TKnC welcomes back Jim Clar with another superbly crafted Higa and Kanahele tale...
If Wishes Were Horses
HPD Detective Ray Kanahele looked out through the glass door
of the lanai across the canal toward the Ala Wai Golf Course. In the distance
to the left he could see a baseball game in progress on the immaculately
manicured diamond at the ‘Iolani School. From the colors of their jerseys he
guessed the opponent to be Punahou, or maybe St. Francis. The perfect arc of a
rainbow was just visible as it spanned the width of the Manoa Valley above and
beyond the line made by the H-1 as it passed through Kaimuki. Damn, he thought,
what a view!
The lumbering Kanahele and his wiry partner, Jake Higa, sat
in an apartment on the eleventh floor of a building on Ala Wai Boulevard
between Walina and Nahua streets in Waikiki. Across from them sat an elderly
man who reminded Kanahele of “Mr. Miyagi” from the Karate Kid, one of
the policeman’s favorite movies from when he was a teenager.
On the sofa next to the Pat Morita lookalike was one of the
most beautiful young women Kanahele had ever seen. With bronzed skin, lustrous
black hair and high cheekbones, she was a classic “island beauty” – the perfect
product of that ethnic melting pot that made Hawaii one of the most diverse,
endearing and, at times, most frustrating places on the planet. Not even the
dark circles under her eyes or the large bruise to the left side of her face –
which she had attempted not entirely successfully to cover with makeup – could
detract from the overall effect. What a view, Kanahele, thought for the second
time in as many minutes.
“How long will you be staying with your grandfather, Mrs.
Balliot?” Higa inquired of the young lady. If he were aware of her good looks,
the impassive Japanese-American detective didn’t show it.
“I’m not sure,” she answered meeting his gaze. “I need to
find a new place. I just can’t bring myself to go back to our, I mean, my
condo. Not after what happened. And I’m going by ‘Ms. Kaneda’ again now.”
“I understand,” Higa replied to both assertions as he
scribbled in his battered black Moleskine notebook. Those unacquainted with his
methods might have considered the notebook an affectation. His partner,
however, knew the extent to which the veteran investigator used the anecdotal
record of their cases as a means of making connections, drawing inferences and
keeping track of the ‘big picture’.
“I hate to ask,” Higa looked up and smiled as he bowed his
head slightly, “but could you run through it again for us? There are just a few
loose ends we need to tie up. This is the last time, I promise.”
“Please, Detective Higa,” the elderly gentleman interrupted
quietly but firmly. “Is that necessary? My granddaughter has been answering
questions for almost a week now. She’s been under a great deal of stress. I’m
sure you understand. Besides, we were led to believe that the investigation had
been concluded. The autopsy on Mark confirmed the fact that she was not
responsible in any way.”
“That’s true, Dr. Kaneda,” Higa spoke in the same measured
tones. Kaneda’s expression registered mild surprise at the detective’s use of
the honorific. “I’ve read your book on shamanism and sorcery among the Pacific
Islanders, doctor,” Jake Higa replied to the unspoken question.
“A policeman interested in Anthropology, I must say I’m
impressed!”
“Yes, well, I’m interested in many things. More to the
point, you’re clearly a careful researcher, sir, and you must surely tell your
students how important it is to verify their facts and corroborate their
findings before they publish them. That’s all we’re doing here…. giving it all
the final ‘once-over’ before we file our report.”
“It’s all right, sofu,” Jennifer Kaneda spoke as she
looked from one man to the other as though embarrassed that she was the cause
of conflict, however minor, between them. “If it helps put an end to this whole
nightmare, I’ll answer the detective’s questions.”
“Thank you,” Kanahele spoke for the first time in response
to a slight nod from his partner. “So you and your husband were having an
argument?”
“Yes. It’s as though we were always arguing. But you already
know that.” Jennifer Kaneda looked at Kanahele and smiled. The detective, who
was as brave and physically imposing as they came, almost flinched. Not for the
first time, he was glad his own wife wasn’t in the room. “The police had been
to our place at least twice previously because the neighbors complained.”
“What were you arguing about,” Higa inquired in tag-team
fashion. “Can you remember?”
“It’s hard to say. What I mean is, one argument seemed to
bleed … oh, God, I’m sorry … one argument seemed to flow into another. This
time I think it was about money. Mark wanted to know about a recent credit card
purchase. I told him that I had bought some new clothes for work. I explained
that everything I had was starting to look so old and worn. He flew into a
rage. Accused me of ‘having an affair’ with one of the men in our office.”
Kanahele looked up. “What was this guy’s name?”
“Jeff Fujimoto,” Jennifer Kaneda answered without
hesitation.
“Were you … having an affair, I mean?” Higa asked.
