. The experience so far, aside from my time spent in durance vile, had merely made me feel like a kid sent to the principal's office.
Tala explained why bail was in the best interests of the State of Hawaii, the prosecution had no objection to my immediate release if I handed over my pistol permit and passport, and everyone rested, waiting for the judge's decision.
I could see the fine and invisible hand of Chawlie somewhere in the proceedings. But only the bailiff was Chinese. Everyone else was something else.
It apparently didn't matter.
The judge levied a fifty-thousand-dollar bail, which Tala
immediately put up in cash. She also handed over my pistol permit and my passport; the realization that Kimo had been in charge of the documents while I was in jail explained how Tala had so instantly acquired them. I was told that I could not leave Oahu without written permission from the court, but that was my only restriction. Before I could thank the judge we were hustled out of the courtroom, the bailiff called for another criminal to stand before the bar of justice, and I was a free man.
immediately put up in cash. She also handed over my pistol permit and my passport; the realization that Kimo had been in charge of the documents while I was in jail explained how Tala had so instantly acquired them. I was told that I could not leave Oahu without written permission from the court, but that was my only restriction. Before I could thank the judge we were hustled out of the courtroom, the bailiff called for another criminal to stand before the bar of justice, and I was a free man.
Relatively speaking.
Tala, Felix and I walked from the courthouse into a brilliant Honolulu afternoon. The day was so pretty and the sky so blue it seemed punishment enough just to have been inside.
“You still have a hearing on the extradition matter, and it won't be as easy as this one,” said Tala, as we strolled along a jacaranda-shaded boulevard. We ambled toward the Sunset Grill, one of those clean, dependable restaurants within walking distance of the courthouse that did a quiet but steady business on a weekday afternoon. “The judge had been inundated by requests for bail from members of the Honolulu Police Department. Your cooperation on another case was cited as the reason, along with your public spiritedness, and your sterling character.”
“So they lied.”
“So they lied,” she said. “Under oath. And you owe me for the suit.”
She fingered the lapels. “Nice, huh? Olive green looks good on you. And double-breasted is the only way to go for your build. Nice tie. Very classy.”
“How much?”
“I'll put it on the bill,” she said. “Along with these drinks.”
We took a table at the window of the bar, which overlooked Ala Moana and part of the industrial section of the port. We couldn't see the water from our table, and it was doubtful whether you could see a sunset from the restaurant, but it was comfortable inside, quiet and peaceful, and the drinks were generous.
Kimo joined us, another surprise. He smiled and clapped me on the back when he suddenly appeared at our table.
“Good to see you out of jail, man,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to turn their collective heads in our direction. He looked at Felix, who nodded curtly, clearly uncomfortable to be in proximity to the big cop.
The waitress came to our table and asked if we'd like something to drink, as if we had come to a bar for any other reason. She was a young blonde dressed in a starched white shirt and black skirt.
“I'd say a bottle,” said Tala, her eyes challenging me.
“A bottle it is.”
“Champagne.”
“Fine.”
“Dom?”
“Of course.”
“That will cost a fortune.”
“Chawlie can afford it,” said Kimo, deadpan, glancing at Felix.
Tala nodded, and the waitress went away.
“Chawlie make the bail?”
I pointed toward Tala. “My attorney had the money in her purse. You'll have to ask her.”
“Attorney-client privilege, Lieutenant,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“Don't matter much to me,” he said.
“So what about Donna?” I asked.
Kimo looked again at Felix. “Don't you have anywhere to go?”
“I'm fine,” said Felix.
“You don't get it. I don't want to talk in front of you.”
Kimo stared at the young man, who stared back, one immovable object in direct opposition to another. A challenge had been thrown down and answered.
“Felix,” I said gently. “Why don't you take a walk?”
He looked at me, nodded silently, got up and carefully pushed his chair back into the table. I watched him walk out of the restaurant. He didn't look back.
“That didn't hurt, did it?” asked Kimo.
“You don't like the kid, that's your business,” I said, “but you don't have to be rude to him.”
Kimo shrugged. “He's a cockroach, Caine. Just because he's
your
cockroach doesn't hold much water with me.”
your
cockroach doesn't hold much water with me.”
Tala leaned forward and put her hand on the big man's arm. “He's gone, Kimo. You were going to tell us about dropping the charges.”
He glanced at the door before answering. “The ME feels that the blows to the professor's head could not have been made by a slight, short person such as Donna. And they didn't get ceramic bits and pieces out of the wound as they originally thought. It seems they found broken bits and pieces of tiger shark teeth in the man's head.”
The waitress came and showed us the bottle. We smiled. She smiled back, hers a little strained, having heard the last part of Kimo's account.
She popped the cork and poured each of us half a glass.
“Tiger shark?” I asked after she had gone.
Kimo lifted his glass and toasted Tala. “To the best attorney on Oahu.”
I joined the toast and sipped the bubbly, the first alcohol in my system in some time, aware that it would quickly go to my head, and not caring even a little. I looked out the window to the bright Honolulu sunshine and felt vast gratitude for my Samoan champion and my Chinese patron.
“Hear, hear,” I said, with a little more feeling than I'd intended.
