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

believe I heard that he leased it from someone who bought it way back in the 1960s when the counterculture was taking hold in San Francisco, and a lot of people who identified with the hippie movement began moving here to the islands.”

“Were there a lot of local people there?” asked Hara.

Manuel shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s ‘a lot’? The day I was there, there were maybe thirty people, tops. You’d see them in the shops sometimes, too, but I think they grew most of their own food. For a while, they were around in the town, knocking on doors. Trying to get people to join their club, I guess. After I’d seen what was really going on, I mostly ignored them. What’s it to me, right?” He laughed. “Maybe if their music had been better, I’d have taken them more seriously, but it was all noise—tambourines and bells.”

“What about rumors that there may have been odd things going on at their farm?”

“Well, it’s true that some of the locals were pretty annoyed that the Eden people would wander into the old ruins for some of their ceremonies. The commune people thought the Hawaiian beliefs were evil, so they used to bring holy water into the site and throw it on the old stones and pray over them.”

“For what purpose? To bless them?”

“To cast out what they saw as things tainted by the devil.” Manuel shook his head and sighed. “That’s the problem, right? Convincing yourself that only your own personal beliefs are the right ones.”

“That’s part of the problem,” agreed Kali. “But we’re more concerned about claims that underage girls may have been targeted by Abraham Waters.”

Manuel considered her words. When he spoke, he gave off an uneasy air. “After a while, they started to keep to themselves. It’s hard to say what was really going on.”

Kali reached into her bag and pulled out the little anchor. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Manuel leaned forward, reaching out to gently take the charm from Kali. He held it in his palm, turning it over several times. “A little anchor,” he mused. He sat up suddenly. “Oh, yes. I remember. The anchor bracelet. The little girl—Abby, we called her, the little girl who was in the photo we just looked at—she had a bracelet with these little charms on it. A dozen, at least. She used to wear it all the time, and you could hear the jingle when she was around.”

Both Kali and Hara tensed. “Are you certain?” asked Kali.

“One hundred percent,” said Manuel. “I know, because the clasp broke one day and the little girl asked me if I could help her mend it. She was awfully upset. It had been a gift from her daddy, she told me, and he would have been furious with her if she lost it.”

“Furious if a little girl lost a bracelet?” asked Kali. “That doesn’t sound much like peace and love.”

“Well, those kinds of people—setting themselves apart and making up their own rules. It’s never really about peace and love, is it? It’s always about something else.” He laughed cynically. “Usually money or power, in my experience. Love? That’s just the bait.”

CHAPTER 24

Kali and Hara listened as Manuel talked some more about his days working in the pineapple fields. It was acutely apparent to both of them how much he missed the purpose and the work, and the people with whom he had shared those experiences over the years.

They assured him that the album would be returned as soon as possible. Afterward, Manuel walked them to the door. He thanked them again for the cake and reminded Kali of her earlier promise that she would return some time to visit when the investigation was over.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can tell you,” he said, waving as they climbed back into the Jeep.

They’d pulled out onto the street when Hara turned to her.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve studied cults a bit.”

She regarded him with disbelief. “Firsthand?”

He smiled, suddenly shy. “No, not exactly. I didn’t belong to one or anything. But one of the courses I took on criminal profiles delved into the topic a bit, and I found it really interesting, so I’ve read a lot more on the topic than the curriculum required.”

“So tell me,” she said encouragingly. “Give me the short course on what you learned about successful cult leaders.”

“You probably know a lot of this,” he said. “And the names of the famous cult leaders like Jim Jones, but there are certain personality traits that are consistent with the kinds of people who—well, you know, choose it as a career.”

She laughed. “Okay, so we’ve got our Jim Jones and Charlie Manson and my favorite—Marshall Applewhite and his comet riders.” She looked at Hara, weighing her observation. “I guess the big ones are all men with something to prove, or some need for adoration.”

“Yes—and they were, or are, generally very charismatic, at least when it serves their goals. On the inside, though, there’s often a lot of abuse and subjugation.”

“Sexual?”

“Definitely.”

“From what we’ve learned about Abraham Waters, would you say he’s a classic example?”

“I would,” he said. He stumbled over his next words. “I know you’ve been trained to be a traditional wisdom keeper, and that your role involves knowing a lot about spirituality. I don’t mean to be disrespectful to you . . .”

“You shouldn’t be the least bit concerned about that. We’re two colleagues, having a professional discussion about personality types that may help lead us to a serial killer. That’s a discussion worth having, don’t you think?”

“It’s just that I go to church,” he said. “I don’t think most people who have religious beliefs want to hurt others.”

She thought about his words. In her estimation, religious institutions were places where evil often hid in plain sight, but that didn’t mean there was nothing more. She kept her thoughts to herself and listened as Hara explained the profile of many of the famous cult