“Is there an actual burning man, or is that just artistic license?”
“There is. The city is built in a semicircle, with a gigantic plaza in the middle. The plaza is where the large-scale art is, and at the very center they build a wooden figure on a base, outlined in neon. That’s the man. He gets a little bigger every year-I think they actually hit a hundred feet last time.”
“That’s a pretty big structure to put up and take down in a week.”
Greg chuckled. “Oh, it comes down pretty quick. They burn it on Saturday night.”
“Must make one hell of a mess.”
“It does-and it’s all gone within a week or two. Burning Man’s environmental record with the Bureau of Land Management is one of the best-volunteers stay on-site and go over every square inch afterward.”
“I’m sensing a less-than-objective perspective, here.”
Greg looked a little sheepish. “Sorry. I’ve never been, but I have a friend who goes every year and she’s pretty evangelical about the place-especially when people seem to focus on nothing but the nudity and the drugs.”
“My mistake. Now, let’s focus on our vic-our dead, drug-using vic.”
“Right. Well, I think it’s pretty obvious he was a Burner. He probably took those pictures himself, though they might have been gifted to him.”
“Gifted. You mean given?”
“Sorry. That’s Burner-speak. There’s no commerce allowed at the festival beyond a centr al café that sells coffee and a place to get ice. Everything works on a gift economy-people compete to see who can give away better stuff. Booze, art, food, services-whatever.”
“Like a potlatch,” said Catherine. “Native American tribes in the Northwest practice it. Whoever gives the most impressive gift attains the highest status.”
“Pretty much. Done on a city-wide scale for a week, it’s pretty amazing. You’d think there would be more people taking out than putting in, trying to take advantage of the system, but that’s generally not what happens.” Greg paused. “A good way to think of it is a bunch of people playing ‘city’ for a week. All the bars, the restaurants, the hair salons-don’t ask-everybody’s trying to have fun instead of turn a buck. After Vegas, it’s… refreshing.”
“Maybe so, but our vic still had to live in the real world the rest of the year. And he’d recently come into a lot of money.”
Greg nodded. “And was spending some of it, at least, on drugs. There is a definite party element to the festival-drugs are pretty common, though it’s mostly softer stuff. Could be that one of his Burner friends is also his dealer.”
“So how do we investigate people from a city that only exists for a week a year?”
“Vegas has its own Burner community. I’ll show Kana mu’s picture around, see what I can find out.”
“All right. Kanamu doesn’t have a record in Nevada, but he may have one in Hawaii. I’m going to follow that up.”
In the computer lab, Archie Johnson looked up from his workstation as Catherine walked in. “Catherine, great timing. I just cracked that laptop you gave me.”
“Yeah? Find anything interesting?”
“Not as much as you might think. The usual gack-some games, music, downloaded movies. The oddest thing was probably all the files on vul-canology.”
“You’re talking about the study of volcanoes and not Mr. Spock, right?”
Archie grinned. “This guy had a serious jones for the subject. Not just the geological stuff, but the mythological, too. All kinds of Hawaiian folklore, especially about Pele-and no, I don’t mean the soccer player. She’s the Hawaiian volcano goddess.”
“Let’s skip the fairy tales, Archie. How about an address book?”
He handed her a flash drive. “Figured you’d ask. Dumped everything that looked interesting in there.”
“Thanks.” Catharine hesitated. “So, you read some of those files on the volcano goddess?”
“I skimmed them, yeah. Pretty interesting, actually.”
“Anything in there a bout… virgin sacrifices?”
Archie studied her for a second before answering. “Not that I can recall. Why?”
Catherine shook her head. “Never mind. I should know better than to take everything Greg says seriously…”
Back at her own desk, Catherine checked through the data on the flash drive. Many of the names in the contacts list were just e-mail addys, but a few had brick-and-mortar addresses or phone numbers. She cross-referenced them with the information the Hawaiian PD had sent her, coming up with two names that matched both known associates and Kanamu’s contact list: Lester Akiliano and Jill Leilani. Both had addresses in Vegas, and Akiliano had been arrested for possession of narcotics only two weeks ago, though he’d made bail and was out awaiting trial.
She made the necessary arrangements to see him, then found herself looking over the files on Hawaiian mythology. Archie was right; it was interesting.
The goddess Pele didn’t seem to be interested in virgins. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to seduce any young chief or god around. Most of her lovers met an unhappy end, though, one eerily reminiscent of Kanamu’s fate; they were sealed inside the pillars of hardened lava that sprouted on a volcano’s slopes. Hawaiian women used to tease their hair until it stood out, redden their eyes, then extort goods or services from fellow villagers by claiming to be Pele’s kahu, or living incarnation. Anyone who didn’t comply was threatened with fiery retribution.
“One hot-tempered mama,” Catherine murmured.
Unlike that of many mythological figures, Pele’s influence had survived to the present day; drivers on the islands told stories of picking up an old woman in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, all dressed in white and accompanied by a small dog, both of whom vanished from the back seat. Catherine had heard that particular tale before, though she knew it as the Vanishing Hitchhiker-an urban legend almost as old as that of the escaped lunatic with a hook for a hand.
Interesting angle with the little dog, though, she thought. Wonder what his name is-Lava? Rocky? Volcanine?
She powered down her computer, then went out to find Jill Leilani.
5
RILEY EYED PROFESSOR VANDERHOFF, sitting on the other side of the interview table. “Professor Vanderhoff, can you tell me where you were on the day Keenan Harribold was killed?”
Vanderhoff studied her for a moment before answering. “I spent most of it at the conference, though I took a nap in the evening.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Jet lag.”
“Not a very ex citing way to spend time in Vegas.”
Vanderhoff smiled. “I’m not really a very exciting person. But I did meet with Jake Soames and your boss later for drinks.”
“Did you know Keenan Harribold?”
“No. Unless he posted anonymously on one of the entomology boards I frequent-which I doubt-I’d never heard of h im until he was killed.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone else being killed in this manner?”
“Never. I’m not a criminologist, but I have to admit it’s a fascinating case.”
“So you’ve never consulted on a criminal case before?”
“No. I’m afraid my exposure to this world has been strictly through film and novels. I will say I’m something of a mystery buff, though.”
“Then you probably know why I’m asking you these questions.”
“Of course. Someone with my expertise would naturally be considered a suspect.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. Unless someone’s trying to frame me, I don’t think I’m in any trouble-and so far, the only inconvenience has been being forced to sit and talk to an attractive woman.”
Riley didn’t sm ile. “I don’t think Keenan Harribold would agree.”
“I’m sorry. Have I offended you? I may be an academic, but I grew up in the slums of Johannesburg; my childhood took place under apartheid. I have seen much brutality in my life, and sometimes I feel somewhat desensitized. But a young man’s death is still a tragedy.”