Deadly Quest

By Thomas Naper

Dan Tarlo is comfortably entrenched in a satisfactory career on the Hawaiian Islands as a private eye. He has no idea that the investigation of his best friends murder is about to thrust him into the most demanding case of his career. The murder is connected to the theft of explosives and soon, Dan finds himself entwined in a world of intrigue, politics, espionage, and most unexpectedly, love. Soon he is in charge of an expedition of the Kilauea Volcano where the stolen explosives are believed to be strategically planted, primed for massive destruction. This could be the annihilation of the Main Island. In his relentless pursuit to solve this case, Dan must match wits against an unknown assailant; enduring a journey of bitter tragedy as this killer/terrorist leaves behind a trail of death and destruction. Dan will not stop, but his frustration increases as he finds himself constantly just one step behind. The clock is tickingand time is running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477274132

Thomas Naper

Thomas Naper's professional career in the social field included the position of Special Investigator, which honed his skills and knowledge of investigations. Although retired, he continues to be involved in consultant work for social research.

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© 2012 by Thomas Naper. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/29/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7414-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7412-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-7413-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918057

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

1.   A Call in the Night

2.   Meeting with Janet

3.   Events at the Mccory Supermarket

4.   Threats to the Governor

5.   Worthless Stakeout

6.   Formation of a Search Party

7.   Meeting with Glenda

8.   On To Kilauea

9.   The exploration

10.   The Intruder

11.   Time Runs Out

12.   Questioning at the Station

13.    Kilauea Speaks

14.   A Time For Research

15.   Gathering information

16.   Unwelcomed Discoveries

17.   Trip to Maui

18.   Back to the Big Island

19.   Zeroing In On a Killer

20.   Life on the Streets

21.   Closing in on a Killer

22.   A Case Closed?

23.   Kidnapped

24.   Whose Swan Song?

25.   Investigation Closed

1.   A CALL IN THE NIGHT

It was a twenty minute drive. I made it in twelve. I traveled up Highway 19 along the Hamakua coast until I turned off on a side road which would take me to my destination. The heavily clouded night made the desolate back road darker than usual, and the tall overlapping growth of soapberry trees crowding both sides of the unmarked asphalt road evoked a sense of gloom. I felt as though I was driving through a tunnel; with no light at the end. After winding my way through the deserted road, I came to the end, pulling up to the Ayers and Company Warehouse only to find the gate of the eight foot cyclone fencing closed, so I pulled over to the side of the road.

I turned the ignition off but the pathetically dilapidated yellow Volkswagen Beetle continued to choke in spurts of exhaust, until finally, rattling itself to a stop. As I stepped out of the car, the moisture of the chilly night air burrowed deep to the core of my tired bones.

It had already been a long day when I had finally collapsed in bed at 11:30 P.M. and now, responding to this middle-of-the-night phone call, made me realize just how much my aching muscles were demanding that I get some much needed rest.

Shaking off the cold, I walked up to the gate and looked around, peering through the web of cyclone fencing that encircled the warehouse. Looking up, I noticed circular strands of barbed wire attached on top of the cyclone fencing which also surrounded the entire warehouse. The place appeared to be deserted with no sign of life except for a lone, powerful outside spotlight beaming high above the massive aluminum-framed building. There were a few vehicles parked inside the fencing, all the way over to the other side of the lot. I noticed the tan Toyota Tacoma. That was Bob’s truck.

I thought for sure, because of the closed gate, Bob would be out here to meet me, but he was nowhere to be seen. I buried my hands deep in my pockets, rocking on my arches, impatiently waiting at the gate for him to come out of the warehouse. I know I had only arrived a few minutes ago but the absence of Bob was starting to make me feel a little uneasy. It made me uncomfortable just standing out there. Waiting was wasting time. After all, Bob did seem to be a bit pressing over the phone, as well as mysterious, about wanting to speak with me. Why could he not tell me over the phone? What was all the drama about? All that I could think about was the strange avoidance of direct answers when I had pressed him for specific information. He simply ignored me. When I demanded he tell me what was up, his tone became indignant, yelling over the phone, Just get out here! That was not Bob’s nature. Something was wrong.