“Absolutely not. Jeff and I weren’t … aren’t … even
particularly close. It’s just that Mark assumed that I was having an affair
with any man who looked at me twice.”
Kanahele, for his part, figured he’d be having issues with
the ‘moke’ right about now, too, that’s if the bastard were still alive.
Guy must’ve assumed half the male population of the island was fooling around
with his wife. The big policeman looked through the window. He noticed that
someone for ‘Iolani had doubled in a run.
“Is that when he hit you?” Higa continued.
“No. It’s so hard to remember now just what the sequence
was, Detective Higa. But, no. Next thing I knew, Mark was going on about some
Aloha shirt that was missing. It was silk shirt that I had given him for his
birthday back in February. He really liked it.”
A few tears rolled slowly down Jennifer Kaneda’s cheeks. She
dabbed at them with a tissue, smearing her makeup and exposing her bruise in
the process. If he lived to be one hundred which, given his diet, wasn’t gonna’
happen, Kanahele would never figure it out. Dude abuses his wife and the wife
sheds tears for the asshole. He’d seen it a million times and it never made
sense. He’d heard all the psychobabble, gone to workshops as part of his
training. Predictable as it was, it still amazed him. Again he thought about
Maile, his own beautiful but fiery wife. If he ever raised so much as a hand to
her – which of course he wouldn’t – she’d kill him first then call a lawyer and
sue his ghost!
Regaining her composure, the young woman resumed.
“Anyhow, the shirt was missing. I know it was with everything
else I had picked up at the dry cleaners earlier in the week. Mark accused me
of losing it … or of forgetting it, or something. I told him to ‘go to hell’.
He was yelling at me about buying a few new skirts and blouses and he was
worried about a lousy shirt. Please!”
Ms. Kaneda looked down before speaking again, conscious of
her show of emotion.
“Maybe it was my fault. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.
I knew how he could get.”
“And that’s when he hit you?” Pen in hand, Higa looked up
from his notebook. The early afternoon sunlight threw his shadow across the
cream colored carpet.
“Yes. I think they call it a right-cross. And it was a good
one, it knocked me down.”
“What happened next?” Kanahele picked up where Higa left
off. With an effort of will, he forced himself to relax. His massive hands had
involuntarily clenched themselves into fists. He pictured himself delivering
more than one right-cross to the left side of the late Mark Balliot’s face.
“Mark reached down and grabbed me by my hair. He pulled me
to my feet. I screamed. I’m not sure what or how it happened, but he just
collapsed in front of me. I was dazed, maybe from the punch, maybe from the
adrenaline, maybe from shock. I don’t know. I slid back down so that I was
sitting on the floor next to him. I expected him to get up and start
apologizing, tell me how sorry he was. That’s how things always went. When he
didn’t move, when I realized he couldn’t
move, I took out my cell and called 911. I wasn’t sure whether to ask for the
police or report a medical emergency.”
“We know,” Kanahele offered, “we’ve listened to the call.”
“Did you strike your husband at any time during the
argument, Ms. Kaneda?” Higa suggested.
“No, absolutely not. You asked me that the first time you
interviewed me detective, my answer’s still the same.”
Kanahele stood and walked toward the door to the lanai. It
looked like the baseball game was over. The players had gathered in the infield
and were shaking hands. They appeared tiny from that distance and from that
height. He knew better, though. High School athletes were huge today. They all
worked out like maniacs. He figured he needed to spend more time in the gym, or
at least take up that exercise routine Jake followed. He wondered if Mark
Balliot worked out, other than when he was beating on his wife that is.
Turning back toward the occupants of the room, Kanahele
cleared his throat.
“Look, Ms. Kaneda, there’s something I still don’t get. Why
didn’t you just leave him?”
Jennifer Kaneda smiled. Bells rang and birds sang in
Kanahele’s ears. Smiles like that were as rare as black pearls pulled from the
limpid waters of a Tahitian lagoon.
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. There’s
no easy answer. Inertia? Maybe I thought that Mark would change. Maybe it was
just that I loved him.”
“I don’t doubt you loved him,” Higa interrupted. “But did
you ever wish him dead?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Kanahele sat back down. Before Jennifer Kaneda could answer, her grandfather
raised his voice.
“We’re through here, detectives; we’ve indulged you long
enough. If you have any more questions for my granddaughter I have to insist
that you speak with her attorney, especially if they’re preposterous questions.
I mean, seriously, even if Jennifer thought such a thing, what difference? You
can’t ‘wish someone’ dead!”
“Are you sure, Doctor?” The tone of Jake Higa’s voice
expressed more than a hint of conviction. “I’ve read your discussion of
fetishism and the power of curses among certain groups in the Solomon’s for
example and even here among the ancient Hawaiians.”
