A large tiger shark, found dead in a fisherman’s net two miles west of the island of Kahoolawe, was found to have "recently ingested human remains" in its stomach.

According to Bruce Lewellyn, Chair of the State of Hawaii’s Shark Task Force, the shark was brought to Lahaina Harbor by fisherman Paul Lenno. "He radioed us from his boat and we met him at the dock," Lewellyn said. "We try to be on hand whenever a large shark is brought in." Lewellyn went on to explain that biologists from the Task Force weigh, measure, identify and sex the animals. In addition they routinely examine the stomach contents, usually on the scene.

"In this case investigators discovered evidence that this shark had, within the past few days, eaten some part of a human being," Lewellyn said. According to Task Force biologist Althea Ikeda "...much of the evidence is partially digested, making it difficult if not impossible to identify the victim." Ikeda also said that it "might be possible" to identify the sex, and perhaps race and age, but it would be very time-consuming and costly.

"This is a real mystery," Lewellyn said, "because we have no reports of any attacks in the past week. No one knows who this person was, where he or she was attacked, even if the attack was fatal." The last reported shark attack in Hawaii was over three months ago. Surfer Ron Ishikawa was killed by what is believed to be a large tiger shark while surfing, near sunset, at Sunset Beach on the north shore of Oahu.

Honolulu Police Department Public Information Officer Lieutenant Dwayne Okuda reported that HPD had received no recent shark attack reports. "We’re not even working any Missing Persons cases now," Okuda added. "We have no idea who it was they found in the shark."

Sometimes a good deed works out, sometimes it doesn't. I'm still not sure about this one.

It all started on a funky Monday morning in Honolulu. I was jamming around the office, getting the settlement papers for the Miyaharo case finished. After living with this case for two years I had it just about wrapped up and was looking forward to my vacation on Maui. Then the phone rang. I had told Helen I didn't want any interruptions, so I was somewhat less than cordial as I answered.

"Helen -- I thought I told you no calls."

"I know, I'm sorry, but there's someone to see you." As usual, she didn't sound apologetic. She had her own ideas about how the office should run and I had long ago given up trying to reform her. She cranked out the work and had the organizational skills of an obsessive, so I just put up with her busybody streak. I'd been through a couple of airheads before I found Helen, and sometimes it was nice to have someone around who took more than just a passing interest in what was going on.

"Who is it? What's up?"

"Wait," she said, "I'll be right in."

In a minute she came through the door, closing it gently behind her. This was another quirk of hers that occasionally drove me up the wall. She seemed to feel that the inter-office phone was there just to start conversations that should then be finished face-to-face. She was forever in and out of my office, so sometimes, when I had work that needed doing right now, I'd lock my door to keep her out. She'd try to get in, rattling the knob angrily, but she never called me on it later. I think she just pouted until I came out and she could start talking again.

Now she stood just inside the door, hands on her ample hips. At sixty-one Helen's gray hair gave testimony to her years as a single mother of three boys. One look at her face and even the dimmest of us knew that this was not a woman to be trifled with.

"There's a young woman here who needs help," she said, "she wants to see you."

"What's wrong, what's her problem?"

"I don't know," replied Helen, "she just said someone recommended you. But one look at her face and I knew she was in trouble. Want me to find out who sent her over?"

"No, just send her in," I sighed. I'll get rid of her myself, I thought. The last thing I needed now was a new client. I was nearly ready to split and didn't want anything to slow me down.

Helen left, then was back in a minute, a step ahead of the other woman.

"Mr. Jackson, this is Ms. Gwendolyn Bennett. Ms. Bennett, Mr. Jackson."

Gwendolyn Bennett stepped around Helen and strode up to the desk.

"Have a seat Ms. Bennett." I gestured with my hand and she took the seat in front of my desk. She was facing a wall of glass, twenty stories up in a high-rise in Honolulu. From her seat she could look high over downtown, the harbor, the airport, and the open Pacific. The view drew her in, as it always does, and I took the opportunity to study her for a moment.

Gwendolyn Bennett was in a tailored suit, dark blue, and was wearing what looked like brand new open-toed, medium high-heeled sandals. She looked to be around thirty. Her red hair was cut short. It was thick and luxurious and framed her round face with a halo of deep red, shot through with golden highlights.

As she sat and drank in the view a shaft of sunlight snuck through the clouds and danced across her face. She had a clean, strong forehead, wide set green eyes, classic high cheekbones and a strong jaw. A small scar, it looked like some kind of puncture, was just under her left jaw, its puckered blemish almost lost under her tan. Her legs were bare, muscular and bulged against the fabric of her skirt. She had a healthy, outdoor look about her, but her face was tight with tension and worry.

"What a view," her low pitched voice was pleasant. "Must be hard to get any work done here."

"You're right" I replied, "but I can't really blame the view for that."

"I want to thank you for seeing me. I hope you can help me."

As she talked she fidgeted, her hands plucking at her hem and then pulling at the lapels on her jacket. She looked uncomfortable in her clothes, as if her body needed more freedom to move.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. Why don't you tell me what's wrong, what your problem is." I stole a glance at my watch.

She took a deep breath and frowned, as if reluctant to get started. I waited, giving her the time she needed.

"It's my sister. I've been looking for her for a week now. She came over here right after she finished school this year. She was supposed to be here for two weeks, just a vacation, and then start her summer job at home."

She stopped for a second and cocked her head, as if she were searching for the right words. Her face took on even more tension and her fidgeting increased.

"Well, she didn't show on time. I tried calling her hotel, but they didn't know anything. At first I wasn't too worried, but then I just started to get this feeling. After a few more days I called the police but they didn't sound like they were going to do much. They just said she probably decided to stay, maybe met a guy, they don't know. I felt like they just wanted to get rid of me. That's when I decided to come over."

She was talking faster now, trying to get it all out. "When I got here I stayed at the same hotel. I tried talking to people there, you know, kind of playing detective. A few people remembered her when I showed them a picture, but nobody remembers anything unusual, anything. I didn't know what to ask."

I nodded, said nothing, silently urging her to go on.

"I was stymied, I had no idea what to do. Then, last night, I was talking to this guy who works in the hotel. I told him what was happening and he said you could help me."

Edwin, I thought, it couldn't be anyone else. I didn't exactly have a high profile in the Honolulu legal community and wasn't used to getting many referrals. "Was his name Edwin?" I asked.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"He's involved in a case of mine, something very different from your problem. Edwin probably neglected to mention it, but I've done very little work that would relate to your situation. As a matter of fact, I've never done anything involving a missing person case. I don't know how I can help you."

This hit her hard and her shoulders slumped. Her hands stopped fidgeting and she clasped them tightly together, folding them into a tight little nest in her lap.

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Jackson. I'm going crazy and getting so frustrated. I can't make anything happen. And, this isn't like Susie. She's always been a good kid. I'm scared. I can't go home, but I don't know what to do next."

She stopped for a beat then started talking again, faster this time as if she were hurrying to get it out while I was still listening.

"We've always been close. I raised her after our parents died. She was just eleven, I was twenty-one, and we were alone. She was all I had, and I was all she had. It was tough, but we made it. I was so proud of her, and me, when she started college. Everything looked great, and now this. I don't know what to do. I love her and now I can't find her."

She was leaning forward now, looking me right in the eye. Her expression was so intense I couldn't have looked away if I had tried. And I wasn't trying. Then she finished, her shoulders slumped and all the animation went out of her face. She looked thrashed, hopeless.