Well here I am, so where is he? By my watch, it had already been over ten minutes of waiting and the usually balmy wind that blew in from the ocean was absent. Instead, it was uncomfortably cold tonight as the changing winds had now drifted down from Mauna Kea. My already limited patience was wearing thin. Looking at my watch again, I saw it was 3:15 A.M. I never did, and do not, like waiting, especially out here, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. I was anxious to hear what Bob had felt so compelled to tell me that could not wait until morning. I mean, why could he not wait until a decent hour in the morning? It was not like him to phone me at almost three in the morning. This waiting was driving me crazy. What bothered me most was that I had no idea if he phoned me just because I was his best friend or because I was a private investigator. I guess, regardless of the answer, the fact that he requested to see me in the dead of night had to be of some importance.

Bob! Bob! I yelled out into the wind, directing my voice toward the seemingly uninhabited building. I continued calling but, still, there was no sign of him. I paced back and forth in front of the gate for a few more minutes. Pulling out my cell, I phoned him on his cell but there was no answer, just continuous ringing.

Damn these aluminum buildings. My signal was probably bouncing off the building. I never phoned Bob at work so I had no reason to have his work number. Wait a minute, I blurted, as though I was speaking to someone other than myself. I checked the last number phoned in and sure enough, there was Bob’s work number. I phoned, but same result. No answer. I let it ring until his answering machine came on.

Hey, Bob, I yelled into my phone, I’m standing outside. You want to get off your ass and open this gate? I pocketed the phone and waited a few more minutes.

Agitated, I yanked on the gate as though my frustrated effort would thrust it open; even though I could see it was securely locked. Inspecting the lock a little closer, I could see that it was one of those electronic magnetic locks. I glanced back at a security box about eight feet behind me, noticing it would require a security card to open the gate. I had once noticed on a prior visit that the only other means of unlocking the gate was a control button located in the warehouse. My job is to notice these things.

As I scanned the area again, I began thinking of how much I hated having to scale an eight foot fence, especially one with those pesky barbs on top. I waited a few more minutes then decided to walk around back to see if I could find a more accessible entry.

Making my way along the outside fence I could hear the ocean water just beyond the trees as it rolled up along the beach in a rhythm of soft whooshes. Even though it was oppressively dark, I was able to look out through the trees in the direction of the ocean and see a thick, ominous mist drifting in from the water.

Once I reached the back of the warehouse I spotted a light coming from the one and only window at the rear of the building. I called out again but I knew my voice was being carried away with the wind, which was now increasing with some intensity. I yelled out as loud as I could and waited. Nothing. I retraced my steps along the back of the property to the back corner where I was able to view the front gate. It was still closed with no one in sight.

There seemed to be no choice, so with a deep sigh I removed my jacket and threw it up to cover the top of the fence. Carefully, I climbed up, dangerously straddling the barbed wire between my legs. At times like this I usually ask myself what the hell am I doing, but it never seems to have an impact. Tomorrow I will find myself in another ludicrous situation asking the same question.

Once on the other side, I clung to the top of the inside fence while I meticulously removed my jacket from the barbs. I jumped down and looked around. By this time, I was both angry and worried that there had still been no sign from Bob. I headed for the back door.

I knew it was going to be futile but I had to try the doorknob to the building’s backdoor. It was locked. I pounded on the door, stepped back and waited. The lone window where the light was coming from was too high to look into and there was nothing around to stand on. I waited another minute, then, in frustration, headed back toward the front.

As I turned the corner at the side of the building I found myself unexpectedly staring down the barrel of a pistol less than three inches from my face. Of course, my total focus was on the gun. It was so ancient I was not able to figure out the make. Looking beyond, toward the wielder of the extended weapon, I realized the owner was just as ancient.

