Chapter 3 The Other Victim
The Other Victim
Kaikua?ana: older sibling of the same sex, to address someone as such is a sign of respect; older sister
If Minnow hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the woman was dead. Pale as milk, with a tangle of wet hair spread out
around her like seaweed, her face cut across by a four-inch gash that sliced into her upper lip. Even in this state, she was
beautiful. And even in this state, Minnow knew exactly who the woman in the photograph was.
“Angela Crawford?” she said, her voice hushed.
Angela Crawford, Oscar-winning actress and soon to be ex-wife of actor Bradley Stone. The biggest couple in Hollywood, another
casualty. Minnow felt sad for anyone whose life was so microscopically scrutinized, but there was a price for everything,
a balancing of scales. Nature preferred homeostasis, and even movie stars could be classified in the natural order of things,
Homo sapiens that they were.
“The shark didn’t know who she was, apparently,” he said with a shake of his head. “She and Zach Santopolo have been staying at the Kiawe resort, flying under the radar and doing a good job of escaping the paparazzi. But this is going to blow up, especially if she dies.”
Zach needed no introduction either. Hottest man alive, or so People magazine said. These kinds of people interacted with their own kind. And like many animals, they followed a certain hierarchy.
“How did it happen?”
“One of the hotel’s owners lent them his motorboat and a driver, and they were following along a school of spinner dolphins
south of Papio Bay. Angela wanted to swim with them, so they went ahead of the pod, anchored and jumped in the water, hoping
to intercept. She was on a boogie board floating around in about eighty feet of water, looking like lunch. According to Zach,
there was a huge explosion, like a bomb went off. She got rammed and then shoved about fifty feet through the water.”
To a shark, people on boogie boards resembled seals, a favorite meal of the great white. Minnow had seen firsthand what happened
when you floated a seal decoy around an aggregation of white sharks. The decoy never lasted long.
“No more photos?” she asked.
“There are photos, but they wouldn’t let me take any of them out of the hospital. There’s a burly dude standing guard who
wanted to search me when I left, but I talked him out of it. Movie stars don’t interest me. The lower half of her arm was
barely hanging on, the docs were most likely going to amputate, and there are bite marks all along her right side and several
ribs broken. She’s badly bruised and lost a ton of blood, but luckily for her, they had the boat and a cell phone and were
able to get her to the hospital pretty darn quick.”
“Did any of the witnesses get a look at the shark?”
“Zach said it was hard to tell what he was seeing. He saw the thrashing and lots of red and that the animal looked almost black and was as wide as the boat. He thought maybe it was a whale, but then it went under. The ocean went still and he thought for sure it was going to come for him next, but it never came back. The boat driver sped over and scooped him up. He saw about the same thing as Zach, except he said the dorsal was probably three feet high.”
“Any tooth fragments?”
“Nothing.”
“She hit her with hurricane force, didn’t she?” Minnow mused.
“Like a motherfucking freight train.”
They sat for a few moments in silence and Minnow looked out on the water, thinking about the Sisterhood on the Farallones
and where these behemoths went when they left the rocky offshore islands. Recent satellite tags had shown something surprising:
They didn’t hang out up and down the coast as previously thought. They ventured out into the deep blue Pacific, spending much
of their time roaming the high seas. They moved fast, sometimes covering as much as sixty miles in a day, and they dove deeper
than anyone expected, at least a half mile down, maybe more.
“I wonder if one of the Sisters is here. That would be something,” she said, half to herself. Suddenly before her was the
possibility of a hunt and what would happen if a Sister was caught. Her veins turned to salt.
“The Sisters?”
“When I was working at the Farallones, the shark project guys there called the posse of big females ‘Sisters’—collectively,
‘the Sisterhood.’ They’re all over seventeen feet and wider than a Ford truck,” she said with reverence.
Whenever she thought of these sharks, which was often, she felt an overwhelming tug to go back to those dark, savage waters.
These animals possessed a magnetism all their own, and she was caught up in their field, sure as night.
“Ah, I’m familiar with the project but not the term. How long were you there for?”
“Three seasons,” she said.
