kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller) (18 page)

Dave turned to the Avon’s outboard motor. He ran a hand along it, looking for the tilt pin to lower it into the water.

“We’ll tell you on the way to the nearest police station,” Tara said. “First let’s get out of here.” She needed to make a formal report and notify the local authorities of the murderous crimes uncovered in their area. The Kauai police had been involved in the search for the missing geneticist’s yacht.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Lance said, sitting up. “Police? What did you see in there? Did you find Dad’s body in there?”

Kristen couldn’t ignore the anxiety in her brother’s voice. He seemed genuinely alarmed. “Lance, the entire crew is dead, except for Dad. We hope. He wasn’t there,” she said, while Dave pulled the outboard’s starter cord.

“What?” Lance said, even though he’d heard her perfectly well.

Kristen started to cry as she recounted their harrowing experience inside the nautical tomb. “—throats cut,” was all Lance heard as the outboard rumbled to life. Dave was all too happy to concentrate on operating the boat, which kept him from having to participate in the somber discussion. Tara was checking her cell-phone for service.

But no sooner did Dave put the motor into reverse to back the raft out of the peninsula of plants and into the main channel, when Lance stood up, wobbling on two feet in the small craft as he walked toward Dave. “Hold on,” he said. “Stop!”

Dave looked up at Lance from his sitting position next to the outboard. He gave the engine a final burst of reverse power to clear the last strands of leaves before putting it into neutral. The river’s current started to swing the Avon’s nose toward the sea. Kristen grabbed hold of Lance’s leg to steady him as he balanced precariously on the unsteady deck.

“How’d you guys get down here so fast, anyway?” Lance asked. Dave cocked his head toward their inner tubes, which now drifted unoccupied down the river. Lance’s eyes bugged out in surprise when he saw the makeshift transportation.

“Sit down Lance, we need to go,” Tara said. She noticed that her phone had a signal now.

Dave looked up at Lance, wondering if he was going to say something. But after a couple of seconds of standing there with an odd, panicky look on his face, Lance eased back into the boat.

He said nothing more as they headed for the river mouth.

…GAAA
33
CGAC...

3:37 PM

Tara
,
Kristen and Lance sat in their rented Jeep in the parking lot of a Hanalei boat rental shop while Dave did his best to explain some minor damage to their outboard’s propeller to the shop’s proprietor without admitting that they took it far up the river into the mountains. While they waited, Lance addressed his sister while Tara used her cell to get directions to the nearest local police station.

“Instead of going to the police here and missing our plane back to Oahu, why don’t we just catch our five O’clock flight to Honolulu and talk to the police there?”

Tara shook her head. “This needs to be reported now. We just found half a dozen dead bodies, for Christ’s sake, on a boat that’s been reported missing for three months! They’ll need for each of you three to give statements as well.”

Lance suddenly appeared drained. He rubbed his eyes and let out a long breath. He looked as though he were about to say something when they heard laughter from Dave, who was holding his hands in the air while looking at the outboard. Clearly he had made friends with the boat guy, who gave him a hearty handshake and a pat on the back before saying something about a free driving lesson with his next rental.

Then Dave made his way over to the rental car and climbed into the Jeep’s open backseat. Kristen asked him if everything was okay with the boat.

“Yeah, no worries. Helps to have one of these,” he said, flashing his Hawaii driver license. “They know I’m
kama’aina
—I’ve lived in the islands for a while.”

“To the police station,” Tara said, starting the Jeep.

“Fine by me,” Dave answered without hesitation. “But what’s up, Lance—you don’t like that idea?” He could see Lance scowling from the rear view mirror.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Tara said, reminding all three of them of her official position.

Lance threw his hands up. “I realize that. I’m just tired is all. I don’t see what difference it makes if we report it here or when we get back to Oahu. And if they don’t have any seats available on a later flight, or they don’t even have another flight, then we’re stuck here for the whole night.”

“They have flights every hour until eight,” Tara said, “and the inter-island flights aren’t usually booked solid during the week.”

Lance slumped further down into his seat as Tara turned onto the main road.

“Detective Nikamoto will see you now,” said a policewoman staffing the front desk at the Lihue, Kauai police station. A tall, rail thin Asian man, mostly bald except for an obvious comb-over, appeared in a doorway. He beckoned the four river explorers deeper inside the station. They followed him into a noisy, fluorescent lit work room filled with police officers talking on phones and to each other in their cubicles.

Mr. Nikamoto led them all the way through the cubicle area to his private office at the rear of the common work area. Once inside, he closed the door behind them. He walked behind his desk and took a seat while indicating the chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit,” he told them. “I have been briefed by Special Agent Shores on your discovery up the Wailua River. Ms. Archer, please give me your account of the discovery.”

Kristen recounted the news of her missing scientist father and how they found the scuttled yacht with its murdered crew still inside—without her Dad. Dave nodded in agreement during parts of her telling. Lance, for his part remained still and silent, while Tara stood in a corner of the office, softly conversing on her cell-phone with her Honolulu field office. When Kristen finished, the detective stared at her long and hard with piercing green eyes.

“I do, of course, recall the story of the missing research vessel. In fact, we were notified several months ago by the Coast Guard to be on alert for the yacht,” he said, before adding, “May I see your identification?”

“Certainly,” Kristen said, fishing her driver license from the wallet in her pocket and handing it across the desk. Nikamoto stared at it intently for a few seconds, glancing between her and the card a couple of times before returning the ID to its owner.

“Of course you know you will need identification in order to board your return flight to the mainland. In fact, how did you get here from Oahu? Did you fly?”