Just hold it there, pal, wheezed the old timer. Based on the uniform I figured he was the security guard. He now held the pistol out with both hands but still could not manage to keep the weapon steady.

Okay, gramps, what do you say we put the old flintlock away before it goes off, I tried reasoning in my best controlled voice, approaching cautiously, keeping my open palms up at chest level.

That’s far enough, sonny. Just put your hands behind your back and turn around. His head bobbed with every word.

I am sure he meant for me to turn around and then put my hands behind by back but I had no desire to discuss these intricacies with him. As I watched him, he intently kept his eye on me as he released one hand from the weapon to reach for the handcuffs attached to the side of his belt. As he fumbled for the handcuffs, he slowly lost his wrist strength and, even though he kept his arm extended, the gun was soon pointing toward the ground.

I folded my arms and leaned against the building while he continued struggling with the handcuffs. Apparently he had locked them to his belt and was in need of a key. Checking my watch again I saw that it was now 3:40 A.M. For just a minute there I thought of simply reaching behind my back to my holster and drawing my Colt .45 semiautomatic just to speed things up but I was afraid I might just give the old geezer a heart attack. I did, however, realize I was wasting time.

Look, gramps…

I ain’t your gramps, he snarled, still struggling with the handcuffs. He made an effort to lift the gun but it once again slowly pointed downward as he focused his attention on the handcuffs.

Okay, look. I’m sorry if I upset you by jumping the fence, but no one was around to let me in. I got a call from Bob Haun and he said it was urgent I get out here immediately. I’m a friend of his, okay? I pleaded with the old guy with my arms extended.

Well why didn’t you just say so for Pete’s sake? He told me he was expecting someone. He’s the only one still here; besides me of course.

Of course.

Well, just follow me. I’ll take you to his office. Sorry I didn’t see you at the front gate, he explained as he repeatedly attempted to re-holster his gun.

I just wanted to move along and get to Bob’s office, so I picked up the pace to spur him along but he was not buying it. I remained a step ahead of him as he rambled on.

Doin’ my rounds, you know. Wasn’t sleeping, now mind you. Just doin’ my rounds. Been here, going on three years now. Came to Hawaii with the little woman to set up our final resting home, if you know what I mean. And would you believe it, the poor woman up and died, right on the beach not more than six months after we arrived. Sun stroke I believe. Poor woman. He shook his head in dismay as he reminisced, but unfortunately continued on, Well, then, here I am not knowing a soul and… hey, who opened the front gate? You didn’t mess with the gate did ya? he asked as we came around front, both of us witnessing the gate wide open.

No, it was locked. That’s why I went around back and risked destroying my jacket in getting over the fence. I took a long hard look at him and began to wonder if this archaic creature was all together there.

Why, that’s funny, I could have sworn…

Does Bob have the code for the gate? I asked quickly, impatient with everything slow about this man.

Nope, I’m the only one who has the code and the key to the power box. You can get in and out with a security card any time during work hours but you need to go through one of the guards to get out after five. Least ways that’s how it’s been. Pretty much just stays open throughout the work hours, what with one of us guards at the gate to let the trucks in and out. Makes no sense to just give anyone the code if you’re going to…

I slipped past the guard and quickly headed toward the front door of the building. I had been to Bob’s office a few times before and knew where I was going. The door was unlocked and I threw it opened as I rushed in. Inside there were wall to wall boxes forming a makeshift hallway leading toward the offices far to the back. The warehouse was dimly lit, making difficult to see where I was going. I tried to be careful but bounced into a few unseen obstacles along the way and almost tripped over a box or two.

I made my way through the maze of boxes until finally sighting the office area. I saw the only office with a light on and knew it was Bob’s. My anxiety built as my intuition told me something was wrong and I broke into a sprint. As I approached the lighted office my gut started to tighten up. I was feeling seriously uneasy.

