Chapter 17 The Interview
The Interview
Niu: the coconut (Cocos nucifera), a commom palm on tropical islands
Woody was out mending a throw net when she got back and didn’t seem too surprised about Minnow’s tall-finned follower in the
water.
“You were in the ono lane, that’s why. Big sharks cruise there,” he said, not taking his eyes off the knot in his hands.
“The ono lane?”
“Where the ono run. Forty to sixty fathoms, more so in Kona, but we get them up here too. You probably know ono as wahoo,” he said.
Ah, yes. “Probably right where I was. How come you didn’t warn me?”
“I was asleep.”
Minnow told him about Josh Brown and the media stacking up outside the Kiawe, and that didn’t surprise him at all either.
Then he let her take his truck to see Sam Callahan at Koholā.
The wealthy enclave of Koholā was close as the ?iwa bird flew, but she first had to drive out to the highway and then back toward the airport a few miles.
From the main road everything looked so desolate, but there were signs of green as she drove down the smooth and winding road.
There had been no sign to show her where to go, no indication of anything, really.
But as with the Kiawe, and around Hale Niuhi, coconut trees surrounded water sources.
She stopped at a small gatehouse, gave her name and was directed to the Callahans’ home down near the water. Everything on
this island was on a slope, she realized, which lent itself well to sweeping views of the ocean and all the surrounding volcanoes.
The house was surrounded by a tall lava rock wall with a wide burnished wood gate that swung open as soon as she pulled up.
Giant smooth stones paved the drive and the yard was golf course green and just as manicured.
Mr. Callahan met her at the front door. He was tall, broad shouldered and built like he might have been a football player
at one time.
“Dr. Gray, thank you for coming all the way out here to do this work. It’s important,” he said, shaking her hand.
The loss had already carved itself into his face, and his eyes were almost bleeding red.
“Mr. Callahan, I am so sorry about Stuart. I know how hard this probably is, so thank you for seeing me.”
“Anything to help. My wife still can’t talk about it, so pardon her absence.”
“Understandable. It’s really you I need to speak to anyway.”
Over the course of her last few investigations, Minnow had learned she had to balance care and sympathy with a certain amount
of getting to the point. They went outside and sat at a giant wood table, granite cool against her bare feet.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, himself clutching a coffee mug that said Pupule on it.
“No, thank you.” This was not going to be easy, and she wanted to be fully present.
“You know I talked to Joe Eversole already, but fire away.”
“I mainly want to know about the water conditions, what you witnessed and any description of the animal. You probably know there is speculation that the same shark is responsible for all the recent incidents.”
His chin quivered. “I wouldn’t call what happened to Stuart an ‘incident.’ It was undoubtedly a premeditated attack.”
Spoken like the personal injury attorney that he was.
“Tell me what you saw, Mr. Callahan. And if at any time it gets to be too much, we can stop and I’ll leave.”
He nodded, then began. “We have a golf cart we usually take to the south end of the course and then follow a coastal trail
about a half mile to the point. That morning we could see the waves looked good, so Stu was frothing to get out there. As
soon as I parked he took off at a jog ahead of me, and just before we hit the jump-off spot he tripped on the lava and skinned
his leg pretty badly. He said the ocean would clean it and I didn’t disagree.”
Minnow pinched her forehead. “Was it bleeding when he got in the water?”
“It wasn’t deep, but it was a good-sized abrasion, so there was some blood. Not too much.”
Any shark within a quarter mile would have been able to smell the blood, especially if the current was drawing the water out.
“Any sign of something else in the water that might attract a shark? Dead fish or turtle, or anyone spearfishing?”
“Nothing that I saw.”
“How big were the waves?”
“Double overhead. Six feet on the Hawaiian scale. Stu was all about learning the ways here.”
“So the water in the bay was probably stirred up then, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, a lot of whitewater and foam when the sets came. But in between you could see the bottom easily.”
Sam spun his coffee mug on the table and kept his gaze latched onto it, as though watching it might somehow rewind time.
“And then?” she asked gently.
“A couple sets had hit the outer reef where it breaks on bigger swells, so Stu paddled out there. I stayed put because I don’t need to prove anything to anyone with my surfing.
I go out, catch a few waves, but I do it mainly to spend time with my son.
