The Green Room (24 page)

Chapter Forty-four

It happened in slow motion, yet so fast that Storm felt like she was frozen in a nightmare. She could only yelp in confusion and dread. Oddly, the gun didn't bang. It made a hissing pop, which at first Storm thought was a silencer. Then she saw the two wires shoot out and stick in Hamlin's chest.

Hamlin yelped with pain, bent over, and dropped to the floor. Aghast, Storm recognized the way she'd been brought down earlier in the day. Barstow had a taser, a kind of stun gun. She'd never seen one before, but she'd heard Brian and other members of the police force discuss them.

Though frantic with worry for Hamlin, she knew he hadn't been shot with a bullet and he would recover. She also figured the wires had to stay in contact with him, so her first priority was to pull them out.

“Ian,” she shrieked, and dashed toward his twitching form.

Jesus, what was all that blood? He was bleeding—a lot. His face was covered, and it was dripping onto the bamboo floor, brilliant red against the blonde wood.

Barstow took a step toward Storm. “Not another step,” he shouted.

“You pea-balled, spineless jellyfish.” She kept coming.

Barstow pulled the trigger again and Storm, horrified, watched Hamlin convulse. She didn't see Barstow's free hand swing at her head, but she felt the impact. He'd struck her flat-handed, a blow that knocked her to her knees between the couch and the heavy glass coffee table.

Storm shook her head, dazed. Her eyes watered with shock. Unbelievable. He'd actually hit her. Rage decelerated the tableau to slow motion. He would not get away with this.

Still on her knees, Storm grabbed the big crystal vase on the glass coffee table. She didn't even bother to dump out the water and sunflowers. Like a potted shrub held between her and Barstow, she jumped into a surfer's balanced crouch, aimed, and hurled.

In the split second before the vase connected, Barstow's squinty leer flicked back and forth between Hamlin's prone body and Storm's advancing one. Like a gluttunous rat, he couldn't decide who posed the greater risk. Chauvinist to the end, he chose the male as the bigger threat.

The vase connected with a noise like a cantaloupe on concrete and Barstow crashed to the floor. He also released the gun, which skittered under a rosewood cabinet.

Hamlin moaned, and Storm jerked the probes from his shirt front. “Hamlin, can you hear me?”

She groped in her sweatshirt for her cell phone, and struggled to hold her shaking hand still enough to speed-dial Leila and Brian. She needed cops and an ambulance.

Before she could bring the phone to her ear, the crash of breaking glass brought her to her feet. Someone was breaking into the house.

Afraid it might be an accomplice of Barstow's, perhaps O'Reilly, Storm jumped up and grabbed the vase, which was thankfully still in one piece. She flattened herself against the wall, out of sight of anyone entering the room. If it was more than one person, she didn't have a chance, but she had to protect Hamlin, who was still down and helpless.

“Storm?” He sounded weak and confused.

Loud footsteps, those of several people, clattered down the hall. “Storm!” a woman's voice called. “Are you here? Are you okay?”

Storm leaned against the wall in relief and lowered the vase. “Sunny?”

Ben, Sunny, and Dede raced into the room. “Oh,” Ben cried. “It's true.” He dropped to his knees, his eyes on his father. He didn't approach him, though. Instead, he looked at Hamlin, who held his hand over a gash on his forehead and struggled to sit up.

Sunny and Dede ran to Storm, then to Hamlin. “Thank God. We were so scared for you we broke the front window to get in.”

All three turned their attention to Hamlin. Dede ran to the kitchen, and came back with a wet dish towel and a zip-lock bag of ice.

Storm threw her arms around him. “How are you feeling?”

“Kinda shaky, to be honest.” He shook his head. “I'll be okay, though.”

Dede peered at him. “You need stitches.”

Storm told them about the taser.

“Your head must have hit the edge of the coffee table,” Dede said.

“I was helpless. I couldn't avoid it,” Hamlin said.

Storm looked at Sunny and Dede. “How'd you know where we were?”

“You said you were going to talk to O'Reilly,” Sunny said. “Goober had told me something bad was happening with the surf contest, and he needed to talk to O'Reilly. Then he died. So I called Ben to see if he knew where you'd gone.”

“How'd you know I'd talked to Ben?” Storm asked.

“Stephanie called me,” Sunny said.

Storm was going to ask for more information, but an electronically-transmitted shouting got all their attention. “Did you leave a phone off the hook?” Sunny asked.