I un-holstered my .45 as I cautiously continued to approach the room. The door was ajar but the complete silence indicated no one was likely to be home. However, still feeling the need to be on guard, I pushed the door open with my foot, leaning back away from the door. I hesitated for just a second, straining to hear, then quickly stepped inside with outstretched arms, never releasing the tight grip on my gun.

There, lying on the floor in the corner, was Bob. He was sprawled face up. Seeing him lying there was a shock. It felt as though I had been hit in the face with a bucket of ice cold water. Stunned, I fought to break free of the paralyzing effect. I automatically applied a little more pressure on the trigger as I scanned the room. I remained standing in the doorway. I cocked my head to listen. The only sound was the shuffling approach of the guard. I leaned against the wall still alert. Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I cautiously made my way over to Bob.

Looking down I saw there were at least three slugs buried in his chest. I was sick and thought I was going to lose it.

The old-timer ambled into the room and, upon seeing Bob, started fumbling for his gun. I raised my hand to steady him. He stared at me with eyes pleading for information, for answers, for directions what to do. He remained frozen right where he had stopped and was finding it difficult to control his trembling, particularly in his hands. I kept my hand up as I listened again, but the place was as quiet as the death before me.

Taking another fast scan of the office I quickly formulated a scenario in my head. It appeared Bob had been in his office for some time. There was a small pool of blood which had oozed out from under his right arm. It was already drying.

So my thought automatically shifted to the murderer, who had obviously managed to open the front gate to get out and no doubt was long gone by now. The only explanation that immediately came to mind was that he made his way out through the gate while the two of us where out back playing cops and robbers. If that was so, then he played it pretty close.

By the look of things, the murderer never found what he was seeking. Looking at the files, desk drawers and credenza, I could see he wasted no time making a complete mess of the place, but he did not have time to go through a number of file drawers and there was a closet with the door slightly ajar, but apparently still in fairly neat order. I racked my brain trying to figure out what he might have been looking for in this office.

My mind remained locked on the intruder and I tried to determine what action I should take. It did not make sense to attempt tracking him down. It would be too easy for him to disappear into the night. There were no vehicles on the road when I arrived, but there were numerous side areas where anyone could have parked a vehicle out of sight.

I did a two step pace back and forth as I thought. I caught a fast glimpse at the old man who was still standing in the same spot, petrified, except for those tremulous hands.

You better call the police, but don’t use this phone. Better that nothing be touched, I advised, wondering if he was able to respond to my words.

But the old man surprised me with his speed as he quickly turned and shot down the hall. I stayed in the office, trying to understand. Why had Bob called me at such a strange hour? Why did he not tell me what this was about? Why was he dead? A hundred questions formulated in my head and I had answers to none of them. The frustration was overwhelming.

I went back over to Bob to satisfy of my obsessive nature, making certain of my observation. I touched the side of his throat. Dead. As I squatted, looking at him, I could not help but think that the poor guy probably never knew what hit him.

He was a good friend. I could not take my eyes off him because I refused to believe he was dead. I had talked to him not more than an hour ago. I just never expected this to happen. I was finding it difficult to understand why he had not told me what was wrong. I was beside myself in confusion and frustration.

I knew there were going to be enough questions directed at me and more than my share of trouble without my adding to the situation by touching anything, so I got up and left the office to take a look around the warehouse. This was probably going to be my only chance to check things out before the police arrived.

As I was meandering through the maze of boxes in the open warehouse area, the florescent ceiling bulbs flickered on and the place lit up like the Fourth of July.

There you go. That’ll put some light on the subject, the old timer yelled from the power box when he saw me struggling to make my way among the boxes. The cops are on their way.

