Two West to Waikiki

by Mackie

A crossover with The Sentinel and One West Waikiki.

Disclaimers: Sorry to say, none of them belong to me. Sentinel is Paramount and Pet Fly, One West Waikiki is Rysher and Glen Larson, Marker is Stephen Cannell Productions. No infringement is intended. I'm just having a little fun with (a lot of) the boys.

If you need any info concerning the shows used in any of my crossovers, click here. For other stories with Hawaiian locales, check out Hawaiian Style. It also has a glossary of Hawaiian phrases; I use a lot of them in this story, but their meaning should be fairly clear from the context. If you linked here from Hawaiian Style, check out my Sentinel Fanfic and Other Fanfic.

Many thanks to Gina for research, keeping my island directions consistent, and helping with inevitable plot problems. We took a little license with locales and fictional names, but most of this is spot on! Thanks, too, to Shellie for enduring disjointed fragments and unfinished scenes while this story came together; your comments are always welcome! Mahalo, aikane!

Two West to Waikiki

-- by Linda S. Maclaren

Part One

"This is so weird," Blair Sandburg murmured in perplexed delight as he walked beside his partner through the terminal of Honolulu International Airport. "I've never really thought of you as a babe magnet."

Jim Ellison was equally bemused. So far, a flight attendant on their trip from Seattle to Honolulu had given him her phone number, and others since their arrival had greeted him with casual friendliness. "No kidding," he agreed. "And what's with the Hawaiian greeting -- 'aloha, mack'? Sounds like the language has gone slang or something."

"Must be some sort of new cultural thing," Blair agreed, shedding the light jacket he'd worn on the plane and breathing the warm, clean Hawaiian air. The locals called it the "aloha spirit", but whatever it was, the soft scent of plumeria and ginger blossoms filled the lungs and the spirit with a sense of peace. Yep, there really was something different about Hawaii; you felt it the second you got off the plane. "Maybe something like that California Valley-speak of a few years ago, remember?"

"Fer shur," Jim murmured in deadpan response. Then he wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Man, I'd forgotten what the humidity was like in the tropics."

"What humidity?" Blair asked seriously. He hadn't really noticed; the humidity was barely affecting him. Around them, various gift carts sported colorful displays of flower leis, and locals and tourists alike were dressed in vividly printed shirts, dresses, and the more traditional muu muu (pronounced moo-oo moo-oo, and not like two lows from a cow, Blair had already explained to Jim, who'd just smiled tolerantly).

March in Hawaii was a special time. While the State of Washington and much of the rest of the country suffered through the throes of winter cold, Hawaii was balmy and sunny. Although daily rains were probable, the weather generally remained warm and benign. March was a time between the cooler, heavier rains of winter and the humid heat of summer; it was perfect.

Blair was still amazed by the memory of coming home to the empty loft and finding two airplane tickets on the table. Winter had not been kind to Cascade this year. Abnormally high rainfall in an area noted for its precipitation combined with record-breaking cold had made life in the city miserable. They'd needed the vacation. Now, Blair understood why Jim had kept pestering him about his plans; he'd been looking for an empty week in which to book their trip.

"I am getting so mellow in my old age," he said with a sigh, a little surprised to find he was actually enjoying all the signs of crass tourism around them. "Five years ago, you never could have gotten me to Hawaii to do the tourist thing."

"I know it offends your liberal sensibilities," Jim chided, "but it's warm, cheap, and relatively close."

"Yeah, I'm not complaining," Blair hastened to explain. "I really appreciate it. It's just that, when I studied here for a semester as an undergrad, I learned how badly the locals were exploited, first by American big business, and then by the Japanese during the 80's land boom."

"Would you believe I actually agree with you?" Jim countered mildly.

"Yeah? It must be the humidity."

"Probably, but for a nation that used to pride itself on being a melting pot of diverse cultures, we've had a pretty deplorable track record when dealing with our own indigenous peoples."

Blair smiled and shook his head in amazement. Sometimes, Jim managed to surprise the heck out of him.

A young woman at one of the lei stands stepped forward with a huge smile and blocked their path. "Aloha, Mack," she greeted, slipping a plumeria lei around Jim's neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you," Jim managed to say politely before turning away and loosing a mighty sneeze. "That's very nice."

Blair waited hopefully, but the woman only smiled radiantly at him before turning her attention back to Jim. "Call me," she urged before returning to her cart.

Jim nodded, wiping at the allergic tears forming in his eyes and hurrying on so he could remove the offending flowers from his neck. He handed the lei to Blair. "Wear it in good health," he said, reaching for his handkerchief so he could harness another sneeze. "Just don't get too close."

"Thanks," Blair said enthusiastically, slipping the fragrant blossoms around his neck.

Jim was concentrating on his tearing eyes and was unable to avoid colliding with a large Hawaiian in a saltwater-faded tank top and baggy shorts. The impact almost caused him to lose his balance; the man was huge, over three-hundred pounds of muscle and fat. The Styrofoam coffee cup the man was carrying spilled its lukewarm contents down the front of Jim's shirt.

"Whoa, sorry, bra'," said the man, pawing ineffectually at the dark blot.

Jim hastily stepped away from him. "That's all right," he said. "My fault." He looked at his shirtfront in distaste, then handed his claim ticket to his loftmate. "Sandburg, why don't you go pick up the luggage and I'll change out of this -- I've got a spare shirt in my carryon."

"Sure," Blair agreed amiably. "I'll wait in baggage claim for you."

They parted company, Jim to find a restroom, Blair to find their luggage.

Jim found the closest restroom and went inside to the sink. He stripped out of his stained shirt and tank tee, then grabbed the spares out of his flight bag. Dressed again, he rinsed as much of the coffee as he could from the stained clothing, wrung it out, and folded the items on top of the rest of his stuff. It would have to do until they reached a spot where he could wash and dry them properly.

Leaving the restroom, he was surprised to find the big Hawaiian waiting for him; and he'd brought a friend, equally huge. They stepped up on either side of him, and Jim felt something poke him in the side.

"Don't cause no trouble, bra'," the first man said. "Lot of haole tourists get hurt you cause trouble."

The first thought that ran through Jim's mind was that he couldn't even take a vacation like normal people; the second was that he wasn't going to cause any trouble, not stuck between a third of a ton of muscle dressed in faded tank tops and shorts large enough to clothe a hippopotamus.

And then he wondered why these two had singled him out from all the tourists arriving on his flight. After all, he didn't look all that affluent. Airport muggers usually targeted businessmen or vacationing married couples with kids; they were the ones who carried cash. "The wallet's in the right rear pocket," he said calmly.

The man snorted derisively. "Don't want your money, cop," he said as he and his partner hustled Jim toward the exit. "You comin' with us."

So they knew who he was. The fact certainly put a new twist on things, but Jim didn't have a clue as to why he was being kidnapped in Hawaii. He didn't have any hot cases pending at the moment.

A petit young woman in tight jeans and a flowered shirt suddenly blocked their exit. It was a dangerous move considering the combined weight of her opposition, but the large Hawaiians stopped obediently, apparently confused by her confrontation.

Abruptly, the woman slapped Jim across the face. "I never want to see you again, Mack!" she hissed angrily, then stormed off.

As Hawaiian greetings went, it lacked a certain warmth; as prophesy...who could say?

With the blow still stinging his cheek, Jim was marched out the door.

Part Two

The terminal was covered by a traditional roof, but there were very few truly enclosed spaces -- most of the walkways were open on either side to admit the fresh breeze. The baggage area, for reasons of security, was fronted by a wall of glass facing the taxi queue and loading area. Blair waited with the other passengers from his flight for the luggage carousel to start moving and disgorge all the assorted suitcases, bags, surfboards and backpacks that had crossed the Pacific with them.

In front of the windows, a three-piece band -- consisting of ukelele, slack key guitar and Polynesian drum-- was playing some traditional Hawaiian music designed to assure the tourists they'd finally reached paradise. Two dancers in grass shirts and multiple leis danced the hula, their movements graceful and intricate. Blair wasn't fond of heavy-handed commercialism, but when it involved pretty girls, he could be a lot less critical. He watched appreciatively while waiting for the baggage to arrive.

Distracted, he was hardly aware when Jim stepped up beside him, but he did notice his friend had picked up a snack. "Red Vines," he said in approval. "Let me have a piece."

After a moment, the bag was offered to him, and Blair took a strand. "You're a bit pushy even for a tourist," observed the familiar voice.

Blair glanced away from the dancers for a moment, took in the linen shirt and colorful suspenders beneath a light-weight sport coat. "Man, when you go casual, you really go casual," he commented, but already the warning bells were going off in his brain.

"I give you candy," the man retorted in irritation, "and you start insulting my wardrobe?"

If he hadn't been distracted by the dancers, Blair would have realized the truth sooner. "Sorry, man," he laughed in embarrassment. "You just look enough like my friend to be his twin."

The differences were subtle but obvious when looked for -- this man was definitely more relaxed and laid back than Jim; besides which, he had a tan. He also had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that indicated he seldom took anything too seriously. Beyond that, and maybe a year or two in age, the two men were astonishingly identical, especially since Jim had allowed his hair to grow a bit from his previous crew cut.

"You're kidding," the man returned with a frown, munching on some candy.

"No, it's amazing," Blair insisted. "You look just like my partner."

The frown turned to alarm. "He's gay? Do you have any idea what that could do to my reputation?" Blair laughed and started to explain, but the man's focus shifted and he smiled. "Hi, Sherry."

The woman who stopped beside them looked perplexed. "Mack? I thought I just saw you a minute ago."

So this guy was named Mack. Well, Blair concluded with a mental grin, at least that explained the unusual greetings Jim had been receiving.

"Nope, been here all the time," Mack assured her with a charming smile.

The woman blushed crimson. "But I saw you going off with two big Hawaiian men," she insisted. "I slapped your face."

Mack's smile faltered. "You slapped me?" he echoed, abruptly stepping behind Blair. "Why would you want to do that?" No, Blair concluded, this man definitely, obviously, undeniably wasn't anything like Jim.

"You know why!" the woman retorted, then frowned. "Oh, lord, if I didn't hit you, who was it?"

The woman's words finally penetrated Blair's humorous thoughts. "Wait a minute!" he interrupted urgently. "What two Hawaiian men?"

Sherry shrugged. "Just big men. Very big men."

"Kind of like the Bobsey Twins on steroids?" Mack asked.

"Exactly."

Blair turned around to face Jim's double. "You know them?"

"Yeah," Mack sighed in irritation. "I've never met them, but I know who they are. I should've realized this whole thing was a setup to snatch me. What the hell could go wrong in a place as public as the airport?" He grimaced. "Unfortunately, I didn't count on the stupidity of the opposition."

"You're saying they've kidnapped Jim?" Blair accused in alarm. "We have to call the police."

Distracted with his thoughts, Mack replied, "Nah, I am the police." He shook his head with annoyance. "I think I know where they've taken him. Grab your bags and come on. I'll drop you at your hotel and go pick up your friend."

Blair found their luggage and pulled it off the carousel. "Uh-uh," he said, following behind. "I'm coming with you."

The local cop drove a dark blue Camaro convertible. Blair stuck the bags in the tiny back seat and jumped into the passenger side, nearly bolting up again as the cloth upholstery scorched his back and thighs even through his clothing. Convertibles and sunshine -- made for each other except when one was parked too long under the other.

Mack didn't seem to be bothered by it. He removed his jacket and added it to the pile in the back, then climbed in and started the engine. Nervously, Blair noted the holstered weapon on the man's right hip.

Within a few minutes, they were on the H-1 and heading east. The freeway cut between the lush Koolau Mountains on their left and the pristine high-rise towers of Waikiki on their right. Blair and Jim had left Seattle on an early-morning flight, and with the time difference, it was still morning; traffic was relatively light. By mid-afternoon, the crush of commuters joining with the tourist throngs would reduce the entire island to a state of stop-and-crawl progress.

"So, what's your name?" Mack asked conversationally.

"Blair Sandburg," was the somewhat distracted reply. Blair had suddenly realized he'd just driven off with a complete stranger. What if the man wasn't really a cop? "Sorry, I only know you as Mack."

"Lieutenant Mack Wolfe, HPD Homicide," the driver introduced himself.

Blair relaxed a little. The answer had sounded genuine. "Why does someone want to kidnap you?"

Mack shrugged off the question. "Just a case I'm working on," he answered, adding, "If you have any sunscreen handy, you'd better put it on. You'll be french fried in about an hour."

Blair unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted around in the seat to find his carryon bag. He found what he wanted and sat down again. The wind was making his hair blow into his face, so he pulled the long curls back into a pony tail, then rubbed a thick layer of sunscreen over his face and neck, making certain to coat the tops of his ears. "Who are the big Hawaiians who took Jim?"

"Jim," Mack echoed. "That's your -- uh --friend?"

"Friend and partner," Blair agreed. "Jim Ellison -- he's a cop, too."

Mack thumped the steering wheel in irritation. "A cop? Damn, this just keeps getting better and better." He glared at his passenger. "Somehow, my captain's gonna figure out a way to blame this whole mess on me." After a moment, he added, "He really looks that much like me?"

"Twins," Blair confirmed. "You must have an Ellison somewhere in your family tree."

"Don't recall one. Maybe he has a Wolfe in his." He glanced at Blair again. "You're a cop?"

"Consultant." Blair didn't want to get into lengthy explanations, so he admired the car. "Nice wheels for a police car."

"Thanks."

Blair sat back in his seat and fretted. The vacation was off to a rocky start. "Is Jim in any danger?" he asked a little anxiously. He thought he knew the answer -- Mack was entirely too relaxed about the kidnapping to make Blair think the situation was grim, but still...

"Not if he stays with the Primo Warriors," Mack answered vaguely.

"The Primo Warriors," Blair echoed. "The two big Hawaiians?"

"Yeah."

"And what if he doesn't stay with them?"

Mack's confidence never wavered. "Then he goes from being with Dumb and Dumber to being with Dumbest. He's not in any danger." He shook off his irritation at the Primo Warriors. "Is this your first trip to Hawaii?"

"Second. I came here for part of a semester during my sophomore year in college."

"Yeah? What was your major?"

"I'm an anthropologist."

"No kidding." Mack seemed to enjoy the small talk, another trait that distinguished him from Jim. "What hotel are you staying at?"

"Jim rented a house on the windward coast," Blair answered. "Neither one of us is much into the tourist scene. He wants to try surfing -- he was a surfer years ago -- and I thought I'd check out some of the island's cultural history, maybe fly over to Kauai and hike Waimea Canyon." Actually, he was planning to find a nice gift for his partner. The meager funds he'd scraped together for a vacation this year couldn't begin to help pay for this trip; he felt the least he could do was show his appreciation in some small way. Lieutenant Wolfe didn't need to know this, however; he already had strange notions about the two friends.

"So, you're just getting away from the rain and cold for awhile," Mack observed.

"Yeah, but what makes you say that?"

"You're not tan enough to be from the sun belt, and your travel clothes are too casual for an easterner. I'm guessing northwest -- Oregon, Washington, Idaho?"

Blair was impressed. "Cascade, Washington," he confirmed.

"I can spot a tourist to within two states of his home," Mack admitted humbly.

Blair surreptitiously studied his unexpected ally. No poker face there, he realized. Mack's expressions were right out there for everyone to see; there was no outward reserve, no visible defensive barriers, no heavy layer of suspicion. He saw he still had the sunscreen, so he popped it back into his carryon and twisted in the seat to put it with the rest of the luggage. He saw the luggage tags -- SEA/HON. Seattle/Honolulu. He smiled. Mack Wolfe -- keen observer or bullshit artist? Or maybe a combination of both. Blair would have to stay on his toes and constantly remind himself that this lookalike was not -- repeat not -- Jim Ellison.

A phone buzzed, and for the first time Blair noticed the unit attached to the detective's belt. Mack slipped a tiny earplug into his ear; it attached to the phone with a thin cord. "Wolfe," he said, his voice picked up by a tiny microphone on the cord. He listened, and his expression tightened. "OK, I'll check it out." Ending the call, he glanced at Blair. "I'll have to drop you off somewhere."

Blair shook his head. "No way, not until we find my partner."

Exasperated, Mack insisted, "Look, I have to investigate a homicide. I can't do that with you hanging around."

"Why not?" Blair countered. "I've seen dead bodies before. I'll stay out of the way."

"Like that's even a remote possibility," Mack grumbled, but he didn't protest any further.

Part Three

Jim decided the old adage really was true -- there was never a cop around when you needed one. His captors, who each gripped one arm tight enough to cut off circulation, took him across the road to the airport parking lot and bundled him into the front seat of a battered old El Dorado convertible. Even with the wide bench seat, he was squashed between the two huge men.

Through some miracle, he had managed to hang on to his carryon. Since his hands were going numb, he dropped the bag onto his feet and worked his fingers in an effort to restore some circulation. He felt like a minnow caught between two beluga whales.

The Cadillac's suspension groaned under its heavy burden, but the engine was in good shape. They left the airport lot, cut north to the H-1 freeway, and picked up speed, heading northwest.

The sun was hot on top of his head. "Do you mind if I put on a hat or something?" he asked. "I don't want to get sunburned my first hour in Hawaii."

"You very funny man, Mack," the giant to his right said, but he picked up the carryon and rifled through it, finding only innocent toilette articles and some spare clothing, including the coffee-dampened tee and shirt. He passed the bag to Jim. "Help yourself," he said obligingly, studying Jim closely. "You lookin' a little pale. You been sick or somethin'?"

Jim put on his Jags cap and rubbed sunscreen on his face and arms. "I wish I knew what the hell you were talking about," he grumbled.

The driver noticed the carryon bag for the first time. "You planning a trip?"

Jim was confused. "Yes, I was planning a trip to Hawaii." And then he got it. "You think I'm someone named Mack."

The big Hawaiians shared a laugh at his humor. "You Mack Wolfe," the one on the passenger side replied. "Very funny man."

