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

have to keep the microphone close to your mouth, Captain. Speak directly into it.”

Walter pulled the microphone closer. “I can tell you,” he said, over-enunciating the first few words, “that we have uncovered several individuals—not dozens—who we believe were left abandoned in an unused field on one of the old Lna‘i pineapple plantations some time ago, perhaps as long ago as twenty-five years.”

“Absolutely terrifying!” Chad responded, the timbre of his voice growing dramatically deep.

Walter frowned. “Well,” he began, but Chad interrupted.

“To think that all this time, a murderer has been walking among us,” Chad said gravely. “Maybe the person standing in front of you at the grocery store. Perhaps someone you’ve sat beside in a movie theater!”

Walter tilted his head, searching Chad’s face, trying to find any shred of genuine concern among the theater. “First of all, I should point out that there’s a difference between murder and homicide. And whoever it was who committed these crimes may no longer be alive, or even be in Hawai‘i,” he said. “We have no way to tell at this time. That’s why we’d like to appeal to the public for some help.”

“I assure you, Captain, that my loyal—and highly intelligent—audience would love to help the Maui Police Department solve this mystery. Everyone is worried. We’re all locking our doors at night.”

“Well,” said Walter, a slight frown on his face, “locking your doors at night is a pretty sensible thing to do in general.”

“But this is our tropical utopia! Trust and love abound. No one wants to have to look over their shoulder, or put bars on their windows.”

Walter sighed. “Statistically,” he began, but again Chad cut him off.

“What can you tell us about the investigation?”

Walter took a deep breath. “We are doing everything within our power to identify the deceased and locate the person or persons responsible.”

“How can we help, Captain? As you no doubt already know, I played an investigative journalist on Lights Out Maui and am deeply familiar with formal investigative procedures. I’m a professional, just like yourself. Tell us what we can do.”

Walter waited. It was clear from his expression that he would have liked to comment on Chad’s claims, that he was struggling to ignore that part of the discussion. “There are several things that would be helpful,” he finally said. “First, anyone having any information about any adult males going missing from 1997 to 2000, or information related directly to persons by the name of Helen Stafford and Reggie McCartney, are asked to get in touch with us on a special hotline we’ve established.” He reached forward, where the piece of white paper he’d brought rested facedown on the table’s surface. He held it up for the camera. It was an image of the anchor charm, the outlines emphasized in heavy black ink. “Next, anyone with information about this symbol is likewise asked to get in touch with us.”

Chad turned toward the camera. “This is serious business, folks. A matter—quite literally—of life and death. No pranks or frivolous calls, please. We want our local police force to respect us, and”—he flourished his smile first at Walter, then at the camera—“eventually thank us for our help.”

Walter refolded the paper and began to rise from his chair.

“Wait just a minute, Captain. We still haven’t talked about the details of the investigation.”

Walter sank back into his seat, reluctant.

“So far,” continued Chad, “the police search has been confined to one pineapple field on Lna‘i, but there are still hundreds of acres of fields that are no longer farmed. Will the search be expanded?”

Walter shook his head. “I’m afraid there are aspects of our investigation that I’m not at liberty to discuss at this time.” As Chad made a small sound of protest, Walter continued. “What I can say is that it’s possible there’s a connection between the deaths and the pineapple plantation itself.”

Chad leaned forward, clearly very eager. “You mean the land, of course. As locals, we know the terrifying stories about the demons and bloodthirsty monsters that make their home on Lna‘i.”

“Those are unverified stories. Legends.”

“Are they? Current events would suggest otherwise, don’t you think?”

“The legends you’re referring to took place, if they took place at all, a long, long time ago. And there was a happy ending to those stories: The monsters were conquered and banished from the island.”

“It’s a well-known fact that the Maui Police Department employs a detective who’s also a cultural expert in these matters. Detective Kali Mhoe is also a bona fide kahuna, isn’t she? Has she determined a link between the monster legends and the victims?”

Before Walter could respond, the door linking the studio to an outer hallway was suddenly thrust open. He watched as a large, longhaired tabby cat wearing a wide, fancy collar studded with fake gems sauntered into the room and made a beeline for Chad. In one smooth move, it leapt onto the table and knocked over the goblet of water in front of him, then began pushing its head against Chad’s arm, purring loudly. Unaware of the cat’s approach, Chad jumped as the cat appeared in front of him and knocked over the water. He turned to the girl at the camera, clearly flustered. He didn’t notice Walter lift his phone and take a photo.

“How did Cleopatra get in here?” he hissed. “That door is supposed to be closed.” The cat bumped Chad’s face with the top of its head, then burrowed against his neck, purring rapidly. Gently, he reached up and scooped the cat into his arms, where it instantly went limp and closed its eyes. Unable to help himself, Chad nuzzled the cat, making mock purring noises in return. He suddenly looked up, embarrassed, with the cat cradled in his arms.

Walter grinned. “Friend of yours?”

Arms wrapped around the cat, Chad rocked it slightly, then placed it gently back on the floor. He gestured to his assistant to put the cat into the hallway and to close the door. The