Pearson painted a desperate picture of Klein's life in Eugene—he was institutionalized in a state mental hospital for several months in 2011 and has a rap sheet that includes reckless endangerment, burglary, and arson, after setting fire to a church. His life began to unravel when he started smoking crystal meth six years ago, Pearson says. Her brother headed to Kauai because "he thought Kauai was paradise."
At his arraignment, Klein pleaded not guilty to a charge of second-degree attempted murder. In June, he was determined to be mentally fit to stand trial. He is being held on $1 million bail while he awaits his trial, scheduled for this February. If he's convicted, Klein could face life in prison. "We believe the victim could have been killed—it was a very serious fall," says Justin Kollar, a County of Kauai prosecuting attorney.
A week after Klein turned himself in, I had a brief telephone conversation with him. He sounded intelligent and coherent until he asked me how long my article would be, because telling his story would be like writing the "living story of Christ." Soon after that, our time ran out. Klein did not respond to subsequent letters, and the Kauai Community Correctional facility's public-information officer declined requests to set up another interview with him. His lawyer, Stephanie Sato, has said she cannot comment on the case.
Ino sustained severe injuries to her head and face and spent 11 days in critical condition before returning to Japan. She has declined all requests to be interviewed—it also turns out she is married.
After the park reopened in January 2013, some Outlaws began to trickle back. They returned to find that their camps, gardens, traps, and kayaks had been destroyed, along with the illusion that they were out of civilization's reach. Post-Klein, life in the valley is a different proposition. Ranger raids are frequent, and wardens now stand watch at the start of the trail, checking camping permits. Tension between islanders and the Outlaws is at an all-time high, because locals believe the Outlaws helped shelter Klein while he was on the run. "Justin fucked it for everybody," says Pecjak.
Tara returned to Kalalau last October and lamented the changes. "Is this place truly different, or is it just the same as anywhere else?" she says. But Larry, who returned a month after the park reopened, sees Kalalau as a home, no more or less. And in the wake of the tragic fall that shook the valley, he can scarcely conceal his contempt for those who worship this idyll—who see it as a panacea or a paradise. "Where is that place?" he asks as he sits on a bluff overlooking the impossibly blue-hued Pacific. "The peace is within. It's not somewhere else."