"No," Jim explained patiently. "I'm Jim Ellison, not very damn funny at all."

"Nah," the driver scoffed, but he sounded doubtful.

"I have ID," Jim returned mildly, glad this was all a case of mistaken identity, but realizing he could have placed himself in real danger if his captors decided to rectify their error and not leave any witnesses.

"Show me," said the other passenger.

The Caddy turned north on the H-2 freeway, which cut up the center of the island through a knot of small towns and military installations. The Koolau Range dominated the horizon a few miles to the east, while the eastern slopes of the Wai'anae Range rose on their left.

Jim struggled to move forward enough so he could reach his wallet. Damn, he really was wedged like a sardine. Successful at last but left a little breathless, he handed over his ID.

"Ah, bra', we got big problem," the passenger-side Hawaiian said. "Says here James Ellison, Cascade Police."

"Where's Cascade?" asked the driver, focusing on the least important portion of his companion's report.

"Washington," Jim answered, wondering if he'd made a possibly fatal mistake by showing them his police ID.

"So, why different name?"

Baffled, Jim asked, "What different name?"

"You, Mack Wolfe. Like twins."

"We're not twins," Jim replied, wondering how he could resemble the local cop so closely that a woman who knew him well enough to slap his face could be fooled. The thought was a bit unsettling, but at least it explained the whole absurd mess with the weird aloha greetings and the kidnapping.

"Guess we gotta let you out here," the passenger said. He sounded a little doleful.

"No, we take him to Pipeline," the driver insisted.

"Bad move," his companion complained. "We in big trouble already. Pipeline only make it worse."

"Pipeline in trouble, bra," the driver countered. "Let him clean up the mess."

"Why don't you just drop me near a phone and we'll forget this whole thing?" Jim asked calmly, not really planning to be so generous with his forgiveness but wanting it over with. Besides, he'd left Blair stranded at the airport, and while the young man was resourceful, Jim didn't want him worrying needlessly.

The H-2 freeway ended, and the Caddy slowed as it joined tour buses and sightseers cruising up the two-lane through a broad, flat expanse of pineapple fields. There wasn't a phone in sight, but Jim knew Oahu was a small island and crowded with most of the State's population. A telephone couldn't be far away.

"OK," agreed the passenger.

"Uh-uh," said the driver.

The debate continued as they passed the Dole Pineapple Plantation, where most of the tour buses were bound, and the driver was able to pick up a little speed. The two-lane was officially designated Highway 99, but like the road it merged with at the coast, it was simply Kam Highway, named for King Kamehaha, the ruler that had united the Hawaiian islands under a single monarchy. The road paralleled the shore all the way around the eastern half of the island, until it changed names in the city of Kane'ohe.

They reached the North Shore, and the Caddy headed northeast. The pineapple fields were behind them now, and they traveled past beaches with colorful names like Pap'iloa and Laniakea. Small houses and local businesses clustered the roadside on their right.

The bickering was getting them nowhere. Jim started to point this out, but his fellow passenger abruptly drew the gun he'd dug into Jim's ribs at the airport. Automatically, Jim flinched, wondering if he had enough feeling in his arms to wrestle it from the huge man. But when the weapon fired, it simply shot a stream of water into the driver's face.

The Caddy swerved as the driver cursed, but it soon regained its proper place on the road. Within moments, Jim found himself the unwilling middleman in a squirt-gun war.

He'd been kidnapped at the point of a toy gun; there was no way in the world he would ever be able to live down the embarrassment!

Things couldn't get any stranger...could they?

Part Four

Past Waikiki, the H-1 became Kalaniana'ole (Kalani) Highway, where Mack was forced to slow to accommodate the heavy traffic. The highway ran behind the arid slopes of the extinct volcano known as Diamond Head, then passed through the upscale neighborhood of Kahala, where the rich folk lived. Progressing economically downward but still in the pricey stratosphere of the very rich came Aina Haina and Hawaii Kai, beyond which the road curved around another dead volcano, Koko Head. Mack pulled into a beach parking lot within the shadow of the giant landmark.

Crime scenes had a similarity no matter where they were located. The obligatory cluster of patrol cars, their roof and window lights flashing, the streamers of yellow crime scene tape, the morbidly curious straining to get a glimpse of the violence -- all of these were familiar to Blair. However, as illogical as it sounded, he couldn't help thinking violent crime shouldn't have a place in paradise. There was something particularly vulgar about murder amid the perfect brilliance of sky and sea, the sparkling sand, and the swaying palms. Even the onlookers, in their vibrant Hawaiian-print clothing, looked obscene.

Mack parked the Camaro in the last spot of shade and climbed out. He glanced around, saw the Medical Examiner's car, and retrieved his sport jacket from the back seat. Taking a minute to shrug into it and straighten his appearance, he seemed almost unaware of his extra care.

Blair thought this might be an interesting sidebar as he walked beside the detective toward the yellow tape. He ducked under in perfect time with Mack, so the uniformed cop holding the barrier didn't even look twice at the tee-shirted, long-haired young man.

As they crossed the hot sand, Mack seemed surprised to find Blair still beside him. "You particularly fond of dead bodies?"

"No," Blair answered simply, not bothering to explain he was curious about Mack's personal interest in someone from the ME's office. He was also more than a little concerned that Mack might cheerfully abandon him if he strayed too far from the Lieutenant's side.

The body was lying in the sand by a natural pile of rocks that bordered a little cove. A surfboard lay in pieces amid the black volcanic rock nearest the waterline. The corpse was clad in swim trunks and looked to be a mix of several Polynesian races.

Blair hardly noticed these details, however, because his eyes immediately fell on the woman who was examining the body. She was gorgeous -- petite and blond, elegant and sophisticated even crouched incongruously beside the dead man on the sand. No wonder Mack Wolfe had paid extra attention to his appearance!

"Hey, Doc, what have you got for me?" Mack asked with casual interest, squatting on his heels across from her. Blair stayed on his feet, not wanting to appear intrusive, but he didn't want to miss anything either.

She indicated the corpse with a sweep of one latex-gloved hand. "He's been dead approximately four hours. Some swimmers pulled him from the water about fifty minutes ago. Cause of death appears to be asphyxia by drowning." She placed a finger against the back of the dead man's head. "There's a serious contusion at the base of his skull, probably indicating a fracture. He more than likely drowned after he was knocked unconscious."

Blair saw the broken surfboard and couldn't help himself. "So it looks like a surfing accident," he blurted.

Mack glared over his shoulder at him, and the woman looked up with polite curiosity. Blair rushed on, impulsively holding out his hand. "Blair Sandburg," he introduced himself. "And you're Doctor -- ?"

"Dawn Holliday, the Medical Examiner," she replied, peeling off her glove to accept his handshake. "Are you a police officer, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Consultant," he replied, blushing.

"You're a civilian tourist," Mack shot back, rolling his eyes at Holli as if embarrassed to admit the young man was with him. "Go wait in the car."

"Sorry," Blair murmured, scowling darkly at the back of the detective's head but not moving to obey the order.

Doctor Holliday just smiled. "A surfing accident is exactly how it looks," she agreed.

"But?" Mack asked.

"What makes you think there's more?" she countered mildly.

"Because I know you, Doc, and nothing's ever just a simple, straightforward accident," Mack replied. "So what's wrong with this picture?"

"Sand."

"Sand," Mack repeated flatly.

She put on a fresh glove and opened the victim's mouth. "See the sand?"

Mack peered closely, while Blair turned his attention to the men recovering the broken pieces of surfboard. Peering into the mouths of dead people was a little more than he could stomach, especially since he hadn't eaten anything beyond the depressing airline food and a strand of Red Vine candy.

"OK, I see sand. So what?"

"It's the wrong sand for this beach," she reported triumphantly. "He was drowned somewhere else and dumped here."

Blair took an interest again. "You can identify different beaches by the sand?"

"Not all of them," the ME answered helpfully, "but there are a lot of easily identifiable variations in the composition of the sand making up the beaches of Oahu. There are different ratios of shell, olivine and ground lava that give each location a distinct personality. That's why we have green sand beaches and black sand beaches. In this case, the sand in the victim's mouth is from Nai'a Beach, further up the windward coast."

"Thank you," Blair said, grateful for the explanation. "I take it Nai'a Beach isn't a surfer beach, so a surfing accident there wouldn't be plausible?"

"Exactly," Doctor Holliday agreed.

"What about currents?" Blair continued. "Could he have drifted here in four hours?"

She shook her head. "Absolutely not." She smiled at Mack. "You have an observant new partner, Lieutenant."

"He's not my partner," both men quickly objected.

Only Mack's heart really wasn't in it. "I know this guy," he said, indicating the victim. "He's Moki Maguire. A fine Polynesian surname if there ever was one."

Doctor Holliday jotted the name in her notebook. "Good. There wasn't any ID on the body."

Mack glanced at Blair. "He's a friend of Jimmy Kahala's, who's cousin to Danny Kahala, who probably sent the Primo Warriors to the airport to kidnap me."

Blair processed this chain of information quickly. "You mean Jim's kidnapping is linked to a murder?" he asked softly, the blood draining from his face.

Part Five

Just west of the turnoff for Waimea Falls Park, a lush garden of tropical flora from across the Pacific, the El Dorado crossed a narrow bridge, after which the driver turned left. For one horrible instant, Jim was certain the man was crazy, but there was a road of sorts, hidden by lush growth. The narrow dirt track sloped sickeningly downward, and the Caddy's loose shocks and springs made it rock like a rowboat in high seas. The oil pan hit bottom a few times, but the driver seemed unconcerned. Apparently, he'd done this maneuver a number of times before.

Toward the bottom of the slope, the driver gunned the engine, and the powerful Caddy leaped forward, it's weight and momentum carrying it through a shallow stream safely to the other side. A rough encampment had been set up beneath the sheltering trees of a small cove. Lean-to's of corrugated metal, a fire-pit, a rusty barbecue, and assorted surfboards added color to the shadowy scene. Beyond the trees was a narrow strip of rocky beach and the best waves Jim had seen in years. They rolled in from the far north, gaining size and momentum from storms borne on the jet stream, and there was nothing to block their path until this little strip of rock called Oahu, thrust out of the sea by the wrath of a volcano millions of years ago.

For a moment, Jim forgot his predicament to stare in appreciation at the waves. He was in a local surfer area, where tourists were definitely not welcome. Sandburg had been wrong about one thing -- the locals had managed to save some of the best for themselves.

The driver shut down the Caddy, and noticed the direction of Jim's stare. "You surf?"

"Not for years," Jim admitted. "I'm looking forward to doing some this trip."

"You can borrow my stick," the passenger offered generously, opening the door and shifting his huge body out. "Best surf in Oahu, 'cept maybe Sunset. Too many there now. Big surf competition this weekend. No big waves like December, but good competition for beginners."

Jim slid his body across the seat and climbed out. It felt good to be able to breathe again, and he stretched his cramped muscles.

A man, bare-chested and wearing baggy jams came toward them; he was a local judging from his deep tan and Polynesian features. Right now, his expression was alarmed. "What you do?" he all but shouted at Jim's kidnappers. "I tell you I need see Mack Wolfe, not you bring him to me."

"Big mistake, Pipeline," the driver said, clearly nervous even though he outweighed the smaller man by almost two hundred pounds. "Not Mack. Another cop."

The man called Pipeline stopped short and stared wide-eyed at Jim. "They cloning you now?" he asked in amazement. "Not enough cops go around, they gotta make copies?"

Jim started to open his mouth, but the big Hawaiian who had occupied the passenger seat chuckled and said, "Cloned? Coulda done better than Mack, eh, bra?"

The three Hawaiians laughed while Jim just glared at the speaker. "My name is Jim Ellison," he explained coolly when the merriment had died down. "I'm here on vacation. I'd like to get back to it sometime soon."

"Sure," Pipeline said amenably. "Mack gonna be pissed at us?"

"Don't know," Jim answered truthfully. "I've never met the man."

"Ha, good one," Pipeline chuckled. "You his bra' or cousin or what?"

"Or what, I suppose," Jim shot back. "I know this is all real funny to you boys, but I've been kidnapped, in case you haven't noticed. The longer you keep me hostage, the harder it's going to be on you."

"Kidnapped?" Pipeline echoed, alarmed. "Hostage? No, no, bra'. Like Primo One say, all big mistake. We take you back, all buddy-buddy, OK?"

"Sure," Jim lied easily. Still, these three didn't look as if they had an IQ between them, so maybe he wouldn't file charges. It would waste a lot of his vacation time, and no real harm had been done. Curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "Why did you want to kidnap Mack Wolfe?"

Pipeline waved away the question. "Not kidnap, no no," he protested. "Talk. Just talk to Mack. Stubborn haole cop," he added under his breath. Whether he meant Mack or Jim, he didn't elaborate.

Primo One and his companion (presumably Primo Two, Jim deduced) walked off a short distance to converse privately, so naturally Jim tuned in to see if they were discussing him. He was a little startled by what he overheard.

"Bra', I've got finals tomorrow," One moaned. "If I go to jail over this, I'll get an incomplete, and then I'll be stuck in summer school to make it up."

Two wasn't impressed. "Yeah? Well, I've got the final evaluation on my thesis day after tomorrow. If I miss that, I won't have my Master's in time to take that special Polynesian Studies course in Aukland. I've got hotel reservations and everything."

So the awkward pigeon English was just a put-on for haoles and other strangers. Jim immediately decided to revise his opinion of his captors. Or at least the two big ones.

"So, what you think?" Pipeline asked a little desperately. "Forgive and forget, Policeman Jim?"

Jim shrugged. He really wasn't interested in falling any deeper down this particular rabbit hole. "Oh, hell, why not?" he sighed.

Pipeline grinned broadly in relief.

Another car jolted down the road and bounced through the creek. This one was an old VW bug converted to a dune buggy, it's metal so rusted it looked ready to disintegrate in the first strong breeze. The driver leaped out and rushed over to the group, his expression deadly serious. "Pipeline, someone killed Moki."

The atmosphere changed in that moment, becoming chill with shock and anger. The Primos hurried back to join the little group.

"Moki?" Pipeline repeated dumbly. "Moki? Why someone kill Moki?"

Jim's cop instincts went into overdrive, and he asked, "Who's Moki?"

Pipeline looked stunned at the bad news. "Moki -- uh, Moki got in trouble with my cousin, Jimmy, only it was Jimmy got caught by the cops. Moki got away." He looked back at the bearer of the bad news. "Moki really dead, bra'?"

There were about a dozen questions needing answers in that brief statement, so Jim plowed on. "Jimmy's in jail? What did he do?"

"Cops say he broke in Inichi Corporation Headquarters, kill guard, make big mess," Pipeline answered automatically. "Jimmy big conservation nut, wants Hawaii quit building golf courses and hotels. Get Japanese developers out. Got framed."

"And Moki was with him?" Jim persisted. Off Pipeline's nod, he added, "So what is this Inichi Corporation?"

"Inichi Corporation." Primo One fairly spat the words. "What they couldn't conquer in 'forty-one, they bought in 'eighty-one."

"So you think the Corporation is responsible for Moki's murder?" Jim asked, trying to stick to the subject.

"Asian economy going down," Pipeline explained quietly. "Hawaii going down with it, not enough fat Japanese tourists spend their money here. Land cost getting cheap, too, Inichi figure good time buy more. Place is called Inichi Plantation, used to be owned by the family. Old man sold it to his sugar cane workers and went home to Japan back in the fifties. Now Inichi wants it back. Jimmy and his group fighting the sale."

"Does your cousin pose a real threat?"

Pipeline shrugged. "Inichi has billions, lots of fancy-talk lawyers. Jimmy has passion and a lot of locals on his side. Governor Williams listen Jimmy, got special committee study impact and da kine." He looked toward the newcomer. "Where Moki found?"

"Near Kaiwaihoa," the man replied. "Looks like drowning, but that smart ME lady seems to have her doubts." Significantly, he added, "Except Mack Wolfe took the call."

Pipeline cursed. "He always there."

"This Mack Wolfe, do you think he's dirty?" Jim asked.

Again, Pipeline shrugged. "Don't know. My friend, Richard, trust him. But Richard rich haole. Mack not so rich haole, lots of bills, lots of bad habits."

"But good cop." Primo Two defended stoutly. "Maybe not smartest cop in Oahu, a hard ass, but not dirty."

Pipeline's scoffing noise made it clear what he thought of that observation.

Primo Two was insistent. "No. Remember when Joseph Kalama got arrested for the murder of the Japanese sumo champ? Mack cleared him, found the real killer."

"Except the big-time, bad ass Japanese millionaire got away," Pipeline shot back.

Primo One seemed to be in agreement with his equally large counterpart. "Not Mack's fault."

Pipeline relented to the popular majority. "Maybe Mack OK," he conceded, "for haole cop." He shot a look at Jim. "No offense, bra'."

"None taken," Jim replied.

They all finally seemed to realize they still had the little matter of Jim Ellison to deal with. Pipeline sighed. "You can surf here, you like. Borrow a stick from anyone. But you gotta promise not make trouble my bra', OK?"

"Sounds to me like you have enough trouble already," Jim responded. "But I'd like to get to a phone. There's someone who'll be worried about me."

"Sure," Pipeline agreed, brightening a bit at the thought he could do a small favor and thus help erase any bad feeling Jim might harbor toward him. "My Tutu has phone. I take you to her."

Part Six

Dawn Holliday was intrigued by the explanation of the botched kidnapping. "I'm not sure Oahu is ready for two Mack Wolfe's." She stood in the shade beside Mack and Blair near the Camaro while the shrouded corpse of Moki Maguire was lifted into the coroner's van.

"There aren't two of them," Blair corrected her quickly. "Except for physical appearances, they aren't at all alike."

"You say that like I'm supposed to be insulted," Mack retorted. "I wouldn't want to be a guy who enjoyed having you for a partner. You're like a corporeal conscience, always nagging."

"I don't mean to nag," Blair replied calmly. "I'm just worried about my friend."