“It's coming from the couch,” Dede said. “And it's calling your name.”

“Hold on,” Storm shouted. She grappled under a cushion for the mobile phone she'd dropped when she heard the glass break.

“Storm, what's going on?” Brian Chang yelled. Storm could hear Leila in the background, asking what was happening.

Storm told him where she was and what she knew. She also asked for an ambulance.

“We're on the way,” Brian said.

Chapter Forty-five

“Is he dead?” Ben's voice was sad. Except for his splayed limbs, Barstow looked like a funeral corpse, piled with sunflowers.

Dede felt his neck for a pulse. “No, he's alive.” She saw the taser filaments on the floor and pulled the gun from under the cabinet. “One of us had better watch him until the police get here.” She peered at the gun. “I wonder if we could use this on him.”

Sunny looked at Ben. “Tell Storm what you told me.”

Ben sighed heavily. “I saw the bowl.”

Storm frowned at him. “What bowl?”

“The artifact. A calabash, you know, with the teeth. Dad said it was very rare, that only a few private collectors had them anymore.”

“What did he tell you about them?”

“That the winner of a battle took the teeth of the losing warrior to gain his power and spirit. His
mana
.”

“Your dad has one of these bowls?”

“Yes.” Ben whispered his next words. “And I think he's making one of his own.”

“Holy Mother of God,” Storm breathed, and sank down next to Hamlin.

Sunny and Dede stared at Ben. “You didn't tell us that,” Sunny said.

Ben just looked at the floor, deflated. “I wasn't supposed to see it. That's when I decided he was losing it.”

No one spoke for several moments. Storm wondered if Sunny and Dede knew about Ken Matsumoto's and Nahoa's missing teeth. She didn't want to be the one to tell them. It was just too awful.

“What's that noise?” Sunny asked. “Something thumped.”

“I heard that before,” Storm said.

“Me, too.” Hamlin struggled to his feet. “It's upstairs.”

Ben and Dede stayed to watch Barstow, but Sunny, Storm, and Hamlin found the staircase, a wide, modern affair up which all three of them barged. It didn't take them long to find the room where O'Reilly was tied. When they opened the door, they found that he'd slid off the bed and was attempting to roll across the floor.

Sunny pulled a Swiss Army knife out of the pocket in her cargo shorts and cut the gag off him, then sawed through the nylon line around his arms and ankles.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“Yeah.” His bloodshot eyes showed white around the blue-gray irises. They darted from Sunny's face, to Hamlin's, and to Storm's.

“Where's Barstow?” he gasped.

“Storm knocked him out.” Sunny gestured toward Storm, who stared at the man with a mixture of mistrust and astonishment.

From the guy's behavior, it looked like Barstow had turned on him, too. But how much had he known about Barstow's activities? Had he actually confronted the man? Or had he somehow stopped fitting into Barstow's sick and deluded plans?

O'Reilly's eyes dropped to the ground. His hair stood up in clumps, his wrists bled from the nylon line that had bound them, and his elbows and knees were abraded from his struggle across the carpeted floor. The frayed khaki shorts he wore were stained and he smelled of urine.

He took a staggering step and shook his head from side to side. “He's crazy, you know.”

“Probably,” Sunny said. She took his arm and led him out the door to the top of the stairs. “Can you walk okay? We've called an ambulance.”

Storm and Hamlin followed, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Hamlin still held ice to his oozing forehead. The paper towel that was wrapped around the zip-lock bag was bloody. They were halfway down the staircase when the police pounded on the front door. It sounded as if a battalion had arrived. Piercing blue lights flashed through the broken window.

“Storm, Hamlin,” a man's voice shouted. Storm recognized Brian Chang's voice.

“We're okay,” Hamlin yelled back, and opened the door.

Five or six officers burst in, all wearing Kevlar vests. They put away their drawn weapons when they saw the calm but bedraggled welcoming committee. Detectives Yamamoto and Ursley followed the wave of armed police, with Brian close behind.

EMTs were the next group to enter, with a gurney and equipment. Some of them went directly inside while two approached O'Reilly, who sagged against the wall. Sadness and defeat permeated his demeanor.

“Where's Goober?” he asked, and when no one answered, he grew paler. Detective Yamamoto and the EMTs led him outside to a waiting ambulance.