“Thanks, guys. It's not every day that the arresting officer attends a bail party.”
Kimo smiled.
“You were talking about shark teeth,” I said, already feeling the bubbly rush.
“You ever go to the Bishop Museum?”
“Of course.”
“You ever see that old war club that Cook brought back to London after his first voyage here? It had been a gift of Kamehameha
I. It had been kept in Buckingham Palace for a couple of hundred years. The Brits sent it back about fifteen years ago.”
I. It had been kept in Buckingham Palace for a couple of hundred years. The Brits sent it back about fifteen years ago.”
“I know the one.”
“Somebody stole it while you were floating around off the Big Island. Big flap around the museum. It's priceless, and they didn't have adequate security on it.”
“Who would want to steal it?”
He took a sip of the Dom and smiled. “Guy could get used to this,” he said. “
Who
stole it is a stupid question. I don't care who stole it. They got other detectives to investigate that. The point is that somebody
did
steal it. The question is, how does it relate to Professor Hayes's killing?”
Who
stole it is a stupid question. I don't care who stole it. They got other detectives to investigate that. The point is that somebody
did
steal it. The question is, how does it relate to Professor Hayes's killing?”
“And?”
“The professor died from blunt force trauma. Not easy to kill a big guy like thatâcrush his skullâif you're just a little girl.”
Tala sniffed, and Kimo smiled at her, showing the edges of his straight white teeth. It reminded me of a shark opening its mouth, ready to gather in an evening meal. “Young woman,” he said. “That make you happy?”
Tala said nothing.
“Hard thing to do for a small-framed young female-type human person,” he said finally.
“So how do the two crimes relate?”
“Tiger shark teeth. It's the bridge to both cases. Somebody wanted to have the mana that Kamehameha's war club would give them. Did you know that somebody stole his pipe from a museum in Kailua? Happened about the same time.”
“Somebody is collecting Kamehameha memorabilia.”
“Amassing his mana, is what's happening.”
“So how does this relate?”
“The ME said that he found koa wood splinters in the wounds on Hayes's head in addition to the teeth. Fresh wood. Don't ask me how he can tell the difference, but he says he can. Koa wood splinters and tiger shark teeth bits and pieces equals a newly minted war club.”
“So he was killed with a replica?”
“They wouldn't have wasted the original.”
“You're going to use this to get the DA to drop the charges against Donna?”
“Going to try. Going in Monday to lay out the new evidence. I think he will once he sees what I see.”
“Anything else?”
“Lots. Found other stuff in the professor's apartment that made it appear that he had been killed by someone else.”
“Like?”
“Forget it. You don't need to know.”
“He's my investigator on the case, Kimo,” said Tala quietly.
“Then he can get the information through discovery. If it ever gets that far.”
“So you think she can really get out of jail?”
“We'll see. I got another lead that I can't talk about. Not yet.” He took another sip of the champagne, closed his eyes as it fell down his throat and appeared to be enjoying the charge. But when he opened his eyes he didn't look happy. “Uncovered something that might be a direct line to the doer or doers.”
“Which you think will clear Donna?”
He nodded and sipped the champagne again, finishing off the glass. His silence seemed to be reluctant, as if he really wanted to talk to us about it, but couldn't. Something profoundly bothered him.
“Did that Internet stuff have anything to do with it?”
He nodded.
“So you think Silversword did it.”
He poured himself another glass, drank it down in one gulp, and looked at us. “Do you guys know the real meaning of mahalo?”
“What?”
“Mahalo. You know, every time you walk into a tourist shop and buy something, or if you go to a tourist bar or restaurant, or when you get off the airplane at the airport, the flight attendant always smiles and says, âmahalo.'”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“It means thank you.” It was a fun word to say. I liked the way my mouth moved when I said it.
He shook his head. I could tell that the fizzed alcohol had gone to his head a little, not easy to get a buzz on two glasses of champagne if you're close to three hundred pounds. But then, this was Dom. “That's what they want you to think,” Kimo said. “That's not it.
“When the first Europeans came here, when the whalers brought syphilis, gonorrhea, typhoid, tuberculosis and measles, diseases that killed us by the thousands, when they introduced the flea, the mosquito, the cockroach, and the Norwegian rat, the old Hawaiians told them, âmahalo.' When the missionaries came and forced us to wear heavy wool clothing to hide our nakedness and their shame, clothing that made us itch and sweat and gave us rashes, and when they introduced the kiave trees with their thorns to make us wear shoes, we smiled and said, âmahalo.'
“When the missionaries decided that we needed a written language so they could steal our island legally through written contracts, and they assembled the first Hawaiian dictionary, the word mahalo became the word for âthank you.' The missionary who wrote the dictionary wasn't a bad man and the people couldn't bring themselves to tell him what they had really been saying to him, so the definition passed into writing.
“When Dole and his band of haole businessmen assumed the kingdom for themselves we really started saying âmahalo.' Every chance we got, we'd say âmahalo.'
“And so now, when the waitress brings the check and says, âmahalo,' to you with a smile, she really isn't saying thank you. Even if she doesn't know it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now I'm curious.”
“Whenever a Hawaiian says mahalo to a haole, it doesn't mean thank you.”
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