Murder of the Hula Dancers

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Yeah, especially for her," Chung said flatly. "We need to know what connection there was between her and Yoshie Akiyama, aside from the obvious."

  Leila added: "And we also need to know where Jackie last performed or was headed before she was murdered."

  Julia took a breath as they stood in her office. "On the first question, like most of our performers, Yoshie and Jackie were friendly toward one another and supportive. Other than that, I'm not sure if they hung out away from work. We don't keep track of our dancers' personal lives." She paused. "As for what gig, if any, Jackie had on the day she died, I wouldn't know. You see, she stopped working for us a few weeks ago when she decided to become an independent hula dancer."

  "Really?" Leila asked doubtfully.

  "It's not unusual," Julia insisted. "Many of our girls and guys come here to make contacts and sharpen their skills before venturing off on their own. We hate to lose anyone, but with new people coming in all the time to learn to hula, fire dance, or other things, we're never short on performers for all kinds of shows or lessons."

  Chung tilted his face and asked: "I don't suppose you can give us more information about Jackie Furomoto's independent services?"

  "As a matter of fact, I can—" Julia walked them toward her desk and sat down in front of her computer. "Just because we sometimes part ways, doesn't mean we don't keep track of our former hula girls as competition for what we do here. Jackie had her own website called Jackie Furomoto's Hula Services. Take a look..."'

  He and Leila gazed at the screen and saw the site that featured Jackie's attractive face and described her talents, fees for services, and contact info.

  "She even has a short video here to showcase her talents," Julia pointed out, and then clicked play.

  Chung watched with interest. She was pretty good at it. He wished they had met when she was still alive. Maybe they would have hit it off.

  Now he wondered if the website had attracted someone who had decidedly different plans in mind for the hula dancer, resulting in her being stabbed to death.

  At the very least, it was another angle for them to pursue. Her killer was out there somewhere and likely not satisfied with just two victims—not when there were plenty of others ripe for the killing.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, the autopsy on Jackie Furomoto was completed. Leila and Chung went to get the results from the coroner's physician, Doctor Patricia Lee.

  Leila sucked in a deep breath as she prepared herself for the post-mortem review of the latest hula dancer to die violently. It was something that even seasoned detectives dreaded, and the price that had to be paid in further damaging the remains of a homicide victim.

  "At the risk of sounding like a broken record," Patricia began, "similar to Ms. Akiyama, the official cause of death for Jackie Furomoto was blunt trauma suffered upon her neck, resulting in an enormous loss of blood. But the killer didn't stop there. With wounds seven inches or more deep, this person undoubtedly used a very long, very sharp knife on the victim—stabbing her repeatedly in the heart and stomach. There was also a deep wound in her upper thigh, which may have come by happenstance during the other stabbings."

  "Anything you can tell us about the perp from this vicious attack?" Chung asked.

  Patricia adjusted her glasses and looked at him. "Well, from the angle of the cuts, especially on the neck, I'd say the killer was probably right-handed. The outright brutality of the stabbings suggests someone who not only wanted to kill the victim, but make her suffer like it was entirely personal."

  "All murders are personal," Leila reflected morosely, "at least to someone. But I get your point." She paused, then asked curiously: "Did Ms. Furomoto experience any type of sexual abuse while she was still alive, or even afterward?"

  "She was not raped or otherwise sexually assaulted," Patricia confirmed. "Since it appears that we're dealing with the same killer of Yoshie Akiyama, I can only assume that the intent is not sexual in the true sense of the word, in spite of leaving the victims naked."

  "Maybe the asshole just wanted to make sure we got a good look at his grisly handiwork," Chung suggested.

  "Either that, or maybe it was sexual in a roundabout way, only without penetration or violation of the body in the normal mode of homicidal sexual deviants," Leila suggested thoughtfully.

  "I couldn't speak to that," Patricia said, adding wryly: "Not to tell you what I'm sure you already know, but maybe you need a profiler or criminal psychologist to figure out what's in the killer's head when it comes to psychoanalyzing his sexual, nonsexual, or other motives."

