Mahu Surfer (37 page)

Our last suspect was Rich Sarkissian. “That guy gives me the creeps,” Terri said.

Remembering how we had worked together at the outrigger halau, I said, “He’s actually not that creepy, except for the fact that he hates surfers.”

Harry made a snorting noise, which I ignored.

“Aunt Emma gave me the papers today for Uncle Bishop to sign,” Terri continued. “But I can’t let this deal go through until I know that he’s not involved in these people getting killed. Especially with what you’ve told me about Ari, the whole thing makes me very uncomfortable. Uncle Bishop is expecting me to bring the papers up to him tomorrow but I don’t know what to tell him.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” I said. “Just stall for a few more days. Can you cancel your meeting tomorrow?”

“Let me call him now. He should know that there’s something fishy in Ari’s background.”

She left the room, and Harry and I went back to his matrix. She returned in a few minutes, though. “Bad news. I told Uncle Bishop I’d done some checking into Ari’s background and wasn’t sure he could be trusted, and he went ballistic. He insisted that I come up tomorrow and give Ari a chance to defend himself.”

“I’ll go with you. I’m the one who found the evidence, after all.”

Her meeting was at two, so I decided I’d check with Sampson and if it was okay with him, I’d head up to the North Shore in the morning, meet her for lunch, and then we’d go over to Bishop Clark’s together.

We finished dinner, and I drove back to Waikiki. I had trouble falling asleep, with so many ideas ricocheting around in my brain—my parents, the surf killer, real estate values on the North Shore, my brothers, Brad, Ari, Dario. Harry’s matrix kept recurring in my dreams, as I struggled to catch the killer before he could strike again.

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I couldn’t get hold of Sampson before I left Honolulu, but I left him a voice mail. Driving up the Kam, I wondered if I would ever get back to the life I had once lived. Would I be transferred permanently to someplace like Wahiawa—if I was ever able to go back to official detective work?

I pulled up at Cane Landing and unloaded. I couldn’t go surfing, because I had promised Sampson I’d keep a low profile. I didn’t want to go to The Next Wave, because I didn’t know how the store, or Dario himself, might figure in the case. I pulled out Harry’s matrix and studied it, turning the pieces over in my head.

I gave up just before noon, and hurried down into Hale’iwa to meet Terri at Jameson’s for lunch. The roads were empty, and many businesses along the way were closed and shuttered, as if a hurricane was approaching. There was only a single car in the parking lot of The Next Wave as I passed.

Terri and I sat by the window and looked out at the ocean. There was hardly any traffic, and only a few brave surfers out on the waves. “There is such a fragile balance,” she said. “Between success and failure, between nature and development, between life and death. Look at how quickly things have fallen apart up here.”

I knew she was also talking about how fast her life had changed when her husband died. “I know, sweetie,” I said, reaching out to take her hand.

“Tell me you don’t think my uncle is involved in this business.”

“I just don’t know. There’s a link that ties all this together, and I can almost see it. But it’s like a name that’s on the tip of your tongue, just one brain cell away from connecting.”

Neither of us had much appetite and the dismal atmosphere inside Jameson’s and outside the window didn’t help. Finally we gave up, and drove my truck up to Bishop’s house. Rich let us in the gate, though he showed no sign of the friendliness I’d seen at the outrigger halau.

Ari was already there when we arrived, drinking lemonade out of those same French crystal glasses, talking to Bishop about how beautiful his new home was going to be.  “I hope you’ll let me explain,” Ari said. “I think you owe me that much.”

“Nobody’s here to accuse anyone of anything,” I said. “Terri just has some concerns about your background and how that impacts the deal.”

“None of Terri’s goddamn business,” Bishop muttered.

“It’s okay, Bishop. I welcome the chance to get this all on the table.” Ari described the viatical corporation he’d begun in Minnesota, to help some friends with AIDS who were desperately in need of money for medicine and living expenses. How the financial assumptions had been knocked out when the new drugs gave AIDS patients the chance to return to work and health.

“I finally had to file for bankruptcy,” he said. “My investors ended up holding the policies, and they’ll cash in eventually. No one was ruined, and a lot of guys got the cash they needed. I’m sorry the business folded, but I believe I acted morally.”

“Then why’d you change your name?” I asked.

“I wanted a fresh start. You can understand that, can’t you, Kimo? Don’t you wish sometimes you could move to a new place where no one knew you, start over again? Growing up, we had Greek neighbors, and I loved their culture. I always hated my name—when I was a kid, the bullies used to call me Pincushion and stick me with pins and needles. One day I’d just had enough, and I decided to start over.”

“See!” Bishop said. “Everything’s fine. Terri, you worry too much.”

Terri opened her portfolio and pulled some papers out. “There are just a couple of little changes Aunt Emma wanted to make,” she said.

“No more changes,” Bishop said. “I want to get this deal signed.”

“I agree with Bishop,” Ari said. “My partners and I are very anxious to get something going, and we’ve been approached by the owner of another parcel out in Mokuleia that we might be able to find just as suitable.”

“See, Terri, we’ve got to get this deal signed,” Bishop said. “Otherwise we might lose it, and then where would I be?”

“You’d be right where you are, Uncle Bishop. You’ve run through your inheritance and your trust fund, and all you’ve got left is this property. But you forget, it’s not completely yours. The Trust and the rest of the family still have a say, and I’m here to make sure that at least a part of this land is protected in a way that our family can be proud of.”