All of a sudden my plan to get rid of her didn't feel like such a good idea. The longer I looked at her the more I felt I wanted to help. I sat up straight in my chair, and reached for a pad of paper, stalling, trying to figure out what to do.

"Okay, I believe you. How 'bout this? Let me make a few calls, see what I can find out. I'll see about getting an investigator to give us some time. That way we can get some professional help. I'm sure that in a day or two we'll know something."

I got her phone number, mumbled something about not worrying and walked her to the front door. She moved smoothly and her body looked graceful and supple as she walked ahead of me. At the door she turned to shake hands. She was tall enough, with her heels, to look me almost in the eye. I'm just a shade under six two and I weight about one ninety so I usually find myself looking down on most women. Gwendolyn Bennett must have been five eight or nine but was so well proportioned that I hadn't been aware of her size. Her handshake was firm as she said her final thank you's and then left.

Back in the office I finished up the Miyaharo papers and gave them to Helen to type. My office was furnished in a collection of second hand furniture and included a luxurious leather couch. It was placed to give me an unobstructed view out the wall of glass which dominated the room. I stretched out, took in the view and tried to figure out what to do next. My two year old practice had so far consisted mostly of a handful of routine and boring wills, divorces, real estate transactions and other uninspiring legal drudgery. They had kept up an anemic cash flow while I spent most of my time on my big one, a civil suit. One result was that I knew about as much about investigations as I know about nuclear physics. I decided it was time to consult my attorney.

Just across the hall from my office was the office of one of Honolulu's major criminal firms, Schuyler, Wong and Trinidad. The Schuyler is Bill, senior partner, Honolulu legal hotshot. He made his reputation, and a ton of money, in the criminal defense business. We'd met when I had first moved into the building, into my considerably smaller and humbler one-man office. He was outgoing, a gruff extrovert with a trial lawyer's theatrical persona. We'd become friends, often drank together after work, so I walked across the hall and his secretary told me to go on in.

"What! Jackson. What are you doing here?" I though you were gone. What happened, your settlement go sideways on you?"

"Hell no," I replied, "I am, as they say, 'drawing up the papers' as we speak. Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, we sign."
 

"And get the check," Bill said with a devilish grin, "don't forget the check."

"No chance," I laughed, "I may be stupid, but I'm not dumb."

Bill laughed, then rose and stretched, his hands straining for the ceiling. His office featured the same glass wall as mine and he was backlit by the sunshine, his thin gray hair shining like a halo. At 5'8" and 180 he's about 15 pounds overweight, most of it settled right in his prosperous paunch. He works like a dynamo, and is prone to clapping his hands and rubbing them together, his signal to get going. A natural actor, he owes much of his courtroom success to his performance skills and energy.

It took me less than ten minutes to fill Bill in on Gwendolyn Bennett's problem. Every so often he interrupted me to ask if I had asked about this or that. I had to admit I hadn't.

"Jesus," he laughed, "you are living proof of the degeneration of the legal profession. It's a good thing you were up against those dimwit government guys and the asbestos company. They're so used to losing they've forgotten what it takes to try a case."

He was joking, but there was an edge to his voice as well. He loved the courtroom, savored the fight and drama. He talked about "real" lawyers, the ones who fought it out in the trenches, and called the rest "high-priced clerks." He was generally right, but since he did criminal defense that didn't stop me from rattling his cage with some loose talk about "mob lawyers." We often went at it for hours and the verbal battles were the thing I enjoyed most about our friendship.
"Tell you what buddy. I'll bail your ass out on this, but you owe me one." He got an amused look on his face, he loved being on top and never failed to milk it for all it was worth.

"You need Al Souza. He's worked a bunch of cases for me. He's good, and he's easy to work with. He retired from HPD about four years ago, so he's still got friends in the Department who can help. Let him do the work, you take the credit, and the lovely Ms. Bennett will be none the wiser."

"I like that. Thanks Bill, I knew when it came to forthright legal advice you were my man. Keep it up, maybe one of these days you'll find some honest work like me."

I jammed out the door in the middle of Bill's heartfelt "Fuck you Jackson," got Souza's number and file from his secretary and went back to my office.

First I called his office number. He answered on the first ring and said he was on his way to my building to see a client and could give me a few minutes before his appointment. After once again proofing the Miyaharo papers I got Helen started on the retyping and then sat down to read Souza's file. He was a twenty year Honolulu cop who'd come up through the ranks and retired as a Captain. He'd had lots of investigative experience and got his last promotion after setting up Honolulu's first drug sting operation. More interesting, and to the point, were the notes and reports from Bill's cases. They made it clear that Al Souza's work was excellent, his contacts reliable, and he was a professional witness in court. The more I read, the better I felt. It sounded like he was exactly what I, or rather Gwendolyn Bennett, needed.
 

I finished the file and swiveled around in my desk chair to take in the view. My office was just a few blocks from Honolulu's waterfront and the twenty-story vantage point came complete with a spectacular view of the ocean. That morning the sea looked like an immense blue-gray slate that extended forever. The rain had stopped and the light blue of the sky was set off by a scattering of pure white cumulus clouds.

Out toward Diamond Head the blue of the ocean was broken by a frothy ribbon of white created by the waves breaking on the reef. I gazed at the whitecaps and knew that soon the tradewinds would kick in and the area around the point would fill up with a collection of windsurfers. That made me think of my impending vacation. I was ready to play and didn't want anything to get in my way.

Helen's knock on the door brought me out of my reverie and she ushered Al Souza into my office. Souza turned out to be a big man, six feet or so, with about two hundred and forty pounds hung on a thick frame. A salt and pepper crewcut contrasted with a luxurious black mustache. He looked like a bulky G. Gordon Liddy, not only the hair and mustache, but he had the same ramrod straight posture and disconcerting, direct gaze.

He had his business face on. Big smile, firm handshake, business card at the ready. He was dressed in a loose aloha shirt and slacks. His shoes were classic cop, plain black hightops, thick soles, no nonsense flatfoot shoes.

"Mr. Jackson, nice to meet you." His eyes never left mine. He took the seat without being asked, and sat back looking more comfortable than I felt. A quick smile and then down to business. "What can I do for you?"

He listened carefully as I filled him in on the missing Susie Bennett. His face was impassive, brows knitted together as he concentrated on my story. He asked precise questions and kind of bit the end of his tongue as he laboriously made his notes in the notebook he had taken from his back pocket. I liked him more then. Seeing him looking like a schoolboy hunched up and writing with a pencil stub was like spotting a chink in his otherwise formidable armor.

He asked me if Susie was on drugs, in love with some beachboy, in debt or on the run from somebody at home. Did I have a picture and an itinerary?

"No, I don't have any of that. But, I'll get it for you later. Anything else I should ask her for?"

He reeled off a list and I made my notes, writing away in my own personal shorthand, a skill from my law school days that I'd never lost. At one point I looked up and asked, "Al, what about the police? How do we get some action from them?"

Souza sighed and sat back in his chair. He ran a huge hand through his spiky crewcut and thought for a moment.
"Here's the deal. The cops hear stories like this all the time. Generally they won't do nothing until there's some evidence of a crime. Most of the time it turns out to be nothing. She could have decided to take off for another island and just not told anybody. Maybe she's holed up in a hotel fucking the brains out of some jerk who picked her up in Waikiki.

"The chances are good she'll show up soon with no harm done. But HPD won't do much until there's good reason to believe something's happened, or until more time has passed."