Aware he'd been a little harsh on the younger man, Mack nodded, accepting the apology.

"How does the kidnapping fit in with Moki Maguire's murder?" Holli asked, getting back to business.

"Two nights ago, Inichi Corporation headquarters was broken into and vandalized," Mack explained quickly. "A security guard was killed. Cops grabbed Jimmy Kahala as he was running from the building, but Moki got away."

"Jimmy Kahala," Holli echoed. "Now I remember where I've heard his name before. He belongs to one of the rabid environmental groups trying to halt development in Hawaii."

"That's the guy," Mack agreed.

"He filed a complaint concerning water and soil checks conducted by the Department of Health," she continued. "He claimed the results of the testing, which showed no evidence of poison or other contamination, had been doctored."

"He was talking about the tests done at Inichi Plantation," Mack explained for Blair.

"Inichi Plantation," Blair repeated, trying to keep up with the discussion and mostly succeeding. "As in Inichi Corporation, where the break-in was?"

"Sort of. The Plantation used to grow sugar cane. It was a subsidiary of Inichi Corp. The old man lost heart sometime after the war, and he sold the land to his workers before he went back to Japan."

"That was in the fifties, wasn't it?" Holli asked, sorting through her island history.

"I think so," Mack agreed, "I don't remember. I just know that the old man's son, who's CEO of Inichi Corp, is trying to buy the land back, and some of the locals there are getting sick and blaming him."

"Was Moki a member of this environmental group?" Blair asked.

"No, but he and Jimmy Kahala are friends. Moki lived on the Plantation. It's kind of a traditional community, follows a lot of the old ways. Some of the young men there are pretty militant about gaining independence for Hawaii. They're part of an organization calling itself the Hawaiian Nationalist Party. Besides, if Jimmy thinks someone is poisoning the Plantation people, you can bet he'd try to find out who's behind it." To his credit, Mack was starting to believe there might be more to the break-in and vandalism at Inichi Corporation than had first seemed obvious. His pesky tagalong asked a lot of questions, but all the thinking out loud brought up some new possibilities for consideration.

Blair frowned. As fascinating as the local political conflicts were, it still didn't explain his central concern. "How does that fit in with Jim's kidnapping?"

Mack shrugged. "All I can figure is Jimmy's cousin, Pipeline -- whose real name is Danny Kahala -- wants me to prove that Jimmy's not guilty. I refused to see him when he came in to the office. Pipeline isn't very smart; he probably figured to talk to me one way or another, hence the phony message to meet a snitch at the airport. Just bad luck you and your friend were arriving at the time."

"We seem to have a lot of that kind of luck," Blair admitted. "Can we go find Jim now? I know you don't think he's in any danger, but I'd really like to see for myself, especially since Moki's murder."

Mack sighed. "Yeah, OK." To Holli, he said, "When can you get started on Moki's post?"

"Right away," she replied. "I should know something by tonight."

"OK, I'll meet you at One West around seven," Mack said, climbing into the Camaro. "I'll even bring dinner."

"Dinner in the morgue with Mack," Holli murmured. "Sounds like a delightful evening." She smiled at Blair. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sandburg. I hope your friend is all right."

"Thank you, Doctor Holliday," Blair answered, buckling his seat belt. "So do I."

They turned onto Kalani Highway again and continued around Koko Head toward the windward side of the island. Traffic was thickening.

"You hungry?" Mack asked as they reached the large community of Kane'ohe.

"Actually, I am," Blair admitted grudgingly.

"Great." Mack turned off the highway and headed into town. At a local beach jammed with tourists, he double parked by a hot dog cart. "Come on, I'm buying."

"That's -- uh -- great," Blair said doubtfully, following the Lieutenant to the cart.

"Four Tiki dogs and two Cokes, Al," Mack said, passing napkins and condiments to his somewhat less-than-appreciative guest. "How's business?"

"Slow, boss," the Hawaiian vendor answered. "Not many tourists want hot dogs."

Mack refused to be daunted. "It's early in the season yet," he said. "Give it some time."

"This is your business?" Blair asked in surprise.

"You bet," Mack answered with enthusiasm. "One of several entrepreneurial enterprises I'm involved with."

Blair took a tentative bite of the sandwich. Actually, it wasn't bad. If a tourist in Hawaii was desperate for a hot dog, a Tiki dog was a good choice; he just couldn't understand why the detective thought hot dogs would be the first impulse of people on a beachfront lined with everything from hamburger joints to elegant seafood restaurants. "You should take this thing on the road, hit all the surfer beaches up the coast during lunch time," he suggested.

The gleam of dollar signs lit up Mack's blue eyes. "Not a bad idea," he approved. "I'll look into it."

"You'll need a driver," Al protested. "Judge yanked my license after my last ticket."

"I'll look into that, too," Mack promised absently, heading back for the car as soon as the last bite of hot dog had been stuffed into his mouth.

Blair scarfed the remainder of his lunch and hurried to catch up. As he jumped into the seat, he drank some of his soda in an effort to wash down the bready remains that seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat. "Thanks for lunch," he said, choking a bit. He'd noticed Mack hadn't paid for the sandwiches; it might have been his hot dog stand, but such laxity probably indicated sloppy bookkeeping. Still, it was none of his business.

"You're welcome," Mack answered, ignoring the sarcasm.

Traffic was even heavier as they left town and returned to the highway.

"Don't you have a siren or something?" Blair grumbled as the Camaro slowed to a crawl.

"Nag, nag, nag," Mack muttered, switching on the radio in self defense. The song was an oldie, Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys. Mack burst into enthusiastic vocal accompaniment. He had a passable, if not entirely remarkable, singing voice.

Blair looked at him in astonishment.

Mack scowled back. "What? Now you don't like my singing?"

"You're singing's fine," Blair assured him.

"Well, what then?"

Blair shook his head.

In exasperation, Mack grumbled, "I can't get you to shut up when I don't want to listen to you, but when I ask a question, you go all coy on me."

"Sorry. It's just -- ," Blair hunted for words, " -- kind of like seasickness, I guess."

"Oh, thank you very much."

Blair almost laughed. "Not your singing. When I look at you, my eyes tell me one thing, but my brain knows something else. You look like Jim, but you aren't him. It just feels a little weird, that's all."

Part Seven

Pipeline drove an old, convertible dune buggy, which was a favorite mode of transportation among the surf crowd. They turned mauka off Kam Highway onto a dirt road that ran a few blocks up a slight hill before ending at the rainforest. On either side of the road were small, dilapidated houses constructed of lumber, prefab, and whatever materials the builders could scrounge. But there was no sense of despair here -- the homes were well cared for and colorful with garden beds.

Pipeline parked his car in front of one of the more carefully maintained little houses and turned to Jim. "This place belong my Tutu -- my grandmother. You be nice, OK?"

"I'm always nice to grandmothers," Jim retorted coolly, climbing stiffly out of the doorless and uncomfortable car.

Pipeline hurried to catch up with him, and they stepped onto the lanai together. "Take off your shoes," he ordered nervously, removing his own sandals and leaving them beside the door. Jim complied, removing his socks as well, and only then did Pipeline open the screen door and gesture him inside.

The interior showed evidence of great poverty in the family, but everything was clean and neat. A tiny woman with a bronzed, weathered face and long gray curls came out of the kitchen. She beamed at Jim. "Mack Wolfe, 'bout time you finally came to see us." Then her smile faltered and turned to sorrow. "You're not Mack. You two brothers, or what?"

"No, ma'am," Jim returned politely. "I'm just a poor haole tourist who bears an unfortunate resemblance to the most-hated man in Oahu."

"Not hated," she hastened to correct him. "Misguided. He arrested my grandnephew. Won't listen to reason." She ushered Jim into the kitchen and unceremoniously plunked him down at the table. "Who are you?"

Jim rose graciously. "My name's Jim Ellison."

She pushed him down again, not used to the formalities. "Emma Kahala," she introduced herself, shaking his hand. "Why did Daniel bring you here?"

So Pipeline was evidently 'Daniel'. "Your grandson kidnapped me, thinking I was Mack Wolfe."

She glared at Pipeline, who had slunk into the kitchen behind them. "Stupid, Pepu," she chided. "Now you going to jail just like your cousin." She looked slyly at Jim. "What would make you forgive and forget, eh, Jim Ellison?"

"Ma'am, I'm a police officer," Jim said calmly. "I've been kidnapped and threatened by your grandson's friends at his own instigation."

"You like lau lau?" she asked hopefully. "I feed you good food, treat you like family. You can't turn on family. Pepu will take you surfing, show you all the good places, private places, no tourists."

Jim was really starting to like this woman. She had a guileless optimism about her, a confidence that if she wanted something badly enough, she could make it happen. "Let me make a phone call and try to track down my friend," he said. "Then I'll consider it."

"Where's your friend?" she asked, eager to make things right.

Jim sighed. "I don't know." Blair didn't know the address of the rental house or the name of the leasing agent who held the keys. He didn't even know the airport car rental agency where Jim had booked their transportation. He wouldn't have much cash, and his credit cards were maxed out. Jim wasn't worried about how Blair would get by -- his partner had a knack for landing on his feet -- but he really wanted to let him know he was OK.

Pipeline's grandmother was skeptical as she dished out a plate of fragrant lau lau and put it down in front of him, adding chopsticks and a paper towel as a table setting. "Then how you gonna find him?"

"Through HPD, I guess," Jim reasoned. "He must have reported that I'm missing."

The woman snorted. "Missing tourists not a high priority. They figure you just out looking for good time action."

She was right. "I have to try," Jim insisted, struggling a bit to unwrap the unfamiliar ti leaves and get at the pork mixture within. "Sandburg will be worried."

"Sandburg?" she echoed, brightening. "Not darling little haole Jew with sweetest blue eyes this side of heaven?"

Jim paused with the first bite halfway to his lips. "I don't know," he said, wondering if a grandmother might describe his partner that way.

"Blair-baby-blue-eyes?" Tutu prompted.

"That's him," Jim admitted, thinking the weirdness factor in his world had reached cosmic proportions. But the pork was good, and he was hungry, so he started eating while Tutu shifted her attention to her grandson.

The woman threw a dishtowel at Pipeline, who ducked as if she'd hurled a grenade. "Stupid Pepu. Not only does he kidnap wrong haole, but kidnaps friend of Blair-baby-blue-eyes. Where did you get your stupid gene from, eh?"

Pipeline looked offended. "Who this haole Blair?"

"Lived with us ten, eleven years ago, when the U of H did that cultural study to find the 'real' Hawaii. Come over from mainland somewhere."

Pipeline remembered. "Kid with the hair, wrote everything down, way too serious."

"Yeah, he listened good, understood our problems as well as any outsider could," Tutu agreed. "Nice boy." She saw Jim's bowl was empty. "You want more? Got plenty. You thirsty? Got beer, soda, coffee, whatever."

"A beer would be great," Jim admitted, already on the brink of forgetting that he wasn't exactly here voluntarily.

She uncapped a bottle and handed it to him. It was Primo, a local brew. He took a grateful sip. He'd become used to her rapid-fire verbal delivery, and he understood most of it because her speech was less flamboyant than Pipeline's awkward pigeon. Besides, he liked and admired her, even in these first few minutes, so he listened carefully when she spoke.

"My grandnephew is a good boy, but like Pepu not too bright upstairs." She tapped her temple for emphasis. "He think he wants independence for Hawaii, a return to the old ways. Lazy stick doesn't know a thing about the 'old ways'. I tell him 'can't go back, find ways to make Hawaii work for all, not just some', but silly boy think with his heart, not his brain. He don't know compromise, angry he can't find job, thinks everything too menial. Me, I put on lei and work at hula show, make smiley faces for haole tourists take picture to take home, take pictures of me because I look real Hawaiian." She thumped her chest. "I am real Hawaiian, damn proud to be, but just as proud to be American. We can't be independent, not in Twentieth Century, not in next. Someone will rule us, better U.S. of A. than others I could mention. But we have great problems, different from other States, and no one listen. Like all children, Jimmy is impatient, wants to be heard now. They say he kill guard at Inichi HQ. Very bad thing. Jimmy would not hurt except to defend himself, and he never kill. Never. Even with that tough crowd he hang with now, Jimmy would not kill."

In spite of everything, Jim was moved by her passion and smiled at her.

She beamed back at him. "Ah, Mr. Tough-guy Policeman, man with smile like angel can't have a hard place in his heart. You help us?"

Jim looked at Pipeline, who was smiling with pathetic hopefulness. "Was Moki part of this tough crowd?"

Pipeline nodded and turned to his grandmother. "Moki dead. Someone kill him."

Tutu was saddened but not surprised. "He was a good boy once, grew up hard and bitter, thought violence was best way to take back the land." She sighed. "Lots of angry mana in that boy."

"With Moki dead, it will be just that much harder to prove your grandnephew's innocence," Jim pointed out.

Very quietly, Tutu stated, "But you help us now, right?"

Jim nodded. "In spite of my better judgement, I'll help you," he agreed. "Remember, in Hawaii, I'm just another tourist. My badge means nothing here."

"No, but you know what questions to ask, the path we must follow to find the truth," the woman answered simply, shaking off her sorrow over Moki's death.

"OK, tell me the evidence against Jimmy. But if he's guilty, I won't be able to help you."

"He's not guilty," Tutu assured him. She picked up a thick file folder and handed it to him. "Better than telling. You read official police report."

Jim accepted the file with a laugh. "I don't want to now where this came from."

"OK, but you come outside," Tutu urged, dragging him to his feet before he could get up by himself. The lady could be forceful without even trying. "Nice day, good breeze, comfy chair. Pepu, bring more beer for Jim-smiles-like-angel."

Outside on the lanai, Jim slouched into a comfortable wicker chair with a sigh of pure contentment and put his feet up on the low railing. Pipeline handed him another beer. "Thanks for helping my Tutu," he said uncomfortably.

"You're welcome," Jim said mildly, noting Pipeline hadn't said 'Thanks for helping us', or 'Thanks for not bashing my head in for kidnapping you'.

Pipeline grinned, his natural optimism and good nature springing back to the fore. He was like a cocker spaniel, always happy and prepared to get into mischief when the whim struck. "I show you one good surfin' time, bra'. Secret places all over North Shore. Best spots, you see. No tourists."

"It's a deal," Jim said, uncapping his second bottle of beer and opening the folder.

He'd only read a couple of pages when he heard a car coming up the road. He glanced up with a smile because he'd already recognized the enthusiastic voice spilling words from the passenger side.

Blair opened the door and jumped out before the car was even stopped. "Jim!" he nearly shouted, dashing onto the lanai. "Are you -- ?" He stopped, taking in his partner's relaxed pose, his calm expression, the beer and the smile. "Obviously, you're OK," he concluded with a grin.

"Absolutely," Jim agreed. "What about you?"

"It's been -- interesting," was all Blair would admit with a shrug, still grinning.

He was suddenly enveloped in a bear hug. "Blair-baby-blue-eyes!" Tutu exclaimed in delight. "Glad you found us. How you been?"

"Great, Tutu, thanks," Blair answered, returning her hug. But he had his eyes on Jim, not wanting to miss the next moments.

Mack sauntered toward the lanai and stopped to stare at his lookalike. The two men studied each other for a long minute.

"Damn, this is weird," Jim admitted, rising to offer his hand. "Jim Ellison."

Mack returned the handshake. "Mack Wolfe." To Blair, he said, "Do you think we look alike?"

Tutu crowed with laughter. "No one so blind as man who looks in the mirror!" she stated.

Mack frowned, wondering if he'd missed something profound, but Jim only smiled as he sat down again. Sometimes, the wisdom of the elders was nothing more than well-phrased bullshit. She knew it, too, and gave him a wink.

Irritated, Mack gestured to Pipeline, who seemed to be trying to shrink into invisibility behind his grandmother. "Get over here."

"Don't shoot me, Mr. Trigger-mortis Man!" Pipeline implored, only half-kidding unless his acting skills suddenly had improved dramatically.

"You don't run, I don't shoot," Mack said simply, wincing at what was obviously an old nickname and reaching for his handcuffs.

"What's the charge, Lieutenant?" Jim asked mildly.

Both Blair and Mack looked confused.

Blair pointed out the obvious. "Jim, you were kidnapped?"

"Was I?"

Mack chuckled without humor. "I get it," he said sarcastically. "She's charmed you, hasn't she?"

"She's a charming woman," Jim agreed.

The local cop suddenly spotted the file folder. "How did you get a copy of my case file?" he demanded.

"Someone left it on the doorstep," Jim returned coolly.

"You know," Mack growled, looking at Tutu, "I was going to talk to the folks at Inichi Plantation because I've got a dead body that might be connected with your grandnephew's case. Now, I'm not so sure."

Tutu only smiled serenely. "Good for you, Mack. I knew you'd quit being a good-for-nothing haole cop and finally do your job."

Mack's frown only deepened. Talk about left-handed compliments! She might as well have delivered it with a sledgehammer.

"Mind if I tag along?" Jim asked.

"You're on vacation," Mack protested, gesturing toward Blair. "With him." He sounded eager to be rid of his passenger.

"I'm an interested, duly appointed observer."

"Appointed by who?"

"The Kahala family."

"You don't have any authority here."

"I know. Call it good public relations."

Mack thought about it. "OK," he agreed reluctantly, wondering if his captain would approve or disapprove of his decision. Probably the latter. He looked at Blair. "You staying here?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, no," Blair replied with a grin. "Watching you two work together is not to be missed."

"Figured you'd say that," Mack grumbled, heading for the Camaro.

"I'll come too," Tutu insisted, hurrying down the steps toward the car. "No one at Plantation will talk to you. I get them to."

Blair hurried to the car to grab the luggage out of the backseat. "Trunk, please?" he asked.

Mack looked ready to deny this perfectly logical request, then relented and allowed Blair to stow the bags. Jim added his socks to his carryon and threw it on top of the other bags, then slipped his bare feet into his shoes. Blair shut the trunk lid and hopped into the rear seat.

