The Bone Field

  The Dark Paradise Mysteries

  by Debra Bokur

  The Fire Thief

  The Bone Field

  THE BONE FIELD

  DEBRA BOKUR

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  Teaser chapter

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Debra A. Bokur-Rawsthorne

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020952451

  The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2775-6

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: June 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2777-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2777-0 (ebook)

  To my son, James Walker McDaniel:

  Thank you for inspiring and delighting me each and every

  day of your life, and for filling my own with awe and joy.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  With my appreciation and deep gratitude to T. Ku‘uipo Alana for her generous assistance and invaluable insight on the spelling and pronunciation of the Hawaiian words, phrases, names, and places that appear in this book, and also in The Fire Thief. My thanks, too, to my family at Kensington, and to my readers—and to the islands of Hawai‘i for providing endless inspiration.

  CHAPTER 1

  The midmorning sun hammered down on the old pineapple field’s rutted surface, imparting a relentless, blazing glare. The ocean breeze had failed, on a colossal scale, to deliver a cooler version of tropical air over the lip of the coastal cliffs and down into the Palawai Basin plains of Lna‘i Island’s central region. It was hot, and it was early, and it was going to get hotter.

  Detective Kali Mhoe peered once again into the recesses of the freshly dug trench at her feet. She’d been in, out, and around the hole for most of the morning, and her sleeveless green T-shirt, tied in a messy knot just below her breasts, was soaked with sweat. Streaks of dirt partially obscured a tattoo encircling her upper left arm, depicting a stylized, slightly geometric interpretation of a thrusting spear.

  At the bottom of the hole in front of her was an old refrigerator, its door flung open and partially resting on the mound of red-tinged dirt that had been created during its excavation. There was a small backhoe parked close by, on loan from the island’s community cemetery. It was close enough that she could feel the additional heat radiating from the surface of its recently used engine.

  The area around the open ground had been enclosed by crime scene tape, while a makeshift tarp on poles covered the hole, tenting it from the unlikely possibility of wind interference on this unusually still morning, and fending off the sun’s glare for the benefit of the police photographer. In place of the abundant natural island light, bright, artificial lights had been set up around the perimeter, angled to illuminate the depths of the hole.

  The tarp had proven completely ineffective at providing any semblance of shade. In the trench, Maui medical examiner Mona Stitchard—commonly known as “Stitches,” but only behind her back—was kneeling beside the refrigerator, taking measurements and making notes in a small book. Her hooded, sterile white plastic jumpsuit clung to her arms and the sides of her face, held in place against her skin by a layer of perspiration. Kali could see that her narrow eyeglasses were sliding down her nose.

  Kali studied the peculiar contents of the open refrigerator, then took a long swig of water from a bottle hooked onto her belt, leaning her head back as a few drops trickled down off the edge of her chin.

  Police Captain Walter Alaka’i walked up and stood beside her. He regarded the refrigerator with curiosity, his frown giving way to a row of creases in his wide brow. “Well, I gotta say this is definitely a new one. Any brilliant initial thoughts you’re not sharing?”

  Kali shook her head, considering the question. “Sorry. Nothing yet, beyond the obvious, slightly bizarre component.”

  She looked away, across the field, and then back down into the hole. What she didn’t say was that she was keenly aware of a residual sadness and loss still clinging to this space, filling the molecules of earth around her feet, newly disturbed after untold years.

  Stitches glanced up at Kali and Walter.

  “Well, I suppose we all like a challenge.” She waved her arm at a fly buzzing by her face. “And this should certainly be interesting.”

  The three of them regarded the derelict refrigerator. It was an older General Electric model, with a single, large main compartment and a smaller freezer door on the top. The shelves from the main compartment were missing.

  “My mother had a refrigerator like this one,” said Walter, pointing at it with the opened bottle of water he was holding. “And a matching stove. She was crazy proud of them. Horrible shade of yellow, if you ask me.”

  “Technically, the color is harvest gold,” said Stitches. “Hugely popular from the 1960s all the way through the ’70s.”

  Walter frowned at her.

  “You think it’s been here that long?”

  “Hard to say,” she answered, shrugging. “Though it doesn’t seem likely someone would bury a new one.”

  She stood up, passing her medical bag to Kali with one hand and stretching out the other toward Walter, which he grabbed and pulled. Emerging from the depths of the trench with impressive composure, she tugged the plastic hood away from her face and hair, now plastered wet against her head. She peeled off her jumpsuit with relief, and stood beside them, taking off her glasses to clean them. Walter passed her the bottle of water he’d been holding for her. She replaced her glasses and took the bottle, drinking from it gratefully.