Shark seasons. September through November.
This seemed to impress him. “Damn, you must have seen some rad shit.”
What went on underwater at the Farallones was wilder and rawer and fiercer than anyone could ever imagine, but she had to
laugh. “‘Rad shit’ is a good way to put it.”
It felt good to release the tension twisting through her body as she’d listened about the incidents and studied the photographs.
No doubt she would have dreams tonight. They always grew more violent in times like these.
“Speaking of rad shit, I just want you to be prepared for the media circus that’s going to descend on this island once people
find out about Angela. And even more so, if they get wind that Zach Santopolo was with her. Are you sure you’re okay to be
here without much backup?” he asked, looking her in the eye and holding her gaze.
No backup was probably closer to the truth.
“I came here to find out what I can about the shark—or sharks—so nothing has really changed in that regard. Everything I learn
can help us understand their movements and motives better, and therefore our future conservation strategies,” she said.
“Spoken like a true scientist. I knew I was making the right call by asking you here. Now, let me get packed and you can drop
me at the airport on your way up the coast.”
“What about meeting your intern, Nalu?” Minnow asked.
“We’ll pick him up on the way,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Where exactly are you staying?”
“With Woody Kaupiko. His family has a place called Hale Niuhi, on the coast near the Kiawe.”
His eyes widened. “Woody Kaupiko, huh. How’d you get an invite there?”
“My uncle knows him from way back. Why?”
He shrugged. “Just that it seems you would need a connection to get in with that family. They aren’t known for being warm and fuzzy, especially the older brother, Cliff. Word is, he’s shot at a few boats that came too close into the bay there.”
In her line of work, Minnow was used to outlaws and outliers, so the news hardly fazed her.
“My uncle never mentioned that. Just that Woody is a well-respected waterman and that the house is pretty rustic, at best.”
“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
They pulled into Honokohau Harbor and were greeted by a giant white anchor and rows of struggling coconut trees, alongside
a dry dock. Boats in different states of disrepair littered the sidewalk. Boat harbors always felt like home to Minnow, and
this one was no different.
When they reached the water, Joe pointed toward the harbor mouth. “We have a whole shiver of sharks living out here. They
came for the discarded fish parts and never left. As far as tigers go, they’re quite tame, though. I’ve done a few dives with
them.” He paused as if he were lost in a memory. “Some of the local fisherman refer to them as ‘the kittens of Honokohau.’”
Minnow smiled. “There’s a misnomer if there ever was one. But I like it. How big are they?”
“The biggest one I’ve seen is Laverne. Fourteen feet and thick. Man, when you see those stripes it stirs something deep inside.
Never gets old though, does it?”
She had to agree. “Never.”
Joe honked when they pulled up in front of a restaurant on the water’s edge, a greasy-looking joint. A minute later, a dark-skinned,
long-haired young man with a ponytail came out. He looked all of twenty.
“Here’s Nalu, my main man. Don’t let his good looks fool you, or his laid-back attitude. The kid has more going on upstairs
than most of the professors in my department.”
Minnow was being left here with a boat, a truck, and a kid.
Nalu cruised on over to the truck, obviously in no hurry. “Dude, I thought you forgot about me.”
Joe and Minnow both climbed out and introductions were made.
“Howzit,” Nalu said.
“Minnow is staying next to the Kiawe, so you’ll need to pick her up and drop her off there, or vice versa. I expect you to
help her out while I’m gone and give her whatever she needs,” Joe said.
Nalu raised an eyebrow. “Roger that.”
Even with the harbor’s strong smell of salty air and fish, he reeked of marijuana, as though he had walked through a cloud
of burning buds.
Minnow offered, “I’m happy to drop you back at the hotel and take the truck.”
“Nah, I’ll drive you. Make sure you make it to your place okay.”
She wanted the truck. And her freedom. “I have directions, I should be fine.”
Nalu slung his backpack into the back of the truck. “Those roads in the lava are pretty heavy, and camouflaged. Not a good
idea to go alone.”
Joe nodded. “Better to go with a local.”
So, her fate was sealed. Ride with the stoned intern and be stranded until morning.