“Detective Higa,” Dr. Kaneda addressed the policeman as he
might a particularly dim graduate student. “There’s some debate today about
what type of ‘science’ Anthropology is, but it is nonetheless still a science insofar as it utilizes the
scientific method. The beliefs to which you allude can only be understood
within the sociological and cultural matrices in which they arose. If they have
any objective power whatsoever, they do so only in that context and not beyond.
My mother used to say ‘if wishes were horses, beggars would ride’. There are
lots of beggars on Oahu these days, detective, not many of them are riding.”
Higa stood and closed his notebook. Kanahele, following the
lead, got to his feet.
“You’re probably right, doctor,” the lithe Japanese-American
said. “We appreciate your time. As you said, you’ve indulged us enough. Mark
Balliot died because a hitherto undetected aneurysm chose precisely that moment
to burst in his brain. It’s a weird coincidence and nothing more.”
Higa turned to Jennifer Kaneda. “We’re sorry to have troubled
you any further. I know your relationship with your husband was somewhat
problematic, but we’re both sorry for your loss. “
Higa bowed. Kanahele cast one last, long and appreciative
look at Jennifer Kaneda as the two men left the apartment.
***
When the two detectives settled into their car where it was
parked on Nahua Street, Ray Kanahele turned toward his partner. As usual, Jake
was in the driver’s seat.
“What was that all about, Jake? I mean, shit, the old man’s
right. You can’t ‘wish’ someone dead.” Still, Kanahele had too much respect for
Higa, and he had worked with him for too long, to dismiss the latter’s strange
line of questioning out of hand.
Higa turned the key in the ignition before responding. He
had to wait to pull out in any case. A large green and yellow tour bus sporting
the bunny logo of Robert’s Hawaii had come to a stop adjacent to the
car. He moved slightly in his seat and faced his partner.
“You two are right, of course. Even so, thought is energy,
isn’t it? Can’t energy be harnessed and directed? You’re a good Catholic, Ray.
What about the power of prayer? Anyhow, I can’t help feeling that Dr. Kaneda
knows something he’s not telling. Maybe it’s just that I don’t like
coincidences.”
“Hey, Jake, I’m wishing for something as we speak.” Kanahele
couldn’t help himself. “You know what it is?”
The usually poker-faced Higa smiled archly.
“That’s easy, Ray. You want me to head over to ‘Rainbows’
for a plate lunch.”
Without another word, Higa put the car in gear and pulled
out behind the tour bus that had just moved forward.
***
Dr. Kaneda closed the door to his bedroom where his
granddaughter was resting. He was, without a doubt, too old for all this
commotion. He liked having Jennifer around but, still, he wasn’t sure how many
more nights he could spend on the couch. It was all he could do to roll off the
thing in the morning and get to his feet. Age really was a great thief!
He walked over to his desk, took out a key from his pants
pocket and opened the top drawer. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make
sure that Jennifer was still in the bedroom, he reached in and pulled out a
small figure crudely sewn together from a few pieces of a silk aloha shirt. He
had stuffed the tiny fetish with cotton balls that he had picked up from Longs
Drugs on his way home from Mark and Jennifer’s. It was the same afternoon
that he stole the shirt, though he hated to think of it like that, from the
pile of dry cleaning in the front room of their condo.
Kaneda opened the door to his lanai. The trades were blowing
so he was pretty sure he could do what he had to do without concern for the
building’s smoke detectors. Once outside, he pulled a small finishing nail from
the side of the figure’s head. Placing the fetish in an old flower pot that had
once held hibiscus, he set it on fire with a disposable lighter that he had
also purchased … just in case.
That his bold experiment worked really didn’t surprise
Kaneda in the least. There was, as that sharp detective Higa clearly seemed to
understand, ample evidence for the power of such things in every corner of
Polynesia and the Pacific. No, what really surprised the elderly gentleman was
the utter improbability at the heart of the whole thing … that he would pick
the precise moment that Mark Balliot was battering his granddaughter to deliver
the coup-de-grâce. He tested the
point of the nail against the tip of his thumb. Who knows what Jennifer had
been thinking at the time? One thing for sure, he’d never ask her. Still, the
scientist in Kaneda never liked coincidences.
As the figure in the flowerpot was consumed by the flames,
small pieces of ash swirled in the breeze and, ultimately, were borne up into
the blue Hawaiian sky like the words of an ancient incantation spoken with
great reverence and utter devotion.
BIO:
Short fiction, book reviews, author interviews and essays by
James C. Clar have been published in print as well as online. HPD detectives
Higa & Kanahele are frequent visitors to the pages of Thrillers, Killers
‘n’ Chillers.
