Forgotten Witness (34 page)

Woodrow Calister rolled over in his bed, half asleep but only half. He hadn’t slept well since Ambrose had dropped his bombshell. Life had gone on. No one had known of his distress. What kind of politician would he have been if he was that transparent? And as the days went on, he started to think that Ambrose was reconsidering. Jerry had not been named, there had been no meetings between the two men that Woodrow knew of, and certainly Jerry would have crowed about it if there were. Lydia was still making sounds as if she believed Woodrow was the favored son. So Woodrow kept his counsel just in case this was a test. He answered the phone half thinking that it would be Ambrose calling to tell him he had passed. It wasn’t. Woodrow sat up and turned on the light as he listened to his briefing. He hung up and dialed Eugene Weller. Eugene picked up and sounded as if he were wide-awake.

“There’s been a fire in Hawaii.”

“Bad?” Eugene asked.

“Yes. It’s all gone.”

“Is there anything to do?” Eugene asked.

“I’ve taken care of it. Everything should be wrapped up by morning.”

“Thank you, Senator.”

“I think we can rest easy,” Woodrow said.

He hung up, turned on his side, and smiled. It didn’t matter what call Ambrose made. Woodrow Calister was pleased that the man would be safe. He was pleased, because Ambrose was his friend. He must never forget that. There were so few to be had in Washington.

***

Malia had been at the helm of the
No Problem,
sailing it across the still turbulent sea under a bright sun. The storm from the night before had left the island sparkling and vibrant and Molokai never looked more beautiful. Sadly, Stephen couldn’t admire it. He was hanging over the side of the boat looking nearly as green as the island.

Aolani and Anuhea, sat in the deck chairs with their feet up, silently watching the horizon, lost in their own thoughts until the boat pulled up to the dock. When it did, Aolani jumped down and caught the rope that Anuhea threw. When the boat was secure, Malia put her arms around Stephen who fell into them.

“I wish that God would take me. Throw me overboard. To the sharks,” he moaned.

“We’re docked, Stephen. Five minutes and you’ll be okay. Breathe deep.”

Malia got him on his feet and Aolani helped him down. He crashed onto the dock. Anuhea hovered, Malia jumped down. If he fell backward it would take all three to get him up again, but he didn’t. The twins took his arms, one on each side while Malia went on ahead.

“There’s only the truck, Stephen.” She called this over her shoulder.

“I want the big car, Malia,” he grumbled and the girls looked at one another.

“Josie must have it, Stephen,” Anuhea said.

“Ah. All right then.” Stephen lumbered down the dock and climbed into the passenger seat of the blue truck. He put his head back but already the color was coming to his round cheeks. “One of you will have to drive the other one back when we find it. Are there an extra set of keys in the Harbor Master’s office?”

“I don’t think so, Stephen,” Aolani muttered.

“I think you’re right, my love. Perhaps someone will have found them. Josie’s purse. Perhaps, they’ll have found something.” His voice trailed away. He rolled down the window and looked out as Malia started the engine.

She drove toward Ha Kuna House while Stephen gulped air and tried to imagine that the wind was blowing raindrops off the trees onto his cheeks and not tears out of his eyes.

***

Stephen stood outside the fire department perimeter trying to engage anyone who passed his way. The men who did, though, had no interest in talking. That didn’t surprise Stephen. Not only was their task grim, they were not locals. These blokes wore white jumpsuits to sift through the ash and rubble of what had once been a beautiful house. Actually, though, they weren’t sifting at all – they were carting away everything including the ash that had been watered down and cooled to a paste.

In the distance, Stephen heard the thump of helicopter rotors. More than likely it was only a local tour taking in the spectacular view of the cliffs, but it gave him the chills to hear it as he was looking at such horrible scene on the ground.

Two large unmarked trucks were onsite, their loading bays open. One was already packed neatly with square boxes five across and three high. He estimated it could hold rows at least ten deep and that meant a whole lot of Ha Kuna House ash was packed inside. In the other truck large debris filled the space. It was all wrapped in plastic and labeled with yellow tags. Stephen was reminded of an airline crash where the bits and pieces of a plane were collected and later would be laid out and reconstructed to try and figure out what made the bloody thing fall out of the sky. He had the oddest feeling, though, that these pieces of Ha Kuna house would never again see the light of day. He wandered toward that truck to see if he might catch a glimpse of whatever was written on one of the tags when someone finally decided it was time to have a chat with him.