” He stopped, took a deep breath. “So anyway, I was sitting there watching the horizon, watching Stu, when he went airborne. The sound was like a car accident, metal on metal, and when he landed, I saw the shark’s open mouth clamp down on him. ”
“Can you describe the shark?”
“Black, big as a Chevy truck.”
His hands had begun to shake, but other than that, he remained remarkably composed.
“The whole shark was black?”
“No, it was pearly white on its underside. When Stuart shot up, he came toward me, so I saw inside the shark’s mouth too.
Pink and fucking full of teeth. I had this crazy feeling like I was watching a movie in slow motion. Shock can have that effect.
And in most cases—I’ve taken on hundreds—most people report time slowing down. Do you know why?”
She had an idea but could tell he wanted to be the expert here. “Why?”
“There are a few theories, and it may be that all are partly true. But when we’re in fight or flight, we go into hyperfocus
and we pick up every little detail, so there’s an illusion of time slowing. It could also be because the amygdala becomes
more active when we’re scared and we perceive more, remember more, so it seems like more time has passed.”
His lawyer brain had obviously kicked in and he was now in his element. He began spewing facts and stats and cases. Minnow
patiently listened, soaking up the pain he was so valiantly trying to keep at bay, then steered him back to the case at hand.
“What happened next with Stuart? Once the shark let him go, did it come back around?”
He rubbed his forehead, now covered in a slick sheen.
“They both went under, and I saw this huge tail thrashing for a few seconds, and then Stu popped back up. The water was red all around, and I couldn’t tell if the shark was still there.
I was paddling toward him as fast as I could and he was trying to yell but kept taking in water.
Honestly, I didn’t care at all about getting bit myself.
My one and only need was to get to Stu.”
“And you did,” she said, hoping to offer even a feather of comfort.
“He was already white and I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me. We just kept saying it over and over on the way
in—I had a longboard, so I laid him on that. I never saw the shark again. I was forced to make the most horrible choice ever.
To stay with him or go for help. And in the end, my Stu, he never made it off of that lava field. “
And then he broke down in big, heaving sobs. Minnow let him cry, and she cried along with him. Loving sharks came with a price,
and these human and shark interactions broke her heart a million times over. For a few moments she debated telling him about
her father, but that would have done nothing to ease the ache. Instead, she said, “Thank you for sharing your story.”
He sat forward in the chair, tears on his cheeks as his foot began tapping a mile a minute. “Here’s the thing, Dr. Gray. My
son loved the ocean and loved surfing. That morning started off so hopeful, so beautiful. Clear skies, clear water—I mean,
when isn’t the water clear down here? But then we got into an argument. He wanted to surf and I had set up a tee time at eight
thirty with the VP of Volcom, whom I wanted Stu to meet. Thought maybe he could get a job with them, seeing as he was so into
surfing and he wasn’t really doing much with his life other than going on expensive trips, chasing waves. Bali, Tahiti, Fiji . . .
Stu was there.”
He sat there for a few moments, shaking his head, and Minnow thought maybe they were done. But he went on. “He flat-out refused
to go, said I was meddling in his life and he could get his own job. A fight we had been having more and more lately,” he
said, studying her as though he was seeing her for the first time. “Do you have kids?”
“No,” she said, holding back the explanations she often felt a compulsion to give.
The ocean is my one true love, so I haven’t married.
I put my career first.
I have trauma, and I’m not sure I want to pass that on.
“Stu was our only child and now he’s gone,” he said.
Minnow felt her own heart squeeze. She wanted to wrap Sam in her arms, but there was an invisible wall between them she knew
she shouldn’t breach.
“We fought that morning and I didn’t hold my ground. If I had, Stu would still be alive. I keep reliving that moment, the
split second where I said, Okay, I’ll change it to tomorrow, but promise you’ll come? I was always a softy where he was concerned—to a fault. He promised, and off we went.”
Her mother used to do that. If only I hadn’t been picking berries. If only I took you with me. Minnow remembered thinking, If only it had been Mom and not Dad. In her child’s mind, wishing she could trade one parent for the other, almost at will. Life without her father had seemed
unfathomable. But eventually, somehow, life kept unspooling forward. And now here she was, sitting with a man facing almost
the same situation as she had, only reversed, knowing that the only thing he could be sure of was that his life would never
be the same.
Minnow thanked Sam for sharing his story and left feeling bruised and battered and gutted.