Jim held the car door for Tutu. "You take the passenger seat," he offered.

She laughed at him. "Back seat turn you into pretzel," she objected. She looked at Mack. "You let me drive?"

The Lieutenant's eyes widened in horror. "Uh-uh," he blurted lamely, adding, "It's against regulations. Besides, I'm just as tall as Ellison."

Tutu grinned and climbed in next to Blair. "Same height maybe, but no so gallant, eh?"

As Mack grumpily started the engine, Tutu said, "You clear my Jimmy. We have big luau. Real Hawaiian-style luau, not phony deal like Makaha Mack. Make you all family."

"Thrills," Mack muttered to himself as he backed the car up to turn around.

Jim settled back into his seat and smiled. It was going to be a great vacation, he decided. There was just the little matter of a murder to solve first.

"Just how many business ventures do you have?" Blair asked curiously.

"Hey," Mack shot back, "the cost of living here is very high, in case you hadn't noticed. A man needs to be on the lookout for business opportunities."

Or maybe he just needs to be in someone's pocket, Jim thought sourly, remembering Pipeline's suspicions about the Honolulu detective. His good mood faded quickly.

Part Eight

Inichi Plantation was like a step back in time. Nestled at the base of the Koolau Range, it was in a shallow valley surrounded by rainforest that hid the sights and sounds of the late Twentieth Century passing on the highway just a few hundred feet away.

The houses had been built of wood and thatch sometime in the 20's, and except for updated plumbing, little had changed. The sugar cane was gone, but in its place were fields of cultivated flowers and a large commercial vegetable operation. Only two modern buildings spoiled the pristine perfection of old-Hawaiian charm.

"They have a cold room where they make leis," Tutu explained as Mack parked the Camaro. "Make hundreds every day -- big contracts with tour agencies, the luau companies, the hula show where I work."

"I take it they sell vegetables, too?" Blair asked, noting the size of the gardens.

"All big hotels buy fresh produce from Inichi Plantation," Tutu replied proudly. "Could sell twice as much if they had more room."

"It looks to be thriving," Jim admitted as he climbed out and stretched. He looked at Mack. "The murdered man, Moki, lived here?"

Mack scowled. "How did you hear about Moki?"

Jim just smiled slightly. "Coconut wireless, bra'," he answered calmly.

"Yeah, nothing on this island travels faster than a good story," Mack admitted, turning his back on the houses and looking toward the highway. "Except right now, I'm more interested in what's on the other side of the highway."

"Nai'a Beach?" Blair guessed. Off Mack's nod, he explained to Jim, "That's where Doc Holliday figures Moki was killed."

"Doc Holliday?"

"The ME." Blair rolled his eyes in a time-honored male shorthand and silently mouthed, "Wow!"

Jim's interest was immediately piqued. "OK, let's find the murder scene and get the good doctor some evidence."

Mack had missed the exchange, and he looked suspiciously at his two unwanted cohorts, who just gazed back at him with bland innocence. Frowning, he looked at Tutu. "Mrs. Kahala, you're well known here -- "

"Call me Tutu," she interrupted smoothly.

Mack stuttered to a halt. "You're not my grandmother."

"I'm somebody's grandmother," she countered with irrefutable logic. "All the years you've been in Hawaii, when was the last time you say 'aloha' to anyone, eh, Mack?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mack mumbled defensively. "I'm not prejudiced. You know that."

"Call me Tutu," she reiterated.

With elaborate care, his patience waning, Mack said, "OK, Tutu, do you think you can rustle up a couple of residents willing to talk to me about Moki? I need to know the last time anyone saw or talked to him."

"Sure," she answered willingly. "Mind the beach. Lots of rocks this time of year." She strolled off to meet with her friends and find someone willing to answer questions for the haole cop. Not very many, she silently wagered herself.

The three men went back out to the highway, waited for a break in the steady stream of traffic, and dashed to the other side. A thick stand of bushes and trees blocked their way, but they found a narrow footpath that led them to the beach. As Tutu had told them, it was a narrow sweep of dark, pebbly, volcanic shingle, uncomfortable for sunbathing unless someone brought a chaise lounge or chair. The water was relatively calm, and the distant swells moved diagonally across the shoreline instead of rolling in. A natural finger of lava jutted into the sea, creating even more calm in the little bay. Several windsurfers were taking advantage of the smooth ocean, their colorful craft skimming the surface, sails billowing in the breeze.

"Doctor Holliday mentioned sand," Blair said doubtfully, looking around.

Mack started across the shingle toward the little peninsula. "There's a strip of sand over here," he explained, leading the way.

Jim followed more slowly, dropping behind and keeping Blair beside him.

"What do you think of Lieutenant Wolfe?" he asked quietly when he was certain the detective couldn't overhear.

Blair contemplated the question. "We don't get along very well."

"I don't mean personally, I mean as a cop."

"OK, I guess. He seems kind of cavalier about it. He wouldn't even make an official report about your kidnapping. He just told me he'd handle it and tried to dump me off at a hotel."

"A little fast and loose with the rules," Jim commented. "OK, so what about personally?"

"Kinda fast and loose there, too, I guess," Blair admitted. "I get the feeling he's trying to pull his life together, maybe become a little more respectable."

"Why?"

"I think he has a thing for Doc Holliday."

Jim thought about it. "She must make three times his salary," he guessed. "He'd need some heavy capital to impress her."

Blair shook his head. "She doesn't seem like that kind of woman. Besides, I don't think Mack's even aware of how he feels about her, and she seems to be oblivious." He frowned. "You think he's dirty?"

Jim shrugged. "Maybe. Pipeline talked about money problems, an expensive lifestyle."

"If I had to make a guess, I'd say Mack's an honest cop," Blair said, surprised to hear himself defending the man. "He may not be the smartest cop I've ever known, but I think he's probably tenacious and determined."

"OK," Jim relented. "Just keep the possibility in mind."

"Sure."

They reached the narrow strip of sand, where Mack was already looking around for anything out of the ordinary. Remains of an old campfire blackened a circle of stones at the base of the natural breakwater, and assorted cans and bottles testified to its frequent use as a local hangout.

The Lieutenant scooped a small handful of sand into a plastic bag and stuck it in his pocket. "Might as well get the Doc to do an official comparison."

"When's the estimated time of death?" Jim asked.

"Five, five and a half hours ago. Why?"

"Was the tide in or out?"

Mack had to think about it for a minute. "It was high tide," he answered at last.

"Good." Jim scanned the rocks, then pointed to a place a few feet from shore and well above the waterline. "There's some blood on those rocks. It looks pretty fresh."

Mack peered where Jim was pointing, but he couldn't see much of anything. "That's blood?"

"That's blood," Jim confirmed.

Still doubtful, Mack quick-dialed his phone. "Kimo, my man, I need you an your forensics bag of tricks at Nai'a Beach wikiwiki." After explaining the details and answering a few questions, Mack next called for a patrol car to secure the scene. With this accomplished, he flopped down in the sand and leaned back on his elbows.

Jim and Blair stood there for a minute, then came to a mutual agreement and sat down as well.

Mack watched the windsurfers. "Soon as the uniforms get here, I'll drop you somewhere," he said, sounding far too pleased at the thought.

"You're not going to look around here some more?" Jim asked, trying very hard not to sound critical.

"Kimo knows what to look for," Mack replied, unoffended. He was more concerned with getting rid of his unwanted allies. "Where do you want to go?"

"The house rental place," Jim answered after a moment. "It'll probably close soon. We'll hitch a ride to the house and pick up a rental car tomorrow."

"Good plan," Mack approved. He probably would have made the same comment if Jim had said he and Blair would have to spend the night sleeping on the beach.

Jim dug the paperwork out of his wallet and read the address aloud.

"Good, that's in Hawaii Kai, on the way back to town," Mack said, smiling contentedly. Finally, his day was looking up; he could get rid of this meddlesome duo and not have to venture too far out of his way to do it. "Pity you can't get in to Waikiki tonight. The Ilikai always has a big Saturday night luau, lots of food and dancers."

"Gosh, just us and two hundred other tourists," Blair murmured. "Sorry we're going to miss it."

Mack shot him a look. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" he said, but his tone with mild, without an aggressive edge.

"Coming from you, that's a compliment," Blair returned just as mildly.

Jim figured their bickering had become habitual in the few hours they'd been together. They were starting to sound like an old married couple! He hid his amusement by watching two uniformed cops pick their way clumsily across the shingle.

Mack got up and brushed the sand off his clothing, and the other two followed his example. He pointed out the suspected blood to the officers, who couldn't see it any better than he could. "Make sure Kimo sees it," he said casually, "and take a look around, see if anything else turns up."

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," one of the cops acknowledged, his expression studiously neutral as he looked from Mack to Jim and back again. He had questions, but they didn't concern the crime scene, so he wisely kept quiet.

"Let's go," Mack said, and headed back toward the road.

If anything, traffic was more congested than ever as it slowed to creep past the HPD patrol car parked on the narrow verge with its near side wheels still on the asphalt. Losing his patience, Mack crossed by the simple expediency of holding up his badge and striding unheeding through the midst of the snarl.

Horns honked and brakes squealed, but there was no rending of metal, and the three men made it safely to the other side.

Back at Inichi Plantation, the sense of peaceful tranquility still reigned. Tutu was waiting for them on the lanai of a small house, and she hurried forward to meet them, a plump woman in a bright blue muu muu at her side. "No one talk to you today, Mack," she said, disappointed but not surprised. "Everyone with Moki's family, making plans for the funeral. I'll stay here awhile and help, catch ride home with someone."

"Damn," Mack muttered, chafing over the delay in questioning potential witnesses. Still, it wasn't a good time to force the issue; he figured every Hawaiian Nationalist there had the phone number of the ACLU stashed in his wallet.

"You come back tomorrow," the woman with Tutu advised. "They'll talk to you then."

"This is Momi Malaka," Tutu said belatedly, introducing her to the others. "She runs the lei operation."

Blair was especially happy to meet the woman. "I'm fascinated by the whole tradition of lei making. If you'd let me, I'd love to come back and ask you some questions about it."

Momi smiled at him. "Sure. You come back anytime." She poked Tutu in the ribs. "He's just as cute as you said," she added in a loud aside, and Blair blushed crimson.

Jim looked at Mack. "You'll be coming back tomorrow, won't you?" he asked innocently.

Mack's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah, but I don't run a taxi service."

"Why not? You seem to have every other sort of business," Blair countered.

"Just get in the car and try to keep quiet until I drop you off, OK?" the police Lieutenant grumbled.

Jim and Blair just exchanged grins as they complied.

Part Nine

"Enjoy your vacation!" Mack practically chortled, waving as he drove off without waiting for a response.

"Charming fellow," Blair muttered, his normal good cheer waning as he plopped down on the curb beside their bags. The day was catching up to him -- too much sun and wind from riding around in the backseat of the convertible had left him feeling sticky and gritty. His eyes burned from sweat mixed with suntan lotion.

Jim looked around the little shopping center where Mack had dropped them off, and a sly smile crept over his face. "Chief, you pick up the keys to the house," he said, handing over the paperwork.

Blair struggled back to his feet. "What will you be doing?"

Jim nodded toward a car rental agency. "That's a branch of the same outfit we were going to use at the airport," he explained. "I'm going to see if they can get us a car."

As they gathered up their bags, Blair commented, "Do you remember what happened the last time we split up?"

"I'll shout for help this time if anything happens," Jim promised with a grin.

When Blair came out of the rental office fifteen minutes later, keys and a map clutched triumphantly in his free hand, he found a very self-satisfied Jim sitting behind the wheel of a Chrysler convertible. The trunk lid was up, and his luggage was already stowed. Blair added his bags, closed the trunk, and jumped into the passenger seat. "You don't plan to do any economizing on this trip, do you?" he observed dryly.

Jim grimaced. "Actually, I had to trade up. They didn't have the same model I'd reserved at the airport."

"Cool," Blair approved. He handed Jim the map with the route to their rental house highlighted in blue. "You want to take a look at this, or do you really want to try following my directions?"

Jim chuckled. "I'd like to get there sometime today," he returned, scanning the printed sheet. Off-handedly, he asked, "What would you like to do tonight?"

"Shower," was the prompt reply. "A dinner that doesn't come wrapped in paper. Probably a disgustingly early night." He grinned. "Pretty dull, huh?"

Jim just shook his head. "Sounds like the perfect first night in paradise," he admitted wryly. He indicated a restaurant. "Food in little cardboard containers OK?"

"Chinese is always OK," Blair admitted. "You want me to get it?"

"I'd say wait here, but you've already had a bit more sun than you need today." Jim dug out his wallet.

"My treat," Blair interrupted him, climbing out of the car. "I forgot to bring a hat. I'll have to buy one tomorrow."

"I've got one you can use in the meantime," Jim told him. "We'll get it sorted out later."

Blair headed across the parking lot, his footsteps a little less bouncy than usual. Slouching in the car seat, Jim pulled his cap over his eyes and dreamed of a cold Cascade rain washing the sand and sweat from his wind-burned skin. A few minutes later, he opened his eyes as his partner dropped two heavy bags onto the rear floor.

Blair fished around inside one for a moment and produced two large drink containers, their plastic lids already pierced by straws. Handing one to Jim, he climbed back into the passenger seat and drew a grateful sip through his own straw. "There's a market next door to the restaurant, so I picked up a few things for breakfast, too."

"Good." Jim took a long, cooling drink of iced tea, then started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

The two tired men hardly exchanged a word as Jim followed the memorized directions to their rental house in Hawaii Kai. It turned out to be a lovely wooden home sitting just off the sand, with a spectacular view of the ocean lapping the shore only a few yards away. Shaded by tall trees, the house felt secluded even though it had neighbors close by on either side.

Jim parked under the carport and shut down the engine. It felt good being in the shade. In concert, the two men straggled out of the car, gathered up all the bags and luggage, and trooped into the house. It was simple but adequate -- a large front room facing the ocean, a small kitchen, and bedrooms at either side, each with a full bath. The floor was wood planks covered with throw rugs in strategic locations, the furniture was cheap but comfortable, and everything had been cleaned and stocked in preparation for their arrival.

"The agent said the place was fumigated yesterday," Blair said as he dropped his luggage and put the food bags on the kitchen counter. "How's your nose?"

"Fine," Jim answered after a tentative sniff. "Better some odor than the cock roaches and spiders I seem to remember reside in these parts."

Blair shuddered. "They'll arm wrestle you for dinner and win," he agreed, finding plates and utensils.

"I'm gonna take a shower first," Jim said, seeing what his partner was doing. "Just stick my stuff in the fridge and I'll nuke it when I come out."

Blair put everything in the refrigerator. "Sounds like a plan to me," he agreed, picking up his bags and heading for the nearest bedroom.

"Uh, Chief?" Jim called after him.

"What?" Blair asked, turning back.

Jim made funny hand gestures around his head. "Try to do something with that large mahogany plume you have growing out of the top of your head, OK?"

Blair touched his hair, a lot of which had escaped the ponytail and was now frizzed at full attention. He grimaced. "Curly hair and humidity," he mumbled. "I'd forgotten."

The shower revived him enormously, and he had recovered his familiar bounce after shedding the day's sludge from his skin. Suntan lotion was a necessity, but dust and sand clung to it tenaciously, creating a fine, gritty residue that absorbed the sun's heat and stubbornly held onto it. He smoothed down his wet hair and secured it in another ponytail. The ends would still frizz, but he might be able to escape a comparison to Yahoo Serious.

Jim looked equally refreshed. They ate at the table and watched through the front windows as the sun dipped into the Pacific.

"It's too early for bed," Jim commented when they were finished.

"And it seems silly to sit around watching TV on our first night of vacation," Blair agreed. "We could take a walk on the beach."

"Or a drive into town."

Blair thought about it. "I know a place that's not on any of the tourist maps."

"Yeah?" Jim asked with studied indifference. "Where's that?"

"The morgue. Doc Holliday and Lieutenant Wolfe are planning to discuss Moki Maguire's autopsy results."

Jim smiled. "You're suggesting we crash their little party?"'

"I'm just a wild and headstrong kind of guy," Blair replied humbly. "What do you think?"

"You know the address?" Jim returned promptly.

"One West was all he said."

Jim grabbed the phone book. "That should be enough."

Part Ten

Blair had a good memory for the layout of Honolulu and the narrow strip known as Waikiki. One West Waikiki turned out to be a beachfront address nestled just outside the prime borders of its namesake. Jim parked the Chrysler, and the partners walked up the central breezeway, aptly named this evening for the strong air current funneling between the two wings of the building.

Since it was already dark and after normal business hours, they weren't surprised to find the main doors locked. Undaunted, Jim pressed the buzzer. A minute later, a Polynesian woman in a white lab coat approached the door and peered out suspiciously. Her lovely face became even more beautiful as she smiled and unlocked the door. "You have got to be Jim Ellison," she said, delighted to see them.

"I guess Lieutenant Wolfe has mentioned us," Jim answered wryly as she admitted them and relocked the door.

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed, smiling at Blair and revising everything Mack had said about him. "He can't quit talking about you two."

"Nothing kind, I'll bet," Blair chuckled, noticing her interest and brightening considerably. He held out a hand. "Blair Sandburg."

"Nui Shaw," the young woman introduced herself, not releasing Blair's hand at once, which suited him just fine. "I'm Dr. Holliday's assistant."

"Is she still here?" Blair asked, reluctantly lowering his hand after Nui realized she'd been holding onto it a little longer than good manners called for.

"She's in one of the labs with Mack. Come on, I'll take you." She led the way, Blair beside her, Jim hanging back a bit so he could watch his partner at work.

He wasn't surprised to hear Blair in full form, and by the time they'd reached the lab, his loftmate had made a date for the following evening. Nui was going to drive, just in case Jim had plans requiring the car -- Blair shot him a look that said he doubted such a situation would arise, and Jim responded with an obscene gesture.

When they entered the lab, Mack Wolfe cast his eyes heavenward. "What did I do to deserve this punishment?" he asked rhetorically.