He squirmed a bit in his chair and went on, sounding almost like a professor going through a canned lesson plan.
"The sister can hire you, and me, spend a bunch of money, and maybe find out something. Or she can go home and wait. There's not much she can do on her own, and there's always the chance we won't be able to do much for her either."

I sat back and swiveled around to face my glass wall again. The view had changed for me and didn't look quite as inviting as it had a few minutes before. I looked down on Honolulu. From here it looked like just a city, not the tropical paradise the tour brochures sell. And, just like other cities, things went on down there that nobody liked to think about, things we never thought would happen to us. I thought of Gwendolyn Bennett looking for her sister and for just a moment had some idea of how desperate she must feel.

"Tell me Al," I turned around to face Souza again, "if you had to guess, what do you think happened?"
The hard cop look reappeared on Souza's face. He paused for a moment, sizing me up, deciding if he thought I could handle the truth.

"Depends on how you look at it. I been at this a long time, seen a lot of shit, so I tend to think the worst. You want the truth, I'd guess she's in trouble. A kid here on her own, anything could happen. Remember that serial killer we had a year or so ago? Well, they never got that guy, he could still be out there. Maybe some pimp got her hooked on smack and turned her out. We may never know.

"On the other hand," he shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised if she turns up tomorrow and we found out she spent the week on some nude beach on Kauai. Right now there's just no way to know. That's why we're here, right?"
I nodded, there was nothing to say. Souza's words just hung in the air. I was getting an even worse feeling about what was in store for Gwendolyn Bennett. Funny, but I didn't really think that much about her sister. We were in this on her behalf but it was hard to feel anything for someone I'd never met.

I spent a few more minutes with Souza, found out about his fees, and told him I'd check back with him tomorrow after I talked with my client. Then, after he left I called Gwendolyn's hotel. She wasn't in her room so I left a message that I would meet her in the hotel bar at six.

After that I just sat for a few minutes and looked at the view. I felt uneasy, like I was in over my head. It was one thing to watch something like this on TV, quite another when it walked into your office. I liked fighting the good fight, that was what had attracted me to this business in the first place. However, it was one thing to take on the government, or some bunch of money-grubbing corporate assholes. This was something else again.

Then I said to myself -- "Wait a minute, you're damn near on vacation, remember? Al's the guy to take care of this, not you. Get him together with her and then split. This isn't your gig."

With that I settled in for the drudgery of an afternoon of retyping, crossing my i's and dotting my t's. "Priorities," I said, "keep 'em straight and you're out of here."

There was a middle-aged couple sitting nearby, obviously in the middle of an argument. The woman had on a bright red muumuu, complimented by what looked like a painful sunburn. She'd take a hit of her Mai-Tai then lean over, her face flushed and angry, and whisper emphatically at her husband. I had a hunch, particularly when I took a look at the guy's face, that she wasn't whispering sweet nothings.
 

The object of her disaffection had a matching sunburn, particularly noticeable on his balding head. He just sat there, the muscles in his jaw working, looking out at the beach. They looked like they were having a memorable night in Paradise.
Gwendolyn arrived a few minutes after six. She was dressed in gray lightweight warm-up pants with a matching short sleeved top. The humble sweatsuit has come a long way and I'm constantly amazed, and pleased, to see how great some ladies look in clothes that I'm used to seeing on a bunch of sweaty jocks.
 

"Mr. Jackson, thank you for coming." She looked better, more relaxed, although the tension lines still played across her face. She sat and favored me with a smile.
 

"I'm feeling much better," she said. "I found a gym and worked out. I've missed the activity. It always helps me to have a good hard workout. Funny, I feel a little less lost, a little less helpless I guess, when I can do something physical."
"Yeah, I know. I don't get to play as much as I'd like to but when I do I always feel great. Amazing how much good you can do just by thrashing your body."
 

She laughed, a deep, rich sound, and I was aware of feeling more and more comfortable with her. "Listen," I said, "Ms. Bennett is a mouthful for me -- what do people call you?"
 

"Mostly Gwen. I love the sound of my name, Gwendolyn, it always reminds me of medieval legends, you know, Merlin and all that, but I'm usually just Gwen. How about you?"
 

"It's always been just Jackson. It started when I started school. Even my teachers, from the first, always called me Jackson. I've got a first name, but even I hardly remember it."
 

Our drinks came and we spent a moment just looking around. The bar was set about ten feet above Waikiki Beach with a view that could have come right off a postcard. Far to the left Diamond Head dominated the shoreline. The sea in front of the hotel was dotted with sailboats tacking back and forth outside the reef. A singer/guitar player was seated on a high stool on a small stage behind the bar. He was doing a great job on Dylan's "Just Like a Woman" and the sweet sadness of the lyric captured us and we listened in silence. When the song ended Gwen sighed and turned to face me.
 

"It's incredible how beautiful it is here. And then I think of Susie and I feel guilty."
 

Suddenly she seemed to shrink, to grow smaller as her body tensed in on itself. I felt my stomach roll over, knowing what she was thinking, wondering at how hard it must be for her to keep it together. I wanted to reach out to her, but I didn't. I felt awkward, didn't know what to say. She solved my problem in the next instant. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and just said, "Well?"
 

"Gwen, I think I've found the guy we need. He's a private investigator, an ex-cop named Al Souza. I met with him after you left. He believes you're right, that the police probably won't be much help. When they have some evidence a crime has been committed they're right on it. Until then they're going to be kind of hard to motivate."
 

She listened intently, her eyes never leaving mine. Her face registered no emotion, but I couldn't believe she was hearing what she wanted to hear.
 

"Al says one thing we can do is ask around here, check with the hotel employees, find out what she was doing."
I suddenly thought of my list and pulled it from my pocket. "Al gave me a list of questions, things he would need, the information he has to have if you want him to follow-up on this."
 

I handed her the list. She read for a moment, then reached into her purse and brought out a spiral notebook, eight and a half by eleven, the kind I remembered from school. Printed on the front was "University of California, Santa Cruz." Underneath this was a cartoon creature, some kind of yellow thing that looked like a mutant cousin of Casper the Ghost.
 

Now she started to show some animation, some positive energy. "I have all this," she said. "Look, here's the picture I showed. I've talked to everybody I could here. That's all I did for the first few days. I talked to bellboys, clerks, everyone at the hotel. I even tried most of the nearby restaurants."
"
She shoved the notebook at me. A picture was pasted on the inside front cover. A young woman, a girl really, smiled out at me. She looked thinner than Gwen, almost frail, but had that same red hair. Susie's hair was longer, shoulder length, but it had the now-familiar sheen and fullness. She had a tentative smile on her face, and I had the feeling she was more shy and introverted than Gwen.
 

"This is from a year ago. Just when she was really starting to come out." Gwen reached over to stroke the photo, as if the memories were contained in the photo itself.
 

"She used to be so quiet, always within herself. She stuttered when she was younger. The doctors mostly said it was because of losing our folks, you know, the trauma and all. It was easier on me, I was twenty-one, but she was only eleven. After the accident she had nightmares, bad ones, and then she started stuttering."
 

A frown crossed Gwen's face as she remembered. "She wasn't real bad, not like those comedians on TV, but it held her back in school and with her friends.
 

"It's funny, I never paid it that much attention, but I didn't know how much worse she was in school than at home. I guess I thought I had more important problems to deal with, but for her it was everything. She didn't complain that much but she didn't go out much either. You know how awful it can be when you're thirteen and the boys don't call?" She shook her head and a wry smile crossed her face. "How crazy all that seems, particularly now."
 