  There were a number of people milling about the area surrounding the trench, each involved in either further securing the scene or attending to some detail: Tomas Alva, Lna‘i’s only full-time cop, officially part of the Maui County Police Department; a police photographer busily loading equipment into the back of his car; the crime scene team from the main
station in Wailuku on Maui; Burial Council officials who were required to attend the scene of any uncovered grave that might have a cultural tie; and a terrified-looking young couple who were clearly tourists, huddled by a rocky outcropping at the edge of the field. They were dressed in matching brightly patterned Hawaiian shirts, and on the ground beside them were two metal detectors, their long, narrow handles clearly visible.

  Looking over at the couple, Kali sighed. “I guess I should go and talk to them one more time before the woman passes out or starts wailing again,” she said.

  The offer sounded half-hearted, even to her own ears. Stitches glanced at her. Walter regarded her with a raised eyebrow.

  Kali glared at them. “Seriously? Surely both of you can see she’s one wrong word away from another bout of hysteria,” she said in a defensive tone. “And yes—before anyone points it out, I’m fully aware I’m not at my best with overexcited twenty-somethings.”

  Both Stitches and Walter turned toward the young couple, considering.

  “Probably put a big dent in her day, right?” said Walter, his smile lopsided. “They’re just kids on vacation. Not every day you go looking for buried treasure and turn up something like this.”

  Kali exhaled. “Okay, okay. Point made.”

  Walter’s grin widened. “One of these days, you’ll realize I’m always right.”

  Kali snorted. “Playing the uncle card?”

  He reached out and patted her lightly on the shoulder. “I can safely say that not only are you my only niece, you’re absolutely, without doubt, my favorite one.”

  He turned to Stitches, who had begun to wad her used jumpsuit into a ball.

  “You all through here?”

  She nodded. “For now. I’ll know more, of course, once we’ve moved everything back to the morgue and I can do a proper examination.” She surveyed the long-abandoned appliance in the hole. “Meanwhile, good luck with the search. Hopefully you can find something that will be useful in ascertaining an identification.”

  “Well, we’ve searched as much as we can with the fridge still there,” said Walter. “Maybe there’s something still hidden beneath it. We’ll see, I guess.” He wiped a few drops of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I’m going to head back to Maui after we get the body and fridge loaded up on the launch.”

  Stitches had already walked off, making her way toward a waiting car that would take her to the harbor for the roughly nine-mile boat crossing back to Maui across the ‘Au‘au Channel. Walter strode toward the backhoe, gesturing to the driver. The engine turned over. Parked beside it, a truck fitted with a flatbed also roared to life. The drivers of both vehicles made their way slowly toward the open hole, guided by Walter.

  Kali peered once more into the depths of the trench. Lying inside the no-longer-gleaming harvest-gold refrigerator, dressed in a pair of rotting overalls, was a skeleton, its bony hands folded neatly across the chest. It was lying on its side, both legs bent at the knees, feet pressed together. She had the impression it had been placed there with great care—even reverence, perhaps. She looked more closely. Her initial feeling suggested to her that whoever had performed this strange burial had possibly cared about the dead person in some way.

  She supposed it looked like a small man, but it was difficult to tell. Resting on the corpse’s narrow shoulders, in lieu of a skull, was a large, ornately carved wooden pineapple, a macabre adornment that gave no sense at all of who the long-dead figure might have been—or how he’d come to be resting here, in a dormant field of fruit, bereft, headless, and utterly alone.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was well after noon by the time Kali had compiled her notes with details about the burial setting and finished her final interview with Brad and Jan, the tourist couple. As she’d predicted, the woman had broken down into a fit of wild crying midway through her account of the morning’s events.

  Brad had been more pragmatic, even a little excited.

  “We thought maybe we could find some old coins, you know? Something to take home as a souvenir that didn’t come from a gift shop.”

  Kali refrained from pointing out that removing a historic artifact from the islands wasn’t likely to be looked upon kindly by the authorities. She watched his face, fascinated by the difference between his reaction to the discovery of a body, and that of his girlfriend.

  “When the metal detector starting going off, we dug around the spot and kept hitting metal. Jan thought it might be a treasure chest, but I figured it was probably some old piece of harvesting equipment that got covered up.” He patted the girl on her leg, as if consoling her for the loss of an imaginary fortune.