Holli glanced up from her computer and smiled. "I really didn't believe it," she murmured, exchanging greetings with Jim.

"Believe it," Jim countered, blushing because Sandburg's description of the ME's attributes had been right, and he knew everything he said or did would be compared with Mack. He figured he already had two strikes against him for that simple reason. He glanced at the Honolulu cop, feeling an unwarranted sense of resentment. "By the way, Lieutenant, a young woman at the airport had a message for you. Would you like me to deliver it?"

"Thanks," Mack returned coolly, "but Sherry gave me the instant replay -- not quite the blow-by-blow, but close enough."

"Pity," Jim observed dryly. It was the blow-by-blow part he was especially interested in delivering!

With Blair's help, Nui gathered enough chairs for everyone, and within a few minutes, they were gathered around Holli. "I've run into some anomalies that may be pertinent to the case," she began. "First, there's the postmortem on Moki Maguire."

"Death by drowning, right?" Mack said.

"Yes, but he was also a very sick young man," Holly continued. "I have no doubt he would have died within a year."

"What kind of sickness?" Jim asked, recalling Pipeline's accusation of poisoning at Inichi Plantation, where Moki had lived.

"A respiratory infection caused by an unknown toxin," Holli replied.

Mack was on the same wavelength as Jim. "So maybe Moki Maguire and Jimmy Kahala were right in suspecting someone is poisoning the residents at Inichi Plantation," he observed smugly, thinking his case was finally coming together. "The value of the land goes down, and Inichi buys it back at a good price."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Mack," Holli replied, "but I have absolutely no evidence of that."

Mack scowled. "But you just said -- "

"Let me finish, please," she interrupted. "I'm sorry this is so convoluted." When she was certain she had everyone's undivided attention, she continued. "Our medical records became computerized about fifteen years ago. It's been a challenge keeping our new cases current and entering all of our older case files. My predecessor noticed an unusually high number of deaths from acute respiratory failure in cases referred to Honolulu hospitals by several health clinics in Kane'ohe."

Dreading the answer, Jim asked, "Covering how long a period?"

"Thirty-two years."

Mack slumped in defeat. "That's a helluva slow-acting poison, Doc," he complained, probably hoping it would have been something far more dramatic.

Blair ignored him. "But Moki was dying of the same thing?"

"Yes," Holli agreed. "I ran a fat biopsy and found definite traces of a mutant toxin similar to DDT."

This time, Mack actually groaned. "DDT? That stuff was banned years ago."

"I said 'similar to'," Holli reiterated. "Whatever the toxin is, it's a hundred times more lethal in much smaller quantities than the pesticide. Extremely minute amounts of the poison absorbed over decades could be responsible for the rash of illnesses on the windward coast."

"Then it's a matter for the Department of Health after all," Mack said. "Damn, I thought it was all going to be tied in with Inichi Corporation and the break-in there."

"What makes you think it's not?" Blair countered.

"'Decades'?" Mack quoted. "Inichi couldn't have predicted the collapse of the Asian economy that far back, and he certainly couldn't have figured to take advantage of its impact in Hawaii."

"Look, even if it's not related to our case, we have a growing medical emergency," Holli insisted. "The number of illnesses has been rising steadily for the past ten years. Something man-made is responsible, and I for one want to track it down."

Jim offered, "We're only here for a week's vacation, but if you can think of a way for us to help, we're renting a place in Hawaii Kai."

"We're practically neighbors," Holli commented with a smile. "I'm just down the road in Aina Haina, Detective Ellison -- "

"Jim, please."

"Jim." She smiled again. "However, other than being kidnapped in place of Mack Wolfe, what's your interest in this case?"

"Emma Kahala asked me to look into the murder change against her grandnephew."

"And that brings us back to the break-in," Mack concluded, irritated by Holli's interest in the mainland detective. "So what about the security guard who was killed? Anything interesting?"

Holli nodded. "The first blow was to his left temple. It was enough to knock him out for awhile. It was caused by a telephone, which was also the murder weapon. The man's skull was fractured by a severe blow that would have killed him almost immediately."

"OK, Jimmy grabs a weapon of opportunity, the phone, and knocks the guard out, then panics and kills him," Mack speculated, not really liking the deduction.

"The wound in the temple had stopped bleeding prior to his death," Holli added nonchalantly.

"OK, Jimmy stuns the guard with the phone, then after he's ransacked the place, he sees the guard waking up and finishes him off." Again, the Lieutenant didn't sound convinced by his own theory.

"I take it neither scenario appeals to you," Jim commented.

Mack nodded reluctantly. "A frightened Jimmy Kahala would run. He'd never deliberately kill anyone, especially a guard who was already stunned and groggy."

"What about Moki?" Blair asked.

"A better fit temperament-wise," Mack agreed, "but his prints aren't on the telephone."

"Gloves?"

"Moki's prints were found all over the offices he vandalized."

Jim smiled in sympathy. "A third suspect."

Mack closed his eyes and sighed. "Great, just great. I had a simple murder resulting from a break-in. Now, I've got another body, a mystery man, and a thirty-year-old health hazard." He looked at Jim. "Your cases always this complicated?"

"Almost never," Jim admitted.

"Hold it," Blair interrupted calmly. "No one has connected the toxic poisoning to Inichi Plantation yet."

"That's right," Holli agreed. "So far, our records just localize it to the windward coast." As proof, she called up the database on her computer. The three men clustered around to read it. "There are no common factors among age, gender or occupation. The cases turned up at several different health clinics. Some of the victims aren't even of Polynesian descent."

They mulled it over for a bit. Finally, Jim said, "There are a lot of post office boxes in place of street addresses. Is that a normal ratio for Oahu?"

"A lot of people have P.O. boxes," Mack replied shortly.

Holli pondered the observation. "That could be significant," she admitted cautiously. "I'll check it out. Good work, Detec -- Jim."

Part Eleven

Blair awoke in paradise. Through the peaceful haze of returning awareness, he heard the gentle susurration of the sea outside his bedroom window. Palm fronds whispered quietly in the soft breeze, while birds chirped a good-morning aloha. Rolling over in bed, the light blanket more than adequate to keep him warm, he gazed at the wooden walls of the room. It seemed strange to have walls without insulation, even stranger that the walls didn't reach to the ceiling -- there was a foot-wide, mesh-covered opening all around the roofline for ventilation. There was no air conditioner, no fireplace, no central heating, no wall-to-wall carpeting. Ceiling fans would move the air if the breeze failed; beyond that simple amenity, the little house relied on nature to maintain its temperate environment.

He debated with himself about a lie-in, then decided it was a waste of perfectly good vacation. Swinging out of bed, he padded into the small private bath and stopped in horror when he caught a glimpse of his hair in the mirror. Damn! His head looked like a giant pot scrubber.

He brushed his teeth and took a shower, devoting extra time to pulling his wet hair tightly back into a ponytail again. It was all he could do, but another day of wind and humidity would undoubtedly renew the frizzies.

Pulling on shorts and a tee, he went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee from the fresh pot his partner must have made earlier in the morning. Sipping it, he toasted some bread. While he waited for it to brown, he sliced a papaya in half, scooped out the seeds, sliced a lime to squeeze over it, then buttered the toast before assembling his breakfast on a paper plate and carrying it outside. There wasn't a lanai, or porch, but an assortment of lawn furniture was clustered beneath the shelter of the trees. He sat down at the table and ate as he watched small waves breaking against the beach. The water was an improbable shade of turquoise blue near shore, while farther out it became a deeper, richer shade.

Looking down the beach, he saw a tiny figure in swim trunks jogging toward him. The man was too far away to recognize his features, but Blair knew it was Jim by the familiar rhythm of his movements.

He squeezed some lime over the papaya and scooped out a bite as he watched his partner jog along the water line. When he'd almost reached the house, Jim changed course and dove into the surf, slicing the water as cleanly as a porpoise. When he surfaced, he brushed his hair back with his fingers and walked across the sand, saltwater glistening on his skin.

Blair figured he'd never seen Jim look so totally relaxed and happy. Come to think of it, he was feeling pretty relaxed and happy himself. Eight days without notes to prepare, tests to grade, or lectures to give. He could wile away the hours on Hawaiian time, just take life as it came.

Jim was already starting to get a faint tan, although his nose and cheeks had gotten a bit too much sun yesterday. He reached the table and grabbed a towel off a chair, then sat down without bothering to dry off. The balmy breeze would do the job quickly and efficiently without his help.

"You want some coffee?" Blair asked, noting Jim didn't have a cup on the table.

"No thanks, maybe later," Jim answered, slouching down in the chair and stretching his long legs. He was breathing deeply after his exertion, but didn't sound at all out of breath. "Boy, that felt good. A man could get used to this."

"Face it, you'd miss the cold, the rain, the sleet slithering under your collar." Blair chuckled when Jim nodded, because he knew his partner really would miss those things. Jim was just a four-season kind of guy. "By the way, when was the last time you did any jogging?"

"Don't start," Jim returned good naturedly, "or I'll have to ask you about that poodle you've got curled on the back of your neck." Still, Blair was right. Tourists in Hawaii frequently over exerted themselves or got too much sun their first couple of days; the weather was just too conducive to staying active. Jim wasn't a jogger by nature, preferring the weight training he did in the police gym, but the worst he could expect by tomorrow was a little soreness, and that was endured easily for the sheer exhilaration of the run.

Blair laughed, unoffended. "I'm gonna have to write a paper on how many different ways you can insult my hair." He held out the other half of the papaya. "Breakfast?"

Jim just shook his head, then turned expectantly toward the dirt drive leading to the property. A few moments later, a car drove into view. It was a white BMW convertible with the top down (of course). Dawn Holliday was behind the wheel. She parked in the shade and climbed out to join them. Both men stood up immediately to greet her, Jim hastily pulling on a tee shirt he'd kept by his towel, although it was clear she didn't object to the view.

"Good morning," they said ridiculously in unison, then frowned at one another.

"Good morning," she returned, ignoring their momentary embarrassment.

"Would you like some coffee?" Blair asked.

"That would be great," she answered. "Black, please."

As Blair hurried back inside to obey, Jim pulled out a chair so the ME could sit down.

"So, Doctor Holliday -- " Jim began, sitting down again.

"Holli, please."

Jim certainly pleased. He grinned. "Holli, does your visit mean you've got something new on the case?" Or maybe you just couldn't wait to see me again. In paradise, even miracles seemed possible.

Blair returned with the coffee in time to hear Holli's reply.

"You were right about the post office boxes, Jim," she said. "Too many to be coincidental belong to residents of Inichi Plantation."

"So you think Moki and Jimmy were right?" Blair asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his own coffee. "Inichi Corporation wants to drive them off so they can buy the land back?"

"It's too early to say," Holli cautioned. "But I'm going out there to pick up more samples so I can run my own tests. I was wondering if you'd like to come along?"

"Sure," Jim answered immediately. He glanced at his partner. "Chief, you planned on going over to the university today, didn't you? Why don't you take the car?"

"That's very generous of you, Jim," Blair replied with hardly a trace of sarcasm. "Actually, Inichi Plantation sounds like a lot more fun. An enclave of traditionalists -- it's an anthropologist's dream." He looked at Jim with wide-eyed innocence. "If that's OK with you, I mean."

"Great!" Holli said, oblivious to the harmless by-play between the two men. "My car doesn't have much of a back seat -- "

"Sandburg can follow in the rental," Jim cut in.

"I fold very nicely into small back seats," Blair overrode calmly.

Jim glared at him. "Let's go change," he grumbled, getting up. To Holli, he said, "We'll just be a minute." He was already whispering angry and unheeded complaints into his roommate's ear as he all but dragged Blair into the house.

Holli sipped her coffee and allowed a little smile of amusement to reflect on her face. She had accepted long ago that many men found her beautiful. She'd discovered the best way to deal with their attention was to feign ignorance of their interest and simply get on with the job.

Although, she had to admit reluctantly, Mack Wolfe was getting dangerously close to breaking her resolve. If that happened, she vowed to visit the local animal shelter and adopt a puppy -- the relationship would have to be less complicated than trying to work with a cop who was also her lover.

Laughing to herself at the absurdity of either possibility, she didn't realize how absolutely breathtaking she looked when Jim and Blair came outside. "Ready?"

Jim found his voice first. "Ready," he agreed, wondering how he was going to ask Holli for a date with Blair practically hanging off his arm.

Blair was having the same thoughts in reverse. He hoped she had a thing for younger men; he was certainly developing a thing for a certain older woman!

Part Twelve

It was another perfect day. The sun was brilliant in a cerulean sky, while the balmy sea breeze cut any threat of too much heat.

In the tiny backseat of the BMW, Blair sat sideways and happily slathered sunscreen on his exposed face, arms and legs. He'd dressed in a lightweight shirt to replace the tee, but he'd kept the shorts. For a head covering, he was wearing Jim's old boonie, while waterproof walking sandals would keep his feet cool. The irony of the hat wasn't lost on him; it represented a military establishment Blair frequently found moribund and heavy-handed, but the headgear performed its function equally well in peacetime, so he was rather fond of its faded olive-drab canvas.

Jim had opted for khaki Dockers instead of shorts. A short sleeved blue shirt over his habitual tank tee and sockless canvas shoes completed his holiday formal wear. A person didn't have to think of layering his clothing here, so getting dressed took seconds; it was just one more plus about the almost-always perfect weather.

His Jags sports cap didn't protect the back of his neck from the sun, so Blair obligingly handed over the sunscreen before leaning back and letting the sun caress his upturned face.

As usual, the roads were clogged with commuter and tourist traffic, but Holli had acclimated to the slower pace and was untroubled by it. The worst part was at Kane'ohe, where traffic snarled a bit as it divided toward Honolulu over the Pali or via the Kam Highway. Once clear of this congestion, they continued northwest along the shoreline. The Koolau Range on their left was shrouded in clouds at its summit, while makai, toward the sea, the ocean sparkled in sun-dappled brilliance.

When Holli turned the BMW into the lane to Inichi Plantation, they saw Mack Wolfe's familiar blue Camaro parked near the commercial vegetable garden. The police lieutenant was leaning against the front fender, his back to the three sullen youths glaring at him from the lanai of the nearest house.

He sauntered over as Holli parked. "I'm about as popular as scarlet fever," he commented calmly, then frowned when he saw her passengers. "Aren't you guys supposed to be on vacation?"

"And miss an opportunity to see Honolulu's finest in action?" Blair countered, climbing out.

"He must be talking about you," Mack said to Holli, gallantly opening the door and offering his hand before Jim could come around the car.

She accepted the help graciously and picked up her medical bag from behind the front seat. "I'll start with water and soil samples from around the property, then check the private gardens at each house."

"Anything we can do?" Jim asked. He'd picked up a faint trace of gun oil in the air, and knew the small militant contingent of Hawaiian Nationalists undoubtedly had a cache of weapons hidden somewhere on the property. Although he didn't believe there'd be any trouble since Holli was here to help, he still didn't want to leave her unprotected.

She took a notebook out of her bag. "I've made a list of the residents most recently taken ill. There's also a list of questions concerning their eating and drinking habits, their work and hobbies. Would you talk to them and their neighbors and see what you can find out?"

"Sure." Jim looked at Wolfe, not wanting to usurp the policeman's authority.

"I've still got some interviews to do concerning Moki's death," Mack answered the unspoken question. "Anything I ask is bound to cause even more suspicion."

With a faint frown of irritation, Jim glanced at Blair, who was practically bouncing with delight. "I guess that leaves you to go with Holli."

"I guess," Blair agreed happily. Then he relented with a grin. "Actually, Jim, could we trade? I'd really like to talk to these people, learn about how they're blending traditional and modern cultural practices. I might as well ask Holli's questions at the same time."

Jim pondered the advisability of this, knowing his partner's penchant for trouble.

"Come on, Jim," Blair protested, accurately reading Jim's expression. "What can happen?"

"In an armed militant camp, practically anything," Jim returned calmly.

"Armed?" Mack asked, startled. "These guys hold rallies and carry picket signs."

"And they have weapons," Jim assured him quietly. "If you plan to make an issue of it, I'd suggest you call in a SWAT team and get Holli out of here first."

"I'd never get a warrant based on your say-so," the Honolulu cop answered. "Besides, how do you know they're armed?"

"Forget it," Jim said roughly. "Just be careful -- you're the one they're likely to resent the most."

Mack smiled. "Nice thing about Hawaii -- haole cops rank pretty low on the list of people the locals hate the most." He strolled off blissfully toward the three young men to begin his questioning.

"I'll be fine, Jim," Blair promised. "I'll ask Mrs. Malaka to go with me. Nobody's gonna mess with me while I'm with her."

There was a lot of truth in Blair's statement. "OK," Jim agreed reluctantly and handed Holli's notebook to his partner.

They parted company to pursue their various jobs. Holli found a willing guide in a teenaged girl named Alekia, who happily escorted them to the various wells and gardens around the property.

Jim was content to stroll alongside Holli and simply enjoy the morning. The air was clear, redolent with the tropical smells of blossoms and ocean, overlaid faintly with the pesticides used for the commercial growing, but the chemical odor was barely detectable, even with his sensitive nose. All in all, it was a thoroughly pleasant excursion.

Holli, although here in a professional capacity, took time to linger and admire wherever something caught her fancy, and her small talk was both entertaining and pertinent; clearly, she was a woman who didn't waste time discussing the weather or the current soap opera plots. When she'd stop to collect a soil or water sample, Jim would take the opportunity to use his hearing to locate Blair and make certain he was all right. His partner sounded as if he was having a blast talking to the native population of Inichi Plantation. Furthermore, they seemed to enjoy talking to him as well; he had an innocent enthusiasm that made people respond to him. They were probably revealing more than they would have with an official interrogation. The kid just loved people, and it showed in everything he did.

"What are you doing?" Holli asked, putting a cap on another little glass jar and labeling it.

"Just daydreaming," Jim answered with a grin. He helped her stand up -- her short dress was attractive, but not designed for a lot of kneeling and bending.

