“You killed my mother.” Marie speaks in a surprisingly calm voice. “You killed Pierre. And you abused me.”
The doctor looks up at his stepdaughter and doesn’t skip a beat. “Are you here to accept my offer?”
I don’t know what offer he’s referring to, but Marie isn’t biting.
“No,” she replies, “I’m here to make you pay.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” the doctor replies, also eerily calm. “Not your mother. And not your lowlife French boyfriend.” Dr. Grimes doesn’t deny abusing Marie. He just lets that accusation hang in the air.
“My mother didn’t slip from that cliff,” Marie continues. “We know you piloted your boat from Moloka‘i to Hawai’i Kai the night she died. And then you took Dr. Kitagawa’s car. You drugged her, put her in her car, drove her to Makapu‘u, and pushed her. You were already back on Moloka‘i before she was found the next morning. You lied to the police about all of that. We have proof.”
I’m sitting here listening to Marie’s recital that goes well beyond what we can actually prove, Kula lying tensely at my feet, and I’m watching the doctor take it in and wondering how this will all end.
“You’ve got it wrong,” the doctor responds.
“That’s a lie,” she replies. “Do you want to try to tell us you didn’t come to O‘ahu that night?”
“I’m telling you I didn’t kill your mother,” he says. “As hard as it may be for you to accept, Marie, your mother probably took her own life. She was depressed, she had suffered a number of losses, and she succumbed to her despair.”
“She was about to divorce you,” Marie responds. “I told her what you did to me. She didn’t believe me at first. But then she finally confronted you. That’s why she died.”
“Ridiculous,” he responds.
“You left something in Dr. Kitagawa’s car the night my mother died.” She looks directly into Grimes’ eyes. “It proves you were on O‘ahu. It proves you lied to HPD. And it proves you killed her.”
“You have nothing,” he says. “You’re bluffing.”
“She’s not bluffing.” I pull from my pocket the photocopy Dr. Kitagawa gave me and I hand it to Dr. Grimes. “It’s a receipt from the Moloka‘i Beach Hotel bar on the night your wife died. You left it in your partner’s convertible when you used his boat slip.”
He peers at the receipt and slowly shakes his head.
“Do you still deny it?” Marie asks.
“This doesn’t change a thing,” he says. “Your mother went to the cliffs that night to hold vigil above where your brother died. It was a ritual of hers. She built a shrine to him on the cliff. She usually held her vigils at sunset. But she went that night because it was nearly a full moon.”
“A convenient story.” Marie bristles.
“Come with me to Makapu‘u and I’ll show you,” the doctor says. “Then you might be more receptive to my offer.”
“To the cliffs?” I ask.
He nods.
I glance at Marie. Her eyes roll, but then she gets a faraway look as if she’s having a revelation. She says, “Okay.”
“We’ll follow you in my car,” I reply to Dr. Grimes. “You can drive your own.”
“Meet me in the driveway.” The doctor limps into another room, I assume to get his wallet and keys.
We climb back into my car and wait. Kula hops in the front seat next to Marie and puts his head on her lap.
Before long one of the doctor’s garage doors opens and out comes a black Jaguar. He drives past us to the gate, which slowly opens. We follow the Jag as the doctor turns left on Portlock Road, cruises past his neighbors’ oceanfront mansions, and turns onto Kalaniana‘ole Highway.
The highway climbs the slope of Koko Head, then crests the ridge above Hanauama Bay and skirts the craggy, arid coastline on the southern tip of the island. We pass the famed saltwater spout at Halona Blow Hole and the body-surfing mecca of Sandy Beach before climbing toward the lighthouse at Makapu‘u Point.
The Jaguar makes a sharp right into the lot at the head of the Makapu‘u Lighthouse Trail. I follow the doctor into the jammed lot and search for a place to park. Eventually I succeed and so does he. I put Kula on a leash, grab a water bottle I fortunately have in my car, and we regroup behind the doctor’s Jag near the trailhead.
It’s hot and dry. The sun is blazing down.
“Follow me up the trail,” he says. “Before we reach the lighthouse we climb off the trail toward the ocean.”
“I don’t believe this,” Marie says again. “This is not my mother. What are you up to?”
“Maybe you’ll learn something about your mother,” he replies.
We give the doctor a lead of ten yards and stay behind him. Kula tugs on the leash. He’s excited about the hike.
The first section of trail ascends the western bank of the ridge and is totally exposed. But the incline is gentle. The trail is wide and paved and very public, so it’s hard to imagine Beatrice Ho finding a quiet place to hold a vigil anywhere around it. More reason to distrust Dr. Grimes.
Just off the trail ahead a mongoose darts under a low kiawe bush. Kula sees the flash and tugs on the leash. He wants that mongoose.
“Easy, boy.” I encourage him to keep walking straight ahead. All I need is to lose the retriever on these cliffs. I grip the leash with both hands.
I also keep a watchful eye on Dr. Grimes. His limp is even more pronounced on the trail. He’s leaning heavily on his cane. I start to have doubts about him pushing his despondent wife, or any able-bodied person, from the cliffs. And if he drugged her at home, how would he get her up the trail?
Of course, this lighthouse trail may not be where he brought her. He could have parked anywhere along the cliff edge by the road and pushed her.
The hike he’s leading us on may simply be an elaborate ruse. So I continue to keep my eyes on him. And on his stepdaughter.