Neil Plakcy - Mahu Surfer

“It was my first year here,” he said, sitting. “I was hired as a coach, but the state had just installed this email system for us, and they needed somebody to administer it. I had just graduated from UH, and I’d lived in a computer-equipped dorm, so that made me the most qualified.”

“Ronald Chang was a student then? How old was he?”

“He was a junior,” Texeira said. “Ringleader of a bunch of kids who didn’t take gym seriously. Every day they’d come in with obviously faked excuses-recovering from a cold, can’t get overheated, that kind of thing. Then on the weekend I’d see them all at Breakwall or Shark Pit, surfing like there was nothing wrong with them.”

I knew Breakwall and Shark Pit, both decent surfing spots in Lahaina. “That must have pissed you off,” I said.

“It did. So one day I decided I’d get even. I came up with a bunch of exercises designed specifically for surfing. Nothing elaborate-your standard strength conditioning, flexibility and so on, but I packaged it right. I waited to collect everybody’s excuses, then I announced this special program all week. But anybody who was sick that day couldn’t start, and would have to miss the whole week.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I was twenty-two and cocky. I thought I’d really put one over on them.”

“Something happened, I’m sure.”

He nodded. “The next day, somebody hacked into the school’s computer system, and sent a bunch of x-rated emails from my address to a bunch of the female teachers. I nearly got fired-it was clear that I didn’t send the emails, but I wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping the network secure either.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t know all that much about computers. Ronnie hacking into the system showed our weak points.”

“You know it was him?”

“We couldn’t prove it, but I just had to see his nasty smirk to know he did it. I had one more trick up my sleeve, though.”

“What was that?”

“I created a computer club, and made him the president. The club was charged with helping the school maintain its system. So he had to find every hole and plug it up.”

“Isn’t that dangerous-putting the fox in the henhouse?”

“It was a risk. But I thought if everyone knew he had all access, and then something happened, suspicion would fall directly on him. So he had to keep things clean to protect himself.”

“He must have been a pretty sharp kid.”

“He was. But he had a sneaky side, and I never trusted him. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised at all when I heard he’d been killed.” Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he got serious. “You won’t tell his parents any of this, will you? I wouldn’t want to trespass on their grief. I’m just telling you this because, you know…”

“I appreciate everything you’ve said, and I’ll keep it in confidence.” I stood up, and Victor Texeira stood with me. “Thanks for your help. I appreciate your candor.” I paused before walking out the door, though. “Is there anyone here in Maui who might know more about Ronnie as an adult?”

Texeira thought for a moment. “There’s a guy named Will Wong who was a classmate of Ronnie’s. He works in a surf shop in downtown Lahaina called Totally Tubular.”

“Great. Thanks.” We shook hands, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he held my hand a little longer than he should have, and looked a little too directly into my eyes.

Man, I thought as I left, I’ve got to get my gaydar working.

Lahaina Harbor

I drove slowly down into the center of Lahaina, thinking about what Victor Texeira had said. I pulled into a parking space in the quaint downtown area, and before I got out of the car I looked back at Ronnie Chang’s dossier. He had attending UH for two years, leaving without a degree to work for the company that let him telecommute from the North Shore. Even though the original detectives had been there, I figured they would be worth a stop, deciding that I’d sleep in my own bed again that night, visit them the next morning, and then head back to Hale’iwa.

It was just lunch time, and the restaurant owned by Ronnie’s parents, Wok ‘n Roll, was crowded, so instead of going in I went for a walk through Lahaina. By the time I’d strolled through the harbor, I’d built up an appetite.

Ronnie’s mother, Yee Chang, was working the register, his father Lan behind the stove cooking. Though I’d never met them, their pictures had been included in my dossier. Yee had lost weight since the picture was taken; grief will do that to you. I waited until there was a break in the crowd, and walked up to introduce myself, with the same story I’d given Victor Texeira.

She looked like she might cry. She reached out and took my hand. “We are so happy you investigate who kill our son,” she said.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Eat first, then talk,” she said. “What you like? Honey chicken very good today. My husband make everything fresh. Lan! Make honey chicken special for detective. Give extra rice!”

She wouldn’t take money from me. I took the plastic cup she handed me, filled it with ice and lemonade, and waited for Lan to serve up my chicken, reminding myself why I didn’t like to interview the parents of the deceased. They almost never had anything bad to say about their child, and though occasionally they could point you in the direction of a bad influence, the dead child was almost always blameless, an innocent victim. Even when the deceased had a laundry list of warrants, arrests and convictions, his parents always believed the best of him.

I had almost finished my chicken when Yee had a young girl replace her at the register so she could come sit with me. The dining room was bright and airy, spotlessly clean, looking out on Front Street and the harbor. It had to be expensive real estate, I thought, which meant that the Changs were doing well.

My father’s best friend, Uncle Chin, is Chinese, so I was very familiar with Chinese culture. I began by telling Mrs. Chang how sorry I was about her son’s death, and how I knew it was impolite of me to ask questions about him, but that I believed it was important to bring whoever killed him to justice.

She nodded eagerly. “His spirit very restless. Must have peace. You can bring my son peace?”

“I can try.” I paused for a minute, then began asking simple questions. She did not know much about his life on O’ahu, but she knew that he loved to surf. He did not have any enemies that she knew of, no one who held a grudge or had any reason to dislike him.

“How about his friends,” I said. “Did you ever meet any of them?”

The few names she gave me were already in his dossier. “And his fiancee, of course,” she said.

“Fiancee?”

“We never meet her, you know, engagement too soon before he died. And not Chinese girl either.” For a moment a frown crossed her face. “But she make Ronnie happy.”

“What was her name?”

“Filipina girl. Lucie…”

“Zamora?”

“That’s it!” she said. “She must be so sad, to lose Ronnie.”

“I’m afraid she was killed, too, Mrs. Chang. Around the same time Ronnie was.”

Her mouth opened into a wide O, and her hand flew up to cover it. Her surprise mirrored my own. I had a feeling that there was no formal engagement between Ronnie Chang and Lucie Zamora; if there was anything between them at all beyond friendship I thought it was either a figment of Ronnie’s imagination, or Lucie was playing him for something.

Mr. Chang came out from behind the stove, and his wife quickly told him, in Mandarin I only partially understood, that Ronnie’s fiancee had been killed, too. His surprise was less visible than hers, but it was clear he hadn’t known.