THE BEACH
The early-afternoon onshore wind beat the water into a frenzy. Blues and whites and grays all mixed together in a mash of chaotic motion. Fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped on her head, Lu sat on the lānai and studied the moods of nature while waiting for Russi and Sheriff Rapoza. But before they arrived, Dylan called.
“I have some new information for my favorite journalist,” he said, a smile in his voice.
“And I have some new information for my favorite photographer.”
“Glad I still rate as your number one.”
“Always,” she said. “You go first.”
“Soooo, I discovered that, until 1948, Fuchs went by the name Thompson. In the navy, he was known as Dickie Thompson—”
She cut him off. “I know that already. We found out this morning. Wait until you hear this story, Dylan. But you have to swear not to tell a soul. Not until we talk to the police, which we’re about to do.”
“Cross my heart,” he said, and she pictured the way he did that, running his finger down along the contours of his face and across his chest, without ever lifting it. She told him everything they’d learned from Izzy.
When she was done, Dylan whistled. “Guys like Fuchs think they’re untouchable. When I found out he changed his name, I called his office to ask why. The lady who answered said that his mother had insisted he take the name of the man she remarried, but once his mother died, he changed it back. In honor of his father.”
“Sounds reasonable. Unless you’re a murderer. Then it’s awfully convenient,” she said.
“What about Russi and your friend?”
One thing she loved about Dylan was his unabashed interest in the lives of other people. And not just because he was in the field.
“He was so nervous going down there I wasn’t sure he would go through with it. And then Auntie H—Izzy—she’s always so cool and collected, but I could tell she was rattled,” she said.
“A meeting like that would rattle the best of us.”
“It seems like the hardest part was both of them knowing what they’d let slip out of their hands.”
Silence on the other end.
“What a position to be in,” he finally said.
“It makes one think.”
“It does.”
Five seconds later, there was pounding on the door. Lu said goodbye and opened up, ushering in Russi, Rapoza and Bull. The dog must have smelled the foal on Russi, because he sniffed and slobbered all over him and would not leave his side.
“I must smell like donkey, even after a hot shower,” he told Rapoza. “Long story.”
“I have time.”
So, Russi laid it all out for him, with Lu dropping in details here and there, like seeing the scratches on Fuchs. Rapoza kept a poker face the whole time. When they’d finished, he said, “Let me run through this again. Senator Fuchs, who once called himself Thompson, is the same man who was with Gloria Moreno when she allegedly drowned at Mau‘mae in 1943. But now Gloria’s ring was found near the skeleton in the lava tube, which you believe positively IDs it. And you suspect Fuchs is responsible for killing Joni Diaz. But as of yet we have no body and no motive.”
“If Gloria ‘drowned,’ then why is her body a hundred yards inland, deep in a cave?” Lu said.
They hadn’t told him about the old Japanese message from Izzy. They still needed her approval, and they didn’t want to get her in hot water.
Russi chimed in. “Oh, there’s motive. The roommate maintains that she told the cops back then that Gloria had found a suspicious letter and was concerned Dickie might be a spy. The cops ignored her.”
“What about Diaz? Motive?”
“When she told me about the man she was in love with, and sworn to secrecy, I got the feeling she was on the edge. Maybe she threatened to go public? Fuchs is up for reelection, and imagine what his constituents would think if they found out he was having an affair with a Mexican singer. It would ruin his career.”
Rapoza jotted down a list of notes, then stood up and said, “These are serious allegations. I need to get ahold of my boss and make sure we have our ducks in a row. Then we’ll talk to Fuchs.”
“The sooner, the better,” Lu said.
“I know that, miss. We’ll be back in the morning. Meantime, don’t you go saying anything to anyone. Especially Fuchs. If you’re right about any of this, he’s not someone you want to mess with.”
Lu woke even earlier than usual, despite hardly sleeping. Clouds slung low over the bay and she smelled rain. The weather seemed unusually moody for this time of year. Her mind was still a jumble from events of the past few days. So much heartache, and yet so much hope. Funny how the two often went hand in hand.
The beach awaited, hard sand laid bare in low tide. It was dark enough so Lu could only make out shapes. The trees stood unusually quiet, and the water was tranquil as a mountain spring. She thought of Dylan again, and how things might go when or if she made it back to say goodbye. Spending time with Russi and Izzy yesterday had impressed upon her the importance of speaking your heart. What if she lost Dylan without telling him how she felt? Could she live with that?
As she neared the Kona end of the cove, a big log appeared. Depending on the currents, fallen trees from around the island or even from the west coast washed ashore on these beaches. Some over a hundred feet long, others polished smooth and worn from months at sea. When she was almost upon the log, she noticed branches coming off the trunk. They looked almost human. A faint smell of fish and decay lifted off it. She stepped closer, then went still as a fence post. This was no log or branch. This was a body.
The dead woman was lying on her side, twisted, hair splayed out like seaweed and one arm behind her at an unnatural angle. Bile rose in Lu’s throat. Finding a skeleton was one thing, but a dead body something else entirely. A strange pull grounded her to the sand. A need to stand and look, to comprehend what she was seeing. Death. Her feet remained planted, though a part of her wanted to bolt.
“I’m sorry, sweet friend,” she whispered, for there was no mistaking who this was.
