The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (top e book reader txt) 📕

“Detective Mhoe. Just the person I need to see,” he said. “Let’s take care of this quickly, shall we? The tribal officials have already been, by the way. You can pack him up.”

“Good morning, Chief,” she said, choosing not to comment on the untenable directive he’d just issued. She nodded at Stitches. “Anything interesting so far?”

“Dr. Stitchard was just noting that both bodies are male,” said Pait, his voice exuding conviction, as though this small fact was of huge significance.

“Yes, well, statistically speaking—” began Stitches, but Pait interrupted.

“Not my concern, statistics. Bodies in pineapple fields, yes. Statistics—well, far less interesting.”

Kali and Stitches exchanged glances. Seeing how Stitches had her lips pressed together, Kali understood the supreme effort it took for the doctor to refrain from commenting.

Pait turned to Kali. He gestured toward the command center. “I’ve got to make a public statement about all of this later today,” he said. “What’s your theory so far, Detective?”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t have one. I just got here, as you see.”

Pait frowned. “Well, off the top of your head?”

Kali held up both hands, palms facing the sky. “Turf battle? Pineapple wars? The bodies of the defeated left behind to fertilize the fruit? Really, Chief, at this point it’s impossible to formulate a likely theory.”

“Later today, then. Be in touch.” Pait nodded to the women and turned away, walking back in the direction of the tent.

“Well then,” said Stitches. “Since you seem to have been given a time line for solving who-only-knows what kind of crime, I suppose I should brief you.” She pointed to the exposed skeleton in the hole, and Kali noted that there was still hair visible on the skull. “Not counting the foot shorn off at the ankle—thanks to the somewhat eager volunteer digger who stumbled upon this gentleman with his shovel—there are no obvious injuries like bullet holes or a missing head, but the neck is broken, though that may have happened long after death. What else can be determined remains to be seen. There is, as you can see, a hibiscus root growing through the rib cage, which isn’t surprising given the relatively shallow nature of the grave.” She looked the body over. “What I can tell you definitively at this point is that this is an adult male who had brown hair and stood about six feet three inches when alive. Of course, ethnicity has yet to be determined.”

Kali listened, walking slowly around the grave while Stitches spoke. She stopped at the foot of the hole, where she could take in the full length of the dead man. The hands, like those of the first body, were crossed over the chest. Above the pelvis hung what remained of a wide, drooping leather belt with a rusted metal clasp. The clasp was shaped like a sunburst, more decorative than the typical buckle found on a man’s belt. Any clothing had long since rotted away. Kali pulled out her phone and took a photo of the belt buckle.

“The hands,” said Kali.

Stitches nodded. “Yes.”

There was the rustle of ground birds from somewhere nearby, and the muted chatter of people going about their business at the crime scene. Kali closed her eyes and listened to what might be discernible beneath the surface noise. She imagined the snaking root and the toothed leaves of the yellow hibiscus, the lovely ma‘o hau hele, making its way through the earth, reaching into the dead man’s ribs and wrapping around the space that had once held his heart. Who left you here? she wondered to herself, but there was no answer to be heard.

“Let’s get him back to Maui and see what he has to tell us,” said Stitches, breaking into her reverie.

Kali stood back, watching as the body was removed with care from the ground for transport back to the county morgue. Once the bones had been gathered, Tomas returned, stepping carefully into the empty space that had been left behind. He carried a sifting screen, a bucket, and a box of plastic evidence bags. There wasn’t enough space for two people to work next to one another, so Kali crouched on the edge and worked her way through the mound of earth that had been removed as the body had been revealed. She thought of the man’s damaged skeleton, and of the bone breakers who had once roamed the islands, working as freelance thugs for the many minor chieftains who had warred regularly with one another along the coastlines.

She’d been told these stories and others by her grandmother, the celebrated Hawaiian author and historian Pualani Pali. Pualani had been the kahu who served as the spiritual leader and wisdom keeper of Kali’s family, a position of great status. Because of this family connection and her close relationship to her grandmother, Kali’s upbringing had included an immersion in not only the spiritual beliefs and legends of Hawai‘i, but also in the culture, geography, and botanical features that made this remote Pacific island chain so unique.

She’d studied the vast collection of tales handed down orally through generations of Hawaiian people, later gathered and assembled by anthropologists and historians, each story having a multitude of variations depending upon the teller of the tale. This knowledge had proven invaluable in her position with the Maui Police Department, and in her role as a consulting expert throughout the entire chain of islands, particularly in cases that suggested a connection between a crime and Hawai‘i’s rich mythology. Her position was unique: Not only was she a native Hawaiian with a degree in cultural anthropology, she had been identified by her grandmother as the kahu of her own generation, a position always handed down from grandparent to grandchild.

Pualani had tailored Kali’s education to help her fulfill this role, and learning even the darkest tales became part of her lessons. Her mind wandered from the burial site across the distant hills and slopes, through the long,