Minnow cast Nalu a sideways look. “Where were you?” she asked the man.
He scanned the distant shoreline, as if trying to remember. “Um, this would have been north of the Kiawe, around the point and out maybe three-quarters of a mile. There’s two current lines that come together out there semi-regularly. I’ve found all kind of neat stuff, collectables, glass floats, old bottles covered in barnacles, psychedelic jellyfish. I even found a surfboard once.”
“Were there any other boats around when you came upon it?” she asked.
“Nah, most guys are outside Kona or closer to Kawaihae, and either farther in or farther out. It’s kind of a no-man’s-land in that zone.”
“No sharks?” she asked, just to be sure.
“No sharks.”
They headed in after saying goodbye, toward the area the old man mentioned, nibbling on peanut butter, honey and banana sandwiches that Nalu brought, care of Dixie.
The more Minnow thought about what the old guy saw, the more she became convinced it was no coincidence. Especially the location—so close to the three incidents. Because although she was not admitting it to anyone else but Nalu, she felt sure that Hank the swimmer had not been a drowning victim.
“That fishing boat could have easily just dumped its cooler contents,” Nalu said, yelling above the drone of the motor.
“True, but what if someone was chumming out there?”
“Why would someone be chumming?”
“Shark-diving tours.”
A light went on in his eyes. “You think?”
“They do it in Guadalupe. Make a ton of money too.”
“No one does shark tours in Hawai?i.”
“Not that we know about.”
“Someone would have seen them,” he said.
“Not if they’re stealthy about it.”
“Why would they need to be stealthy?”
“If they were chumming close to shore, breaking state and federal laws.”
“And...,” Nalu said, his voice trailing off.
“And what?”
“If someone knew someone, palms might be getting greased.”
She shrugged. “It’s possible.”
When they reached the area in question, there were no boats and no sign of chum. A current line did snake through it. An oil-smooth ribbon of water carrying a few coconuts, a plastic fishing float, and a barnacle-covered Coke bottle. Minnow’s mind was aflame with the possibility of someone drawing sharks to the area with chum. On the Farallones they had permits to use chum when conducting research, and she’d seen firsthand the result. White sharks in feeding mode were all business. It took less than half an hour for one to polish off an entire elephant seal. She shivered at the thought.
Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
Hawai‘i, February 26, 1998
On one of the walls here at Hale Niuhi, there is an old yellowed page of theHawaiian Gazettefrom 1902, which says the following:
But frequently the fishermen take sharks with spears. Diving to a favorable spot in about five or six fathoms of water, the fisherman places himself in a half-crouching posture against a large coral rock and waits for the shark to appear. When one comes, he darts the spear into a vital spot if possible. Should he fail to kill the fish with the spear, he watches for an opportunity and completes the operation with his knife, fearlessly engaging in close quarters. Should the shark appear while he is descending or ascending, a battle royale is on at once, with the chances largely in favor of the shark.