Hamlin, Sunny, and Storm followed Detective Ursley and Brian into the house. “Dede and Ben are watching Barstow,” Hamlin explained to Brian.

Brian watched Ursley direct her officers to keep their eyes on the still-unconscious Barstow while the emergency techs loaded him onto the gurney, then put his hand on Hamlin's shoulder. “Let's have someone look at that gash.”

“It's not that bad,” Hamlin said. “Head wounds just bleed a lot.” He lifted the bag of ice for a moment.

“Ugh. He can't see it, can he, Storm?” Brian said.

“You need stitches,” Storm said.

Ursley looked over at Storm and Hamlin. “Get on over to Kahuku Emergency Room. We'll talk to you after.”

Leila and Robbie had ventured in now that the danger had passed. Leila hugged Storm. “It was so scary when you dropped the phone.”

“We could hear everything that was happening,” Robbie said.

“We finally figured out you were okay.” Leila looked grim. “But we also knew someone was hurt.”

A hush had fallen and Storm and Leila turned to watch Ben enter the kitchen. With Ursley behind him, he knelt to rummage in a cabinet. First, he extracted a commercial-sized blender and set it on the counter. Then he got out a box labeled with a popular protein additive.

“Dad had some herbs. He's always been spiritual,” Ben said. “He thought he could win mom back, you know.”

Storm's heart squeezed. The boy still wanted to look up to his dad and defend his actions. No wonder it had taken him a while to recognize that he'd gone overboard.

Ben leaned down, dug further back into the cupboard, and came up with a nondescript, brown corrugated box, about a cubic foot in size. He put it on the counter, then turned away. “It's in there. I…I think he was using it for his special drinks.”

Detective Ursley, who wore gloves, opened it. No one spoke. Even Brian Chang, who was out of his territory and stood by to support his colleagues, froze with part-fascination, part-dread. His eyes slid to Storm's. He nodded gently, a move only she and Leila saw.

Leila moved away with her hand on Robbie's shoulder, so that he went with her.

Storm hesitated a moment, just long enough to see Ursley pull out a wooden bowl.

White inlays shone around the upper rim. Those would be human molars.

Storm turned her back. It had been years since she'd seen one of these, but she didn't need to see another. Especially if she knew the tooth donors. No wonder the Bishop Museum no longer left them on display.

Hamlin made a low, sad noise, and pivoted away, too.

Suddenly, Brian was beside them. “Time to get that head looked at.” He nodded toward Ursley, as if to remind Hamlin it was time to obey her directive. “We'll meet you at the medical center.”

“Give me your keys. It's my turn to drive,” Storm said. She was mildly surprised when Hamlin handed them over without protest.

Storm and Hamlin spent about ten minutes in the waiting room before an ER physician appeared to lead them into an examining room. Just as they stood up to follow, Detective Yamamoto approached them.

“I'd like to ask you some questions when you're done,” he said.

“You might as well come in,” Hamlin said to him. “I'd like the distraction.”

Everyone looked to the doctor, who shrugged. “It's up to you.”

Hamlin, Yamamoto, and Storm all winced when the doctor began to inject around the wound on Hamlin's forehead with Lidocaine.

“Ouch,” Hamlin said. “That stings.” He looked at Yamamoto. “Talk to me.”

“Tell me why you went to see Barstow,” the detective said.

Storm let Hamlin do most of the talking, though the detective wanted to hear her version of her experience in the cave. Now that she knew Goober hadn't survived, the telling was even more disturbing, especially when she got to the part where Goober had taken the jet ski.

She choked up. “I thought he had a better chance than I did. Now I think he knew it didn't have enough gas. And I had the only surfboard.”

Yamamoto's expression was sympathetic. “You thought Goober robbed your house?”

Storm twisted her hands together. “His words were, ‘Talk to O'Reilly.' So I thought O'Reilly made him break into the cottage.” She looked miserable. “But now I think he was telling me who I needed to see to put the story together.”

“That jibes with what I've been hearing.” Yamamoto looked grim. “But it was probably Barstow who made him do it. It looks like Barstow offered him a spot in the lineup for doing certain jobs.” The detective glanced at his notes. “It was Barstow who pushed to shorten today's meet, which coincided with the spreading rumor that you'd been rescued from the water and were in the medical tent.”

Yamamoto continued. “O'Reilly saw Goober give you something. But he didn't know what it was. Nor did he know that you'd followed Goober off the beach.”