"That's all the wells and vegetable gardens," Alekia told them after they'd explored most of the plantation.

"Where do you keep your pesticides and herbicides?" Holli asked.

"We use fertilizer on the flower beds," Alekia answered, leading them toward a large wooden outbuilding, "and I think there are some pesticides, but all of our vegetables are grown organically."

"I'd better check anyway," Holli told her.

The wooden building was filled with garden implements and a small shelf of chemicals. Jim waited outside -- the odors were a bit intense -- but Holli probed around, checking to make certain labels and contents matched, looking to see if any old, unapproved chemicals still remained in storage. "Nothing here," she announced when she was through. "I was really hoping to find some old pesticides that could cause the diseases I'm seeing."

"Maybe your soil and water samples will turn up something," Jim commented encouragingly as they headed back to the cars.

"That would mean the original tests were mishandled or deliberately falsified," Holli replied. "I don't like to think of either possibility."

Blair came bouncing up to them, a gaggle of children giggling around him like hungry geese. With a grand gesture, he dropped a plumeria lei around Holli's neck and gave her an impersonal kiss on the cheek. "Aloha!" he said cheerfully. "They taught me how to weave a lei and showed me how to play their version of Konane. It's an ancient checkers-like game, with rules similar to Go."

Jim glared at his partner and was forced to move away from Holli before his allergies awakened. She was admiring the fruits -- or rather the blossoms -- of Blair's labor. "It's lovely," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Blair said reluctant good-byes to the children, who appeared sorry to have him go. He knew all of them by name, a talent that always amazed Jim, then poked his roommate in the ribs while Holli was storing her bag in the car. "What do you think of the lei?" he asked with an evil grin. "Guaranteed Jim repellant."

"I think you're a devious cad," Jim returned grimly. "I may have to hurt you later."

"Ooh, I'm quaking here," Blair retorted, unrepentant. He handed the notebook to Holli. "Nothing obvious jumped out at me," he told her apologetically. "Maybe you'll be able to find a link once you've checked over all the answers."

"Thanks," Holli replied, stowing the notebook with her things.

Mack joined them a few minutes later. "A couple of people mentioned Moki expected to come into a lot of money," he commented thoughtfully.

"Legitimately?" Jim asked.

"If you'd known Moki, you wouldn't need to ask that question," Mack replied with a shake of his head.

"Blackmail?" Blair wondered.

Mack shrugged. "I'm starting to think Moki and Jimmy Kahala vandalized Inichi Corp HQ to cover up the fact that they were looking for something specific."

"Like proof the company is involved with causing the illnesses here," Holli speculated.

"Yeah," Mack agreed. "You done here?" Off her nod, he added, "Good. Who wants lunch?"

It was a little early, but Jim hadn't eaten any breakfast, and Blair's meal had consisted of toast and papaya, so they were both agreeable to the suggestion. Only Holli declined, much to everyone's chagrin. "Sorry, guys, I ate my breakfast like a good girl," she said. "Besides, I want to get started on analyzing these samples."

They made arrangements to meet later at One West, then watched Holli drive off.

"OK, Asta," Mack said to Blair, "you get the back seat again."

"Asta?" Blair echoed, climbing into the Camaro.

"Fuzzy, wire-haired terrier belonged to Nick and Nora Charles," the Lieutenant explained, sliding behind the wheel.

Blair was philosophical. "I started out as a poodle," he commented, "so I guess a terrier is an improvement." Settling into the back and stretching his arms across the top of the seat, he murmured, "At least I don't look like an ad for chewing gum."

"It's double the pleasure," Jim retorted mildly.

"But not double the fun," Mack added glumly, starting the car.

Part Thirteen

He took them to a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop in a tiny beach community populated by surfers. There were no tourist stores here, only shops with board rentals and beach gear, a couple of bars and a few private homes. The BBQ was slow-cooked in pits behind the restaurant, the sauce was a secret family recipe, and Jim reckoned he'd gone to BBQ heaven after the first bite of his enormous sandwich. Blair chose the chicken, while Mack had Black Angus beef brought over from the Parker Ranch on the Big Island. Refrigerated, never frozen, it was about as close to completely fresh as a steak-lover could find anywhere in the State except maybe at the Parker Ranch Restaurant itself.

Naturally, the meal was impossible to eat with an eye toward neatness, which suited the three chow hounds just fine. They went through a dozen napkins apiece and strove with limited success to keep the dripping sauce off their clothing.

A bottle of locally brewed beer completed the meal, although Mack reluctantly stuck with iced tea in deference to the fact that he was officially on duty. Conversation remained casual, focusing mostly on Mack's recommendations of local surf spots. "Are you any good?" he asked curiously.

"Used to be," Jim admitted. "When I was in high school, I spent a lot of summers in the Big Island. The folks of a friend owned a condo in Kona."

Surprised, Blair said, "You never told me that." He was remembering his silly lessons in Hawaiian words and felt a little embarrassed to realize Jim probably already knew them. "You coulda said something."

"I don't know Oahu much at all," Jim countered calmly. "Besides, the last time I was in Hawaii was years ago."

As he finished his iced tea, Mack asked, "Are you ready to get back to your vacation? I want to question Jimmy Kahala about the break-in, see if he knows what Moki was up to."

His phone buzzed then, and he inserted the little earpiece in place. "Wolfe."

"Cool, huh?" Blair said to Jim, indicating the phone.

"I think the department is considering those," Jim replied. "Communications sent one to Simon for testing. He hasn't taken it out of the box yet."

Mack didn't look pleased when he ended the call. "Jimmy Kahala made bail," he reported with a scowl.

"Is that bad?" Blair asked.

"If Moki was murdered because of something he found at Inichi Corp, then Jimmy might have found out the same thing," Jim explained.

"So Jimmy might be a target."

Mack nodded. "Inichi didn't get where he is today by playing nice with his enemies." He sighed. "If he turns up dead, Grandma Kahala will skin me alive."

"Then we'd better go find him," Blair said.

"We?"

"Tutu's place is close by. Maybe Jimmy went there. We should at least check it out before you take us all the way back to our rental house."

Mack closed his eyes as if in prayer. "I'm never gonna get rid of you two, am I?" he complained, shaking his head in resignation.

"Let's check out Tutu's," Jim suggested. "After that, you can drop us back at the house and cast a wider net for Jimmy."

They paid for lunch and drifted out to the Camaro. Jim felt ready for a nice, long nap in a rope hammock in the shade of some tall palms, but Blair was right. It was more expedient to check out the Kahala place first.

The sea breeze had picked up, adding to the wind flowing around the Camaro. Blair's errant curls were starting to rise to attention despite his efforts to keep them corralled in a ponytail; idly, he wondered who or what he was going to be compared with next.

In just a few minutes, they reached the Kahala home.

The cousins, Pipeline and Jimmy, were leaning against the railing of the lanai, while Tutu held court from the wicker chair. The two men turned at the sound of the Camaro pulling up.

Only Tutu seemed pleased to see them. "E komo mai," she greeted happily. "Welcome."

"Mahalo nui loa," Jim replied without missing a beat. Blair was a little surprised; Jim's response, 'thank you very much', wasn't exactly esoteric, but it wasn't all that common either.

They gathered on the lanai, and Jimmy eyed Mack with suspicion. "What you want with me, Lieutenant?" he grumbled. "I ain't been out long enough to do nothin'."

"Ah, Jimmy, I only want to ask you about stuff you've already done," Mack answered with a warm smile that didn't touch his eyes. "About the break-in at Inichi Corp."

"Don't say nothin' without your lawyer," Pipeline interjected, retreating safely behind his grandmother in case Mack took offense at his interference.

Mack just glared and tried to restrain his temper.

That was when Jim heard the birds in the nearby rain forest fall abruptly silent. This was followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a rifle bolt ramming a bullet into the firing chamber.

"Gun!" he shouted, grabbing the two nearest him, Blair and Tutu, and pushing them to the deck of the lanai. Pipeline had the good sense to duck into the front doorway, while a panicked Jimmy actually started to jump off the porch. Mack tackled him just as the rifle shot shattered the stillness, and the two men went over the railing into the dirt. In a single, fluid motion, Mack drew his weapon while shielding the sprawled figure of Jimmy Kahala with his own body.

In that moment, Jim knew Mack was not a dirty cop despite Pipeline's speculation. Mack was putting his own body in the line of fire to protect a civilian whose fear had caused him to expose himself to further danger. As he crouched over Blair, who was further shielding Emma Kahala, he heard footsteps crashing through the undergrowth.

He jumped off the stairs. "Give me your weapon," he said as Mack rolled off Jimmy and started to get up.

"I'll go after him," Mack insisted, a momentary glance at Jimmy showing him the young man was just winded from his fall.

"In case you haven't noticed," Jim pointed out mildly, reaching for the Lieutenant's weapon, "you've been shot."

When Mack saw the blood on the sleeve of his jacket, he sat down abruptly, surprise and shock setting in simultaneously.

"Look after him," Jim said to Blair, who was already beside him, then dashed into the trees.

Only a few seconds had passed, but already the shooter had a good lead. Jim followed as best he could, but the undergrowth was dense, and he had to pause occasionally to separate the sounds of his own passage from those of his quarry. He heard a helicopter while still barging through the bushes, and he caught just a glimpse of the aircraft lifting off from the beach on the other side of the road.

A glimpse was all it took. He'd gotten the registration number, and he'd seen the face of the man who had jumped into the rear passenger seat.

He took a moment to recover his breath while he jotted the number on the back of a stray receipt he found in his pocket. Then, he tucked Mack's pistol into the waistband of his slacks and walked along the road back to the Kahala house.

Blair was sitting on the front steps of the lanai, Pipeline and Jimmy on either side of him. Some neighbors had clustered around to see what all the noise was about. Tutu worked off her nervous energy by fussing over Mack, who sat in the wicker chair while she cleaned and bandaged a deep graze on his left forearm.

Mack accepted his weapon from Jim. "Any luck?"

Jim handed him the paper with the helicopter's registration number. "He escaped by helicopter, not your average getaway vehicle. And I got a look at him."

"Great, I'll start tracking this down."

"Shouldn't you see a doctor?"

Tutu scoffed. "I do a better job," she insisted. "Raised six sons, eleven grandkids. I know cuts."

Mack grimaced. "My jacket's in worse shape than my arm," he complained. "I'll never be able to get it cleaned."

A cop car pulled up, lights and siren on, and the neighbors promptly drifted away. Two uniformed officers got out and came over.

"Lieutenant Wolfe, we got a report of a shooting?" one of them said to Jim.

"Yes, there was," Jim agreed, sitting down with the others on the steps. "And that's Lieutenant Wolfe in the chair."

The cops did a comical double take, which Jim patently ignored. Blair grinned, his humor reasserting itself now that the danger was past.

Mack quickly explained the shooting and sent the cops into the brush to look for a shell casing. He didn't expect them to find one, but he wanted to talk with the silent Jimmy. "I think it's time you told me about the break-in."

Tutu glared at her grandnephew. "And don't leave anything out," she added forcefully.

No one could withstand that look for long, and Jimmy was no exception. "Moki 'n' me broke into Inichi Corp lookin' for evidence," he mumbled, eyes downcast.

"Evidence that Inichi is poisoning the people at the Plantation?" Mack persisted. Off Jimmy's sullen nod, he asked, "Did you find any?"

"Think maybe Moki found it," Jimmy admitted. "He was grinnin' big time when all the alarms started goin' off."

"Then what happened?"

"We split up an' ran for it. Cops nailed me outside."

"What about the security guard that got killed?"

"Didn't kill no one," Jimmy insisted. "Crazy fool started shootin' at us, I threw a telephone at him. Knocked him down, that's all." He smiled at the memory. "I was pitcher of my high school baseball team. Still know how to put one over the plate."

"What about Moki?" Blair asked, bringing the young man's thoughts back on track. "Was he the sort of man who'd try to blackmail Inichi Corporation about what he'd found?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Before, no."

"Before what?" Mack asked.

"Before he got sick. Moki figured he was dyin', wanted a taste of the good life before he gone, you know?" Jimmy looked resentful, as if upset his friend would try to get money from what should have been a righteous cause.

"So they killed him," Jim finished. To Mack, he suggested, "It sounds like it's time to pay a call on Mr. Inichi."

Mack looked aghast. "Uh-uh," he objected. "Old man's in Japan, and the son sits on the top floor of a penthouse with a battalion of lawyers to keep us lowly rabble at bay. Guy's worth billions. We need a lot more evidence before we climb that particular mountain."

"You talk to Kimba Rose," Tutu said unexpectedly. "She knows old man Inichi, and don't like the son one bit."

"Who's Kimba Rose?" Jim asked.

"Widow of Joseph Rose of the Hawaiian Rose Corporation. Another major mover and shaker in our humble island paradise," Mack explained. "And one of the good ones."

"At least he American," Pipeline mumbled, his prejudice springing to the fore. Even Mack nodded in agreement. "Anyway, I take you see Kimba."

Blair was startled. "You know Kimba Rose?"

"Sure, me and Kimba like soul mates, bra'," Pipeline insisted.

It seemed an unlikely pairing, and Mack put it quickly to rest. "You know Kimba only because you freeload off her stepson, Richard."

Pipeline chuckled mockingly. "You try see Kimba Rose, she laugh you right out door. Last time, you try get her invest in stupid dinner-cruise business, eh? She got your number quick, mister get-rich-quick Mack Wolfe."

Mack huffed. "It was a good idea," he mumbled defensively, then abruptly stood up, tired of trading insults when his own secrets seemed to be so well known. He winced a little as he checked the mobility in his arm, but the minor wound didn't interfere with movement "Let's go."

"Maybe Holli has turned up something with her tests," Blair said, trying to hide a grin at the Lieutenant's embarrassment.

The uniformed officers came out of the trees.

"We, uh, didn't find anything, Lieutenant," one reported, looking from Jim to Mack uncertainly. He'd already forgotten which was which.

"That's OK," Mack said, rolling his destroyed jacket into a lump. "Jimmy, you want police protection?"

The young man shook his head fiercely, but Tutu said, "He sure do." Her words quelled her grandnephew's objections.

"OK." Mack gestured to the officers. "These nice policemen will take you to see Captain Herzog, who'll find a safe place to stash you for awhile."

"You can't make me," Jimmy protested weakly, not looking at his great aunt.

"You're a material witness in a murder investigation," Mack countered without sympathy. "You bet your ass I can."

He was embarrassed when Tutu wrapped her petite arms around his tall frame. "You good man, Mack Wolfe. Save my Jimmy's life. Won't forget. Make you family. Come to big family luau, OK?"

"Sure," he promised weakly, disengaging himself and studiously ignoring the grins from everyone who'd observed the exchange.

With the details taken care of, Mack, Jim, and Blair went back to the Camaro.

"Guess that makes us twins," Mack said sourly as he slipped behind the wheel.

Jim was starting to get used to seeing himself reflected back every time he looked at the other cop, and he was feeling a lot better now that he figured Mack wasn't on the take. "Guess so," he agreed mildly. He noticed Mack was favoring his wounded arm a bit. "You want me to drive?"

"Not a chance." Mack's day was not going well at all, he reckoned. Holli had abandoned him in the company of this disturbing lookalike and a smart-mouthed anthropologist -- what the hell did Cascade PD need with an anthropologist for a consultant? -- and now he'd ruined a favorite jacket. Getting shot had been the least objectionable part of his morning.

He started the engine. "I'll drop you guys off at your house."

"Great," Blair agreed with a broad grin. "We can pick up the car and meet you at One West."

Mack groaned, while Jim hid a smile.

Part Fourteen

"Nothing," Holli told them, angry her tests hadn't turned up a source of contamination to explain the illnesses at Inichi Plantation.

The three men were gathered in her lab, Blair sitting on a stool, Jim leaning against a counter, and Mack slouching in the only other chair available.

Occasionally, someone would come by and peer curiously into the room to see if the rumors about Mack Wolfe and his lookalike were true. The evidence was usually greeted with an amazed smile and a chuckle. Both cops had taken to ignoring the scrutiny, but Blair still seemed to get a kick out of it.

"Back to square one," Mack sighed.

"Maybe we're not looking back far enough," Blair commented thoughtfully. "The poisoning started over thirty years ago. Maybe we need to look at our cast of characters from that time period."

"The Inichi family," Jim agreed. "Tutu suggested we talk to Kimba Rose?"

Holli smiled with renewed enthusiasm. "Of course. Maybe we should be looking at the family and not the Corporation. Kimba can probably tell us a lot. I'll call her." A few minutes later, she got off the phone and gave them a thumbs up. "She can see us right now."

Mack led the way in the Camaro, with Holli beside him, while Jim and Blair followed in the Chrysler.

"I don't think I've ever met a billionaire," Blair commented as he snugged the boonie down on top of his head.

"They're just like you and me," Jim replied, adding after a beat, "Except they have better tans, lower golf handicaps, and a helluva lot more money."

An impressive wrought-iron gate blocked the entrance to the estate. Sculpted letters in gold leaf spelled Hale Loke, House of Rose, across the front of the gate, which opened electronically after Mack had identified himself to a polite query from a conveniently located speaker box. A tree-covered lane led up to a large, sprawling home surrounded by an elegant yet casual tropical garden.

Kimba Rose answered the door herself. She was much younger than Jim had supposed, obviously a second wife to the deceased billionaire. "Holli," she greeted with pleasure, then did the automatic double take with the two detectives. "Hello, Mack," she greeted the Lieutenant, and then said to Jim, "Has anyone told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Paul Newman?"

Jim laughed, then introduced himself and Blair.

The interior of the home was elegant but simple, comfortable and homey with no attempt to impress with expensive accessories. Kimba led them through to a covered lanai beside a glistening swimming pool. On the other side of the pool was a low seawall, and directly beyond that lapped the gentle waters of the Pacific. As property went, this large chunk of oceanfront was probably one of the most expensive pieces of real estate anywhere in the country.