She stared at the photo for another moment and her eyes started to fill up with tears. "I was so proud of her. She worked so hard to beat the stuttering. She went to a hypnotist, all on her own, and it worked. Then this last year she changed so much, she turned into a real young woman. She was confident. she could talk to people like she never had before.
 

She continued to stare at the photo for a hew moments, then sat up straight and made a visible effort to control herself.
We were interrupted by a burst of loud applause. The singer had finished the set and was taking a break. A middle-aged tourist had taken over the microphone. He had been sitting at a table with twelve or fourteen others, all wearing the same outrageous aloha shirts. Some kind of convention I guess. They started some atrocious sing-along, just what Gwen and I needed. I was feeling more out of place by the minute and wanted to just up and go.
 

Gwen must have felt the same. She got up and said, "I can't take that," nodding her head at the group, "let's get out of here. I'd like to walk on the beach."
 

I left some money and we walked down the stairs to the beach. We stopped for a moment, to put our sandals in Gwen's bag, and walked off down the beach in the direction of Diamond Head.
 

"Listen Gwen, if Al is going to help us out it's going to be expensive." I didn't look at her, somehow talking about the money didn't feel right, but I knew that sooner or later we'd have to deal with that issue.
 

"How much?" she asked, stopping at the water's edge and turning to look at me.
 

"Al usually gets $200 a day, plus expenses. I don't know how much time he'll need to put in on this, particularly since you've already covered a lot of ground on your own."
 

"I don't care. I have to do something, even if it means," she paused and took a deep breath, "even if it means something bad. You understand don't you? I have to know, no matter what."
 

We walked on in silence. Gwen rolled up her warm-up pants and we walked along the water's edge, retreating to the dry sand when a big wave crashed on the shore.
 

"I want to hire Al. Let me meet with him and tell him what I've done. If he thinks he can help, then I want him to. I have some money, I have a good job, I can pay him for awhile. What else can I do."
 

"Tell you what. I've got a nine o'clock meeting. It shouldn't go more than an hour so let's get together at ten. We'll see what Al has to say, and then you can make up your mind."
 

She was silent then and we walked on as the last rays of the sun painted the sky in tropical blues and pinks. The beach was almost deserted. With our backs to the hotels it was almost possible to believe we were all alone. We watched in silence as the bright orange sun dropped into the sea and then Gwen turned to face me.
 

"I feel better. Just the thought of doing something, having some help is great. We'll talk with Al tomorrow, like you said."
She turned away then and looked away from the beach, back toward the hotels. "She's out there, somewhere, I know it. We'll find her."
 

"Sure we will. I can feel it too," I lied. "It'll probably turn out to be nothing." It sounded lame, even as I said it, but I couldn't come up with anything else. I was glad she had her back to me, I was sure that I looked as unconvincing as I sounded.
She didn't react, it was almost like she hadn't heard me. We stood like that for a few moments and even though we were no more than a few feet apart I felt like there was a tremendous gulf between us.
 

Finally she shrugged and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but, I'm beat. I don't know if I've ever been so tired."
She turned to face me, a look of sadness on her face. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go back now. I feel like I could sleep forever."
 

I mumbled something and we started back toward the hotel. Neither of us said another word as I walked her back to the lobby.
 

Once inside, as we waited for her elevator she took my hand. "Thanks Jackson. I really appreciate your help. I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't met." She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you in the morning," she said, then gave me a smile which was cut off all too soon by the elevator doors slowly sliding together.
 

It was still early. Suddenly I was feeling like I needed some action, something to shake the depression that our meeting had produced. All I had to look forward to at home was packing so I decided to wander around Waikiki for awhile.
Like most people in Honolulu I rarely go to Waikiki. In the old days Waikiki Beach was a classic spot. Miles of white sand, waves breaking on the reef, Diamond Head and beachboys.
 

Now, with wall-to-wall hotels, it's impossible to even see the sand from Kalakaua Avenue, the broad boulevard paralleling the beach. The sidewalks are jammed with peddlers passing off junk from Taiwan and the Philippines as genuine Hawaiian souvenirs. Hookers, drug dealers and time-share pamphleteers are waiting on every corner. Tourists by the thousands stroll up and down and the glare from the neon signs makes it impossible to see the stars.
 

After an aimless half-hour stroll I remembered why it was I never came to Waikiki. The oppressive crunch of humanity, the smell of automobile exhaust, the overall tawdriness -- it was about as far from Hawaii as you could get. I figured that walking alone around Waikiki was about as likely to rid me of my depression as sticking a sharp stick in my eye. I wanted out so I beat it back to my car and headed home.
 

I had some "gourmet" dinners in the freezer and I popped one into the microwave and nuked it. I ate without tasting the food, my mind on Gwen, and then decided to put off packing until the next day. I knew that one of the reasons I was feeling so down was that the case I had been working on for so long was finally over. Even though I had won, it had consumed my energy for a long time and I had no idea what was next.
 

I tried reading for awhile but that didn't work, so I sat down and bored myself to sleep in front of the TV.

Marx and Carruthers, the other lawyers, arrived right on time. We were through in half an hour. All the papers were signed, each page initialed and the whole thing notarized by Helen. Then they handed over the check and it was done. Helen went to the bank to make the deposit while I called Edwin.
 

"It's all over," I said, "I just got the check. How's your dad?"
 

"Not so good," Edwin replied, "he's going back into the hospital tomorrow." We were both silent then. The chances were that Edwin's dad would not be coming back from the hospital and we both knew it.
 

"I'm sorry I couldn't get this over sooner," I said, "maybe it would have been different."
 

"No way. You know that. Far as I'm concerned you did great. You know the old man. He didn't give a shit. He just wanted them to cop to what they did. Stubborn old dude. He hung on just to piss 'em off. I know he's proud of you Jackson, you really got those guys."
 

Edwin's comments made me feel good, but I couldn't help wondering if I had done all I could to make the case move faster. I wondered why I didn't feel like celebrating. For two years I had lived with this case and now it was over. I had won, we had won, but for me it was hard to feel anything but sad.
 

Then I sat, with nothing to do for awhile, and looked out my window-wall. There was a shower moving through and the rain was falling hard, driven by the strong trade winds. I could see the heavy drops spattering on the roofs of other downtown office buildings. Looking down at the sidewalk I saw the tops of umbrellas. They moved along, like a bunch of multi-colored mobile mushrooms, scurrying across streets and into the office buildings.
 

To my right the airport came into view. The rain was lighter in that direction and a 747 emerged from the gray curtain, barely 500 feet high, wallowing and fighting for altitude as it climbed out. Further to the right, at the very edge of the rain, was a brilliant rainbow. It shimmered in the shower, gradually losing intensity as the rain drifted out to sea. I sat mesmerized, completely unaware of the passage of time, alone in my self- imposed isolation.
 

Al arrived five minutes early and brought me out of my reverie. Helen brought him some coffee and a donut and he sat down on the couch, looking right at home. He was dressed in another aloha shirt, with what looked like the same dark trousers and shoes. I told him what I had learned from Gwen the night before. He grunted around bites of donut and finished the last bite just as Gwen arrived.
 

She was dressed in another suit, a shade lighter than the dark blue of the day before. She'd switched to flat shoes, but somehow looked taller without her heels. Her face still looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. Her skin was washed out under her tan and she moved slowly, as if carrying a great weight.
 

