The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (the best ebook reader for android .txt) 📗

Walter grimaced. “And you are? I was more or less volunteering to put her in cuffs and give her a ride in the squad car. Your call, but just know that I’m happy to provide the transportation.”

Kali’s mental image of an outraged Makena exiting the back seat of the police car to an audience in front of the medical clinic was supplanted by a more sobering one of Makena giving birth to an underweight child with underdeveloped organs, or poor motor skills, or fetal stroke—or maybe even all of these problems. Each scenario was highly possible. The condition of prenatal methamphetamine exposure was a terrifyingly real problem among children who were born to meth mothers. Ironically, the drug itself was to blame, at least in part, for the growing number of pregnancies in young female users because of its inhibition-lowering effects.

She stared out of the passenger window. Her beautiful islands might be wrapped in birdsong and the perfume of a billion flowers, but they suffered from the same problems as any other place on the planet. Through the glass, she could see the litter that had accumulated along the road’s edge, and knew that a multitude of empty plastic water bottles could be found abandoned along her favorite paths. She closed her eyes briefly. Maybe it was simply her training as a detective that meant she would always look more deeply than a casual observer to peer below the surface of everything she encountered, but she didn’t know how to shift her perspective. It was simply who she was.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she glimpsed an empty plastic shopping bag dangling from the branches of a tall bush along the side of the road, and felt her stomach tighten with anger and despair. Surely anyone could see the ugliness of the discarded bag.

Just then, a convertible filled with young people passed them, their music blaring, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the vehicle they’d just passed was a police car.

Walter swore, and flipped on his siren.

“Just give them a lecture, okay?” said Kali. “I have a strong feeling that it’s going to be a bitch of a day.”

One of the passengers in the convertible looked back at them as the driver pulled over, then dropped a plastic bottle and a crumpled paper bag onto the road verge.

“Ignore what I just said,” said Kali, reconsidering. “Give them a nice fat ticket, and I’ll fill them in on criminal littering in the meantime.”

Walter grinned as he pulled up behind the convertible. The car eased over onto the verge, and Walter pulled in behind it, cutting the engine. “Are you going to use your scary voice?”

“You bet I am,” she said, pulling out her badge and hanging it around her neck. “Plus, this will give me something constructive to do to take my mind off the pineapple-field bodies while I’m waiting for Tomas to get back to me.”

“About the disappearance of Matthew Greene?”

“That, and whether his father-in-law, Bill Bragden, was seriously an official suspect.”

“How could he not have been? He seemed pretty sure his daughter was the victim of domestic abuse.”

“Yeah, but I can’t read him. He’s old now, and it’s hard to picture him killing someone, even in revenge.”

“How many killers have you met that were obvious from the beginning?”

Kali considered his question. “You’re right. But this guy . . . I don’t know. Piano teacher, lives in a fussy house with too many vases and candy dishes, takes good care of his garden . . .”

Walter shook his head. “Classic, high-functioning psychopaths sometimes have nice gardens, too.”

“We should bring him over to Maui for questioning. Get him out of his comfort zone.”

“Agreed.”

“Lots to think about.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the idle convertible on the road ahead of them, its wheels straddling the verge.

“But first them, I guess.” He turned toward her, brow raised. “Before I give them a ticket, you want me to throw in a speech about drugs and a warning about the consequences of unprotected sex?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sure. Be my guest.” She undid her seat belt and opened the door. “Then you can buy me lunch before we talk to the rooster guy.”

* * *

The post-traffic-ticket stop for lunch was brief. They pulled into a roadside parking area where a food truck was selling fish tacos, and ordered ono tacos topped with slaw and avocado. After enjoying their meal at a picnic table in the shade, they made the twenty-minute drive to the Kahanu Garden on Ulaino Road. Inside, they followed a pathway that opened into a green area and past the colossal rock structure of Pi‘ilanihale Heiau. The ancient edifice had been created from basalt lava rock, and was spread across several acres that included multiple terraces and platforms. Once, long ago, the heiau had been a place of worship and ceremony, where gods were offered sacrifices, and people gathered for moments of significance within their community.

Existing within the garden’s borders was an expansive native hala Pandanus forest, which bore the distinction of being the largest existing forest of its type within the Hawaiian Islands. There were extensive collections of native plants and flora that had been introduced to Hawai‘i from other parts of Polynesia, and they walked among them, eventually coming upon a grove of breadfruit trees where they found Angelo Mendoza tinkering with the engine of a riding lawnmower. He was surrounded by a small sea of manicured, freshly cut grass. When he saw Walter and Kali approach, he stopped fiddling with the mower and removed a wide-brimmed hat, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Angelo Mendoza?” said Walter.

“That’s me.” He looked inquisitively at Walter, then turned his attention to Kali, recognizing her.

“Hi there, Angelo,” she said.

“Oh, it’s you. I got something you cops need?” Angelo directed the question to Kali, his voice unfriendly.

“We’ll have to see,” she said.

“Tell me about your big rooster show, Angelo,” said Walter.

Angelo scowled. “Ain’t no roosters here.” He spread his arms wide,