Bishop started yelling, demanding that she agree to the terms as already spelled out. Terri wasn’t yelling back, because that’s not what Great-Aunt Emma would expect of her, but she wasn’t backing down either.

Then Ari started talking, trying to mediate between the two of them, but frankly, they were all giving me a headache. I walked over to the windows to look out at the water, and that’s when I heard the shots.

Shots Fired

No one else seemed to have heard anything—at least, none of them stopped talking. I was worried that Rich was out there taking pot shots at surfers again, so I slipped out the side door, taking care not to let it slam.

It was in the low eighties, and there was a nice breeze coming up from the ocean. I stood there for a long moment, listening, but all I heard was the low susurrus of the waves and the sound of the occasional truck grinding through its gears out on the steep part of the Kam.

I started down toward the beach, stepping carefully through the scrub and sand, trying not to make any noise. I walked along one side of the property, under the shelter of a long row of kukui trees, so I wasn’t easily visible. I realized, as I moved slowly, that my pistol was up at my truck; the only thing I had to defend myself with was a cell phone, which would probably go off at just the wrong moment.

I reached down to my belt and flipped the phone off.  Strike one for the well-prepared cop. After about ten minutes of a slow, steep descent, I came to a rise which gave me a panoramic view of the beach, only to find it deserted.

By then, sweat had begun beading on my forehead, and dripping under my arms and down my back. I felt foolish, and yet I knew I had heard shots. Rich couldn’t have passed me going back up toward the house, I thought. I would have seen or heard him. So maybe the shots had come from the other side of the property, by the road.

I looked back up the hill at the house and through the big windows I saw Terri, Bishop and Ari still arguing. I swung around to the side of the property and climbed back up the hill, staying close to the property line and the row of kukui trees. In order to get back to the house, I’d have to go out in the open again, and I didn’t want to do that, so I just stopped for a minute to listen again, a few hundred yards from the side door. I heard yelling coming from the house, but the only thing I knew was that it wasn’t Terri’s voice. I heard nothing else out of place except a creaking sound.

Staying under the line of kukui trees, I continued to climb toward the street. This area was much more heavily vegetated than the land between the house and the beach. The soil had to be richer up here, and I could barely make out the contours of the twisting driveway, overgrown as the whole area was with hibiscus, succulent, white-flowered hinahina, and the papery flowers of red and purple bougainvillea. If you looked down from the Kam, you’d hardly even know there was a house back there, the land looked so natural and unspoiled. It wouldn’t be that way for long, I thought, once those papers got signed.

As I moved toward the street, I lost sight of the house due to all the vegetation around me. Because the underbrush rustled, I had to move even more slowly. I pulled out the tail of my shirt and kept wiping the sweat from my forehead. Finally I was able to peer through the underbrush and see that the gate to the street was open. I distinctly remembered seeing Rich swing it closed behind us, moving with his loping gait.

I didn’t see him anywhere, but if he was wandering around with a gun I didn’t want to surprise him, so I called “Rich?” softly. “You out here somewhere?”

I heard something like a moan, and quickened my pace, forgetting about the noise I was making crashing through the underbrush. Jesus, had Rich shot some surfer who was trying to get on to the property? “I’m coming,” I called. “Hold on. Where are you?”

I followed the sounds of the moans, and when I burst through the underbrush up at the highway’s edge, I was startled to come upon Rich Sarkissian, lying on the ground next to the open gate. He was holding onto his mid-section, and when he pulled a hand away to wave at me, it was covered in blood.

“Jesus, Rich, what happened?” I asked, dropping to the ground. I pulled off my shirt and started ripping it into strips.

“That asshole,” he gasped.

“What asshole?” I asked, as I pulled away his own shirt to expose the wound. “Who shot you? Some surfer?”

He nodded. “Fuh-fuh,” he said. I was busy stuffing strips into the open wound in his chest.

“I know, a real fucker,” I said.

He shook his head violently. “Fuh-fuh.”

“Is that someone’s name? You know the guy?”

He nodded weakly. I pulled my cell phone off my belt and turned it back on again, waiting impatiently for it to catch a signal. As soon as it did, I dialed 911. “I need an ambulance. A man’s been shot.” I gave them Bishop’s address. “He’s already lost a lot of blood. You need to be here now.”

The dispatcher wanted me to stay on the line, but I had to see to Rich. “Fun…” he said.

“No, I know it’s not much fun getting shot, Rich, but you’ve been through this before, buddy. You’re tough. You already know that. Looks like I got the bleeding stopped, so you just have to hold on until the ambulance gets here.”

“Fonseca,” he said, though his voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“Fonseca? Dario Fonseca? Dario shot you?”

He nodded weakly. “Where did he go? Up to the house?”

“Go.” He pushed at me, very lightly. “Bishop.”

I positioned Rich at the gate to the property, where anybody coming down the highway could see him easily. “You hold out, buddy,” I said. “I called an ambulance for you, and they’re going to be here any minute. I’m going up to the house, and as soon as I see what’s what, I’m coming back down here.”

He nodded again. He looked like he was about to pass out, but there was nothing more I could do for him. If I was right, Dario had killed five people already, shot at me and then just shot Rich. And he was up at the house with Terri, Ari and Bishop, and he had a gun.

Oh, and Bishop had an arsenal himself, which could all be at Dario’s disposal.