Annoyed by the interruption—especially from a reporter—he wanted to shut the door, but Nālani came up behind him and recognized TV’s famous “Mr. Disaster.”
“Walker McKenzie!” Nālani beamed. “What a treat.” She pushed the screen open.
“Hello, Nālani, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” McKenzie, who somehow knew Nālani’s name, gave her his trademark on-air grin, and Nālani nearly swooned.
“Please, come in,” she offered, and McKenzie stepped inside before Koa could intervene. “Have a seat.” Always gracious, Nālani added, “Can I get you something? Maybe a glass of wine?”
“That would be nice,” McKenzie said, taking a seat and looking around the cozy cottage. “Nice place.”
Remembering the mayor’s warning—“You don’t talk to reporters. Watanabe will handle the press”—Koa cut McKenzie off before he started asking questions. “I don’t have any new information on the KonaWili situation.”
McKenzie repeated the grin. “Actually, I’m not here about KonaWili.”
Nālani poured a glass of chardonnay for the reporter. He took it and sipped. “Russian River,” he identified the wine, nodding his approval.
McKenzie had piqued Koa’s curiosity. “If not KonaWili, what brings you to Volcano?”
The reporter swirled the wine in his glass and took another sip. “We’re doing a human-interest story on you.”
Koa didn’t like the sound of that. “On me?”
“Yes. The sugar mill worker’s son from Laupāhoehoe graduates from the prestigious Kamehameha schools, plays football for the UH Rainbow Warriors, serves his country in the 5th Special Forces in Afghanistan and Somalia, joins the police force, and rises to the rank of chief detective. Our viewers around the world will be charmed.”
The idea repulsed Koa. Deeply suspicious of the press, he stayed in the background even when the mayor hadn’t warned him to stay away from reporters. Let the politicians have the limelight. He appreciated the reporter’s next suggestion even less.
“Your brother’s history only makes the story more fascinating.”
Koa felt his heart rate jump. He hated having his own face plastered across the TV, but dragging the family name through the mud yet again because of his brother’s crimes was intolerable. “I want no part of this,” Koa responded hotly, moving toward the door to show the reporter out.
Walker McKenzie hadn’t become a national news celebrity by failing to anticipate the reactions of his subjects. “We don’t need your approval,” he said, “and we could do this story without your cooperation, but there’s an angle you might find interesting.”
Koa stopped. “What’s that?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his skepticism.
“I’ve been working on a story about the personality changes in veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan who suffered brain injuries. Medical experts tell me frontal lobe injuries frequently trigger significant personality shifts, typically making people more impulsive and aggressive.”
Koa thought he saw where the reporter was heading, and, if he had it right, the idea intrigued him. He returned to the chair opposite McKenzie.
McKenzie continued with a glint in his eye. “I sent one of my gophers to Arizona to interview Ikaika. That’s when I learned he’d been brought back here and fainted. I had someone check Queen’s Medical in Honolulu and discovered he’s had surgery for a frontal lobe brain tumor.”
McKenzie enjoyed phenomenal sources, Koa thought, wondering how the man had gained access to Ikaika’s medical information. Koa knew he should be furious but held his temper to hear what the reporter had to say.
“If you work with us on our human-interest story, I’ll put you in touch with some serious medical experts, people on the cutting edge of brain research. At a minimum, they may help your family cope with Ikaika’s surgery and recovery, and there is a possibility they could help you build a case your brother’s brain tumor is at least partially responsible for his criminal conduct. They might even help you structure a case for parole.”
Koa felt a flash of hope spark through his brain so strongly he shivered. Ikaika paroled and in control of his behavior would be a family dream come true, a triple rainbow for his mother. He remembered Dr. Carlton’s words: “I can’t tell you when the tumor developed, but he’s most likely had at least a small tumor since childhood.” Could a brain tumor have triggered, or at least exacerbated, Ikaika’s criminality? Koa would never know if he didn’t explore the question. He sat for several moments before speaking. “And what do you get out of this?”
“That’s simple. I get what I live for, covering interesting stories. I get your cooperation on the personal biography, and, if the experts can help your brother, CNN gets an exclusive on that story, too.”
Koa had to admire the reporter’s straightforward approach. He offered invaluable access to experts—something out of Koa’s reach—and McKenzie only wanted to do his job. An exchange Koa himself might have proposed. Still, he hesitated. The mayor would fire him if he learned of an alliance between Koa and Walker McKenzie, and a puff piece about his chief detective would upstage and annoy Police Chief Lannua. Other detectives might even be jealous.
Nālani, sensing his uncertainty, intervened. “Koa doesn’t have to decide tonight, does he?”
Bless her, Koa thought, she’s given me time to think.
“Of course not,” McKenzie responded. “Take some time and call me if you have questions.” He handed Koa a card and thanked Nālani for the wine.
After McKenzie left, Koa and Nālani talked long into the night. The decision tortured Koa, pitting his deep-seated distrust of the press and his concern about the effect on his role as chief detective against his familial ties, and, as the oldest Kāne male, those ties weighed heavily.
“Māpuana would want you to do what you could for Ikaika,” Nālani stated the obvious.
“But what if nothing comes of it? I’ll look like a publicity hound. It’ll piss off the chief and undercut my leadership of the detectives.”
“Sure, there are risks,” Nālani conceded, “but you have to weigh them against the possibility of putting your family back together.”
In the end, Nālani recalled an old Hawaiian proverb, and it turned the tide of his thinking. ‘O ke keiki he loa‘a i ka moe, ‘o ka pōki‘i ‘a‘ole—one can produce a child by sleeping with a mate, but he cannot produce a younger brother. Brothers were brothers, and regardless of Ikaika’s crimes, blood ties required Koa to do what he could. His mother would expect no less. Old Hawaiians said, ho‘i hou i ka mole—return to the taproot.
The following morning, Koa accepted McKenzie’s proposal.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“YOU’VE BEEN RATTLING cages, my friend.” Zeke Brown greeted Koa with a grin. From anyone else, it might have been a rebuke, but Zeke delighted in investigating politicians. He held an old-fashioned view of government service. To him, government employees worked for the people who elected them, not the other way around. He hated politicians who augmented their compensation at the public trough. His credo was simple: If you weren’t willing to work for your public salary, you shouldn’t take the job.