I just gave a nod and wave, and continued looking around. At the rear of the building there was only the back door as a means of an easy exit but that was locked with a deadbolt which required a key to open it. I made my way to the front where there were four large garage doors. All were bolted shut. At the front door, I made a closer inspection of the framework, finding there was no damage. From what I could see, there was no forced entry, which immediately started me thinking that maybe Bob knew the murderer.

I stepped outside, made a quick examination of the area, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I went up to the gate hoping to possibly find any kind of evidence but found nothing. The only thing for sure was that by opening this front gate, the murderer had quietly slid into the cover of the concealing darkness.

I returned to the warehouse and went back to the office and stood over my friend, trying my damndest to make some kind of sense out of what had happened. It was frustrating to helplessly look on and see him there on the floor. I tried not to even think that there could be a possibility that he had been wasted for some meaningless reason. I felt as though I should do something with the body, but I dared not even place my jacket over him before the police arrived. As I continued to stare down at him I thought of his wife, Janet, and wondered how she was going to make it through this tragedy.

I knew it would take a few more minutes for the boys in blue to arrive so I seized the opportunity to take a better look around the office. The guard returned and sat himself quietly in the corner. I did not think it possible, but he now looked even older.

I took a pen out of my shirt pocket and pushed Bob’s papers about to see if there was anything of interest. I also glanced around to mentally photograph the place. Drawers had been thrown to the floor, a few file cabinets where open, some pried open; papers scattered everywhere. A thought I immediately had was that the murderer must have possibly been searching for some piece of incriminating information. By the look of things, my guess was that it probably had something to do with what Bob may have written down; something of extreme concern to the murderer. Why did Bob not just give it to him? Or did he?

I continued with my visual search throughout the entire office but could find nothing which would possibly serve as an obvious lead. With what limited time I felt I had left, I figured it would be a good idea to take another look around the warehouse for other possible means of entry, but the sound of approaching sirens brought my intended search to a halt; at least for now. I advised the guard to go and direct the police. In his absence, I occupied his seat in the corner while I used these last few moments to memorize the scene.

As luck would have it, the first man through the door was Mike Trevor, Inspector First Class. He marched right up to the office and planted both feet firmly and squarely at the doorway entrance, scanning the room and finally fixing his eyes on me.

Damn it, Dan. Please tell me you’re not involved in another case, he contemptuously spat out his words as he rested his fists on his hips.

He was a friend, Mike. A good friend, was my direct, no nonsense reply.

Sorry, Dan, he softened. Do you know what happened here?

He removed a small black notebook from his suit pocket, and made some preliminary notes while he listened and began conducting his investigation of the office as he listened. I walked him through the events of the evening. As I was speaking, the boys from the lab showed up and started doing their job.

When Mike was satisfied that there was nothing more to see he instructed me and the guard to drive our vehicles down to the station to fill out some paperwork which he referred to as ‘necessary’, but what I considered to be worthless. He was still trying to pry information out of me when we met again outside the station making our way to his office.

So, what you’re saying is that this guy is your best friend and yet he tells you nothing? He squinted his face for effect.

He called me for help. He told me it was important but he wanted to tell me in person. I told you I tried to weasel it out of him, but he was adamant that he had to tell me in person.

It just doesn’t sound like you to let things go.

Oh, I pressured him, but he wasn’t saying anything. He said he had to see me and see me now. Those were his words.

Mike continued to give me that look of disbelief. The only time he took a break in his fusillade of questions was when he asked the guard to have a seat right outside his office while the two of us went inside to continue with our heart-to-heart.

Come on, Dan, you’ve got to have more than that, he demanded as soon as the door was closed behind us.

I refused to respond until I found myself a seat. That’s it, I’m telling you. He called and I said I’d be right over. What do you want from me?

He stood there, now towering over me with his two hundred and eighty pound frame with one of his famous unblinking stares; probably thinking he could draw the information out of me through the means of visual penetration.