“Have you talked to any of the other surfers?” Storm asked.

Yamamoto nodded. “Seems like the day Matsumoto disappeared, Barstow and he had a big confrontation in the water. From what I hear, Matsumoto was kind of a rich kid with a big ego. He made a big deal of accusing Barstow of snaking him.”

“What?” Hamlin asked.

“Dropping in on his wave,” Storm explained. “Among surfers, it's considered stealing.”

She remembered how Gabe had snaked Sunny. That day, it had been a direct threat. She frowned. “That was a week before Nahoa died. Were Barstow and O'Reilly in the islands?”

“Barstow was, though he'd told O'Reilly he was in California, working on a real estate deal. Ben told us he'd met his father for lunch, but Ben wasn't to let anyone know he was in town.” Yamamoto shook his head. “Ben's almost an adult, but it was still painful for him. The father kept chipping away at the relationship with the mother, but still wanted her back. And he wanted his son's respect.”

“He was insecure,” Storm said.

“Seems that way. The way he played the kid.”

Storm stared down at the worn linoleum floor. An idea had flitted through her mind, and she struggled to regain it. She looked up suddenly. “Ken Matsumoto died of a head wound, right?”

“He had some water in his lungs, but the head wound would have been fatal. He had a V-shaped wound, consistent with the nose of a surfboard. We're looking for the board.”

“Talk to Mo‛o Lanipuni. He may recognize the board, or its shaper.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“Did you talk to Gabe Watson?”

Yamamoto snorted. “Another big ego. He said Matsumoto was buying his way onto the lineups of some of the meets. Specifically, the Sunset Triple Pro.”

Storm wasn't finished with her hunch, though. “Did Nahoa die as a result of a head injury?”

“No, water in his lungs showed that he drowned.” Yamamoto was on her train of thought. “You're thinking about the taser, right? Unfortunately, he'd been in the water too long for the ME to tell if he'd been zapped.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said. She watched Hamlin rub the area where the barbs had stuck. They'd left red welts on his skin.

“Can you prove Barstow killed Matsumoto and Nahoa?” she asked.

“We're working on it. We've got the teeth, but I hope Barstow will brag or want to justify his actions. A lot of people knew about that cave.” Yamamoto tapped his pen on his notebook. “It's too bad Goober's not here to share what he knew.”

The detective asked a couple more questions, then left Hamlin and Storm about the time the ER doc handed Hamlin a prescription for painkillers. They thanked the doctor and made their way into the ER waiting room.

O'Reilly sat in one of the molded plastic chairs, his head in his hands. Someone had given him a faded T-shirt and some rubber slippers. He looked up at them. “Do you have a minute? Please?”

“Let's go outside,” Hamlin said. “I could use some fresh air.”

“Me too,” O'Reilly said. His skin was still pasty. Bruise-hued skin underscored his eyes.

Out in the nearly deserted parking lot, O'Reilly folded his arms across his chest. Storm looked up at the sky, which was brilliant with stars. The cloud cover had dissipated to a few wisps, which tumbled across the indigo expanse like scraps of lace. For a few minutes, no one spoke.

O'Reilly broke the silence. “What's that term surfers use when you're held deep underwater and everything is the same color? You can't even tell up from down?”

“The green room,” Storm said.

“Yeah.” O'Reilly sighed. “That's where I've been. I wanted to say how sorry I am.”

Storm gazed at him. The man looked like he'd been to hell and back. “I've been there,” she said softly.

“Me too,” Hamlin said.

“Goober tried to tell me, but I got carried away with the idea of success and greed.” They had to strain to hear O'Reilly speak. “He was a good kid. I guess you know that.”

“He was,” Storm said. “I think he got sucked into it too, for a while.”

O'Reilly nodded. “Maybe. But he figured it out.”

“So did you,” Storm said.

“Not soon enough.” O'Reilly finally met their eyes. “I was too wrapped up in my own issues.” He scuffed his slippers against the blacktop.

“I feel responsible for Goober, too,” Storm said.

O'Reilly looked up at the stars and shivered a little. For a few minutes no one spoke.

“You said you'd been there before. Does it get any better?” O'Reilly's voice was soft and low.

Storm grimaced and hoped he couldn't see her face in the dark. She remembered her dream, and how she had felt responsible for Bert Pi‛ilani's death. Why had she survived when he hadn't? How was she going to deal with Goober's death, now?