"Gwen, this is Al Souza, our investigator." She extended her hand and Al took it, reaching out with both of his huge paws to enclose her hand.
 

"I'm sorry about your trouble Gwen." Al's voice was different, softer. He'd switched into his "comfort the victim" mode.
They sat in the chairs in front of my desk. Helen brought Gwen a cup of coffee as Al got a file folder from his briefcase. I just kind of sat there, smiled at Gwen and tried to think of something to say. Before I could come up with anything Al started in again and we both shifted our attention to him.
 

"Gwen, we're going to need some more information before we can make any decisions. First, I'd like to review what Jackson told me, about what you've already done."
 

I listened quietly as Al quickly went over what I had told him. I was amazed at his manner. He was all business as he ticked off the facts and asked Gwen a few follow-up questions. Occasionally he would make some more notes, this time with a blue felt tip pen, not the little pencil stub he'd had yesterday.
 

Gwen had her notebook out and referred to it frequently. She seemed to gain energy from Al's questioning. He had all her attention and when he finished she handed him her notebook.
 

"She's a beautiful girl, isn't she?" Al was looking at Susie's picture pasted in Gwen's notebook. "Tell me Gwen, is there anyone else she might have contacted in California? If she couldn't get hold of you who would she call?"
 

"She has two roommates, Kyla and Christine. But they both went home at the end of the semester. At least they were both gone when I called. She might have called them at home, but I can't believe, if anything was wrong, she wouldn't have called me."
 

"But you're more than her sister, right? You raised Susie, she must think of you almost like a mother, right? I'm not saying anything about you, but kids don't always tell their parents what's really going on, do they?"
 

Gwen nodded, her expression troubled. She leaned forward, her tone intense, as if she were defending Susie.
"That's true. But we were different, close, we talked about everything. We lived together until she started college this year. She wanted to move out then, have her own place. I thought it was a great idea, and even though I missed her, I knew it was good for her."
 

"Does she go to school where you teach?"
 

"No. I teach at the university, UC Santa Cruz. Susie went to the junior college on the other side of town. We thought it was better that way."
 

Al pressed on, looking for that last tidbit of information. "When will the roommates," he hesitated to check his notes, "Kyla and Christine, be coming back to Santa Cruz?"
 

"School starts in less than a month, so I'm sure they'll be back soon. Meantime, I can keep calling, until I get them and find out what they know."
 

"How about money? Did Susie spend a lot? Need a lot? How did she get along?"
 

"Sure she wanted more money, who doesn't? We had insurance and a trust fund from our folks. It's not much, but I've worked since I got out of school and we had enough. Susie got a restaurant job when she started school so that helped. We weren't rolling in money, but we had enough. Susie wanted to go into business, that's what she was studying and I know she would have been good at it and made plenty of money."
 

"Is that your field?" Al asked, "Do you teach business?"
 

"Hardly. Business is the farthest thing from my mind. My field is exercise physiology. I work with athletes and develop strength programs. I do a lot of work with women's teams at the University during the year. Then in the summers I work for two weeks with a professional football team. I developed a computer program that evaluates individual muscle groups. It really works for the football players. I do an individual analysis of the rookies every year. It's fun, and I make some extra money."
 

Al and I both laughed. It just slipped out, the idea of Gwen teaching a bunch of 300 pounders how to get strong was a little difficult to picture.
 

It didn't seem to faze her, I guessed she was used to this reaction. "Laugh away, guys, I do my laughing when I go to the bank. It may seem funny to you, but not to them. This will be the fourth training camp for me and every year more of the guys want to work with me in the off-season. I'm a pretty good athlete, I competed in track and basketball in school, so I can relate to them a little bit."
 

"How 'bout Susie?", I asked, making an attempt to get back into the interview. "Is she an athlete, do you think she might have tried some kind of activity here that could have gotten her into trouble?"
 

Gwen's expression was pensive now, I had the feeling I had touched a sore point. "No, she never had much interest. I tried to get her into some sports but now I think her stutter held her back there, too. She was much smaller than me, only about five three and thin, maybe 105 or 110. When I was growing up I played any game, usually with the boys. Susie never did, she read, studied, and spent most of her time alone."
 

Al nodded, and I had the feeling he was about out of questions. We seemed to have reached a stopping point so I jumped in.
 

"What do you think, Al, is that enough to get started on? Any ideas?"
 

Al paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he replied he talked to Gwen, not me. I was struck again by his manner, the way he seemed to capture Gwen's attention. It was easy for me to see how he could be as good as Bill said. He had a chameleon-like adaptability to change his persona with different individuals. With me he'd been interested but kind of removed. With Gwen he was more intense, concerned and sympathetic.
 

"Sure, I have more than enough, particularly with these notes." He picked up Gwen's notebook for emphasis. "You've done a lot of good work here Gwen. I'll be going back to talk to these people, again, but it looks like you got most of what we're going to get from them."
 

"What happens from here," Gwen asked, "how long will that take?"
 

"I'll need a day, maybe two, then I should know if we have anything we can follow-up on. I'm also going to talk to a few friends I still have in the Department. They probably still can't gear up on something like this, not yet, but I can get some folks to keep an eye out. Just a few more things and I'll be on my way.
 

"You don't know of any reason Susie might want to drop out of sight? No boyfriend problems, she's not into drugs, anything like that?"
 

Gwen was emphatic. "No. I'm sure of that. Susie and I may have drifted apart some, after all she was 21, time for her to have her own life. But I know she would have told me if she was in any trouble. She dated a little, more all the time, but never had a real 'relationship.' She was just starting to come out, just beginning."
 

Suddenly her chin started to quiver and her eyes filled. She kind of hiccuped, stifling a sob, and looked down into her lap. Her hands were clenched together, gripped so hard the knuckles were white. I could see her fighting for control and felt that her pride would not let her break down.
 

"I'm talking about her like she is gone. Do you think she is?" Her voice quivered, she looked back and forth between Al and I.
 

I didn't know what to say. The truth was I did think something had happened, but that was the last thing I wanted to say. I had a sudden vision what could be in store for Gwen and couldn't answer her.
 

Al came through like a champ. "Hey," he said, his voice hearty and confident, "I'm sure she'll be all right. We'll probably find out she's met some guy and they're off having the time of their lives. After all, this is Hawaii, it happens all the time here. Sounds like she's a good kid, maybe she's starting to feel her independence and just didn't want to tell you."
Gwen nodded, eager to believe. I could see the relief in her eyes. She took a deep breath and I could see her change. She looked like she was forcing herself to change her attitude, to believe what Al was saying.
 

"Look," he went on, "let me get started. I promise to let you know as soon as I find out anything. In the meantime, try to relax. I know that's hard, but you've got to take care of yourself, too."
 

