her online, which listed her brother and daughter, Leelee as survivors.
There was no birth certificate for Leelee in Hawai’i, so I did a national search, discovering she had been born in Las Vegas in 1992. No father was listed. But that did make her eighteen, despite her younger looks.
Amos Kapana was the legal owner of the house where Edith, Dex, Leelee and the baby lived. But where was he? Leelee said he didn’t live there anymore. I put in a request for his work records from Karen Gold at Social Security and kept hunting. There was no death certificate on file for him, but he had not renewed his driver’s license when it expired in January.
Karen faxed over Amos Kapana’s sketchy work record a little later. His last job had been over a year ago, with a temp agency that farmed out manual laborers. The woman there told me he had never picked up his last paycheck.
“He was a drunk,” she said. “Very unreliable.”
While I was working on Edith, Ray did more research on Bunchy. “Listen to this,” he said, as I made a note to tell Leelee about the paycheck. “Bunchy has three sons. The youngest one, Brian, served a tour in Iraq, and he’s living with his dad.”
56 Neil S. Plakcy
“What did he do in Iraq?” I asked. “You think he’s qualified on rifles?”
“I’ve got a friend who works in Army intelligence,” Ray said.
“I’ll give him a call, see if the name Brian Parker means anything to him.”
I was intrigued by the links between Ezekiel Kapuāiwa and Aunty Edith. She may have been more influential in KOH than we had thought.
“I think it’s time we talked to Ezekiel,” I said, when Ray finished his call. “Maybe he knows something.”
I phoned Maile Kanuha and asked how I could get hold of Ezekiel. “He’s not strong,” she said. “The appearance at the rally took a lot of out of him. He’d rather be left alone.”
Her evasiveness was suspicious. “Whether he wants to or not, we still need to talk to him.”
“I’ll have to get in touch with him and see what he says.”
“Maile, we’re the police. When we want to speak to somebody, they don’t have much choice.”
“I know, Detective. I’ll still have to get back to you, though.”
Next, I called Adam O’Malley, the attorney whose card we’d found in Edith’s desk. His secretary said he was in court on the mainland, and took a message.
By the end of shift, I was frustrated. We had no leads, and it felt like we were sitting on our hands waiting for information or new developments. I didn’t like that and knew that if I went straight home I’d fuss around, get even more agitated and then probably pick a fight with Mike just to let off steam.
So instead I made a detour up to my parents’ house in St.
Louis Heights, a steep, mountainous suburb of twisting streets and houses more expensive than any Mike or I could ever afford.
“Howzit, Mom?” I asked when my mother answered the door. I kissed her cheek. “You go see Leelee?”
“That girl needs help,” she said. “I don’t see why her neighbors MAhu BLood 57
aren’t doing anything for her. She even had the wrong kind of diapers.”
“Yeah, I heard that from Ray.” I followed her to the den, where my father was watching a nature special on sharks. I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, then sat across from him.
“You buy the bowls from her?”
“Those bowls,” she said, sitting across from my father. “Kimo, you have no idea.”
“What? They looked valuable to me.”
“Those are beyond value. You know how rare it is to have koa wood bowls that large?”
The three big bowls sat on the armoire beyond the TV. My mother picked one up and brought it over to show me. “Ones this size were restricted to the royal family,” she said. “See how it hasn’t been turned, but scooped out instead?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She turned the bowl upside down. “And see these repairs?”
“Yeah. Don’t they make the bowl less
There was no birth certificate for Leelee in Hawai’i, so I did a national search, discovering she had been born in Las Vegas in 1992. No father was listed. But that did make her eighteen, despite her younger looks.
Amos Kapana was the legal owner of the house where Edith, Dex, Leelee and the baby lived. But where was he? Leelee said he didn’t live there anymore. I put in a request for his work records from Karen Gold at Social Security and kept hunting. There was no death certificate on file for him, but he had not renewed his driver’s license when it expired in January.
Karen faxed over Amos Kapana’s sketchy work record a little later. His last job had been over a year ago, with a temp agency that farmed out manual laborers. The woman there told me he had never picked up his last paycheck.
“He was a drunk,” she said. “Very unreliable.”
While I was working on Edith, Ray did more research on Bunchy. “Listen to this,” he said, as I made a note to tell Leelee about the paycheck. “Bunchy has three sons. The youngest one, Brian, served a tour in Iraq, and he’s living with his dad.”
56 Neil S. Plakcy
“What did he do in Iraq?” I asked. “You think he’s qualified on rifles?”
“I’ve got a friend who works in Army intelligence,” Ray said.
“I’ll give him a call, see if the name Brian Parker means anything to him.”
I was intrigued by the links between Ezekiel Kapuāiwa and Aunty Edith. She may have been more influential in KOH than we had thought.
“I think it’s time we talked to Ezekiel,” I said, when Ray finished his call. “Maybe he knows something.”
I phoned Maile Kanuha and asked how I could get hold of Ezekiel. “He’s not strong,” she said. “The appearance at the rally took a lot of out of him. He’d rather be left alone.”
Her evasiveness was suspicious. “Whether he wants to or not, we still need to talk to him.”
“I’ll have to get in touch with him and see what he says.”
“Maile, we’re the police. When we want to speak to somebody, they don’t have much choice.”
“I know, Detective. I’ll still have to get back to you, though.”
Next, I called Adam O’Malley, the attorney whose card we’d found in Edith’s desk. His secretary said he was in court on the mainland, and took a message.
By the end of shift, I was frustrated. We had no leads, and it felt like we were sitting on our hands waiting for information or new developments. I didn’t like that and knew that if I went straight home I’d fuss around, get even more agitated and then probably pick a fight with Mike just to let off steam.
So instead I made a detour up to my parents’ house in St.
Louis Heights, a steep, mountainous suburb of twisting streets and houses more expensive than any Mike or I could ever afford.
“Howzit, Mom?” I asked when my mother answered the door. I kissed her cheek. “You go see Leelee?”
“That girl needs help,” she said. “I don’t see why her neighbors MAhu BLood 57
aren’t doing anything for her. She even had the wrong kind of diapers.”
“Yeah, I heard that from Ray.” I followed her to the den, where my father was watching a nature special on sharks. I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, then sat across from him.
“You buy the bowls from her?”
“Those bowls,” she said, sitting across from my father. “Kimo, you have no idea.”
“What? They looked valuable to me.”
“Those are beyond value. You know how rare it is to have koa wood bowls that large?”
The three big bowls sat on the armoire beyond the TV. My mother picked one up and brought it over to show me. “Ones this size were restricted to the royal family,” she said. “See how it hasn’t been turned, but scooped out instead?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She turned the bowl upside down. “And see these repairs?”
“Yeah. Don’t they make the bowl less
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