Something inside Jessica made her want to rush up to these strangers and warn them, but she was too practical for such a step. They would think her mad, and they most likely would understand nothing she had to say, given the language barrier and the morbid nature of her message. Warnings were seldom heeded anyway, and if a warning were to be of any use, it might perhaps be done better via the media as Jim was thinking. The investigation into the Cane Cutter case was leading in that direction. There was no artist rendition of the killer, but there most certainly were enough faces and evidence to make a rendition of the typical victim. A Linda Kahala-type pencil drawing could be flashed over the TV channels throughout the island and presented in the press. It might be the right thing to do at this point, but Jim Parry had said that it was too soon, that with her coming in on the case, he didn't want to have the killer suddenly fleeing the jurisdiction, vanishing as most serial killers did.
From the corner of her eye, she saw someone watching her, a lone figure who stopped suddenly short, turned and was pretending to hail a cab. When she turned back and started for the hotel, he quickly pursued. He was a short, stocky Hawaiian whose step was lively and quick. She was about to lift her cane and strike when from the doorway stepped Joseph Kaniola, the newspaperman and father of the slain cop. She recognized him from their brief encounter at the airport.
Kaniola shooed the other, younger man off before saying to her, “I have come for some answers.”
She stared into his unwavering, dark Hawaiian eyes at a smoldering light there. 'There's really not much I can help you with, Mr. Kaniola.”
“ As a father? Off the record,” he pleaded. “I've got to know what's being done.”
His anguish clearly undeniable, she suggested they go inside.
They entered the open, airy lobby of the hotel, where the trade winds were allowed to dust everything in the place, going straight through to the seaside exit, where they found a table. Birds flew so close she might reach out and touch one. A waitress asked them if they'd like to order something to drink. She asked for iced tea and Mr. Kaniola asked for a beer.
“ There's truly not much I can tell you,” she began.
“ That's not good enough,” he challenged.
“ All right, but this is in strictest confidence, sir.”
“ Accepted.”
“ It cannot go beyond this table.”
“ Accepted.”
“ Your son's murderer is the same man who has been killing young island women.”
He sat in silence, the news sinking in. 'To finally hear it from someone in authority… that Alan's death… that he didn't die for nothing, shot by some stoned drug-head… that he was so close to solving the Trade Winds killings… I knew it… felt it here.” He finished by beating his chest with his fist.
“ We believe your son stumbled onto the Trade Winds Killer.”
“ Stumbled? That's not exactly right. He followed the case closely. He knew every detail about the victims. He was on the bastard's trail.”
“ Perhaps… at any rate, the killer surprised him; got the upper hand.”
“ There's more you're not saying.”
“ I can't tell you any more. I've already overstepped my bounds just by talking to you.”
“ Did Parry tell you that you could not speak to me?”
“ No, to the press in general.”
“ I tell you I am here as a father.”
She cast out a long breath of air as if this might return some investment. He continued to stare, his eyes glistening over with the loss he had suffered. He reached for a napkin, dabbed his eyes which were red and swollen.
“ His mother and I… his wife and children… we have all suffered a great deal. We have to know all that we can learn. We have to know that his killer will be brought to justice.”
“ He will,” she said, knowing she could make no such promise.
He continued to bore through her from a purely Hawaiian visage with the eyes of a man seeking truth. She wondered momentarily about his ancestry.
“ You must promise that nothing I say will find its way into your newspaper.”
“ I swear on the graves of my ancestors that nothing revealed here, from you alone, will be made newsprint.”
'That's an old newsman's trick, Mr. Kaniola. Take what I tell you, run it by another source and then claim it came from the secondary source whom you fooled into nodding yes or no. I guess Parry was right about my not talking to you.” She got up as if to leave, but he stopped her with a firm hand on her wrist. Nearby, she saw the Hawaiian man who'd earlier been following her, and she saw the glint of metal where a shoulder holster bulged beneath the Hawaiian shirt. She sat back down.
“ Please, I must know, as a father.”
She sighed heavily and sat back down. She told him about the profile of the victims, hoping this would suffice. She also confirmed that Linda Kahala was the first of the missing women to be identified and that this came as a result of a limb spewed forth by the Blow Hole. It was information that was generally circulating anyway, she rationalized. “God, that could've been one of my grandchildren.” He was horrified, his eyes wandering far from the table now. “Please, anything else about my son?”
She then added, “At some time your son was in close proximity to the killer, it appears because-”
“ I knew it.”
“- because-and this for certain you don't want to get around, Mr. Kaniola-your son's hands made contact with Linda Kahala's blood, either from the body or clothing.”
His small eyes pinched at this. “What're you saying?”
“ I'm not saying that I think he had anything to do with the Kahala girl's killing. He put his hands on some item that was covered in her blood. Most likely her clothing.”
He thought about this, how close his son had come to being the hero in this story without heroes.
“ News like that could be twisted,” he said.
“ I'm well aware of that, and so are my lab people.”
“ But they're not your lab people, are they? They're Parry's people. How can you trust strangers?”
She gazed questioningly at him. “You knew the exact time when I landed at the airport, and now you've learned where I'm staying. Mr. Kaniola, maybe I should be frightened of you.”
“ You have nothing to fear from me. I want only that my son be honored, and his killer brought to justice.”
“ In the meantime, what're you paying Mr. Lau for information?” She'd taken a calculated shot. His reaction was bull's-eye, not in words but in body language.
“ I pay Lau nothing.” He clenched his teeth as if insulted.
“ Not even in beer?”
“ Lau is my sister's son.”
“ Your nephew?” She dropped her gaze and drained her tea, which had turned to water. “I think I've said enough.”
“ But you've told me nothing. How soon will you and Parry find this madman?”
“ What's really going on here, Mr. Kaniola? Island vigilantes at work?”
“ You shock me!”
“ You find the name of the killer, and then you and your pals can work a little island justice? Is that it?”
“ I have a right to know what is being done about this matter!” His shout startled people all around them. She got up to leave, ignoring his repeated apologies and his bodyguard. As she walked away, he said firmly, “I will see vengeance done. I have a right to see it done. I am an American, too, Dr. Coran.”
She rushed toward the elevator and her room, strangers on all sides of her now taking on a sinister form. How many of them were working as Kaniola's eyes? How many people were watching her? She had thought someone back at the Aloha Tower was watching her, but she had cast off the notion as preposterous. Now this.
She wondered how deeply Joseph Kaniola's frustration and anger ran. Just how far might he go if he learned who the killer was before she and Parry did?