This was not the first time we had been here under similar situations. We tend to find occasions to lock horns quite a bit, but despite our differences, I still had to admit he had always been one heck of an inspector. He knew his work and he did it well. But still, he got under my skin. Unfortunately, at least for me, he was the type who stuck just a little too close to the book. And there lied the rub. I liked doing things my way and he liked doing things by the book. Never the two shall meet.

He marched around to the other side of his desk and dropped in his chair. We stared at each other. Finally, he broke the silence but not his piercing stare.

Look, Dan, it doesn’t make any sense. This guy, your friend, your good friend, calls you at three in the morning and you don’t think anything of it? Didn’t you think something was up?

He was a friend. Does calling a friend three in the morning break the law? Maybe you want to look that one up in your book of rules and regulations. Sometimes this man was just exasperating.

Don’t get smart, Dan. You’re officially a murder suspect, in case you didn’t know, or forgot. He blew a puff of dissatisfaction into the air as he swiveled in his chair. I could see he was irritated with my apparent lack of cooperation, but, seriously, my intent was not to make his job any tougher than what it was already. What could I say? There was nothing to tell him. The only thing we seemed to be accomplishing was getting each other aggravated.

I’m sorry, Mike, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know, but you can sure bet that the situation is not going to stay that way for long. Not if I can help it.

Mike folded his massive hands together on his desk and leaned forward. Dan, why do we have to go through this every time you come in here? Why don’t you just tell me what you know? The exasperation was more in his tone than in his expression.

What, and do your job for you? I laughed, but he failed to see the humor in my comment.

Okay. If you have nothing, you have nothing. But remember this. Even though you may have connections with the Commissioner, I can tell you right now that he’s not going to be very happy. Especially when he hears that you’re involved and refuse to cooperate.

You let me handle that end.

Don’t I always? he finally smiled, but a smile of resignation none the less.

With that last comment I could tell he had just about exhausted his patience with me. I was able to read him fairly well by now, if only because of the number of times we had gone down this same road. Although we seemed to be in constant disagreement, I must confess, Mike has proved to be of tremendous help for me on quite a few occasions. Although, it should also be known, I have reciprocated quite a few times myself. I felt kind of bad about not giving him something to go on, but what could I do?

I saw no point in dragging our conversation out any further so I cut it short. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get out of here so that I can get on with my business.

Since there seemed to be no objection forthcoming, I grabbed my jacket and stood up. I asked, By the way, did anyone get in touch with his wife, Janet.

Sure. We sent a car over the minute we had a positive identification.

Thanks. And save your breath. I’ll stay around where you can find me. Take it easy, Mike. I forced a smile, but we both knew it as fake.

As I was walking out of his office with my hand still on the door I could hear the resignation in his voice as he said, Send your better half in.

2.   MEETING WITH JANET

By the time I left the station it was 6:30 A.M. I was tired, or maybe drained would be a better word. No matter how you looked at it though, I was still too restless to sleep. I decided to drive over to see how Janet was holding up.

As I drove along I thought about everything that happened throughout the night, hoping there would be a way to put the pieces together. Still, I muddled in a quandary. Even though I tried to remain logically focused on the problem, I could not help getting emotionally lost in my feeling for Bob and Janet. When my anger flared up, all I was thinking about was getting my hands on the person or persons responsible for Bob’s death. I do that sometimes; just let my emotions get in the way.

Bob and I had been friends for a long time, long before either of us had come to the Island. My thoughts drifted to the old days. God, the two of us had a lot of fun together. He was one of the few friends I ever had where there was really a feeling of a true bond.

My thoughts locked on the past and before I even realized it, I was turning off the main road on to Willows Street, a street I had turned on many times, always with anticipation of an enjoyable time; but not this morning. As I pulled on to Willows Street, the sun, in vibrant gold, was slowly rising, illuminating the well-manicured neighborhood yards as I cruised along. I came to a stop in front of the small red-brick house and sat in the car for a moment, wandering if maybe this was not a good time for me to be intruding on Janet.

There