1 Murder on Moloka'i (8 page)

fifteen

“Greg Parke is a pathological liar.” Adrienne bristled. “I told you not to believe anything he said about me.”

“Is he wrong?” I aimed my Impala up the Pali Highway the next morning, heading for Sara’s beach house in Lanikai. “Did your falling out with Sara have anything to do with a man in Boston?

“We had a disagreement. You knew that before you interviewed Greg.”

“Was the disagreement over Sara’s fiancé?”

“I can’t listen to Greg’s lies about me,” she fumed. “You can believe him, or you can believe me.”

We cleared the Pali tunnels and began weaving down to the windward side.

“ To do the job you hired me for, Adrienne, there are some things I need to know.” I glanced at her face, which was set in a rigid expression. “Parke claims Sara was about to change her will before she died, to cut you out completely. What about it?”

Adrienne was silent for a minute. “No, I didn’t know. I suppose Greg thinks Sara’s money should have gone back to him?”

“No, he says she planned to donate it to her causes.”

Adrienne shifted in her seat. “So was your whole conversation centered on me, or did you find out anything about Greg?”

Was she being evasive or straightforward? I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Parke admitted knowing both Heather Linborg and Milton Yu. And he confessed to going to Kalaupapa to find Sara. He says he was still in love with her, though he claims she cheated on him.”

“Sara cheated?”

“Parke even gave me a name.”

“Who?”

“The man you just had dinner with. Rush McWhorter.”

Adrienne turned from me and gazed silently at pale Kailua Bay.

When we reached Lanikai, I pulled into a gravel drive at the quiet, cul-de-sac end of the beach. Sara had spent a sizable chunk of her divorce settlement on two adjacent oceanfront lots shaded by coconut palms. Combined, they contained only one small cottage, which most new owners in her shoes would have torn down and replaced with a massive castle covering every available inch of land. I credited Sara for trying to retain the property’s natural beauty.

The cottage itself was rustic and charming: shake roof, stone fireplace, hardwood floors, two cozy bedrooms, a
koa
-paneled study overlooking the twin Mokulua Islands, and a small kitchen–the total opposite of her ex-husband’s Kāhala mansion.

I’d suggested we come here in search of more clues about Sara’s talk at the health food store, or her connections to any of the witnesses. We focused first on Sara’s study. Adrienne sorted through papers in Sara’s rolltop desk. I worked my way through her filing drawers. Just as I started on the second drawer, Adrienne waved a torn sheet of yellow legal paper. “Look at this!”

“What is it?”

“An itinerary.”

Written in Sara’s hand, the itinerary listed her activities on Moloka’i that fateful day. The notes revealed she had planned to tour Kalaupapa, then to speak that night in Kaunakakai, at Sun Whole Foods as Yu had told me. The title of the Sara’s talk was to be “Stop Kalaupapa Cliffs!”

“It’s our lucky day,” Adrienne said.

“If we can find a copy of her speech,” I said. “Or did she write down her speeches?

“I have no idea.

We searched every drawer and stack of papers, but found nothing. As the morning grew on, we decided to switch tactics and visit the U.H. Law School, where Sara taught–and where she likely had a computer we could search. My curiosity was piqued by Parke’s allegations of infidelity by his former wife, so I had already arranged to interview Rush McWhorter there at noon.

As we drove onto the Mānoa Valley campus, I recalled a retired professor telling me about a time when these grounds were once as pristine and garden-like as the misted valley that provides its spectacular backdrop. Another victim of overdevelopment, the university was now choked with mismatched buildings: plantation-era cottages with buzzing air conditioners, cement-slab shoe boxes from the 1950s, stark, avant-garde towers circa 1960s, and an art deco student center in mauve and hunter green. As my eye glanced from one façade to another, diverse architectural styles clashed.

In the sparse lower campus, on the edge of a defunct quarry, stood the bunker-like complex of the law school. Inside we easily found the door we were looking for: “Sara Ridgely-Parke, Assoc. Prof.” A month after her death, the office still bore Sara’s name.

“They’re waiting for me to clear it out,” Adrienne said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

The office had one sealed window overlooking Waikīkī and that musty smell that accumulated paper always takes on in the Islands’ damp air. I imagined Sara glancing from her office window at the ragged skyline of concrete, steel, and glass–the symbol of paved-over paradise–and renewing her resolve to fight overdevelopment. I couldn’t fully buy Parke’s description of Sara being so like him that she embraced the luxuries that development brought. Her life’s work spoke too loudly for itself.