They sat down at a glass-topped table, where Kimba served fresh iced tea. "Now, how may I help you?"

The men automatically deferred to Holli, who seemed to be friends with the wealthy widow. "We're interested in the Inichi family. Emma Kahala mentioned you might know a little about their history?"

Kimba frowned in concentration. "The current CEO of the corporation is Tadashi Inichi, the grandson of the founder. He's a ruthless businessman, and I wouldn't put anything past him if it would make a buck." She paused, and her smile was predatory. "I sincerely hope you're investigating him," she said to Mack.

"Moving in that direction," Mack agreed.

"It couldn't happen to a nicer rat," Kimba remarked bluntly. "His father, Hioshi, is a wonderful man. I see him about twice a year when he comes in from Tokyo to examine the books -- he doesn't take an active part in running the corporation any more, but I think he wants to keep an eye on Tadashi. Joseph, my late husband, and Hioshi had some business dealings together, but Joseph refused to have anything to do with Tadashi."

"Why did Hioshi go back to Japan?" Blair asked quietly.

Kimba shrugged, trying to find the words. "He was a man caught between two worlds. His grandfather came here as a very small boy before the turn of the century to work in the cane fields, much like the Chinese helped build the mainland railroads. He was very traditional, and took a Japanese wife. Their son was born here but educated in Japan and Europe. I believe his name was Yoshio. He founded Inichi Corporation and had built it into a small empire just before the onset of World War Two. Even though he was an American citizen, Yoshio was uninterested in adopting western ways, and his loyalty to Japan created a lot of hard feelings here. Hioshi grew up under the cloud of that prejudice, and in the mid-fifties, not long after Yoshio's death, he sold the sugar cane plantation to the people who had worked the fields and moved back to Tokyo."

"Did Yoshio spend much time here, or was he mostly in Japan?" Holli asked.

"Oh, Japan, I'm almost certain," Kimba replied. "There were unproven rumors that he was actively involved in Japan's war effort, and if he hadn't already renounced his American citizenship by then, he might have been tried for treason. The corporation could have been in a lot of trouble, but Hioshi was in charge by that time, and he was -- and remains -- a loyal American and a fine businessman. No one could ever find any proof that corporate resources were used to fund any questionable war-related efforts on behalf of Japan."

It was a lot of family history to absorb. "What about the corporation?" Jim asked at last.

Kimba picked up a brochure she had placed atop the table. "I found a prospectus for you. It's well diversified in real estate, chemical engineering, electronics and transportation."

"But how did it start out, back when Yoshio founded it?"

"He was a chemist who specialized in pesticides and herbicides," she told them, and they'd come full circle once again.

Part Fifteen

Monday dawned heavy with rain, but although very wet, the temperature was mild. Jim took his morning run for the second day in a row and reveled in the coolness of the soft raindrops streaming over his body. The locals were probably bundled up against the "cold", but the weather made him feel exhilarated.

Blair waited on the beach midway between Jim's turnaround point and the house. He looked ready for a little mischief. "Race you!" he challenged when Jim was still several yards away, then took off running, his partner hot on his heels.

The shorter man had the speed in the sprint, but Jim had the stamina and was on the brink of catching up when Blair abruptly diverted into the gentle surf. This evasive maneuver didn't deter Jim one bit. After that, the contest degenerated into a water fight in which neither combatant could claim victory.

Exhausted and gasping, then finally called a truce and staggered up the beach to the house.

Drying off quickly, they went inside and showered, then cooked up a breakfast of eggs, fresh mango and the ubiquitous carafe of coffee.

"This is our third day of vacation, and we still haven't done anything touristy," Blair complained with a grin.

"What do you want to do?" Jim asked. "We could go shopping. I think I saw a shop that sells those bobbing hula dolls for the rear window of your car."

"Thanks, but I was thinking more along the lines of the Bishop Museum."

Jim looked at him askance. "How about the Arizona Memorial and the USS Bowfin?" he countered. "I've never been on a World War Two submarine."

"Cool. How about both?"

It was only fair. "Deal, but how are you going to stand just a few hours in the museum?"

"Maybe I'll go back again later in the week," Blair replied, thinking maybe Nui Shaw would like the incredible Polynesian collections on display. Besides, he knew one of the curators and figured he might wrangle a special tour into some of the storage rooms where casual visitors were not permitted. But he didn't want Jim to miss out on anything he wanted to do, either.

"Holli's coming," Jim said abruptly.

Blair was confused for a moment as his thoughts shifted. "To the museum?"

"No, up the drive."

They went outside and waited while she parked her BMW. In deference to the rain, she had the top up and wore a headscarf, but she didn't carry an umbrella or wear a raincoat. After exchanging greetings, they went inside for coffee and waited for Holli to tell them the reason for her visit.

"I know you offered to help," she said, a little embarrassed, "but I'm afraid what I have in mind is pure drudge work."

Jim smiled. "That sounds suspiciously like paperwork to me."

"It is," she confessed. "As I told you the other evening, a lot of our old records haven't been entered into our computer database. I'd like to visit the clinics in Kane'ohe and go through their archives."

Jim slapped his partner on the back. "Musty, dusty file boxes -- right up your alley, Chief."

Blair's eagerness wasn't dimmed. "Sure, anything I can do to help."

"Anything we can do," Jim amended. "Besides, we'll stay out of the rain."

"The rain won't last long," Holli assured them. "And neither will the work. With five pairs of eyes, we'll be done with the files in no time."

"Five?"

"Mack and Nui are meeting us."

"Even better," Blair enthused.

Jim deliberately misunderstood. "Starting to miss the Lieutenant already?" Blair just shot him a dirty look.

They took both cars, Jim riding with Holli in the BMW, Blair following in the Chrysler. The anthropologist didn't mind; the thought of spending a few extra hours with Nui was an unexpected bonus, even if those hours were spent rummaging through old files.

It was raining even harder in Kane'ohe, and the dense, low cloud cover looked as if it planned to stay around for awhile. Mack and Nui met them under the awning at the first clinic, and the five went inside.

The waiting room was filled with pregnant women and mothers with sick children. The noise was deafening, but the little group was taken quickly into a back storage room filled with cardboard file boxes and bulk medical supplies. A screened back door admitted a fresh breeze, and the interior door closed off the noise from the waiting room, so it was surprisingly quiet and pleasant in the cramped room.

They each took a file box and found a place to settle in. Holli passed out a photocopied list of symptoms or diagnoses she was interested in finding, and the group went to work.

As she'd promised, the extra hands and eyes made the work go quickly. She had seven more potential victims of the mysterious toxin by the time they'd finished poring through their respective boxes an hour later.

Mack, of course, was bored stiff, his attention wandering within moments of beginning on his box, so he was the last one done. When he closed the last folder, he was certain he couldn't survive many more hours of this, but he was just as certain he wasn't going to leave Holli alone with Jim Ellison. Unfortunately, if he were to judge by the mainland cop's interest in the beautiful ME, his original assumption about Sandburg's "partner" had been dead wrong, damnit.

They stretched gratefully and returned to the sidewalk. Holli stashed the folders of her seven possibles into her briefcase to protect them from the rain and asked, "Who's ready for a coffee break, my treat?"

Jim didn't miss a beat as he said calmly, "Mack, don't look now, but the man by the white Cherokee at the end of the block is the guy who winged you at the Kahala place."

Casually, Mack managed a glance. "Are you sure? He's a long way off."

"Positive."

"Great, on top of everything else, I probably need glasses," the Lieutenant grumbled.

"If it's any consolation, Mack, I can't see him all that clearly either," Holli murmured after a nonchalant look toward the Jeep.

Mack risked another glance, squinting with effort. "Koji Hu," he muttered.

"Who is he?" Blair asked.

"Hu he is," Mack confirmed baldly.

Blair grimaced. "Lieutenant -- "

Mack grinned, amused by his own bad joke. "He's head of security for Inichi Corporation," he explained. "I think I'll stroll down to the corner and pick up a newspaper. The rest of you, stay here."

Without waiting for acknowledgement, he sauntered down the sidewalk, his hand fishing in his pocket and pulling out change, which he began to count as he headed for the newspaper rack.

However, Hu was a cautious man and climbed back into the Cherokee. Without waiting to see if his suspicions were warranted, he fired the engine and started to pull out.

"Hold it, Hu!" Mack shouted, starting to run. "HPD!"

Hu floored the accelerator and plunged into the heavy commuter traffic.

With a curse, Mack raced back to his Camaro.

Part Sixteen

"Let's go, Chief," Jim said, sprinting for the Chrysler.

"I'll call you later, Nui," Blair called over his shoulder as he toppled into the passenger seat, reaching for the shoulder harness as Jim slammed the powerful car into gear.

"Some men will do anything to get out of paperwork," Holli observed calmly. "Let's go get that coffee."

Nui grinned. "Right behind you."

It wasn't so much a high-speed chase as a demolition derby. A dozen near misses brought the Jeep within a few yards of the new H-3 freeway, which carried commuter traffic over the Koolau Range and into Honolulu, but Mack recklessly cut in front of the larger vehicle.

Hu swerved and narrowly avoided a collision, then resolutely drove on until he reached the Pali Highway, previously the only modern road across the mountains. Mack followed doggedly, the Chrysler close behind. Jim could see the cop talking into his phone and ordering a roadblock.

"Where does Hu think he's going?" Jim asked in confusion. "He's on a damned island!"

"Maybe he thinks he can reach the heliport at Inichi headquarters," Blair answered doubtfully; it sounded like a pretty foolish hope considering the traffic and distance involved.

Jim snorted. "They'll have the road blocked before he gets anywhere near Honolulu."

Weaving in and out of traffic on the four-lane, the three cars raced up the steep highway until they were swallowed by the clouds that always seemed to hug the crest. Hu reached the road's summit and braked suddenly. As Jim had predicted, HPD patrol units were setting up a roadblock, and traffic was slowing.

Apparently, Hu wasn't willing to surrender just yet. He took the only off-ramp and picked up speed again.

Around them, the storm clouds were breaking up. Softly filtered sunlight turned the swirling tendrils of fog a warm, buttery shade that lent a surreal glow to the lush landscape.

"Pali Lookout?" Jim read the sign. "That's a dead end, right?"

"Technically, yes," Blair answered, hanging on as the Chrysler rocketed up the curving road.

"Technically?" Jim echoed.

Numerous rental cars and two tour buses filled the parking area, and it seemed certain Hu would have to stop. Instead, the Cherokee wove through the congested lot and slammed through the barricade at the far end of the overlook. There was a road on the other side.

"Jim, slow down!" Blair urged.

"Why?" Jim demanded, but he obeyed and backed off the gas. "Wolfe's not stopping."

"If he doesn't stop, he's an idiot," Blair shot back, "and if he does stop, you'll plow right -- look out!"

Mack braked hard, but Jim had already seen the maneuver and was reacting. Ahead of him, the Camaro slewed sideways before rocking to a halt, but Jim managed to stop the Chrysler without skidding. He and Blair jumped out, rushing forward as Mack began speaking into his cell phone. "Yeah, he's heading down the Old Pali Highway," he began, then paused as the Cherokee bounced off a boulder embedded in the old pavement and smashed into the hillside. Hu over-corrected, and the vehicle tipped, rolling onto its roof and sliding for several yards until it dropped into a large, deep pothole and stopped abruptly. "Correction," Mack said into the phone. "Send an ambulance and rescue unit."

The three men dashed down the old highway, a mob of tourists tagging along behind them, their video cameras capturing the moment for the ten o'clock news. Uniformed officers, belatedly joining the chase, brought up the rear.

Jim noticed Blair nervously move toward the inside edge of the road, and figured his partner was just anxious about the abrupt drop-off next to the outer lane. Then he passed one of the "potholes" and sidestepped quickly. It wasn't a hole in the road, but rather a hole through the road, big enough to swallow a man and send him several hundred feet straight down the Pali into the rugged valley below. The view was disconcerting and dizzying.

The Cherokee had overturned into one such hole, this one large enough to send it plunging to certain destruction. The rear of the Jeep faced the Pali, while the front end was buried in the hole, only the right fender smashed against the edge of the roadbed maintaining its tenuous stability.

Mack heard the stampede behind him and turned around, holding up his badge. Images of tourists falling through the numerous gaps in the road and raining into the valley below made him feel stupidly giddy for a moment. "Folks," he shouted at the eager throng, "this is police business. It's not safe here. I want everybody to get back!" He gestured to the uniformed officers. "Move these people out of here!"

Of course, no one listened. Even the tour guides were excited, their concern for their charges' safety taking a distant second place to the unexpected entertainment. The uniforms futilely sought to establish some control, but the situation rapidly deteriorated into festive chaos.

The three men went around to the far side of the Cherokee, where the driver hung suspended upside down in his seat belt. Hu was conscious and terrified -- he could see down through the opposite window into the valley so very far below. The Jeep rocked a bit as the sides of the roadbed crumbled beneath its weight.

Crawling on their bellies, they reached the driver's door. "Hu, whatever you do, don't unbuckle your seatbelt," Mack ordered firmly. He knew the man's weight dropping from the seat would be just enough to send the car crashing downward. Beyond that, he didn't have a clue how they were going to get the man out. They didn't have minutes to wait for the rescue unit.

"I might be able to hold his weight while you unbuckle his seatbelt," Jim suggested.

"Uh, guys?" Blair interrupted as Hu desperately reached through the open window and clasped a hand around his wrist like a vise. Blair wasn't particularly fond of the view through the interior of the Jeep, but the unexpected grip caused a surge of panic. Wherever Hu and the Jeep went, Blair was sure to follow -- straight down the Pali to certain death. It was not the way he wanted to end his vacation.

Jim wrapped one arm securely around his partner's shoulders. "Let him go," he ordered Hu. "We'll get you out of there, but you have to let go." His words had no effect.

"Jim, he's terrified," Blair whispered, trying to stay calm. "He probably doesn't understand you."

Mack glanced around at all the tourists with their video cameras. "I don't suppose anyone here speaks Japanese?" he asked, but he'd already heard enough of their excited chatter to know the answer. He scowled at Jim. "Millions of Japanese tourists every year, and we end up with busloads of Germans!" Hidden from Hu's sight, he removed his weapon and placed it within easy reach. Jim didn't miss the action, and nodded grimly in approval. If the Cherokee started to go, Mack would shoot Hu and Jim would hang onto his partner. One way or another, Blair was not going over the edge.

Reluctantly, Jim released his hold on his Guide and reached through the window of the Jeep. He grasped the trapped man by his shoulders and slowly lifted him a bit. Luckily, Hu wasn't very heavy. "OK, man," he said quietly, feeling Mack take a firm hold on his belt, "try not to jerk around too much. I've got hold of you, but you've got to release your seatbelt. Try to keep your weight supported; don't drop down."

Finally, Jim's words penetrated the hit man's panic. Nodding, Hu used his free hand to reach for the harness release. Awkwardly, he moved his legs to brace some of his weight against the dash and rear of the seat, but hanging upside down made it difficult to find a purchase. Then he released the harness.

Jim pulled with all his strength, Mack pulled with him, and Blair dragged on Hu's arm. Between the three of them, Hu popped through the window like a cork coming out of a bottle, and they hauled him onto the asphalt only moments before the edges of the hole crumbled away completely beneath the Jeep's fender. The car tilted with a scream of metal, then plunged downward, hitting the cliffs and tumbling end over end into the valley.

The four men lay panting for a minute, Hu still clutching Blair, Blair clutching Jim for all he was worth, and Mack pretty much hanging on to everyone. Finally, the Lieutenant stirred and sat up, holstering his weapon and reaching for his handcuffs. He secured Hu's free hand. "You can let go now," he ordered, prying Hu's other hand from Blair's wrist.

With his prisoner restrained, he got up and hauled Hu to his feet. Jim and Blair followed a little more slowly.

"You OK?" Mack asked them.

"Yeah, we're fine," Jim said, glancing at his partner to confirm it. Blair nodded. He was pale and a little shaky, but otherwise OK. More sirens wound down in the parking lot as the rescue unit and backup arrived. "We'll wait for you at the car," he added, urging Blair back up the road. He didn't want any awkward explanations about their involvement in the pursuit.

They became just two more interested tourists as they sauntered back up the steep hill of the old Highway toward the Chrysler. Jim paused to take in the spectacular view. "This is incredible," he said. "Is it always this windy?"

"Yeah," Blair replied. The wind sweeping up from the valley was strong enough to unbalance an unwary person. "Hey, Jim, I lost your hat when we started running down the hill. Can you spot it anywhere?"

Jim looked around, finally saw the boonie several feet up the Pali slope. "Think you can reach it?"

"Yeah," Blair answered happily, scrambling up to retrieve the headgear. He stuffed it into his pocket, since it was impossible to wear it in the wind.

Jim jammed his Jags cap a little more firmly on his head and they continued to the car.

Sitting on the fender, they watched Mack bring his prisoner up the road, a parade of tourists and cops swarming behind him. More uniformed police officers and rescue firemen hurried forward to help, and then the firemen continued down the hill to locate the wrecked Jeep and make plans for its removal from the valley floor.

"I wonder if he'll give up his boss," Jim wondered idly as he watched Hu.

"Difficult to predict," Blair answered. "Inichi could offer him a huge payoff to take the rap. Hawaii doesn't have a death penalty, and Hu could have family who would benefit from the money. It might be a matter of honor to him to protect Inichi."

"So Inichi may be able to buy himself out of this one," Jim observed bitterly. They were comfortably anonymous amid all the activity, and with Jim's face buried beneath his ballcap, no one noticed his resemblance to the Honolulu cop.

Mack stowed his prisoner in a patrol car and came over to them. "Thanks for the help," he said sincerely. "The case looks pretty weak right now, but at least it's something."

"Check the wreckage of the Cherokee," Jim advised. "There was a rifle in the car -- maybe it's the one Hu used when he shot at Jimmy Kahala."

