Even before the sculpting was finished, before all the prelim tests were completed, something instinctual told her that the beheaded corpse with the fire-red hair and the dark eyes that shone like two sides of an impenetrable abyss below her light was the killer they had sought. Below his nails flesh and blood fragments that matched those of his last victim, the little woman from the liquor store, were still embedded.
She didn't believe that even Chief Kowona and Ben Awai, even if they could get help from Dr. Lau, could have planted such incriminating evidence on a decoy. She didn't believe this was a case of tampering.
As to the total fabrication that Lopaka had died of self-inflicted wounds as a result of his suicide at the Spout, choosing that end over Pany's capturing him alive, no one questioned it. Nor would they should she choose to perpetuate the story. In fact. Dr. Lau made it painfully obvious that as far as he was concerned, no one would ever know of any inconsistencies in the autopsy. And Dr. Smits, a bone specialist and not a forensics expert, saw no reason to question Jessica's clinical diagnosis.
Jessica felt that the lie was worth the peace it preserved and Jim Parry agreed. And now she was exhausted, and she wanted a hot shower and a bed.
Downstairs, free of her lab coat and responsibilities toward Parry and his office, free of the dreaded case that had removed her both bodily and mentally from the paradise of her surroundings, the case which had haunted her nights now for so long, she breathed in the native air as it whipped and wended its way by her, the continuing trade winds. Investigating her, the mischievous wind next moved out to sea forever. She had left extensive notes for Parry, finishing with a reminder that the body be removed now for the promised burial at sea.
There Lopaka's evil, feverish soul could wander in limbo for longer than any forever that existed anywhere else on Earth.
She hailed a cab, feeling quite alone tonight. Jim had not gotten back to her. She didn't know his whereabouts, and she had to pack for D.C. in the morning.
The taxi that pulled up to the curb was an island Yellow Cab and someone was in the backseat. She looked through the window to find Joe Kaniola waving for her to climb inside, a rare smile on his face.
Opening the door, she said, “I'm too exhausted for another kidnapping, Mr. Kaniola.”
He laughed lightly, smiled and pushed the door open. “I only offer you a ride to the Rainbow Tower. That is where you're going?”
“ Thank you.” She got in, and even the stiff seat felt good to her. “I'm very tired.”
“ Everyone wishes to thank you.”
“ Everyone?”
“ The Ohana.”
“ Ahh, the Family, the PKO.”
“ For your discreet handling of the case.”
“ Hmmmm, but you forget. It's not my case; it's Jim Parry's case.”
“ I've already thanked Jim, but I must say, he did not accept my congratulations as gracefully as you.”
“ Nobody reads Miss Manners anymore, Kaniola. You ought to be grateful he didn't find some charge to bring you in on, say, aiding and abetting, conspiracy to-”
“ Chief Kowona had a right to administer his own justice to his own son. As a father and a Hawaiian, I respect that.”
“ Maybe… maybe…”
“ We both know what would have happened with Lopaka's case here if it had gone to court. Lawyers with an eye for sensationalism would have prosecuted while others with an equal eye would defend. Before it would have been over…”
He allowed his thoughts to trail off, but she could read them clearly enough: Two, maybe three years would've passed before Lopaka would be sentenced, if the madman hadn't found a way to kill himself.
Kaniola said knowingly, “He would have been analyzed and psychoanalyzed and proven and disproven and proven again to be insane. His civil rights would have been proven violated by the HPD, the FBI, perhaps you, Doctor. And the best we could hope for in the State of Hawaii is that his case would end in a sentence of life imprisonment in a federal facility for the criminally insane, like your former Matisak case. I ask you, is that justice?”
“ I don't make the laws, Mr. Kaniola.”
“ No, no… you just carry them out… as you did in the Claw case in New York when you held your own execution?”
She winced at the memory, but her anger was conveyed clearly in the bite of her words. “That was a different case, different circumstances. It was him or me.”
“ Here it was him or Hawaii.”
They were at the Tower and she got out, waving a final good-bye to Kaniola, saying, “I hope you, your PKO friends and the white establishment will fare better in the future, Joe. I pray for it.”
“ Thank you. We will need all your prayers and more. The future is as uncertain as the past, and unfortunately, we are of a species that doesn't learn from our past, sad a;› it is true.”
11 P.M.. the Rainbow Tower. Honolulu
Jessica showered and slipped into a robe, lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep, her mind free of everything that had been troubling her since her first look at Linda Kahala's limb fished from the Blow Hole. The peace descending over her felt as if it had an island origin, a uniquely Hawaiian stamp to it: balcony window in the sky, open to the ocean sounds, trade winds playing soft paws over her where she slept, feelings in tune with the sway of palms and tides.
And then a knock at the door roused her.
“ Damn,” she muttered, pulling herself up. At the door she asked, “Who is it?”
“ Message, ma'am. Western Union.”
“ Slip it under the door.”
She watched the envelope creep into the room. What the hell's this, she wondered, word from Zanek? Maybe the long-awaited and too late apology from Alan Rychman? “Thank you, got it,” she said through the door.
But she let it lay where it was and started back for bed when the phone rang.
“ Christ,” she sleepily muttered, lifting the receiver.
“ Jess? It's me. Jim.” Where the hell've you been she silently screamed, but only said, “Where… where are you?”
“ I'm in the lobby. Can I come up?”
“ It's late Jim, and I'm booked on an early morning flight.”
“ I'm sorry I disappeared on you, Jess, but-”
She unnecessarily shook her head, saying, “That's all right. Jim. We both knew this day was… inevitable.”
“ Honey, listen, I…”
“ I'm hanging up now, Jim, and I think we ought to make a clean break of it here and now. You and I are going to be too far apart to ever… really… to…”
“ Jess, the State Department's asked us to stand down on the Kowona case.”
“ What?”
“ They've asked us to comply with the wishes of the nationals. To let it alone.”
“ Well, that's good… actually…” Jessica imagined all that might have happened to Kaniola, Awai, Chief Kowona and his followers if the U.S. Government had actually decided to investigate. In fact, she wondered if she'd come out unscathed in such a review if anyone with the know-how were to go through her autopsy reports with a fine-toothed comb. Would they then prosecute Jim and her, according to the letter of the law? The thought rubbed her nerves raw. She feared more for Jim than herself, however, and somehow this made her breathe easier. Perhaps, if she had to, she could be something other than an M.E. and an FBI agent. The fact that she could let go if she wanted to offered its own reward and peace, and the fact that she cared more about Jim's jeopardy than her own was uplifting, hopeful and inspiring. Maybe she could love someone completely and without reservation as she had once before.
Just hearing his voice had put her at ease. “Come up. I'll put some coffee on, and you can tell me all about it.”
She sleep-walked about the room, lifted the Western Union envelope off the floor and found the coffee-makings in the kitchen area. She was halfway through the fixings when his knock came at the door. She went directly to him, and helplessly they fell into one another's arms.