Scanning her office, I saw creative clutter everywhere: open files and law books, papers hastily arranged on the floor, colored sticky notes tacked up like Christmas cards, newspaper articles taped to the walls. One article discussed the reinterment at Kalaupapa of Blessed Father Damien’s right hand, considered a holy relic. The most prominent clipping, titled “Chancellor Trust Plans ‘Kalaupapa Cliffs’ Resort,” echoed the sketch I had first seen on the airplane on my way to Moloka‘i.

We searched for a hard copy of Sara’s speech without success, but we did find two class rosters that included the name of missing fisherman, Baron Taniguchi. Adrienne agreed to keep hunting for the speech while I met with McWhorter at the other end of the hall.

Russell T. McWhorter taught real estate law and was well-connected with both developers and politicians in a state where the two went hand-in-hand. Since government approvals were required to get any construction project off the ground, a developer would often share his or her spoils with key politicians. An investment group would then be formed called a
hui,
a partnership with all the influential players, even sometimes underworld types who funneled in ill-gotten dollars. Whenever an approval was required, the project would slide through slick as grease.

The door opened to a rod-straight man in his thirties with a well-rehearsed smile and darting eyes of drab olive. His pale blonde hair was cropped fashionably close, nearly shaved at the temples like a marine cut. McWhorter was rough-hewn handsome and wore the silk aloha shirt of a downtown banker.

He gestured woodenly toward a visitor’s chair. Despite a No Smoking sign posted in the hall outside his door, on McWhorter’s desk sat a pack of Marlboro Lights and an ashtray full of butts. I handed him my card as he positioned himself behind his wide desk. His stiffness and tight smile didn’t make me feel very welcome.

He glanced at my card. “Quite a gimmick. That ‘Surfing Detective’ bit. You must get some interesting cases.”

“True.” I wondered if he was mocking me.

“Do you actually surf?” he asked in a voice thinner than his rugged “Marlboro Man” image suggested.

“When time allows.”

“A dangerous sport.” McWhorter smirked. “So you came to talk about Sara?” He wasted few words.

“Yes, I’m investigating the professor’s death on Moloka‘i.”

“Adrienne mentioned it.” McWhorter reached for his pack of Marlboros. “Want one?” He flashed the flip-top box.

“No, thanks.”

“Sara’s passing was a shock to everyone here.” He pulled out a cigarette, then flicked his lighter. A tongue of yellow flame licked out. “I’m not surprised Adrienne hired you to investigate the accident, given her emotional state.” He took a long drag, then exhaled a grey cloud. “But I seriously doubt her theory that Sara’s fall was somehow arranged.”

“I’m just doing my job.” I said.

He took another drag from his smoke. “Sara was truly an exceptional woman and a top-notch attorney. We’d all like to bring her back.”

“Your reflections on her career might benefit the investigation. First, do you know this missing law student, Baron Taniguchi?”

“Taniguchi?” McWhorter blew another grey plume. “Why?”

“Curiosity. His disappearance has been so much in the news.”

“Baron took one class from me.” McWhorter flicked his cigarette ash. “He did well. That’s all I remember about him.”

“Real estate law is your specialty?” I knew the answer, but wanted to keep him talking.

McWhorter nodded as he puffed on his cigarette, the air in his office becoming thick. “I also advise the Chancellor Trust on real estate matters.”

“Representing the trust must have put you at odds with Sara.”

“I admired Sara even though, politically speaking, we were on opposite sides of the fence. She opposed developing the islands, and took her opposition to extremes.”

“What extremes?”

“Once on ABC’s ‘Nightline’ she called Waikīkī a ‘high-rise horror.’ The tourism board did backflips!” McWhorter puffed. “‘No building taller than a coconut palm.’ That was Sara’s slogan. She’d have us all living on the beach in little grass shacks.”

“Interesting idea.”

“Pure nostalgia. No sane person in Hawai‘i today believes we can go back to that …”

The more McWhorter talked, the more I wondered how Sara could have found him at all attractive. Despite his rugged good looks and practiced smile, rigidity seemed to fix his character, from his stiff posture to his abrupt dismissal of those who held opinions different than his own.

“Development means jobs,” McWhorter continued. “Sara forgot working people when she married Gregory Parke and moved to Kāhala.”

What a smoke screen. McWhorter struck me as someone who couldn’t care less about the average Joe or Jane.

“Does it seem strange to you that Sara married Parke?”

“Sara lost her senses for a while.” McWhorter tapped off another glowing ash. “But at least she recovered and divorced him.”

“Because she was in love with you?” I went out on a limb.

McWhorter’s eyes widened. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just something I heard.” I kept my gaze level.

“From whom?” The attorney peered at me through the haze. “Was it Adrienne?”

“No, not Adrienne.”

“I’m surprised.” He blew another cloud and frowned. “She knows me better than she’ll probably admit.”