They all knew that there was a high chance he flew, since ferry service between the islands was limited.

“I flew, but it was a private flight, so I didn’t need an ID.” Kristen and Dave nodded in agreement.

The detective seemed to reappraise all four of his visitors, looking briefly into each of their eyes before turning back to Lance. “You should take steps to replace your ID as soon as possible, since you will not be permitted to board a mainland flight without it.”

“Absolutely.” Lance said.

“And when is your return flight to California scheduled?” Detective Nikamoto asked.

“Three days from now,” Kristen answered, but then added quickly, “But that was before this new development. We may want to stay longer now.”

“I understand,” the detective said. “I will have my men investigate the Wailua River immediately. I will personally be in touch with Agent Shores regarding your father’s missing person case.”

“Thank you,” Kristen said. “You know, tomorrow our father is scheduled to be declared legally dead because he’s been missing for three months.”

The detective shook his head. “Because your father’s yacht has been found—without his body inside—the investigation will be re-opened and given new resources. The declaration of death will be suspended pending the outcome of this new line of inquiry.”

Beside her, Lance made some quiet coughing noises and then pretended to clear his throat.

…TTAT
34
GAAA...

5:30 PM

The forty minute flight back to O’ahu was quiet and uneventful, giving Tara time to think. She had a multiple murder and kidnapping case on her hands, she thought, shielding her camera screen from view of the other passengers as she reviewed the grisly images of massacred men on her digital camera. Tonight she would need to do some background work.

Upon landing Kristen offered to take everyone out to dinner. “It’s been a trying day, and I appreciate everyone’s help. I was thinking we could go to the Top of Waikiki, the revolving high-rise restaurant, my treat.” Dave and Lance accepted, but Tara informed them she would not be going, although she would be in touch tomorrow. Kristen told Tara that she would make reservations for 7:00, and that she was welcome to join them should she change her mind.

Driving her Crown Vic from the airport back to the field office, Tara thought about Lance. She didn’t buy his story about falling asleep and drifting all the way down the river. She had no idea why he would lie about it, but she didn’t believe it. And his face. He’d been beat up pretty bad. Sure, tourists did sometimes get mugged in Waikiki, but combined with Lance’s other behavior it was suspicious.

Arriving at the F.O., Tara keyed into her office and sat behind her desk. She thought for a few moments and then picked up the phone and dialed the Honolulu Police Department’s Waikiki Substation, the same station where Lance said he filed his police report.

A receptionist answered.

“Aloha,” Tara said, now using the customary Hawaiian greeting without even thinking about it. “I’m Special Agent Tara Shores with the Honolulu FBI Field Office. I’d like some information on a police report, please.” She gave the receptionist her badge number, and in a moment a police detective with whom Tara had worked on several occasions came on the line.

“Agent Shores, always a pleasure. What can I do for you this evening?”

“Thank you, Detective Miyamoto. I need you to do me a favor. Should be pretty simple. I want you to pull a police report about a Waikiki mugging filed within the last twenty-four hours by the victim, last name Archer, first name Lance.” She spelled the names out for the detective, who said it would only take a couple of minutes and then put her on hold. Nearly five minutes later, Miyamoto came back.

“We have no such report,” he said. Tara asked him to check his spelling of the name, but he cut her off.

“I can tell you,” Miyamoto said, “that in the last twenty-four hours we have only had one mugging-type incident of any kind reported in Waikiki, and it was a purse snatching of an elderly Japanese woman, where the perp—a known Waianae meth user—was gang-tackled on Kalakaua by citizens and held until we arrived.”

Tara thanked Miymoto and hung up. Just in case Lance had reported the crime over the phone by calling the Honolulu Police main office downtown, and the information had not yet been reported to the Waikiki substation, Tara called them also. They, too, had no information on it.

Tara set the phone down and put her feet up on her desk, leaning back in her chair. Why would Lance not report his being mugged after saying that he had done so? Could the Archers be hiding something from her? She thought back to Kristen openly challenging Lance on the raft after he’d claimed to have fallen asleep.
She certainly lets him know when she thinks he's full of it. She does believe that he was mugged, though.
Still, something wasn’t adding up.

Tara noted the time on her wall clock: 6:15. The Archers plus Dave would be at the Top of Waikiki in forty-five minutes. She could join them and ask more questions. But if they were hiding something, there was no doubt they’d continue to hide it, while at the same time attempt to get additional tidbits from her as to how the investigation was unfolding. She needed a little more time to think. Maybe she’d ask to meet them at their hotel in the morning…

Their hotel!
Tara looked at the clock again. They were going to a fancy restaurant, which meant they’d be gone at least two hours.
Plenty of time
.

Tara jumped out of her chair and went outside to her car. She drove to Waikiki in twenty minutes and paid the exorbitant fee to park in the hotel. She glanced at the clock in her car’s dash: five minutes to seven. They’d have left for the restaurant by the time she got there.
If they're still there for some reason when I get there and they see me walking in, I’ll say I decided to join them for dinner after all...
Tara went over various contingencies such as this one until she reached the hotel.

She entered the lobby and took the elevator to the Archers’ room without seeing them. She walked up to their door, which was closed. She put an ear to the door, listening. She heard nothing. She tried the handle. Locked. She knocked on the door. No response. One more time, just to be sure; still no answer.

She looked up and down the hall, seeing or hearing no one, and then removed the same lock pick she’d used on the yacht and applied it to the door. It took a few seconds less than for the yacht. She opened the door and slipped inside, pocketing her pick.