  "Gee, thanks for the free advice, Doc, but I don't think we need any psychology mumbo jumbo crap to figure out the deep-seated motives the killer might have," Chung muttered sardonically. "Simply put, we're looking at a killer who has decided he likes carving up good looking hula dancers and then dumps them somewhere they can be easily found, while giving him time to put some distance between him and them."

  "You'll get no argument from me there, Chung," Patricia said, removing her glasses. "The victims are being blindsided by the attacker, not even allowing them to have defensive wounds in trying to ward off the attack, as futile as that might have been."

  "We're obviously dealing with someone who isn't about to lay off their penchant for killing," Leila surmised darkly. "How we go about trying to figure out his next move before he makes it will go a long way in solving this case."

  She didn't feel very optimistic in this regard, considering the still unanswered mysteries of the case. Yet she was determined to work her ass off to stop an extremely aggressive predator any way she possibly could.

  * * *

  Leila went horseback riding that evening with Maxwell. Kosho, Japanese for pepper, was an American Quarter Horse that she fit comfortably atop; while Maxwell rode a Thoroughbred horse named Koa, which meant warrior in Hawaiian. They galloped across his property of rolling hills and trails and through ironwood forests, pineapple fields, and lush valleys, offering amazing views of Maui's landscape and its neighboring islands of Molokai and Lanai.

  Leila welcomed the outing, which helped take her mind off the latest pressures she was facing trying to track down a ruthless killer. Based on what they knew thus far, it seemed more likely than not that they were dealing with a single assailant who had a predilection for murdering hula dancers. Of course, that didn't mean the killer couldn't expand his range of targets, potentially putting many more women on Maui at risk.

  But, for the moment, she was happy to be in the company of a man who was more interested in preparing delicious Japanese seafood, salads, or omelets than the latest murder of the week.

  "It's so relaxing out here," she murmured dreamily.

  Maxwell smiled. "I know. Even the fresh scents in the air are inspiring."

  Leila inhaled and was in complete agreement. "Why do we ever have to leave?"

  "Who says we do? We can stay here for as long as you like and never look back."

  She smiled, thoughtful. "Yeah, if only that were possible..."

  "Hey, neither of us is defined by how we make our living," he said sincerely. "We can chart a new course for ourselves and say to hell with the rest of it."

  "You make it sound so simple."

  "That's because it is. Things only get difficult when we spend too much time overthinking. I'd rather focus on savoring each moment we get to spend together."

  His words tugged at Leila's heartstrings. "I like the way you think."

  Maxwell grinned. "That's makes two of us."

  She looked at him, taking in his handsome profile. "Did you mean it?"

  He eyed her. "What I just said?"

  "When you said you loved me."

  "Yes, I meant it," he said without preface. "What about you?"

  Leila took a moment before responding. "Yes."

  He beamed. "I'm glad."

  "Me too," she said with a smile.

  "So where do we go from here?" he asked.

  Lei
la wasn't quite sure what he was asking or what she was thinking, so she responded noncommittally: "How about back to your house?"

  "Perfect." He seemed more than willing to see how things played out, instead of trying to force something. This worked for her too, giving them both time to sort out their feelings and where they could lead them in the relationship.

  They showered and then made love, playing on their raw emotions and physical needs. Afterward, they sipped margaritas on the lanai as a slight breeze blew, causing the surrounding palm trees to sway gently. Leila decided to phone her mother for a video chat. It seemed like the right time to introduce her, from a distance, to the man who had stolen her heart.

  Maxwell had encouraged this, wanting to, as he put it, "test the waters," in cozying up to her mother.

  Leila watched as her mother's image appeared on the screen. Petite with short, dark hair, Rena Kahana was fifty-two, but could have passed for someone ten years younger. She often attributed that to good genes, healthy living, and the spirit of aloha as a Native Hawaiian. Leila had been told all her life that she looked like her mother and came to accept it, even if she believed her features more resembled those of her father.