His remark jarred me, but I tried not to show it. “How much better?”

“She’s your client.” He put on a tight smile again. “Why don’t you ask her?”

sixteen

I marched back into Sara’s office, steaming. “Tell me everything about you and Rush McWhorter,” I said to Adrienne, trying to hold back my anger.

“Rush and me?” Adrienne tried to act incredulous. “What do you mean?”

“You know him better than you’ve said, according to McWhorter.”

“Not this again.” Her steely eyes pierced me like daggers.

“Not what again?”

“You’re believing somebody else’s word more than mine.”

“Only when you don’t tell me everything. Only when you leave out huge chunks about Sara or yourself, which seems to be happening often.”

“All right, I knew Rush before.”

“For how long?”

Adrienne glanced away. “About six years.”

Now it was my turn to be incredulous. “You knew him even before your sister came to Hawai‘i?”

“Sara was engaged to Rush in Boston.”

“So he’s the man you stole from Sara?”

“I didn’t
steal
anyone,” she said. “After Rush and Sara became engaged, he took an interest in me. I tried not to encourage him.”

“Nonetheless, it nixed Sara’s wedding plans.”

“Their marriage wasn’t meant to be. But after Rush left Sara, she wouldn’t speak to me. It was horrible. Eventually I broke off with Rush.”

“Then McWhorter suddenly wanted your sister again?”

“Yes, that’s why he came to Hawai‘i. Rush applied for a teaching job at the law school and was hired, but Sara would hardly speak to him after what happened in Boston.”

“That’s when she married Parke?”

“Rush hounded her with proposals. I think she married Greg, in part, to discourage Rush.”

I couldn’t believe she had been concealing this potentially major point of relevance. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t feel the need to reveal my personal life. Sara is our focus here.”

“If Parke would kill your sister over jealously of McWhorter, then our focus just expanded. Have you ever considered suspecting McWhorter himself? Maybe jealously could have led him to revenge, too?”

“Inconceivable. Rush was mad about Sara. Always has been. Now if we can stop the interrogation for a moment, I have something to show you.” Adrienne pulled a yellow legal pad from the bottom drawer of Sara’s desk. “It was hidden in this tablet.”

“You found the speech?”

Adrienne handed me the yellow pad. Sara had slipped each white page of her speech between as many yellow leaves in the legal pad, making the typescript virtually disappear.

“She must have thought someone was snooping on her,” Adrienne said.

I liberated the first typed page from the pad. What Adrienne had found was probably a late or final draft, since the copy was clean and the speech appeared to be fully developed. In the upper left-hand corner Sara had typed the place and date: Sun Whole Foods, Kaunakakai. Wed., September 6. The day she died.

Adrienne moved closer to me and began to read:

Stop Kalaupapa Cliffs!

It’s a pleasure to see so many old friends here tonight from the coalition against Chancellor Trust’s proposed Kalaupapa Cliffs resort. You deserve heartfelt thanks for your grit and your perseverance. Already you have succeeded in mobilizing grassroots opposition. And by now you know what you are up against. I’m here this evening to offer you encouragement in your battle. But more important, I bring ammunition to help you win …

“That sounds like Sara,” Adrienne said. “Always a fighter.”

Few people realize what it’s like to face off against a billion-dollar trust. Their fleet of lawyers can file endless injunctions, restraining orders, and suits against you; their friends at all levels of government – from the governor’s office to the legislature to the courts – can put roadblocks at your every turn; their massive publicity and disinformation engines can smear and malign you. In sum, this Goliath has enormous power to intimidate and impede you through all these channels and more.

The single largest private landholder in Hawai‘i, the Chancellor Trust owns, by some estimates, as much as 10 percent of the islands – more than the U.S. Government! The consequences of the Trust’s real estate dominance have been devastating for most citizens. By hoarding immense tracts of land, the Trust – called by one economist a ‘land oligopoly’ – increases the already high cost of housing, pinching strapped island families. At the same time, its five trustees pay themselves annual salaries approaching a million dollars – each!

“Those salaries are notorious,” I interrupted. “And the Trust calls itself a ‘nonprofit’ organization!”

Adrienne continued:

The Hawaiian people, whom the Trust was charged by the will of Marie Kaleilani Chancellor to aid, have too often fallen victim to its ambitions. You may recall an incident that happened in a peaceful valley in East O‘ahu. To clear these remote and pristine acres for an immense housing track which would generate millions in profits, Chancellor Trust evicted several impoverished Hawaiian homesteaders in a confrontation so bitter it nearly ended in a shoot-out. The Hawaiians were driven from the land and some arrested. In their place the Trust constructed dozens of look-alike tract houses that those Hawaiians could not afford to buy, while enriching the Trust and forever altering the character of the once-tranquil valley.

