“What time is your morning news tomorrow?”
“We go live at 5:30.”
“Sunrise is about six,” I said. “Have Ralph and a camera crew meet me at Pipeline at 6:30, and I’ll give him an interview there. Scene of the crime and all.”
“You’re the best, Kimo.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you say that to Haoa too. If there’s any problem, all communications go through you, right?”
“Right.” He hung up, and I figured I had better call my parents before they called me. My mother was worried, of course, but pleased that I had spoken to Lui.
“Of course, he could have called me, or you, before he put my face on TV,” I said. That was a sore spot for Lui; in his zeal to put on the best news show he could, he had neglected to call and tell either me, or our parents, that his TV station was outing me after I had been suspended from the force on my last case.
“Your brother always has to be the best,” my mother said. “He was born first, and he has been struggling to stay first ever since.”
“And I was born third, so that means I always have to stay in third place?”
“You know what I mean. Kimo, your father and I have been talking. We think you should come home for a while, until everything settles down. You need your family around you at a time like this.”
How could I tell my mother I couldn’t come home until I had found out who killed Brad Jacobson and the four surfers, especially when she thought I was no longer a policeman? How could I keep lying to her and my father? The pressures just kept building on me, without any relief in sight. I ran a hand through my hair and thought about what I could say.
“I can’t run away and hide,” I said finally. “And that’s how it would look if I came home now. I have to face whatever problems come up. And I’m going to do that by talking to Lui’s reporter tomorrow morning.”
“Al, you talk to him,” I heard my mother say. “He’s going back on TV.”
My father got on the phone. “Don’t you worry about Lui,” he said. “You don’t have to keep on talking on TV just because your brother asks you to.”
“I already have a public profile, Dad, you know that. If I don’t take control of it, set my own interviews and my own agendas, the media will twist things around again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, it’s that I need to manage the way the media treat me, as much as I can.”
“What can we do to help you?”
“You just have to go on believing in me,” I said, knowing as I said it that I was really asking them to believe a lie. “Just knowing that you’re there and that you love me really helps.”
My mother got back on the phone. “It was nice to see you yesterday,” she said. “All the way home, all the kids wanted to talk about was how good you surf. They all want to be like you.”
“Let’s hope they can all stay out of the headlines. I love you guys. I’ll see you soon, all right?”
My parents told me that they loved me, too, and I hung up. I knew that they would stand by me, no matter what-but when they learned that I had been lying to them, they would not be happy. That, I knew, was a problem I would have to face eventually.
Moving Up
I resumed my exploration of the house. I was in a living room that was bigger than my apartment back on Waikiki, with a flat-panel TV with VCR and DVD player. I could finally watch the video tapes Lui had brought me of Mexpipe.
The living room flowed into an expensively appointed kitchen, with European appliances and stone countertops. A rack of gleaming copper pans that I was sure had never been used hung over an island in the middle of the room.
There were a few staples in the cabinets, but the refrigerator was empty. At least I’d have a chance to cook, I thought, happy to get away from the lonely restaurant meals I’d been eating since coming to the North Shore. There was a powder room on that level, too, and a curving staircase led up to the second floor.
Up there, I found two small bedrooms and a nice bathroom, as well as a large master suite, with a king-sized bed and a bathroom with a glassed-in shower stall and a Roman tub. A balcony looked out to the dark ocean.
I opened the sliding door and stepped out. A necklace of streetlamps outlined the community’s single, curving street. I looked up and down the street, and saw lights in only a couple of the dozen houses, and only a few parked cars. Cane Landing felt like a protective cocoon, one I had spun around me to keep away horny ghosts from my past, inquisitive reporters, crazed murderers and everybody else who wanted a piece of me.
My stomach grumbled and I realized I had hardly eaten all day. I made a quick trip down to Fujioka’s for chicken breasts, vegetables and rice, and a big chocolate cake for dessert. I figured I deserved that much.
Back at Cane Landing, I turned on the TV, which had a satellite linkup, and used the Food Channel for background noise while I cooked. One program segued into the next as I ate, then slumped onto the couch. I was startled a little after ten when the house phone rang. I picked it up gingerly, not knowing who could be calling.
“Kimo, it’s Dario. I’m at the front gate. Let me in.”
I had no idea what to do. But I’m a detective, right? I can figure things out. I started randomly pressing buttons until I hit nine and heard a buzzing sound. When it ended I hung up and went out to the driveway.
Dario had packed my suitcase, which sat on his back seat, and my boards were lashed to his roof rack. He climbed up to untie them, then handed them down to me. “Wish I could stay,” he said, “but I’ve got a situation at home.”
He jumped down, gave me a quick and unexpected kiss on the lips, and then he was backing down the driveway, leaving me on the lawn surrounded by my belongings. I shook my head and started ferrying stuff inside.
Before I went to sleep, I opened up my laptop, plugged into the phone jack in the bedroom, and dialed up my internet service provider. Hibiscus House hadn’t bothered to install phone jacks in the guest rooms, so I’d had to stop by The Next Wave every time I wanted to get my email. It would be nice to be able to sit up in bed instead.
I fired off an email to Lieutenant Sampson letting him know I’d be on TV the next morning. I told him I hoped that once the media saw there was no story about Brad and me, that it would free me up to continue my investigation without hindrance. There was a message from Terri, asking me if I’d check on her uncle, Bishop Clark. Her father seemed to think that Bishop was acting stranger than usual.
I’d met Bishop once, years before, at a party at Terri’s. He was her father’s older brother, and his name came from a maternal connection to the Hawaiian royal family rather than any religious affiliation. I wrote back to Terri and told her I’d check him out as soon as I could.
Harry had also sent me a message, telling me he was backed up between his course at UH, Arleen and Brandon, and some issues that had come up with one of his patents. He promised to research the bank accounts of the victims, and the mysterious Harry Pincus, as soon as he could.
Emails finished, I turned to the issue of Ralph Kim. I knew from watching KVOL occasionally that Kim was a bulldog when it came to getting his stories, and specialized in ambushing subjects. I hadn’t been worried when he talked to me on the beach, because I had been able to distract him with the idea of another series he could star in. But it was likely that Kim might have some embarrassing questions for me the next morning, and I wanted to be prepared.
I knew my brother wouldn’t let me come off as a fool, but I thought if Ralph asked me an embarrassing question and I fumbled around for a while, Lui might just let that on the air, in the name of engaging television. I needed some fumble insurance, and I thought I remembered something about Ralph that would help.