Murder on Easter Island (6 page)

“It is.”

“That’s what I thought. When I shared my suspicion with Tiare, she said she would like to know more about your heritage.”

As a large group entered the breakfast room, Alame said, “I must go. But before I do, I have one more suggestion. Spend some time sitting before the moai when you have the chance. You may discover that they will speak to you — as they speak to me.” She smiled. “And do have a good time in your explorations.”

“I will,” Daniel said. He took his time and leisurely enjoyed the rest of his breakfast. As he was eating, he looked over at one of the expressionless wooden moai and thought:

Speak to the
moai
?

Daniel hiked up the gentle slope toward the highest point in Rapa Nui, Mount Terevaka. He had read that the word Terevaka meant “take out canoes,” and it was so named because the early settlers harvested wood from the area to make canoes.

Most of the surroundings had been deforested, except for groves of eucalyptus trees on the hillside that had been planted in hopes of preventing soil erosion and reestablishing the forest.

Daniel shook his head as he thought about it. Just like when the caracaras were introduced to control the rat population, efforts to manipulate nature often
backfired. In the case of the eucalyptus trees, it was later discovered they had large tap roots that invade water aquifers, gradually depleting the ground water supply. Equally damaging, the trees used up large quantities of soil nutrients and produced chemicals that suppressed growth of surrounding vegetation, which tended to make the soil around the trees infertile.

Daniel couldn’t help but remember the old saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Along the way up the mountain he discovered numerous caves. From his readings he knew they were actually lava tubes, conduits for lava flow during the eruption of volcanoes, formed in the island’s distant past. One particular cave had a large, flowering hibiscus bush at its exit. While he was a loner, for one brief moment he wished for a woman in his life, one who would enjoy having him place one of these beautiful red flowers in her hair.

Some hours and much sweat later, Daniel made it to the summit and found a lone eucalyptus tree. He paused and looked around to see 360 degrees of ocean. To the southwest was the city of Hanga Roa, sitting next to the ocean. A pair of cinnamon-colored caracaras circled over him.

He was glad to have this moment of peace.

Daniel lay down on the soft soil, put his backpack under his neck and fell into a soft slumber. Before long, he began to dream . . .

Daniel woke, stifling a scream.

As he jerked upright to a sitting position, he thought: What’s my mind trying to tell me?

After a short lunch of trail mix and a banana, Daniel followed his map and headed down the gently sloping hills toward the beach at ‘Anakena. After several hours of hiking, from a distance he could make out a number of tall palm trees, along with two groupings of moai, a solo one close to the water and a group of five, along with two statue fragments, farther away from the sandy beach.

Daniel knew from his readings that the single moai was a much older one and was sitting on an ahu — a raised stone platform. This particular one was called the Ahu Ature Huki. In 1956 this moai was the first to be re-erected, and he recalled it took twelve men a total of eighteen days to raise the eleven-foot-tall statue, using a ramp of piled rocks and tree trunks for levers.

Daniel tried to focus on the pristine landscape and smother thoughts of his dream. He was looking forward to the feel of the warm ocean water, the sand between his toes.

As he topped a small hill, he was taken aback as he found José Tepano waiting for him, standing by his police car on the road just before the entry to the beach.

Daniel called out, “José! It’s good to see you, but I was expecting Jack.”

“I know you were. I phoned him and, when I found out your plans, I came here instead. Hawk, do you have your cell phone with you?”

Daniel came up to him and said, “Yes, why do you ask?”

“Sometimes the cell service on this island is pretty spotty. I have been trying to reach you all day.”

Daniel sensed something was afoot. “Why?” he demanded.

“It’s Gomez — he’s dead.”

“W
hat happened?” Daniel asked as Tepano’s police car sped down the road toward Hanga Roa.

“Hawk, like you, Gomez wasn’t expected to be here all that long, so the Chilean police put him up in the Moana Nui Hotel, just across the street from where you are staying.”

Daniel still couldn’t believe it. Gomez dead?

“He was last seen alive at the hotel restaurant last night around nine,” José continued. “When he didn’t show up for work this morning at his usual eight o’clock, his secretary thought Gomez had decided, like he does sometimes, to have a morning phone call with his wife and children. Around nine or so, she started to worry and phoned the hotel. When she learned his car was still there, she called me and I went to investigate. After I arrived, I knocked on his door — no answer. I checked the door and found it was unlocked. Inside — well, you’ll soon see for yourself.”

“But,” said Daniel, “doesn’t this make the first non-tourist to be killed?”

“Right. I have no idea why the murderer is killing all those tourists, but the motive for Gomez’s killing seems clear. He knew Gomez was on his trail and decided to take him out. And who can tell, maybe Gomez was onto something.”

“Well, if he was, we’ll never know now,” said Daniel.

“One more thing,” José added, “I knew the Chilean police would dispatch someone else from Santiago to head the investigation once they got wind of Gomez’s death, so, before he got here and ordered me otherwise, I held a press conference at noon and told the public about the killings.”

“You did what?”

“You heard right,” José said, “I spilled the whole ugly mess out to the press. That is, except for the details about the crime scenes. We need to keep that close to our vests — for obvious reasons. Besides, we don’t need any more hysteria than we already have.”

“Agreed.”

“This story has been broadcast all over the world and nearly every inbound plane flight and boat excursion to the island has been cancelled — that is, except for the charters from Santiago packed with reporters, who have already started to arrive. The tourists still here will be leaving as soon as they can find a plane. Hawk, you and I both know this was the right thing to do, but the backlash — well — I’ll be lucky if I’m not fired.”