“Sir! Sir. Stop there.” A tall man strode toward him, his hand out.

“Hello, there,” Stephen called as the man stopped between Stephen and the truck.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked and the way he said it proved he was not a personable sort.

“A friend of mine. Josie Bates. She was staying here last night. She is a very tall lady, so perhaps you’ve found…well, perhaps you’ve found something of hers. Perhaps she was injured and already sent on to hospital,” Stephen suggested.

“If you haven’t heard from her you probably won’t. My condolences.” The man turned away, but Stephen wasn’t done.

“Wait, man! You can’t leave it at that. I would think there are other families needing information, too. Mr. Reynolds. Where is he? I’ll talk to him.”

“Mr. Reynolds was in his office last night. There were four residents and an aide. I’m afraid they are all deceased.” The man’s eyes never left Stephen’s and while Stephen would have been happy to contest such a bold thing, the man in white had no time for games. “I will have to ask you to leave the premises, sir.”

“Of course. Yes, I see that it would be for the best.”

Stephen stepped back and made as if he intended to go. Behind him, the man was satisfied and went back to his job. He didn’t notice that Stephen was walking slowly, considering that something was not right. Six people dead in the house was a tragedy, but…

Six…

Six…

Stephen stopped. The number was wrong. There had to be more than six people in that house if Josie had stayed the night. Josie, four residents, and one night aide. Certainly shouldn’t the man have said seven deceased if Reynolds was also gone?

Stephen swung toward the two cars in the drive. Both were covered with ash but untouched by the fire. Neither belonged to Keoloko Enterprises. The residents couldn’t drive. There was only one night aide. Perhaps this was Reynolds’ car and yet Stephen thought not. He motioned to Aolani. She came at his call, her tiny feet dragging, her beautiful young face sorrowful.

“Aolani, my sweet. You must do something.” He took her around the shoulders and turned her away from the white-suited trolls climbing over the ash and heaps of charred wood. He whispered: “Darling girl, do you think you might pop over to the red car without anyone seeing you and take a look at the registration?”

“I can try.”

“Go on with you. I’ll stand in front. No one will see past me now, will they?”

Despite the circumstances, Aolani giggled as she walked away. She was in and out of the car in seconds.

“It belongs to Kate Damon,” She said when she came back to him.

“That’s my little burglar. Did you manage an address?”

“On Ena Street.”

“You are a smart girl, Aolani. Where are the others?” Stephen craned his neck. It did not escape his notice that the man who had spoken to him earlier was watching them.

“They went to find flowers. Aloha for Josie and her
makuahine.
So sad to die young, but it’s good to die with her mother.”

“Ah, you have a heart of gold, Aolani. Go help them, will you? I’ll be back in a moment.”

Aolani went off and Stephen didn’t even take time to admire the sway of her hips under her long cotton dress. He walked the opposite way, on the path he and Josie had taken on their first visit, keeping his ears sharp and his eyes open just in case the blokes in white were snooping about that far afield.

He saw the cars before he even reached the turn out. One was the SUV Josie had taken the day before. He looked in the other and confirmed the pitiful excuse for a vehicle belonged to Amelia. Stephen looked at his phone. The little bars were nonexistent. He would like to talk to Molokai’s fire chief. He wanted to know who the men collecting ash and bones and teeth at Ha Kuna House were. He wanted to know why the local fire patrol was not assisting. Mostly, Stephen wanted to know where Amelia and Josie had gotten themselves off to. More to the point: why hadn’t they shown themselves when the cavalry rode in?

Knowing he could not get the answers to these questions while he looked at the lovely, sad faces of his girls, Stephen bundled them on to the ferry and sent them home. They begged him to come with, but he pleaded a need to mourn privately – as well as to see if there were any Keoloko goods to be salvaged. When they were gone, he treated himself to a cocktail or two. Finally, judging that the men in white were gone, he went back to the Ha Kuna House property. Sure enough, the men were gone and they had left the place as clean as mum’s kitchen after Christmas dinner.