  Kali frowned. “And when you realized it was an old refrigerator, why did you keep digging?”

  He grinned. “Well, why would someone bury a refrigerator? I mean, maybe something important had been stashed inside of it. You know, valuable—not just a pile of old bones.”

  He fumbled as he saw the expression on Kali’s face. “I mean . . .”

  “You mean that the body of some long-dead human being, perhaps a local person, is of no possible concern, or any value.” She watched as he squirmed. “Correct?”

  “Well, no, of course not. It’s just that . . .” He looked from Kali to Jan, and back to Kali. “Jan called 911 right away, you know? I mean, a body, right?”

  “Yes, a body. Exactly right.”

  Jan made a fresh sobbing noise. “I didn’t want to open it,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice from breaking. “In the movies, opening the box buried in the remote field never turns out to be a good thing. I knew there was something bad in there. I just knew it.”

  “The skeleton belonged to an actual person, you know,” said Kali. “A living human being who probably had a family and friends.”

  “And at least one enemy,” Brad joked.

  Kali swallowed her irritation at his shallow response, doing her best to temper her character assessment with some degree of kindness. She turned to the woman, ignoring Brad.

  “You could look at it this way: Thanks to you, maybe someone will finally find some peace and closure knowing that their loved one has been found.”

  The woman grasped at the thought gratefully.

  “Well, glad to have helped, of course. I mean, anything we can do . . .”

  “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t find anything else?” Exchanging glances, Brad and Jan shook their heads. They looked directly at her with no apparent subterfuge.

  “No,” said Jan. “Nothing at all.”

  Kali waited, but they just sat there, disheveled and sweaty. The woman’s shoulders sagged. Kali noticed a small tear in her shirt, as well as soil stains on her beige sneakers. “I’d appreciate a call if anything occurs to you.”

  Again the couple looked at one another, before Jan spoke.

  “So, it’s okay if we go back to Maui tonight? We have a flight home to California the day after tomorrow. Should we cancel it? Will you need to hold us for more questioning or anything like that?”

  Kali suppressed a smile. There were, she thought, simply too many police shows on television these days.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, but we’d appreciate it if you could keep all of this to yourselves until we’ve been in touch,” she said, keeping her voice even. She could tell they were more than ready for cold showers and the hotel bar, where they’d most likely retell their story over and over, no matter how many times she might ask them not to. “Just make sure Officer Alva has all of your contact information before you leave.” She lent them a more serious gaze. “Just in case.”

  * * *

  The refrigerator, still holding the body, was carefully lifted from the ground and loaded onto the flatbed truck. To give them space to work, a command center for the police and crime scene crew had been set up near the parking area. The surrounding area was searched diligently, the soil sifted for any small item that might shed some light on the moment when the refrigerator ha
d been covered and abandoned. As the day lent itself toward dusk, more lights were set up around the now-empty hole. Armed with a bucket, sieve, and small shovel, Kali helped turn over the loose earth meticulously.

  She could see the undulating landscape of the pineapple field rolling off into the distance, shrouded by the growing shadows. Tomas Alva stood just outside the line of light, waiting patiently. Like Kali, he was covered in dirt.

  “We’re going to shut this down for the night,” he said wearily. “Probably take forever, but we’ve got a team using ground-penetrating radar coming in the morning, and a crew to start digging up the rest of the field if necessary . . . in case the head’s nearby.”

  It won’t be, Kali told herself. The pineapple suggested that the burial had had some sort of ritual significance, and it was unlikely that a head had been relegated to a separate box and conveniently planted somewhere in the vicinity. She kept her thoughts to herself. It wouldn’t hurt the SOC crew to spend a few days with backhoes and shovels. The last thing she wanted to do was keep anyone from feeling useful.

  She felt Tomas’s eyes on her. They’d known one another for years, and she suspected that he’d likely read the gist of her thoughts. He said nothing, only grinned tiredly.

  “I’ll give you a ride into town when you’re ready,” he said.

  She brushed herself off, succeeding only in making her hands dirtier than they already were.

  “I’m going to make a mess of your car seat,” she said, somewhat apologetically.

  “Can’t get any dirtier than my seat will be,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you settled, and I’ll go and see if there’s any supper left for me at home.”

  They walked to the car and climbed inside. For a moment, Tomas sat with his head back against his headrest. He reached forward slowly, turning the key that had been left in the ignition. As the car’s engine rumbled softly, he backed out of the makeshift parking spot and pulled onto the narrow track leading to the two-lane main road.