Free 1 Murder on Moloka'i by Chip Hughes Page B

itself was rustic and charming: shake roof, stone fireplace, hardwood floors, two cozy bedrooms, a koa -paneled study overlooking the twin Mokulua Islands, and a small kitchen–the total opposite of her ex-husband’s Kāhala mansion.
    I’d suggested we come here in search of more clues about Sara’s talk at the health food store, or her connections to any of the witnesses. We focused first on Sara’s study. Adrienne sorted through papers in Sara’s rolltop desk. I worked my way through her filing drawers. Just as I started on the second drawer, Adrienne waved a torn sheet of yellow legal paper. “Look at this!”
    “What is it?”
    “An itinerary.”
    Written in Sara’s hand, the itinerary listed her activities on Moloka’i that fateful day. The notes revealed she had planned to tour Kalaupapa, then to speak that night in Kaunakakai, at Sun Whole Foods as Yu had told me. The title of the Sara’s talk was to be “Stop Kalaupapa Cliffs!”
    “It’s our lucky day,” Adrienne said.
    “If we can find a copy of her speech,” I said. “Or did she write down her speeches?
    “I have no idea.
    We searched every drawer and stack of papers, but found nothing. As the morning grew on, we decided to switch tactics and visit the U.H. Law School, where Sara taught–and where she likely had a computer we could search. My curiosity was piqued by Parke’s allegations of infidelity by his former wife, so I had already arranged to interview Rush McWhorter there at noon.
    As we drove onto the Mānoa Valley campus, I recalled a retired professor telling me about a time when these grounds were once as pristine and garden-like as the misted valley that provides its spectacular backdrop. Another victim of overdevelopment, the university was now choked with mismatched buildings: plantation-era cottages with buzzing air conditioners, cement-slab shoe boxes from the 1950s, stark, avant-garde towers circa 1960s, and an art deco student center in mauve and hunter green. As my eye glanced from one façade to another, diverse architectural styles clashed.
    In the sparse lower campus, on the edge of a defunct quarry, stood the bunker-like complex of the law school. Inside we easily found the door we were looking for: “Sara Ridgely-Parke, Assoc. Prof.” A month after her death, the office still bore Sara’s name.
    “They’re waiting for me to clear it out,” Adrienne said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
    The office had one sealed window overlooking Waikīkī and that musty smell that accumulated paper always takes on in the Islands’ damp air. I imagined Sara glancing from her office window at the ragged skyline of concrete, steel, and glass–the symbol of paved-over paradise–and renewing her resolve to fight overdevelopment. I couldn’t fully buy Parke’s description of Sara being so like him that she embraced the luxuries that development brought. Her life’s work spoke too loudly for itself.
    Scanning her office, I saw creative clutter everywhere: open files and law books, papers hastily arranged on the floor, colored sticky notes tacked up like Christmas cards, newspaper articles taped to the walls. One article discussed the reinterment at Kalaupapa of Blessed Father Damien’s right hand, considered a holy relic. The most prominent clipping, titled “Chancellor Trust Plans ‘Kalaupapa Cliffs’ Resort,” echoed the sketch I had first seen on the airplane on my way to Moloka‘i.
    We searched for a hard copy of Sara’s speech without success, but we did find two class rosters that included the name of missing fisherman, Baron Taniguchi. Adrienne agreed to keep hunting for the speech while I met with McWhorter at the other end of the hall.
    Russell T. McWhorter taught real estate law and was well-connected with both developers and politicians in a state where the two went hand-in-hand. Since government approvals were required to get any construction project off the ground, a developer would often share his or