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had a booming cannon of a voice and the bright red face of someone with high blood pressure. His thinning brown hair was disordered, and he was panting with emotion.
    “Detectives Kaihale and Texeira of the Maui Police Department,” Pono answered smoothly, coming forward with his hand outstretched. His burly presence projected calm authority, and the agitated man—a leathery, heavier version of the young man whose body they had found on the beach—took his hand and shook it automatically. Lei hung back a bit as he came down into the seating area, leaning over to embrace his wife.
    “My God. Our son,” he said brokenly. She clung to him, weeping, as he sat beside her on the couch.
    Lei and Pono took a couple of soft, suede-upholstered chairs across from them. The light from the bank of windows cruelly lighted every wrinkle and gleam of wetness on the faces of the older couple in front of her.
    Lei tried to imagine the magnitude of losing a young-adult child in the prime of his life, when she’d been so recently felled by the grief of a miscarriage. She didn’t even know when she’d be ready to try getting pregnant again. There was no greater risk for the heart than having a child.
    Finally Rory Simmons turned his attention to them. “Why are you here? Makoa drowned surfing, right?”
    “Yes. We’re here to officially notify you of his death—and to find out anything that might be relevant to it.” Lei spoke carefully, recognizing an alpha-male personality in the bluff, barrel-chested man.
    “We always want to talk with families when there’s been an unexpected death, even if ultimately it turns out to be accidental,” Pono said. “What can you tell us about Makoa’s activities in the last few days?”
    “I don’t see how that’s relevant to Makoa drowning in the surf,” Simmons growled. “I always told that boy surfing would be the death of him.”
    Mrs. Simmons pulled away from her husband. “Shut up!” she screamed. “He loved what he did. He was a world champion! But nothing he did was ever good enough for you!”
    Lei scrambled mentally for the information on the Simmons parents she’d quickly gathered on the way over. Rory was a contractor, a self-made millionaire who’d made his money building large housing tracts in Hawaii. Gail, his wife, was a former teacher who was busy with various charities. Apparently there was a long-standing disagreement about their son’s choice of career. Lei helped Gail get up and go to a separate chair.
    “You two are in shock. Please take a little time to pull yourselves together,” Lei said. “Is there anyone who can come over and keep you company?”
    “I called my sister and my best friend, Sally,” Gail said. She straightened her blouse and narrowed bloodshot eyes at her husband. “I don’t want to hear you say one more negative thing about Makoa’s surfing again.”
    “I’ll say whatever I like,” Rory said. A cord stood out from his cheek; Lei could see he was clenching his jaw. “He was my son, too, though you always spoiled him.”
    Lei looked helplessly at Pono just as the door opened again and two distraught women, Gail’s sister and friend, arrived.
    Rory got up and stomped away down the hall. Pono followed him, trying to talk to him as he headed for some inner sanctum. Lei went back to the kitchen for more glasses of water.
    She wasn’t able to get anything useful or coherent from the women, so she took herself back down the hall, only to meet Pono exiting Rory’s home office.
    “We need to come back later,” he said briefly, and she nodded and followed him out. Taking charge of this interview wasn’t going well, and she wondered if it was because of her own grief. Sitting with the extreme emotions around her had her stomach in knots, and even though initial statements should always be taken right away, she just didn’t have the heart for it when they weren’t sure that this drowning was anything more than an