Al got up and reached for Gwen's hand. "Don't worry Gwen, she'll turn up. I'll be in touch." His huge hands engulfed Gwen's for a moment and she seemed to brighten up.
I got up and walked out with Al, telling Gwen I'd be back in a few minutes. I wanted to give her a chance to be alone, and I also had some questions for Al. He was quiet as we walked down the hall. His good mood had changed as soon as we left my office.
"What do you really think, Al? Can you find out what happened?"
"No idea. I'm going back to Susie's hotel. Gwen got to a lot of people who need to be questioned, but I doubt that she'd know if any of them were bullshitting her. You know Waikiki, everybody there's running a scam. If they knew anything what're the chances Gwen got it out of them?"
He gestured with Gwen's notebook, the little yellow figure standing out on its dark blue cover. "Shit, look at this, I can just see her, taking her notes, just like in class. Al shook his head and laughed, then stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
"I tell you what, though. You better get her ready. Chances are, no matter what we find out it's gonna be bad. Even if the kid turns up, it'll never be the same with them. Nothing good is gonna come from this."
The weather had changed and when I went back to my office the view was gloomy, dark clouds and rain. The air was chilly and had that clammy feeling that air-conditioning produces. Gwen was in the same chair, looking out at the view. She looked calmer, more composed, although her body was still tight, her back ramrod straight and not touching the back of the chair.
I sat down in Al's chair, wishing it was closer to Gwen. I knew what I wanted to say, I just couldn't figure out a way to get started. We sat in silence for a moment, then Gwen looked at me.
"Thank you for Al. It's such a relief, he feels so dependable. I know he's going to find out," she hesitated, as if afraid to say it, "what happened."
I saw an opening and went for it. "I know, I feel that way too. By this time tomorrow we should know." I almost added "one way or the other" but caught it in time.
"Listen," I leaned in a little bit and went right for her eyes, "there's not much else you can do now. Why don't you take some time off and get outside? I know you don't feel like having fun, but a day at the beach, or a drive in the country, that'd do you some good."
She nodded, not exactly enthusiastic, but she agreed. "You're right, I should forget it, just get away." She looked out the window at the rain and clouds. "Maybe I'll rent a car, try to find a place with some sun." She tried to put on a smile, didn't quite make it and sort of shrugged.
"Great idea, it'll clear up and you'll have a wonderful day. I'll call you tonight and let you know if I've heard anything."
She nodded. I thought about my empty calendar and my long- awaited vacation. Then, much to my surprise, I mentally said "the hell with it" and sat back in my chair.
"Listen, my schedule's pretty clear today." I took a deep breath and went on. "Why don't you go on back to the hotel and get your stuff ready, and I'll pick you up in an hour? We'll take a drive and I'll show you some of the real Hawaii."
She looked reluctant so I kept on going, trying to keep it light but insistent. "I'm a great tour guide and I guarantee a beautiful day." I finished up with what I hoped was a winning smile and was happy to get one back from her.
"You're sure? I don't want to take you away from your work. I can get by on my own, besides, I don't think I can afford to pay you by the hour for all day."
I laughed, "Don't worry, I don't have any work that can't wait. As for my fee, I'll settle for lunch. Deal?"
It was, and I walked her to the front door with an agreement to pick her up in an hour. Then I walked across the hall to Bill's office. He looked up as I entered.
"What? A visit from Jackson two days in a row. Lucky me."
"Thanks Bill, nice to see you too." I flopped in the chair next to the desk and sprawled out, sliding down until my tailbone was on the edge of the seat.
"Well, it's all over. The check is in the bank and the case is history."
"All right." Bill looked genuinely pleased, a smile on his face. "How do you feel?"
"Funny you should ask. Actually I feel like a piece of shit. I thought I'd feel great, go on vacation, celebrate, but I just feel drained. And, now I've got this other thing, the girl I told you about yesterday."
Bill tipped back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to get that too. You put so much into something, it becomes your whole life, and then it's over and you just feel empty. It happens whether I win or lose. It's a little worse when I lose, but not by much."
"Well, I'm glad I did good for my client but I wish those bastards hadn't strung us out so long. They don't even give you the satisfaction of a good fight."
I shook my head and sat up straight in my chair, determined not to give in to my mood.
"Thanks for turning me on to Al. He's getting started on the case today. Seems like he knows what he's doing, although I don't know what we can really do."
"Don't worry about that, Al will know. You can trust him to know his business. I can remember when I first worked with him. I couldn't believe what he came up with. He can talk to anybody and they just open up for him. I don't know, it must be genetic or something. Anyway, listen to him, he'll give you the straight shit. And he won't try to stick it to you for extra hours if he's not getting anywhere. Did he have any ideas?"
"Not really, he tells Gwen the sister probably ran away with some stud and he tells me she's probably in deep shit. I think he favors the deep shit theory."
"No doubt. Listen buddy, I don't want to bum you, but Al's got good reason to lean toward the deep shit. Nobody knows better than him that there are some really scary assholes out there. I've only been in criminal law for half as long as him, and I've seen stuff that's made me old before my time."
He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his neck. "You know they talk about the 'underworld.' That's exactly what it is. We've got a whole class of people who live in a completely different world. They might as well be from Mars. People in the third and fourth generation of alienation from all the mainstream goodies in our society. People who don't know anybody who isn't ripping people off, dealing dope, whoring, gambling.
"It is an underworld, and for most people like us it's invisible. We all live with the results of what the assholes do but we don't run up against them in person, we've got people like Al to do that for us."
He leaned forward, his face more serious than I'd ever seen. "And that my friend, is a blessing. I can tell you, I've seen some guys that I'll never, as long as I live, not be afraid of. One of them's dead, shot in a robbery, but the thought of the bastard still turns me cold. I was working with the Public Defender's office and defended him on an attempted murder charge. He was collecting for a loan shark and went after this poor bastard with a baseball bat. They had him cold, three eyewitnesses, customers at the victim's body shop. I told him to cop to assault and take a few years, but he said go with not guilty and be patient. He actually said it, this fucking animal, 'Patience, my man,'" Bill's voice imitated the street-wise inflection, "'our situation will change for the better.'"
He shook his head, muttering to himself, "Incredible." He almost seemed to have forgotten me, then he looked over and finished the story.
 

"I haven't thought of this in a long time. What a disaster. He was right, our situation did change. A week before the trial was scheduled one of the witnesses turned up dead. He got into his house at night, and cut his tongue out. The other two witnesses said 'no way, we don't talk,' so the fucker walked. They never got anything on him for killing the witness and he just went free. I couldn't believe it, but that's the way it works. A year later I heard he was killed. He ran into a liquor store and pulled a gun. There was a cop staking the store out, behind one of those one-way mirrors. I heard the cop knew him and didn't give him a warning or anything, just blasted him with a shotgun. Sounds awful, but I sure was glad when I heard about it.
 

By this time I was feeling great. Just what I needed, an amusing little story about a psychopathic murderer.
 

"Gee Bill, great story. Got one about some crazed rapist axe- murderer who likes twenty-one year old girls? Might be a hot lead for us. I'll send Gwen to check it out."
 

He groaned, "Sorry, I guess that wasn't what you needed to hear. But I'll tell you Jackson, there are guys like that out there. I hope nothing's happened, but I hope that woman's ready for some bad news too, just in case."
 

"Shit," I said, "you're right. That's a strong lady but I don't want to find out how strong." I stood up and headed toward the door. "Thanks buddy, always nice to have the wisdom of a learned professional such as yourself." Once again, I made it out before he could finish his disgusted "fuck you", and went back to my office.
 

Helen was gone and my desk was clear. I had no pending business and plans to be gone for at least two and maybe three weeks. It felt strange to rattle around the empty office so I left a few minutes later and drove home. It didn't take me long to pack, only fifteen minutes or so, and I left my bags near the front door. Then I was on the way to Waikiki, and Gwen, trying to get myself into a holiday mood.

"Listen," I said, trying to weigh my words as carefully as I could, "there's nothing we can do now. You've done all you can. Now let's let Al take over and do his thing. If you want, we can check in with him later. If there's any news we'll just beat it back to town. In the meantime, let's relax and enjoy a day in the country -- OK?"
 