Mack brightened. "Great. I'll send a forensics unit in before the recovery crew gets to it. I hope to hell we can prove he killed the security guard, too, because he overheard Jimmy and Moki talking about the poison or something." His mood faded. "We'll probably have to settle for insufficient evidence on that one, though."

"Which Inichi was Hu working for?" Blair asked abruptly.

"Which one?"

"Yeah, Senior or Junior?"

Mack frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"Because if Hu works for the old man, Hioshi, he may hold some of the same traditional values. If Tadashi was giving orders without his father's approval, you might be able to persuade Hu to give up the son. It could be a question of family honor."

"Honor?" Mack snorted. "Poisoning Inichi Plantation just to buy the land back cheap doesn't sound like the actions of an honorable man."

Blair nodded in agreement. "Maybe Tadashi was acting on his own there as well."

"No, Tadashi wouldn't defy his father on something that big."

"Wait a minute," Jim cut in thoughtfully. "Family honor. What if that's what this whole thing has been about?"

"Come again?" Mack asked.

"Think about it," Jim insisted. "What if the poisoning at Inichi Plantation wasn't deliberate? Holli's medical research goes back decades. Like you said, that's a long time to slowly poison people just so you can buy the land."

"Something Hioshi did?" Blair asked, confused. "Kimba Rose said he's a good man."

"Farther back," Jim answered.

Blair realized what his partner was getting at. "The grandfather, Yoshio."

"Hold it," Mack interrupted. "You're saying this crime goes back three generations?"

Blair was excited as the pieces fell together. "No, I think Jim's right. The grandfather was supremely loyal to Japan. In the early 'forties, he was perfectly placed in Hawaii to help launch an attack against the U.S. military."

"The Japanese did that in 'forty-one, if you recall," Mack pointed out a little acerbically. "From the air? December Seventh ring a bell?"

"Yoshio was a chemist," Jim said. "He was in Japan before the war. What if he helped cook up some sort of chemical weapon and smuggled it into his sugar cane operation here in Oahu?"

"And it's been hidden here all that time?"

Blair nodded. "Over the decades, metal drums could deteriorate and start leaking the toxins into the soil, where water could leach it into the fields."

"Holli tested for poison in the groundwater and soil," Mack pointed out.

"She didn't test the flower beds," Jim said. "They're in the fields closest to the Pali slopes. Maybe there's a cave up there where the stuff was hidden."

"The leis," Blair breathed. "The flowers could carry minute traces of the toxin. People who wore them enough might eventually become sick." There was a repellant irony in a symbol of hospitality being a harbinger of death.

"You're reaching," Mack complained.

"Yeah, but it's worth checking out," Jim insisted. "It's the only part of the Plantation we haven't examined thoroughly."

"So was Yoshio's son, Tadashi's father, in on the secret?"

"Doesn't matter," Blair replied. "When he found out people on the Plantation were dying from a mysterious illness, Hioshi may have put two and two together and probably told his son to recover the toxins one way or another. It would be a matter of family honor, a disgrace if it ever got out, especially with Inichi Corp so firmly entrenched in the islands."

"Only when Jimmy and Moki broke into Inichi and found proof, Tadashi had to act quickly to keep the cover-up in place, and he's just ruthless enough to use murder." Mack thought about it for a long minute. "I like it," he approved at last. "I'll call Holli, and we'll go check it out. If we find barrels of toxic chemicals hidden on Plantation land, that'll confirm your theory."

Part Seventeen

It was all over the evening news that night. Jim and Blair sat on the sofa in their rental house and watched the story unfold on TV.

First came the video of the dramatic rescue of Koji Hu from his precarious position on the Old Pali Highway. A tourist's video sold to the television station showed the backsides of both men, plus Mack's, as they lay on the road beside the overturned Jeep and struggled to save the man trapped inside.

Blair grumbled, "Our fifteen minutes of fame, and it turns out to be a butt shot."

"Three fine asses, though," Jim countered enigmatically, grabbing another handful of popcorn from the huge bowl his partner had made.

This was followed by a scene at Inichi Plantation, where Mack and Dawn Holliday had uncovered fourteen corroded barrels of toxic chemicals thought to have been hidden there just prior to the start of World War II. Residents were grateful the mystery of the localized illness had been solved, while a few Hawaiian Nationalists expressed outrage that such a crime had gone undiscovered for so many decades.

"I guess the glass is always going to be half empty to them," Blair commented a little sadly.

"They're just like all politicians," Jim pointed out. "Taking advantage of a situation to further their own agenda."

Holli made a brief, non-committal statement for the cameras, while Mack retreated with alacrity to allow HazMat teams to get on with the cleanup work.

That was the story for awhile, but a bit later there was another newsbreak to announce the arrest of Tadashi Inichi at the Corporation's Honolulu headquarters. Mack had already telephoned them with the news.

"Koji Hu told us Inichi killed the security guard in a fit of rage over the break-in. Tadashi was an arrogant asshole even after I'd put the handcuffs on him," he reported. "Claimed his lawyers would have him out of jail within the hour."

"Did they?"

"Nah," Mack scoffed. "Took 'em almost two."

Jim chuckled. "And they say justice is blind."

"Yeah," Mack agreed a little despondently. "Sad thing is, Tadashi's old man, Hioshi, committed suicide in Tokyo when he heard the news."

"Seppuku?" Jim asked, and Blair raised an eyebrow in query. He could only hear one side of the conversation, and this one was getting interesting.

"Yep. Good old hara-kiri," Mack confirmed. "Talk about a generation gap -- the old man offs himself when the family shame is made public, while his kid crows that he'll walk on all charges because he's got the money and the lawyers to make it happen."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. They talked for a few more minutes, then Jim hung up and repeated the entire conversation for Blair.

"Old ways and new ways," his partner murmured sadly. "Sometimes, the modern world really sucks, man."

Part Eighteen

The aroma of fresh coffee pulled Jim reluctantly toward wakefulness. Savoring the languid peace of that period between sleep and full consciousness, he thought about ignoring the lure of the coffee and staying in bed. After all, he was on vacation, right? Still, with the time difference, it was amazingly easy to rise early without effort (although staying up past about ten p.m. was something of a challenge). But getting up early -- and getting up before dawn -- were two totally different propositions.

Was that humming?

He could hear Blair in the kitchen. His partner was trying to be quiet, but his happiness was spilling forth despite his efforts, and he was singing to himself. Was that the tune to Good Vibrations?

Well, there was no way he could go back to sleep with that little ditty running through his mind, so he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom to take care of his morning routine.

The sun still hadn't put in an appearance when he finally wandered into the kitchen a while later. Steadfastly, he refused to look at his watch; he was on vacation time, and the exact hour didn't matter.

Guiltily, Blair poured him a cup of coffee. "Sorry. I was trying to be quiet."

"By singing?" Jim responded mildly.

Blair grimaced. "Quietly," he amended hopefully.

Jim grinned. "All right. What's left to do before this shindig today?"

"Everything's ready. We just need to load the ice chest and hit the road."

Jim sipped his coffee and nibbled on a piece of toast. "Do we have plenty of water?"

Blair opened the refrigerator and pulled out the first of several liter bottles of Menehune Spring Water. "Of course."

"Good. If I'm going to spend most of the day surfing, I don't want to drink a lot of beer."

For the first time, Blair looked a little anxious. "Are you sure you're ready for the North Shore?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I didn't have much trouble with the windward beaches yesterday."

"I know," Blair sighed, recalling his trepidation as he'd watched Jim and Pipeline surfing at Ka'a'awa and Hau'ula Beaches the previous day. The waves had looked huge to him, and today Jim was planning to surf the North Shore, home of the big waves. He'd seen a bit of the surf competition on TV that had been held at Sunset over the past weekend, and those waves had seemed enormous. He couldn't believe that it had been a novice competition!

"Don't worry," Jim chided. "I'll use a little sentinel magic, feel the waves, you know?"

Blair tried to swallow his anxiety. "Just don't zone out, OK? I don't feel like playing lifeguard today."

Jim chuckled as he finished his toast. "No zoning," he promised. "Let's go bury a pig."

Several bags of ice went into the already well-chilled cooler. These were topped by four large pineapple halves, their contents already carved out and the cavities piled high with fresh fruit salad before being tightly sealed in plastic wrap. There wasn't any room left for the water, so Blair stuck the bottles in a grocery sack. They gathered up their bags, which contained towels, spare tee shirts, sunscreen and various other sundry items required for a day at the beach, and lugged everything out to the Chrysler. It was raining, so they put the top up on the convertible before heading up Kalani Highway toward the North Shore. It was still dark, and there was almost no traffic.

The air held a pleasant crispness, cool but not cold, and Jim relished it after the days of sunshine. He drove with his side window down, his arm resting on the door as he allowed the rain and air to chill his skin.

Blair couldn't recall a time in his life when he'd felt happier. If he'd been forced to break down the various facets surrounding the feeling, he would have been hard pressed to convince anyone of its specialness.

It had come over him the previous evening, while he and Jim sliced papaya and mango for the fruit salad. Jim attacked the pineapples with fervor, slicing them down the middle before scooping out the pithy core.

They were going to a luau. It wasn't one being put on by a professional company, but rather the genuine article, organized by Emma Kahala and Momi Malaka to thank the two men for clearing Jimmy Kahala and uncovering the contamination at Inichi Plantation. This in itself made it special, because it was something of a family affair. Blair and Jim were being included not just as guests, but as part of the extended family. They were contributing the fresh fruit salad, since neither felt competent to cook authentic Hawaiian dishes, and they'd agreed it was too mundane to bring just chips or soda pop.

Standing next to Jim in the small kitchen of the rental house, Blair had experienced the most profound sense of belonging, of being bound to Jim by more than blood or destiny or friendship. Jim had felt it, too; he'd worn a silly little grin all evening, and he hadn't even lost his patience with the stubborn pineapples.

It had felt so perfect then, and the feeling still persisted this morning.

The rain stopped and the eastern horizon turned pink with dawn when Jim turned the Chrysler cautiously down the steep dirt road toward the beach. He mimicked the Primo Warriors trick with their El Dorado and gunned it a bit at the bottom to carry the car through the little creek to the parking area on the other side. He parked next to several other cars and climbed out.

Two large campfires brightened the dimness beneath the trees, and several people were preparing for the luau. Assorted tables and chairs had already been arranged. Several home barbecues and hibachi grills had been set up, ready to be called into service as needed. A huge urn of coffee stood ready to meet the needs of the early morning group.

Tutu beamed when she saw them. "Good morning!" she greeted happily. "Grab some coffee."

"Mahalo." Blair drew two cups and handed one to his partner. "Where do you want us?"

Tutu gestured toward a small group of men digging a hole in the sand at the edge of the beach. "Pit crew," she said succinctly, handing them both shovels.

They helped dig the large, deep pit that would hold the pig. When it was finished, heated stones were layered across the bottom. These were quickly topped with ti leaves, and then the already fully dressed pig was muscled inside. More ti leaves followed, and the pit was finally covered with sand. It would take most of the day to cook.

The men gathered for more coffee and breakfast -- poached eggs served over English muffins and topped with thick, homemade gravy.

Pipeline, with his knack for avoiding work, showed up in time for the meal. "Good surfin'," he greeted, grabbing coffee and a sweet roll before plopping into a webbed beach chair next to Jim. "You ready for heavy sets, bra'?"

"I'm ready," Jim assured him.

"Good. Others be here soon, give you time to work off breakfast."

People filtered in and out throughout the early morning -- students on their way to school, adults on their way to work, all promising to return by the evening. Still, more people were arriving than leaving. Some of them the partners recognized from Inichi Plantation, but most were strangers. All were friendly, introducing themselves, unabashedly pulling the two mainlanders into their midst to make them feel comfortable. Even the young Hawaiian Nationalists from the Plantation were polite, if not particularly friendly.

Blair plunged in happily, asking questions non-stop, pausing only long enough to absorb the answers, blending seamlessly into the group. Jim held back a little, finding it more difficult to fit in with the casual camaraderie. Naturally reserved by nature, he felt more comfortable sitting and observing the activities as he sipped coffee and ate some freshly sliced mango to offset the heaviness of the gravy.

To work off the meal, he and Blair explored with a group of children up the valley. Lush and close, the sound of traffic crossing the bridge far overhead made the little creek bed feel isolated and remote. The laughter of children echoed faintly amid the trees, and Jim felt an unaccustomed sense of peace. Truly, at last he'd been infused with the aloha spirit, and he returned to the beach with a new feeling of kinship for all the people who had drawn him into their lives.

At mid-morning, the surfing contingent arrived with their noisy dune buggies and brightly covered baggy shorts. A huge galvanized trash container was filled with ice, then stuffed with cans and bottles of beer, soda and water. Chips and dips spread across the tables.

Jim stripped to his swim trunks, picked up the board he'd borrowed for the week, and joined the rest of the men and women heading into the waves.

Surreptitiously, Blair loaded a video camera he'd borrowed from Momi Malaka and began to film Jim's skill on a surfboard. He wasn't the least surprised to realize his partner was very, very good, and his worries faded into open admiration.

Lunch consisted of hamburgers and hot dogs cooked over hot coals. After lunch, there was a lull of sorts. The kids went off with a few adults to explore the tide pools on the other side of the headland, while some of the teenagers started a game of beach volleyball. Blair and Jim managed to hold up their end of the competition, although both were feeling pleasantly limp after all their earlier exertion.

Later in the afternoon, others began arriving as the work and school days ended. Cameras proliferated, with snapshots taken of families, surfers, best friends and loving couples. The groups shifted, blending and separating into new combinations, and more cameras recorded the event for posterity.

Several teenage wahine took possession of Blair, each girl determined to attract his attention. He endured it all graciously, flattered and embarrassed by all the youthful flirtation. Jim watched in amusement as shutters snapped, each girl wanting her picture taken with the boyishly handsome haole.

Jim smiled as he saw a camera catch a shot just as Blair was turning toward him, eyes sparkling, smiling widely in bemused pleasure, looking carefree and immortal as only the young can look. If the picture turned out, it would be one of those magical frozen images in time, perfectly capturing the essence of the moment and the man.

It was funny, he reflected, but he'd never felt more solidly "connected" with his partner. They hadn't shared more than a few words at the luau, and most of those had been of the "nice catch" and "try the papaya salsa" variety. And yet, they'd been together in a way Jim couldn't begin to describe. It felt wonderfully warm and right.

The last two "guests of honor" arrived together, Mack Wolfe looking faintly pleased with himself to have the radiant Holli beside him in the Camaro. Everyone exclaimed over the lookalike detectives. Cameras clicked while Mack and Jim endured it all good-naturedly, having accepted the inevitability of the interest.

The later arrivals caused even more food to be brought forth. Lomi salmon and poi joined the ubiquitous chips and dips. Swedish meatballs and enchiladas sat side by side with lumpia and egg rolls.

The last of the die-hard surfers tackled the waves again, and as the sun set, the whole group gathered to unearth the pig. Although both Blair and Jim were certain they wouldn't be able to eat another bite, the fragrance caused their mouths to water anew.

Nui Shaw arrived alone, but quickly joined up with Blair, who was more than delighted with the company. The two loaded their plates with various fruit and vegetable offerings, took just small portions of the freshly shredded pork, and ventured off to find a quiet spot away from the crowd.

Jim was feeling happily worn out after a day of strenuous fun. Balancing his plate and a bottle of water, he maneuvered into a chaise lounge with the backrest raised and settled in to enjoy another meal -- or perhaps this was just a continuation of the meal he'd begun at dawn. He wasn't certain. He just knew if he kept this up for the rest of the week, he'd probably be eligible to join the Primo Warriors.

"Mind if I sit down?" inquired a friendly female voice.

Jim looked up with a touch of alarm. "It wasn't me," he said quickly.

The woman laughed and sat down in the chair next to him. "I know." She held out her hand. "I'm Sherry Koslo. I wanted to apologize for the mix-up at the airport."

Jim gladly took her hand. "Not necessary. The mistake is an obvious one to make."

"I'd like to make it up to you," Sherry insisted. "Maybe over dinner? Say Friday evening?"

So he had a date for Friday night. He knew Blair would be going out with Nui again, so there wouldn't be any conflicting plans.

Mack came over and started to sit down, recognized Sherry, and grinned sheepishly as he hastily moved around to sit in the chaise next to Jim. He ignored the unwelcoming looks from both.

"Inichi was arraigned this morning," he reported before taking a swallow of his beer. "Bail was increased when the DA amended the charges to include murder. It was high, but what's a few million to a multi-billionaire?"

Curious in spite of his determination to put the case behind him, Jim asked, "Think he'll stick around for the trial?"

Mack thought about it. "Yeah, I do. He won't be welcome in Japan, not after disgracing his family so badly."

"What about Inichi Plantation?"

With friendly familiarity, Holli shifted Mack's legs enough so she could sit down on the lounge. "Good words there, too," she answered. She gestured to Blair and Nui, who came over to hear her answer. "Governor Williams has launched an immediate and thorough cleanup effort. All of Inichi Corp's U.S. assets have been frozen, and after the cleanup, I'm sure the State will seek to recover the costs."

"What about the people who are already sick?" Blair asked.

"Undergoing treatment," Holli assured him. "Also, the residents of the Plantation are filing a class-action lawsuit against Inichi for the cover-up. They'll undoubtedly collect millions. It won't help the people who have already died, but it will help their families."

Blair nodded, satisfied it was the best they could do. "That's good." He grinned when he recognized Sherry and learned about her upcoming date with Jim.

After a few minutes of idle conversation, the little group split up again to mingle with the crowd, and Jim was momentarily alone. With a sigh of contentment, he settled back and closed his eyes for just a little while.

Next week, they would be back on the job, surrounded by the murder and mayhem of their workaday world. Spring had yet to make an appearance in Cascade, but the months ahead would surely bring the seasons in their course. They had the whole summer ahead of them, and maybe next winter, when the freezing winds came again, they could slip away for awhile and return to paradise to reacquaint themselves with the peace and new friends they had found here.

As for right now, the world was perfect.

THE END