Spider Bones

“And he was?”

“Reggie Cumbo. Boy had a sheet longer than my arm.”

“Why was that, sir?”

“Kid was a dick.”

I said nothing. Like many, Beasley felt compelled to fill the silence.

“Drunk and disorderly, mostly.”

“What happened to him?”

“Took off the day of his high school commencement. Course, Reggie wasn’t going to march with no tassel and cap.”

“He failed to graduate?”

“I recall talk to that effect.”

“Where is Reggie now?”

“Could be the mayor of Milwaukee for all I know. More likely he’s dead. Never heard another word of him.”

So much for querying Reggie about Spider’s sense of haute dentition.

“Did you ever notice gold decoration on Spider Lowery’s teeth?”

“You mean like crowns or something?”

I explained dental sparkles. “Maybe later, after Spider joined the army? Perhaps in snapshots he mailed home from Nam? Maybe Plato or Harriet showed some to you? Or sent one to the paper? Or posted some online?” I knew I was reaching.

“Nah. What’s so important about Spider’s teeth? I thought you were all set with Harriet’s DNA.”

“The sparkle may prove helpful in identifying the body I disinterred. Assuming it’s not Spider. Besides, Harriet’s hospital slides are five years old. I’m exploring backup options, in case the samples are too degraded for sequencing.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, miss. Spider was”—Beasley hesitated—“different. But I doubt he’d a done something foolish like ornamenting his teeth with gold.”

“What do you remember about Spider?”

Beasley blew air through his lips. “I recall back in high school he offered to give his mama a kidney. Harriet was born with bad ones, guess it’s what finally killed her. Have to admit, I thought that was mighty generous. Spider wasn’t a proper match, wrong blood type or something. His brother, Tom, offered too. Course that was many years later. That didn’t work out either. Not sure I’d have done that.”

“Spider?”

Beasley didn’t answer right away. Then, “I remember he did a science project on spiders. Filled fifteen or twenty of those big white boards with pictures and diagrams and little note cards. Had all kinds of jars lined up with labels and spiders inside. The thing won first prize. Got displayed at the library. They still pull the posters out now and again. Spiders are long gone, of course.”

“Anything else?”

“I recall him going off to war. I recall him coming home dead. Sorry.”

I could think of nothing further to ask. Thanking Beasley, I disco

Da

While digging a towel from my bag, I noticed my BlackBerry’s message light blinking.

Da

I did.

“What’s up?”

“Thought you’d want to know. I researched Xander Lapasa’s family. His parents, Alexander senior and Theresa-Sophia, are both dead.”

I heard paper rustle.

“Alexander Emanuel, Xander, was the firstborn of six kids, four boys, two girls. One sister, Mamie Waite, lives in Maui, is divorced, and has one daughter. The other sister, Hesta Grogan, lives in Nevada, is widowed, and has two sons.

“One of the brothers Marvin, was mentally handicapped and died young, in the seventies. The other two, Nicholas and Ke

I did some quick math. If Xander Lapasa was twenty-nine when he disappeared in 1968, that meant he was born in 1939.

Da

“The surviving siblings are all in their sixties.”

“Tell me about Daddy.” I wasn’t sure why all this family history was relevant, but Da

“Alex Lapasa made his way to Oahu in nineteen fifty-six and got a job at an East Honolulu gas station. Two years later, the station owner died. A hit-and-run. A handwritten will transferred ownership of the station to Lapasa.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“The cops found nothing linking Lapasa to the accident. The victim had no family screaming for justice, so who knows how thorough the investigation was.”

I made no comment.

“A hurricane blew the station off the map nine months after Lapasa took possession. Having no source of income and, apparently, no enduring love of petrol, Lapasa turned to selling real estate. And saw potential. Recognizing that a lot of baby-boomer parents would be needing a lot of cheap housing, Lapasa shifted into low-end home construction. He’d put up a bungalow, sell it, put up two more.

“When Hawaii gained statehood in nineteen fifty-nine, the building industry exploded. Lapasa leveraged everything, expanded, made millions. From the sixties to the nineties he diversified. Today the Lapasa empire has more tentacles than an anemone.”

“Sounds like old Alex was one smart cookie.”

“Yes.”

I noted a hitch in Da

“What?” I asked.

“Lapasa was always, shall we say, controversial. Some said he had the Midas touch. Others said he was just lucky. All agreed he was ruthless as hell.”

“When did he die?”

“Two thousand two.”

“Who runs the business today?”

“Number two son, Nicholas.”

A big clapper went gong! in my head. I’d seen the name in the Honolulu Advertiser many times, occasionally preceded by a descriptor such as Slick or Tricky. Yeah, like Nixon.

“That Nickie Lapasa?”

“That Nickie Lapasa.”

I vaguely remembered Alex Lapasa’s passing from news coverage during one of my visits to the CIL. The funeral was a five-ring circus.

“Wasn’t Lapasa under investigation for RICO violations at the time of his death?” I referred to the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act passed by Congress in 1970.

“Yeah. And it wasn’t the first time. Rumor had it Alex had ties to the Mafia. Nothing ever stuck.”

I thought a moment.

“Isn’t Ke

“He is.”

Xander had vanished. Marvin had died. Nickie and Ke

“Are Mamie and Hesta involved in the family business?”

Da

“Meaning?”

“No girls allowed.”

“Yet it was Theresa-Sophia who corresponded with the army concerning Xander’s disappearance.”

“The old man probably viewed letter writing as beneath him.”

“Why do you suppose Xander went to Nam?”

“There were rumors about Lapasa’s involvement in drug trafficking. Maybe he sent his kid to Southeast Asia to scout postwar possibilities. You know, drug sources, transport options.”

“Who did you talk to?” I asked.

“Tricky Nickie. It was like getting through to Obama.”

“How did he react?”

“At first he was skeptical. I told him that the dental ID, though unofficial, was solid, and asked if Xander had ever broken any bones. He said Xander busted his jaw and collarbone in a car wreck the summer after his junior year in high school. I described the healed fractures we’d spotted on the bones and X-rays.”

“Did that convince him?”

“Not totally. I said that, to reassure the family, a DNA comparison could be done if he or one of his siblings would provide a sample. The guy went ballistic, said no way was any government toady sticking a probe into any member of his family. I explained that the process was painless, just a cheek swab. He grew even more agitated, I’ll spare you the verbiage, finally hung up on me.”

“If some of Alex Lapasa’s business dealings were as shady as rumor has it, maybe Nickie’s worried about privacy issues. Felons tend to be protective of their DNA.”

“Maybe. But Nickie’s never been linked to anything illegal. Anyway, an hour later he rang back, irate, ranting about incompetence, stupidity, professional misconduct. He threatened to phone his congressman, his senator, the ACLU, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the president, CNN, Jesse Jackson, Rush Limbaugh, maybe even Nelson Mandela.”