She nodded, her eyes big. She said, "I know, I know", but she didn't look like she was ready to let it go, even for just a few hours.
 

I figured the thing to do was get her mind off her problems so I cranked up my tour guide pitch. There a little patter, a Hawaiiana tour that everyone here learns. It's how we impress our mainland friends with local knowledge. It's also fun. Hawaii is a special place and visitors here love to hear about it. Particularly those tourists that escape all the commercial bullshit in Waikiki. Most of them don't see much of the real Hawaii so it's fun to turn them on to what Hawaii is really all about.
 

As we were just leaving Honolulu we came to the top of a little hill. Pearl Harbor and the airport came into view, below and miles away. I pointed them out and Gwen started to sit up in her seat.
 

We turned inland as the freeway cut across the middle of the island. Passing Aloha Stadium we skirted Pearl Harbor and were quickly past the business and industrial areas. Soon the freeway turned into a two-lane highway and we left the city behind.
 

The road climbed a gentle incline and we started through miles of sugar cane fields. They lined the highway, mile after mile, the thick green stalks growing up to twelve feet high. The cane grew so tightly intertwined it created a solid green curtain, shutting out everything but the sky.
 

Then came the pineapple fields. The dark green plants marched away from the roadside like an army of tiny soldiers. Row after row of short, bushy plants, they huddled together, sprouting their sharp green spears. They were shorter than the cane, rarely over knee high, and the view opened up. We were treated to the interplay of the sunlight and shadows on the Koolau mountains guarding the broad, flat plain we were crossing. Off to our left a squall slowly floated up against a mountainside. It trailed a gossamer veil of rain that shimmered in the sunlight.
 

As the miles of green unrolled Gwen was quiet. Occasionally she would close her eyes and lean her head out the window. As the wind whipped her hair she breathed deep and angled her face for the morning sun. We went on for ten minutes without saying a word and then I felt a tug on the sleeve on my shirt. I looked over at Gwen and saw her smile. She looked different, looser, her smile seemed more natural, without the tight lines that had been there before.
 

I looked back to the road and she gave me another tug and leaned toward me. She said, "You were right, thank you." Then she gave my arm a little pat and went back to sitting straight in her seat.
 

From then on it was a gas. We drove on, out of the fields, and in a few minutes arrived at Waimea Bay, site of the world's most famous, and fabled, monster surf. I pulled off the highway and parked. We ran across the highway to a high bluff overlooking the bay. There we found a quiet grassy spot shaded by several palms and lauhala trees. Looking down we saw body surfers and boogie boarders in the shore break. It was a classic "Welcome to Hawaii" day. The sky was a perfect brilliant blue set off by handfuls of cotton ball cumulus clouds. The water shaded from the deep blue which marked the outer reef to the dazzling and nearly translucent aquamarine near the shore. The trade winds gusted through the trees, slapping at the long green leaves of the lauhala. It was mid-day and the sun burned down, but we were cool in the shade.
 

Gwen sat back, supporting her weight on her elbows. The wind ruffled her hair, and it picked up highlights from the sun filtering through the leaves. She was wearing a blue bikini and a gray "San Francisco Forty-Niners" t-shirt. The skin on her legs and arms was taking on a slight pink flush from the sun. She sat there looking delicious for a few minutes, drinking in the view, then turned to me.
 

"This is wonderful, it's so peaceful here. But I feel bad about taking you away from work. How can you just take a day off like this?"
 

"Well, fact of the matter is, I just finished up a big case. We had our last meeting this morning, just before you and I met with Al."
 

"What kind of case? I don't even know what kind of law you do, or practice, or whatever you say."
 

I laughed. "Sometimes I wonder myself. This case today, it was really my only big one so far. My client was an old man who got sick from asbestos poisoning. Remember when we passed Pearl Harbor?"
 

She nodded, "Right -- just about the time you were telling me not to be such a drag."
 

"That's it," I laughed. "My client is this old Japanese man. His name is Shintaro Miyaharo. Remember Edwin -- the guy who turned you on to me?"
 

She nodded. "Sure, I remember."
 

"He's Shintaro's grandson."
 

"What happened to -- how did you say his name?"
 

"Shintaro. He had worked at Pearl Harbor since 1947. He overhauled the boilers on ships and worked around asbestos all the time. Finally, a few years ago, he got sick from the asbestos. It gets in your lungs, takes years, but when they find it there's almost nothing the doctors can do. Then, when he tried to collect from the government and the asbestos companies they jacked him around.
 

"He's like a lot of these old Japanese people. He had a real hard time challenging authority. But Edwin is different. He's third generation, what they call Sansei, and these kids don't have those old time attitudes. They don't just cave in like the old-timers. Edwin just kept on his old man's case until he finally said he'd go see a lawyer."
 

"How did he find out about you?"
 

"That's the great part of the story. It was just luck. He called a lawyer who happened to be in this old building where my first office was. They made an appointment, and Shintaro came on downtown. This was a big deal for him, he probably only came downtown about once a year so he wasn't real enthusiastic in the first place. As it turned out, the other lawyer missed the appointment, wasn't there, no secretary, nothing. It was lunch time, maybe the guy forgot about the appointment and went to lunch, who knows?
 

"Anyway, Shintaro didn't like to be stood up, and definitely didn't want to come downtown again. So he said 'screw him' and started to walk the halls, looking for another lawyer. He'd come downtown to see a lawyer, and by God, if the first one wasn't there he'd find another. Guess who he found?"
 

She laughed. "Let me see -- I bet it was someone named Jackson -- right?"
 

"You got it. There I was, sitting in my office, eating a sandwich and reading a magazine. In comes this old guy, pissed off, rattling on in pidgin about needing a lawyer. I didn't really want to deal with him and I almost sent him away. But I figured 'what the hell' and asked him to sit down."
 

I laughed again, savoring the story anew as I told it.
 

"I started asking questions and the more I got into it, the better it sounded. I really loved the idea of taking on the big guys in a righteous case. They'd really fucked the old man, and a whole bunch of others like him. They knew, for years, what was going on, how bad the asbestos was, but they never did anything about it. They never warned any of those poor bastards and now they were trying to just walk away from it all. I hate that shit. I felt like I was getting ready to go to war, like Ralph Nader or something. When he was through telling me the story I said I'd be happy to represent him and we'd sue the bastards."
 

I stopped for a moment and looked out to sea. Telling this story felt strange. I'd lived with it for so long, almost completely alone, and now I could hardly believe that it was over.
 

"Anyway," I continued, "I started contacting the government and asbestos company lawyers. They just stonewalled me. Wouldn't return calls, missed meetings, assigned new lawyers who needed time to prepare -- the bullshit just went on and on. I figured it was a pretty open-and-shut thing and the major problem would be working out a settlement. Boy was I wrong."
 

"What happened? What did you do?"
 

"At first I mostly got frustrated. Then I figured out what their trip was. They just wanted to stall as long as they could. They figured the longer they could drag it out the better chance the old man would die, or cave in for a cheap settlement. Such bullshit! This is our goddamn government. You hear about them pulling that shit, but it doesn't really sink in until they do it to you."
 

"So what finally happened? Did you win, beat them in court?"