  "Aloha," Maxwell said courteously into the cell phone.

  Rena grinned. "Aloha! You're so handsome. Leila never mentioned that to me."

  "Mahalo." He blushed. "I guess she preferred to focus on my better qualities."

  "That's true," Leila said. "And he has a lot of them."

  "I'd like to hear more," Rena said with interest.

  For a moment, Leila wondered if Maxwell might be slightly overwhelmed with her mother's style. But he seemed more than able to hold his own and, in the process, earn her respect.

  Leila felt that her relationship with Maxwell had turned a corner, as he and her mother got along better than she could have hoped. She understood that the real test would come when they met face to face and Maxwell had to further prove his worthiness to be an important part of her life. So far, so good.

  It was a thought Leila carried with her for the rest of the night and into the next day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Renee knew she had a story on her hands when a second hula dancer was murdered on Maui. So far, the police had stonewalled her. When she tried to get useful information, they acted like reporting on the crimes was off limits, unless it was something they chose to divulge to the public. But she wanted to tackle this story in the way she thought was best, by giving her audience what they had come to expect—transparency. This simply meant she had to work around the police to get her ducks in order. And even embellishing a bit, where necessary, the juicy parts of the killer's fixation on hula girls.

  She sucked in a breath and knocked on the door of Claude Spangler, the retired pharmacist for whom Jackie Furomoto had given her last performance. He lived in Wailea on Malukai Lane in a gated beachfront estate with incredible views of the ocean as well as Haleakala.

  The door opened and Renee smiled at the nearly seventy-year-old, frail, balding man. "Mr. Spangler?" she presumed.

  "Yes, that's me." His gray eyes crinkled as he peered at her. "How can I help you?"

  "My name's Renee Bradley. I'm with the Aloha News. I'm doing a story about Jackie Furomoto, the hula girl who was killed. I understand that she put on quite a show at your retirement party—"

  "Yes, she did." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Come in..."

  Renee stepped into the lap of luxury in a Great Room with travertine tiles and white contemporary furnishings. She had done some research on him and learned that he had recently lost his wife to breast cancer and had a son who lived in Scotland.

  "Would you like a glass of pineapple iced tea?" Claude asked.

  "Sure, that would be great," she told him.

  "Then I'll have one too. Sit wherever you like."

  Renee took him up on that and chose the comfy sectional. He had obviously done well for himself. Though this home was way out of her league, there was nothing wrong with dreaming. Was there?

  He came back with the drinks in tall glasses, handing her one. "It was terribly distressing to hear what happened to Ms. Furomoto."

  "Yes, it hit the entire hula community hard," Renee said. "I was wondering if you could tell me about her performance which, unfortunately, turned out to be her final one—"

  He sat beside her, running a hand across his jawline. "Some of my former colleagues arranged for Jackie to come to the community center to do some hula dancing. She arrived on time and did a great job, making it a worthwhile experience for everyone."

  Renee tasted the tea. Now came the less-than-pleasant part of her questions. "Do you think she had a hunch that someone might harm her?"

  His brow creased. "I doubt it. She seemed in her element and ready to take on the world. I think it probably came as a complete and tragic surprise."

  Renee was inclined to agree. Still, she wanted more info to fit the narrative of her story on the murder of a hula dancer. "Do you think the killer could have been at the community center watching her every move?"

  Claude's thick brows knitted. "If you're asking whether or not someone at my retirement party could have been involved in that young lady's death, the answer is absolutely not. And I already told the police that. None of us would have ever wanted to harm a person who brought smiles to our faces and gave us a few in return."

  Not wanting to rain on the parade of such positive memories, she couldn't help but say cryptically: "Whoever killed Jackie Furomoto definitely wasn't smiling and made sure her agonizing death was anything but a walk in the park."

  After finishing up the iced tea, Renee left the retiree's nice home and drove to the Kihei Police Station, where she caught up to Officer Jules Pahia as he was heading out the door.