Stephen walked the perimeter as he punched a number into his phone, kicked with his sandals at the graded earth, and thought it odd that not even a piece of one of the hospital beds, a porcelain toilette, or the behemoth refrigerator he had known to be in the kitchen was left.

“Ah,” he said when the phone was answered. “Chief. Stephen Kyle here. Fine, thank you. But you have had quite a night. The fire–”

He was interrupted, listened, and then took it upon himself to interrupt back.

“Of course. Federal land. I didn’t realize the feds had fire marshals at the ready. Quite a team? Oh yes, I think so. Certainly professional. I saw them at work until I was sent on my way. Spic and span here.”

Stephen listened again and then laughed from the belly, talking as he walked toward the caretaker’s cottage.

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want me contaminating the scene either. I fear contaminating anything I touch, quite honestly. I imagine your men had already–”

Stephen did more pausing than talking. He had never known the fire chief to be so verbose. He listened as he tried the door to the cottage. It was open and empty. He walked toward Reynolds’ house as he kept up his side of the conversation.

“So you say? They needed no help. Happy days, the federal government finally accomplishes something. Good to know.”

They both had a laugh over that and then lamented the tragedy once more. The chief wished him aloha and Stephen wished him aloha back. The chief went back to his work and Stephen tried the doors of Reynolds’ place. It, too, was open so Stephen invited himself in. The house was pristine, as if the cleaning lady had just been in and done her level best. Stephen wandered through the place, opening closets and drawers willy-nilly. There was nothing there. Not even a book or a pencil, not a sweater or a towel. The men in white, he imagined, had taken it all. Poor Reynolds. Fifteen years in the place and someone wanted to make it seem that he never existed.

Tiring of finding nothing, Stephen went back outside and continued on his walk. He took the path that led to the cliffs, dialing Josie’s number as he went, getting only her voice mail. Molokai was fixing herself up after a rough roll in the hay with Mother Nature. The sun was out; the plants were lifting their flowers and leaves as the water evaporated. The ground was still muddy underfoot but not running with water. Something buzzed past Stephen’s ear and he swiped at it. His eyes scanned the jungle. He listened harder than he had ever listened in his life, but all was quiet.

Stephen trudged on, looking for all the things one sees in a movie or reads about in books: the bit of fabric hanging on a branch, footprints on the ground, a tangle of hair on a thorn, stones piled in the shape of an arrow. Stephen tired and he became cranky that he had not thought to at least have one more drink while he waited out the Ha Kuna cleaning crew. He raised his voice.

“Josie! Josie Bates! Show yourself!”

Stephen waited. His eyes narrowed as if that would help him see that which he was beginning to think did not exist. He put his hands on his hips and planted his feet and pushed out his chest. His magnificent stomach stretched his buttons to bursting; the tail of his lime green shirt fluttered in the breeze and, if there had been anyone to see, they would have been privy to a hint of pale paunch.

“Josie! I haven’t got all day. Chop, chop,” he boomed.

The seconds ticked by. Perhaps he must acknowledge that Josie and her mum had perished and accept the mystery of it.

“Josie! Jo–”

He tilted his head, cleared his throat and put his chubby fingers to his eyes. Surely, this was nothing more than a wayward cinder in his eye that was causing him grief and the last little whiff of smoke that had gotten into his throat and cut off his speech. Stephen took one deep breath and decided to call one more time in his best, biggest, English voice and then he would be done.

Before he could cry out yet again, the bushes shivered, the leaves rustled, and a branch broke. Covered in dirt, and mud, and ash, her short hair singed to nothing on one side of her head, Josie Bates shouldered her way through the forest and into the clearing. She stopped when she saw him, her body sagged, and the bag she was carrying dropped to the ground. Her eyes softened, her burned lips titled upward. Behind her, Amelia hovered with her arm around the ever beautiful, perpetually vacant Emily Bates, but Stephen only had eyes for Josie.

“By God, I have found me an Amazon,” he whispered before those errant cinders found their way to his eyes once more.