"Not really. We never got to court. They strung us out for nearly two years. Offered these lowball settlements, tried to wait us out. But old Shintaro, he never gave an inch. Once he made up his mind then he was in it to stay. He was sick, and getting sicker, but I think he held on just to see those bastards lose. "They let us get ready for trial. Do all the work -- depositions, line up experts, motions -- the whole nine yards. Then, two weeks ago, just before the trial was finally ready to go, they finally gave us a good settlement. That's what the meeting this morning was all about. We signed the final papers and they gave us the check. I can't believe it's all over, but it is."
 

"How about the old man? Is he still OK?"
 

"Nah. Not really. He's going back in the hospital. Probably won't make it out this time. But he sure was proud he held out. He's the one who beat them, not me."
 

"What a great story. It's like the movies, something you read in the papers. That old man must love you."
 

"Yeah, I think he does. Kind of hard to tell sometimes -- some Japanese people, particularly the older ones, aren't real emotional, or at least don't show their emotions much. But I feel like we both did good."
 

Gwen was silent for a few minutes, and we stared out to sea, watching the surf building in the Bay. Then we decided to move on and got back on the road. I had one more favorite spot I wanted to hit before dinner. It's a little beach I know that's perfect for snorkeling. Gwen was a little unsure about climbing around on the rocks, but once she saw where we were headed she couldn't wait. The beach is only about fifty yards long, brilliant white sand between two rocky arms that creates a swimming pool sized lagoon. The outer rocks protect the lagoon from the surf and the water shelves out gradually, never more than twenty feet deep.
 

Even though it was her first time, Gwen took to the snorkeling equipment immediately and in a few minutes we were in the water. I held her hand as we drifted out. The sunlight reflected off the white sand bottom, bright enough to make me squint and wish for a tinted face mask. We were flat on the surface, looking straight down and breathing through our snorkels, our fins moving us along. The water was warm and gently washed over my back and shoulder. It felt like silk. Below us were thousands of fish. Schools of tiny silver baitfish turned and wheeled together, catching the light like a mirror. Here and there big three and four pound parrotfish cruised. Their sides rippled and shone with a palette of tropical blues and greens.
 

Spread throughout the lagoon were underwater coral and rock formations, some reaching nearly to the surface. We drifted over a ten foot coral head, the water just a few feet deep over the top of the mushroom-shaped growth. I held on Gwen with one hand, and onto the coral with my other hand, and we stayed anchored like that for five minutes, silently observing the tiny fish scooting in and around the coral.
 

We moved on and Gwen started diving down, feeling more comfortable with her snorkel and fins. One time we dove down together then swam on opposite sides of a rock formation about the size of a Volkswagen bus. There was a big parrotfish hiding on the other side of the rock and just as we each came around the fish sensed us and took off. He shot right by Gwen, actually brushed up against her. It startled her but she hung in there and didn't shoot up to the surface.
 

An hour or so later we hiked back up to the highway. Gwen was still stoked about snorkeling and kept asking me if I'd seen this fish or that shell. The rest of the afternoon slipped past us as we drove and talked, stopped a few times to enjoy another picture postcard panorama of the north shore beaches.
 

Sunset found us in Kailua, the end of the tour. Kailua's a commuter town and most of the population makes the daily drive over the mountains into Honolulu. It's a beach community that still feels like a small town. We found a Japanese restaurant and ordered sake and sashimi. I thought this might be a little exotic for Gwen but she informed me that Santa Cruz had long ago gotten hip to Japanese food.
 

As dinner came and went we talked about our day. She was full of questions, and I was full of answers, so we had a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. Then we sat quietly, sipping our tea, the mood subtly changing. At one point she started toying with the matchbook, her fingers fidgeting, tearing out matches and piling them in the ashtray.
 

"What do you think Al has found out?" she asked, her eyes focused on the matchbook.
 

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out in the morning."
 

"Yeah." She hesitated, trying to think of something else to say, some way to change the subject. "Well, tell me," she said trying for a smile which didn't quite come off, "what's next for you, now that you're finished with your big case? How you going to spend all that money?"
 

I answered automatically, without thinking, wishing I could take the words back as soon as I said them.
 

"Well, to begin with, it's not so much money. I've had to hit the plastic pretty hard the last six months, but I can pay off my cards and have some left to invest. I might buy a house. I'm really not sure. Right now I'm going to take some time off and relax. I'm supposed to go to Maui tomorrow. I'll figure out what's next when I get back."
 

"Tomorrow?" She said it in a tiny voice, more to herself than to me, and a look of despair crossed her face. I mentally kicked myself, I should have known the effect that would have on her. I couldn't think of anything to say and we lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
 

I paid the bill and we walked out to the parking lot. The mountains were close here, looming in the night, lit up by the cold white light of the moon. I'd thought of them as a protector all day, shielding us from Honolulu, but now they were menacing, looming over us, threatening and unfriendly.
 

Neither of us had much to say as the road climbed and then entered the tunnel. On the other side of the tunnel were the lights of town and as we descended the air lost the cool touch of the windward side. We pulled up in front of Gwen's hotel. She put a hand on my arm and leaned toward me. "Don't get out, I'll just go in. Thank you for a perfect day." She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, her lips lingering a beat longer than I thought they would.
 

"I'll call you in the morning," I said, "as soon as I hear from Al." She nodded and got out, then walked into the hotel without looking back.

 "Jackson. It's Al Sousa. Wake up, I got some news."
 

 As soon as I heard his voice the bottom suddenly dropped out of my stomach. I wanted to throw the phone down, hoped I was just having a bad dream. Instead I sat up straight, dreading what was coming next.
 

 "What's up?", I croaked. My voice sounded foggy and it cracked in my dry throat. I looked around for a glass of water. There was nothing in sights so I moved the mouthpiece away from my mouth and smacked my lips trying to get my saliva glands working and get some moisture in my mouth.
 

 "It's not good," Al said. "I've got a friend who works the night shift at the newspaper. He just called a few minutes ago. They found someone who could be Susie. She drowned. It looks like the body's been in the water about a week or so."
 He paused for a deep breath. I had a death grip on the phone, hanging on to it as if my life depended on it. When Al continued I could hear the sadness in his voice.
 

 "Sounds like she's right on for height and weight, and hair and eyes. But they say she looks bad, she was probably beaten up pretty good before she went in the water. They're cleaning her up now.''
 

 I looked out my window. It was pitch dark, no moon, the dead of night. I thought about how awful it is to be awakened from a deep sleep, how the fear kicks in automatically with the first ring of the phone. You just know it's not going to be good news. But even so you're never really prepared when your bad dream comes true.
 

 I thought about what had to be done now. I sat for a minute, my mind blank, a feeling of complete despair overcoming me. Finally, I shook my head and started to get it together.
 

 "I'll call Gwen," I said, dragging each word out of my dry throat. "What do you think, Al? Do you think it's her? What do I say to her?"
 

 "Just give it to her straight. Believe me, I've done this a dozen times and there's no easy way. Just tell her straight out. Even though we don't know for sure she's going to imagine the worst. Nothing you can do about that."
 

 I reached over and flipped the light switch. The sudden glare from the bedside lamp only made the darkness seem worse.
 

 "She'll want to be here right away, so just tell her and then get her down to the morgue. I'll meet you there." He paused and his voice lost a little of its roughness. "Sorry, Jackson. I know this is bad for both of you."
 

 I hung up and got out of bed. Leaning over the bathroom sink I slowly drank a glass of water. I didn't turn the light on, I didn't want to have to look into my own eyes. Then I went back into the bedroom and slowly dialed Gwen's number.