Sara’s speech made me recall my own silent support for those Hawaiian homesteaders. It had been a different era back then–before the rise of the Hawaiian sovereignty movement. The media had portrayed the embattled families as unfortunate impediments to progress, even as dangerous radicals. As Adrienne read on, I became curious as to Sara’s promised “ammunition” against the Trust.

Chancellor Trust has now set its sights on Kalaupapa and the wishes of the Hawaiian people apparently matter little to the trustees. How large is the proposed “Kalaupapa Cliffs”? Kaunakakai, the biggest town on your island, could easily fit inside it. Or, to compare it to a familiar fixture on O‘ahu, massive Ala Moana Shopping Center would fill little more than half of the site, leaving room for another medium-sized mall.

But why would Chancellor Trust invest so much of its own money in the sleepy island of Moloka‘i? Why build a resort on a windswept, rainy cliff, when sunny beaches can be had on this and other islands?

The answer is simple: Blessed Father Damien will likely attain sainthood soon. His sanctification coupled with the adoption of Kalaupapa by the U.S. Park Service – and the certainty that the peninsula will become a full-fledged national park when the last remaining leprosy patients pass on – can mean only one thing: Tourism with a capital “T.” Visitors from around the world, with religious pilgrims in the vanguard, will make this historic spot as populous as Lourdes.

There’s only one hitch. The project cannot go forward unless the state Land Zoning Board redesignates the land from “conservation” to “urban.” In the current political climate, with heightened environmental awareness and sensitivity to Hawaiian history and culture, such a redesignation, you might assume, would be unthinkable. Indeed, your coalition survey found that 94 percent of Moloka‘i residents oppose the project.

The trustees have anticipated public pressure on the Land Zoning Board to deny the trust’s request, and they have concocted a secret plan to overcome it. This secret plan has been uncovered by a courageous volunteer, who revealed it to me at his peril. Although he must remain anonymous for his own safety, we have him to thank for this potent weapon against the trust …

The tie-in with Baron Taniguchi was now more than a hunch. He must have received tips on the Good Government Hotline, then passed them on, against protocol, to his esteemed mentor at the law school. For this plucky act, the avid fisherman had probably wound up as fish food.

To win approval for its project over stiff, broad-based opposition, the trust has formed a clandestine
hui
consisting of several state legislators, the spouse of a Land Zoning Board member, a development firm partially owned by the lieutenant governor, the leader of a hotel workers union, a legendary Hawaiian pop singer, and even reputed underworld figures who will funnel illegally obtained moneys into the project. This
hui
includes the most influential, wealthy, and powerful players in the islands, as well as Indonesian developer, Umbro Zia.

Zia’s name kept popping up. I had once seen a rare photo of him in
Hawai‘i Business News.
The reclusive billionaire had been spotted in his trademark white suit and pale lavender button-down shirt, a young Asian beauty at his side. Zia had acquired his fortune through hit-and-run developments, mostly sprawling shopping malls, in locales in which he never lived, some say never set foot in. Before the last brick or tile was cemented into place, Zia would be off to his next project, and to the next after that. He was thus a fitting centerpiece of the Chancellor Trust
hui

Since Land Zoning Board members are politically appointed and frequently beholden to politicians and their powerful friends, they are very susceptible to the kind of influential
hui
that Zia and the trust have assembled. Unless we act now to expose them, on Friday, October 20, when the Land Zoning Board makes its final recommendation on “Kalaupapa Cliffs,” the outcome is inevitable.

That was exactly one week from today. Adrienne continued by reading the long list of names involved in the
hui–
a virtual “who’s who” of Hawai‘i. I wasn’t surprised to hear Rush McWhorter’s name, although Adrienne seemed to be, as she winced as her rollcall came to him. But I was floored when I heard the name of one of my very own
hānai
relatives–Uncle Manny, known to most as the famous Hawaiian pop singer Manny Lee. Never had I found myself so personally entwined with a client’s case.

Not one of Sara’s fellow mule riders made the list. Though if the
hui
was behind Sara’s death, they most likely wouldn’t send one of their own to do the dirty work. Rather, an unknown operative would be dispatched. So that didn’t rule out the four witnesses. That Parke’s name was also missing didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. As a big-time developer, he certainly had ties to the major players. And since Parke had shown me all the marks of a bitter, spurned ex-husband, a crime of passion still could not be ruled out.

At the conclusion of the speech, Sara revealed that she and her unnamed source had received death threats. Adrienne’s eyes were beginning to tear as she handed the speech to me. Now there was no doubt. For the first time since Adrienne had stepped into my office with her bizarre murder theory, I was convinced we had a case.