  "Officer Pahia," she uttered nicely, gazing at the man who was in his late fifties with a full head of dark hair. After identifying herself, she said: "Can I ask you a few questions about the Volkswagen Beetle you found on Waipuilani Road that belonged to murder victim Jackie Furomoto—?"

  "Sure," he said. "But you'll have to make it quick, as I'm about to start my shift."

  "Was there any indication that the car had been forced off the road?"

  "None that I could see based on tread marks. Doesn't mean it didn't happen, though. You need to talk to forensics or the detectives assigned to the case about that."

  She wasn't about to let him off that easily. "Have the blood drops you reported seeing been tested to see if they were human or animal?"

  "It was human blood," Pahia acknowledged and frowned. "They belonged to the victim."

  "So it's safe to assume that Ms. Furomoto was accosted at that location, and probably killed there as well, before being driven to Kama'ole Beach Park by the killer?"

  "That does seem likely," he said. "But, again, you can get more reliable information from other sources, including the coroner."

  If only such info was that easy to come by, Renee mused, knowing that journalists were not very high up on the charts when it came to releasing pertinent findings in a timely manner by those who were most in a position to do so.

  "One more thing..." she tossed at the officer, "given the odd location of the victim's vehicle, do you think she was lured there by the killer—or maybe even knew the person?"

  Pahia paused for a moment. "Yeah, I think it's a good possibility that she wasn't there by accident. Whether the victim knew her killer or not, I couldn't say. That'll be up to the detectives to figure out."

  Renee wasn't surprised he took that position on his last point. She understood this, but with tight deadlines and an anxious boss, she didn't have the luxury of waiting for the detectives to let the press in. As such, she would just have to draw some of her own conclusions.

  She left the officer to go about his duties.

  When she had nearly reached her car, Renee glanced at her watch. Oh hell, she cursed to herself, remembering that she had a lunch date with her boyfriend.

/>   She quickly texted him to say she was on her way.

  * * *

  Renee walked into the Island House restaurant and spotted him waiting impatiently at a table. Dylan Westerfield was a deputy prosecuting attorney for the County of Maui, which had jurisdiction over the Hawaiian Islands of Maui, Molokai, and Lanai. They had been dating for two months now. For her part, Renee liked the fact that he was gainfully employed in an important position, specializing in felony prosecutions. The fact that he was tall, dark-haired, devilishly handsome, and a great lover were big bonuses.

  "Hey," she said sweetly to him, practically out of breath after racing inside from the crowded parking lot.

  "Hey," he said back in a smooth, deep voice. He stood, wearing business casual clothing, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She got a whiff of his cologne that turned her on.

  "Sorry I'm late. I got tied up in traffic." It was partly true, as there seemed to be more and more tourists clogging the roads these days, judging by the standard rental cars she could spot a mile away.

  "It's okay." He grinned handsomely. "I had a few calls to make anyway, so your timing is actually perfect."

  Renee grinned, happy he was otherwise engaged. "Great."

  She took a seat, as did he, and Dylan said: "I took the liberty of ordering us both norimaki."

  She glanced at the menu and saw that it was sushi rice and seafood wrapped in dried seaweed sheets. "Mmm, sounds tasty."

  "It is," he promised as someone who loved Japanese food. "While we wait for it, how about some white wine?"

  He lifted a chilled bottle and half-filled her glass. She took it and tasted, letting it settle on her tongue satisfyingly.

  Dylan chuckled. "You like?"

  Renee smiled. "Yes." After a moment or two, she asked innocuously: "So what do you know about the murder of Jackie Furomoto?"

  "Only that it's an active investigation and her killer is still at large." He regarded her. "Are you working on a story about it?"

  "More like I'm tying it to a previous story," she responded matter-of-factly. "With Jackie and Yoshie Akiyama—both hula dancers—being murdered in a short period of time and in a similar manner, I think we're looking at the same killer, who I'm calling the Hula Killer."