Page 57 of Deadly Sacrifice

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LEI

At home in Haiku,Lei and Stevens sat outside on the porch in rattan chairs. Dinner was over, and Lei had a moment to hash over the case with Stevens while Wayne and Ellen read stories to the kids in the living room.

“Helen Steinbrenner and I had an interesting conversation, but I don’t know if it did anything but muddy the waters,” Lei said. “We’re gathering more on the second tier Kuleana development team. There are a couple of creeps coming to light.”

“Who?” Stevens asked.

“A trumped-up cultural expert named Roger Nettle, and a handsy tech guy named Bill Wilkinson. I talked this over with Pono on the phone while I was driving back from the west side. We need to have a chat with each of them. Nettle is the priority because of the Hawaiiana expert angle.”

“The plot thickens.” Stevens stretched out his long, jeans-clad legs and took a sip of O’Doul’s near beer as he gazed at the monkeypod tree with its picnic table. “So far there’s only one of the inner circle left alive and you’ve got him under wraps, right?”

“Yep. Noble is cooling his heels in county lockup for seventy-two hours. For his own safety as much as anything.” Lei sipped a Longboard Island Lager. “He’s been unhelpful. Never told us about those other players.”

“What did you find out on your foray to the other side of the island?”

Lei’s gaze wandered to the warm yellow lights shining from the windows of her grandfather Soga’s tiny home across the lush yard. Seeing that illumination, knowing he was nearby and safe, a part of her family and her life, gave her a good feeling. “Helen was forthcoming about a few intrigues that were going on. Said she suspected Nettle of ‘having something’ on David or another team member; she thought the man was incompetent. Meanwhile, her late lamented husband liked the occasional threesome, had regular ‘flings with other women,’ and may even had been having one of them with Cheryl Goodwin, the first victim.”

“Juicy, but . . . relevance?” Stevens quirked a brow at her. His crystal-blue eyes could still make her heart race.

“I’m getting to that.” Lei leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “Can’t rush a good buildup. Meanwhile, the tech guy Wilkinson had the hots for Helen until she gave him a slapdown. Seemed to think if the hubby was occupied, the wife might be willing to play. Yup, that’s about it.” She took another sip of beer. “How did your afternoon go?”

“I haven’t got anywhere with gathering info on the Warriors of Kamehameha from the sovereignty groups. They all claim ignorance but want to know who this new outfit is, and how the case and the ‘manifesto’ are going to impact them. The ‘wireless’ is buzzing, but not in a useful way.”

“That’s what Pono said. He’s frustrated. He knows a lot of the people involved in those groups. Good, sincere people, working for something they believe in. He’s angry about the murders, thinks it casts Hawaiian activists in a bad light, and may actually set back the movement.”

“Is Pono a sovereignty supporter?” Stevens asked. “He’s knowledgeable enough to be.”

“Not outwardly, but like a lot of native Hawaiians, I think he’d like to see the United States recognize Hawaiians more and acknowledge the wrong that was done with something more than lip service. The movement is at least in part about pride, recognition, and self-determination. Maybe a chance to build something for future generations. That said, Pono would never agree that breaking the law was the way to achieve anything.”

“Dignity and respect are important, for sure.” Stevens ran a hand through his rumpled dark hair. “Meanwhile, the phone at the station is ringing off the hook. Everyone wants to know when we’re going to solve these murders. That website really flamed things up.”

“Has OHA said anything?”

“I talked to the main office before I headed home. They’re going into freak-out mode with no answers on the horizon. Did you hear back from Marcella or Sophie?” he asked, mentioning Lei’s friends at the FBI on Oahu.

“I talked to Marcella briefly on the drive home,” Lei said. “The FBI have nothing on ‘Mu’, and don’t have any record of the Warriors of Kamehameha. They’re stopping short of calling it domestic terrorism, but I worry that’s what they’re thinking. If so, they’ll have some big guns from Washington, D.C. on their way over to consult right now.”

“No offense to your friends, but the FBI could leave a really large and insensitive footprint on a small island like this. They don’t know any of the local players at all. But maybe their computer techs could turn up something useful.”

“Better than Katie? I doubt it. Did you talk to Katie before you left, by any chance? I sent her home a little early. She worked hard today.”

“Crap. I meant to, but I forgot. Maybe you should call her,” Stevens said.

“I will. She was supposed to go home, but who knows. She’s a loose cannon.” Lei glanced at her husband. “But that girl’s got good instincts.”

“About what?”

“Katie was the one who dug up the information on those two contractors, the tech and the environmental guy, Nettle. Found them from photos in the newspaper.”

“Speaking of photos.” Stevens leaned forward, brow furrowed. “The guy in the pictures from the murder sites was tall with dark skin and long black hair. I’m halfway convinced that it’s a local, some pissed-offkanakawho just snapped over all the cultural violations the development group represented.”

“‘Just snapped’?” Lei shook her head. “And kidnapped three victims, held them for hours, dosed them with drugs, snuck them into restricted places, killed them with no witnesses, videotaped them, and then set up a clever, advanced website that has since disappeared?” Lei set her empty bottle down on the side table between their chairs. “Those murders were carefully planned and executed. The killer was careful. Meticulous, even. Nothing impulsive about it.”

“When you put it that way . . . it sounds like too much for one person to have done alone.” Stevens tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling. Ellen and Wayne had woven fairy lights into the rafters with the kids one afternoon, filling the darkness with a little magic. “We have to find these ‘Warriors of Kamehameha.’”

“We’ll find them.” Lei reached across to take her husband’s hand. She ran her thumb across the bones of his knuckles, soothed by the feeling of his strength. Here, in this house, on this property, the people that mattered most were gathered and close; she could almost shut out the darkness. But not quite. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know if we’ll catch them soon enough. They might not be done killing.”

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