Daniel nodded in concurrence.

The two rode in silence for the rest of the way until they turned onto the street in front of the Moana Nui Hotel. Seeing no place to park, José drove on a bit farther and pulled into a space.

Daniel asked, “Where did all these cars come from?”

“Looks like the press is now here,” José said.

When they walked up to the hotel, they discovered a large crowd, not visible from the street. Someone recognized them and exclaimed, “Look, there they are!”

Daniel tried to ignore the questions as they pressed their way through the crush of reporters. Several microphones were shoved in his face.

“Is it true you’re here from New York City to investigate these murders?”

“What’s this we hear about the victims being cannibalized?”

“Have all those killed been tourists?”

Daniel and José were finally able to break through the melee and step over the police tape to the front of the Moana Nui Hotel, an inviting, one story, red-roofed hotel surrounded by lush foliage.

“So much for keeping a lid on things,” José whispered to Daniel as they walked around the corner to Gomez’s room, not far from the main entrance. When they cracked open the door, they discovered a handful of detectives were still inside, dusting for fingerprints and gathering evidence.

Before they entered, José said, “Look, Hawk, I’m going out front to deal with the press. See what you can come up with. I’ll check back with you when I’m through, and then we’ll go pick up your SUV.” With that, José turned away.

As Daniel started to walk inside, a policeman at the door thrust a handful of objects in his direction and spoke in English, “Wear these paper shoe covers and gloves — we can’t have you messing up the evidence. And here’s a flashlight for when you want to take a closer look.”

After pocketing the small flashlight, Daniel donned the shoe covers and gloves, then took a few steps inside.

Immediately he noticed the body of Gomez, tied to a heavy wooden hotel chair in the middle of the room. Something about everyone working around a naked body — especially the man who had once been their boss — just didn’t seem right.

Daniel tried to put his emotions to the side. What about Gomez’s wife and kids? How were they taking the news? While he wasn’t close to Gomez, the last time he saw him, he was walking and talking.

Not now.

Daniel refocused his thoughts . . . time to piece together what happened. He scanned the room, putting all the images into his mind, remembering every detail. The room was completely trashed; Gomez did not go down without a fight.

Daniel took a few long breaths through his nose. Just as he suspected, the distinctive odor was once again present.

About five feet past the front door sat a large pool of congealed blood . . .

The killer must have attacked Gomez just after he entered, Daniel reasoned.

Daniel glanced over at Gomez. His throat had two separate cuts, one on each side . . .

Must have slashed one side of Gomez’s neck when he came in.

To the far left of the room was Gomez’s bloodied gun . . .

Gomez went for his gun, but the killer wrested it from him and threw it aside.

Daniel walked to his right to examine the bathroom, its door demolished. Another large pool of blood . . .

Gomez was bleeding like a stuck pig, but he somehow managed to wrestle himself away and barricade himself in the bathroom. He only had a few moments before the door was broken down and he was cut on the other side of his neck.

Daniel then noticed streaks of blood on the tile floor leading from the bathroom to the chair where Gomez was tied . . .

Gomez was near dead by the time he was dragged to the chair, stripped and tied up. Then he was cannibalized. He couldn’t have been alive at that point.

Thank God.

With the fight Gomez put up, it would have created racket galore. He asked the nearest detective, “I’m Daniel Fishinghawk — investigator from the United States. Do you know why no one heard anything?”

He answered, “Our killer is no dummy. There was a rock and roll party going on next door, and it would have taken a nuclear blast to have heard anything. He had kept his eye on the situation and waited for his chance.”

Daniel nodded and took a closer look at Gomez. Just like the murders yesterday, Gomez had large patches of flesh missing. Bite marks were all over his body. No gag this time — the killer knew it wasn’t necessary.

Now Daniel had a thought . . .

Gomez was an experienced investigator, and if he had a second to spare, he would have found a way to leave a clue about the killer. But when would he have had the time?

The bathroom?

Daniel made his way into the blood-splashed bathroom, careful not to step in any blood. He took his time and meticulously screened the room.

Where would Gomez hide a clue while he was dying?

Where would he put it so his assailant wouldn’t find it?

Daniel inspected the shower and tub with its plastic, draw-back curtain. He looked at the bathroom sink and checked every square inch of the room.

Nothing.

He turned to walk out the door and had a final, desperate thought: the shower drain?

Daniel pulled back the shower curtains and removed the rubber plug from the drain. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and examined the inside of the hole carefully.

Something there . . .

He then reached inside with his gloved little finger and felt a tiny rolled up piece of paper, bent so that it wedged against the side of the drain.

As he carefully pulled it out, he discovered a torn-in-half business card, wrapped around a broken toothpick with blood still staining one point.

Gomez had used this as a blood pen.

This toothpick was one he likely had in his mouth when he came in from the restaurant. Daniel held his breath as he set the bent toothpick on the side of the tub and slowly unwrapped the crumpled card.

On it was scrawled in blood —

HITIRAU

D
espite of the gloom of the previous day, it was a beautiful Thursday morning. Daniel had finished his breakfast and walked briskly, headed to the home of Tiare Rapu, the elderly woman who was to instruct him.

Daniel smiled as he discovered all sorts of cur dogs, and an occasional horse, roaming the streets. As he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen billboards
— anywhere
— since he had arrived. Neither had he seen a stoplight. The main thoroughfares were clean and paved, and a number of colorful shops and restaurants lined them.

As he moved along, his mind went back to yesterday evening in Gomez’s hotel room, where he had shown José the evidence he had found in the drain.