Joni.
Two small black crabs climbed down the torso, scurrying toward her feet. It was too much. Lu turned to run back and report what she’d found, but someone was standing there, blocking her way.
“Is everything okay, Miss Freitas?” Senator Fuchs asked.
“No, it’s not. It’s Joni,” she said, pointing.
He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there. Didn’t even try to look at the twisted form in the sand. He doesn’t know that you know, Lu reminded herself. Stay cool.
“Well, I suppose it was bound to happen. Did you know that bodies usually sink first and then later float to the surface?” he said.
Her skin electrified. What a bizarre thing to say. Lu glanced past him to see if there was anyone else around. They were alone. “No, I didn’t. Now, excuse me, I need to get back and tell someone.”
He blocked her, then lightly grabbed below her elbow. “How about we walk to the end of the beach, in case there’s anything else to see, and then we can go back and tell Mr. Rockefeller together.”
When he didn’t let go, Lu went along with him. Breaths became hard to find.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me the other day, about you and Matteo Russi finding something else of interest. It really made me curious. Would you care to elaborate what it was that had you so intrigued?” He tried to sound casual, but she noted a slight tremor in his voice.
“Oh, nothing. We found some really unusual petroglyphs that I’d never seen before. I used to come up here a lot, so that was really surprising to me. I’m an amateur archeologist.”
“Oh? What were they of?”
Her eyes scanned the beach for any kind of weapon—branch, rock, coconut, anything. “Just unusual-looking canoes and geometric shapes, hard to describe.”
“You know, something about you reminds me of Miss Diaz. Do you sing?” he asked.
This was getting weirder by the second.
“Not at all.”
Fuchs forced a laugh. “Hmm. Perhaps, then, it’s that you two are both dark-skinned, pretty things. What is your family background, Miss Cooper?”
“My dad is Portuguese, my mom Irish. What about you, Senator? Fuchs is a German name, isn’t it?” You Nazi motherfucker.
His grip firmed up on her arm. “Very astute of you. You’re smarter than you look, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m smart, all right,” she said, eyes locking on a piece of driftwood about twenty yards away. They were getting farther and farther from the hotel, and the pink light from earlier had been blotted out by clouds. The question of whether he was really unhinged enough to do something to her kept looping around in her brain. Each time the answer came back the same.
Probably.
“You know, I think I’ll turn around now,” she said.
He leaned in so his mouth was inches from her ear. “Am I making you nervous?”
A voice inside said, Run, but his iron grip was beginning to cut off her circulation. “Actually—”
Behind them, someone yelled. “Hey! Wait up!”
They both turned to see Russi running toward them with a towel around his neck. Senator Fuchs looked flummoxed, and Lu had never in her life been more relieved to see someone.
When he reached them, Russi’s hair was askew and he leaned down with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, “There’s a fucking dead body back there, did you see it?”
Lu gave him a look, but he probably wouldn’t notice in the dim light. “We did.”
Fuchs let her arm go, and remained cool. “We’re on our way to report it to Mr. Rockefeller—just wanted to check there wasn’t anything else on the rest of the beach first.”
Ready to hightail it out of there, Lu grabbed Russi by the hand and pulled at him. “We’ll go, Senator. You keep walking.”
As they ran back to the hotel, Lu would not let go of Russi’s hand. She was half-hysterical while trying to explain what had just transpired. Russi, in turn, seemed to understand and let her keep his hand. It was big and warm and comforting.
“The guy knows it’s over. He’s getting reckless,” he said.
“I’m just happy you came when you did.”
“Thought I’d work up my nerve to dip a leg in or something, without anyone around.”
“Weren’t we supposed to do it together?”
“You have enough on your plate.”
“Russi, we had a deal.”
“I think we got more important things to worry about.”
Rapoza, his chief, several other detectives and the coroner showed up an hour later. Entry to the beach had been blocked off and Lu and Russi sat in the lobby drinking coffee, watching the hotel get taken over by law enforcement. Mr. Rockefeller had been gracious and helpful, but you could see the toll this was taking on him—his grand opening marred by such ugliness. They watched as Joni’s body was carried out on a stretcher, under a white sheet. Stanley followed behind, ten pounds lighter than when he’d first arrived.
“Do you think they’ll arrest Fuchs?” Lu asked.
“That remains to be seen. Right now, it looks like all the evidence is circumstantial. They may have to build a case first. But I’m not sure how things work here in Hawai‘i.”
“Just like they do anywhere else in the country. We have a court system.”
It had been six years since statehood.
“Let’s hope if it makes it that far, the judge isn’t easily intimidated,” Russi said.
“You met Judge Carlsmith. I wish it could be him.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Someone like him, then. Not some pushover. And someone who can’t be bought.”
“Agreed.”
What they were really waiting for was to see if Rapoza came down with Fuchs in handcuffs. Neither of them wanted to miss that. They’d given the sheriff all they could, without Izzy’s message. She hoped it was enough.
“I’m gonna go see if Izzy called,” Russi said, leaving her alone with two bronze statues for company.
He came back ten minutes later. She hadn’t. “I tried to call, but there was no answer. You think she’s avoiding me?”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s probably out with the foal,” she said, noticing how worked up he was. “Why don’t you just go back down there?”
“You think?”
“I know.”