He was smiling when the video faded to black.
Gina spoke now, indignant. “Horst, this is in violation of his contract, yes?”
“Actually, Henri's contract only says he cannot take work that would prevent him from fulfilling his obligations to us.”
“So. He is not technically in violation. He is just freelancing.”
Jan's voice came over the speakers. “Yes. You see how Henri looks for ways to give us the finger? This is unacceptable.”
Raphael broke in. “Okay, he is difficult, but let's admit, Henri has his genius. We should work with him. Give him a new contract.”
“That says what, for example?”
“Henri has been making short films for us like the one we just saw. I suggest we have him make? a documentary.”
Jan jumped in, excited. “Very good, Rafi. Wall-to-wall with Henri. A year in the life, ja? Salary and bonuses commensurate with the quality of the action.”
“Exactly. And he's exclusive to us,” said Raphael. “He starts now, on location with the parents of the swimsuit girl.”
The Alliance discussed terms, and they put some teeth into the contract, penalties for failure to perform. That phrase provided a light moment, and then, after they had voted, Horst made the call to Hawaii.
Chapter 26
The Mcdanielses and I were still in the Typhoon Bar as dusk dropped over the island. For the past hour, Barbara had sweated me like a pro. When she was satisfied that I was an okay guy, she brought me into her family's lives with her passion and a natural gift for storytelling that I wouldn't have expected from a high school math and science teacher.
Levon could barely string two sentences together. He wasn't inarticulate. He just wasn't with us. I read him as choked up with fear and too anxious about his daughter to concentrate. But he expressed himself vividly with his body language, tightening his fists, turning away when tears welled up, frequently taking off his glasses and pressing his palms over his eyes.
I'd asked Barbara, “How did you learn that Kim was missing?”
At that, Levon's cell phone rang. He looked at the faceplate and walked away toward the elevator.
I heard him say, “Lieutenant Jackson? Not tonight? Why not?” After a pause, he said, “Okay. Eight a.m.”
“Sounds like we have a date with the police in the morning. Come with us,” Barbara said. She took my phone number, patted my hand. And then, she kissed my cheek.
I said good night to Barbara, then ordered another club soda, no lime, no ice. I sat in a comfortable chair overlooking the hundred-million-dollar view, and in the next fifteen minutes the atmosphere at the Typhoon Bar picked up considerably.
Handsome people in fresh suntans and translucent clothing in snow-cone colors dropped into chairs at the railing while singles took the high-backed stools at the long bar. Laughter rose and fell like the warm breeze that gusted through the wide-open space, riffling hairlines and skirt hems as it passed.
The piano player uncovered the Steinway, then turned sideways on the piano seat and broke into an old Peter Allen standard, delighting the crowd as he sang “I Go to Rio.”
I noted the security cameras over the bar, dropped several bills on the table, and walked down the stairs and past the pool, lit now so that it looked like aqua-colored glass.
I continued past the cabanas, taking a walk that Kim might have taken two nights ago.
The beach was nearly empty of people, the sky still light enough to see the shoreline that ringed the whole of Maui like a halo around an eclipse of the moon.
I pictured walking behind Kim on Friday night. Her head might have been down, hair whipping around her face, the strong surf obliterating all other sound.
A man could have come up behind her with a rock, or a gun, or a simple choke hold.
I walked on the hard-packed sand, passing hotels on my right, empty chaises and cockeyed umbrellas as far as I could see.
After a quarter mile, I turned off the beach, walked up a path that skirted the Four Seasons, another five-star hotel where eight hundred bucks a night might buy a room with a view of the parking lot.
I continued on through the hotel's dazzling marble lobby and out to the street. Fifteen minutes later I was back sitting in my rented Chevy, parked in the leafy shadows surrounding the Wailea Princess, listening to the rush of waterfalls.
If I'd been a killer, I could've dumped my victim into the surf or slung her over my shoulder and carried her out to my car. I could've left the scene without anyone noticing.
Easy breezy.
Chapter 27
I started my engine and followed the moon to Stella Blues, a cheerful café in Kihei. It has high, peaked ceilings and a wraparound bar, now buzzing with a weekend crowd of locals and cruise ship tourists enjoying their first night in port. I ordered a Jack Daniel's and mahimahi from the bar, took my drink outside to a table for two on the patio.
As the votive candle guttered in its glass, I called Amanda.
Amanda Diaz and I had been together for almost two years. She's five years younger than me, a pastry chef and a self-described biker chick, which means she takes her antique Harley for a run on the Pacific Coast Highway some weekends to blow off the steam she can't vent in the kitchen. Mandy is not only smart and gorgeous, but when I look at her, all those rock-and-roll songs about booming hearts and loving her till the day I die make total sense.
Right then I was aching to hear my sweetie's voice, and she didn't disappoint, answering the phone on the third ring. After some verbal high fives, and at my request, she told me about her day at Intermezzo.
“It was Groundhog Day, Benjy. Rémy fired Rocco, again,” Amanda said, going into a French accent now. 'What I have to say to you to make you think like chef? This confit. It looks like pigeon poop.' He put about twelve ooohs in poop.”
She laughed, said, “Hired him back ten minutes later. As usual. And then I scorched the crcme brulée. 'Merde, Ahmandah, mon Dieu. You are making me craaaaa-zy.' ” She laughed again. “And you, Benjy? Are you getting your story?”
“I met with the missing girl's folks. They're talking to me.”
“Oh, boy. How grim was that?”
I caught Mandy up on the interview with Barbara, told her how much I liked the McDanielses and that they had two other kids, both boys adopted from Russian orphanages.
“Their oldest son was almost catatonic from neglect when the police in Saint Petersburg found him. The younger boy has fetal alcohol syndrome. Kim decided to become a pediatrician because of her brothers.”
“Ben, honey?”
“ Uh-huh. Am I breaking up?”
“No, I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
“Totally.”
“Then listen. Be careful, will you?”
I felt a slight burr of irritation. Amanda was uncommonly intuitive, but I was in no danger.
“Careful of what?”
“Remember when you left your briefcase with all of your notes on the Donato story in a diner?”
“You're going to bring up the bus again, aren't you?”
“Since you mention it.”
“I was under your spell, goofball. I was looking at you when I stepped off the curb. If you were here now, it could happen again -”
“What I'm saying is, you sound the same way now as you did then.”
“I do, huh?”
“Yeah, you kinda do. So watch out, okay? Pay attention. Look both ways.”
Ten feet away, a couple clinked glasses, held hands across a small table. Honeymooners, I thought.
“I miss you,” I said.
“I miss you, too. I'm keeping the bed warm for you, so come home soon.”
I sent a wireless kiss to my girl in L.A. and said good night.
Chapter 28
At seven fifteen Monday morning, Levon watched the driver pull the black sedan up to the entrance of the Wailea Princess. Levon got into the front passenger seat as Hawkins and Barb got into the back, and when all the doors had slammed shut, Levon told Marco to please take them to the police station in Kihei.