Murder of the Hula Dancers

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Or maybe he just reached a breaking point," Leila speculated, "and targeted the person he felt closest to. Whatever the case, he's passed the point of no return, meaning if Yoshioka's got other hula girls on his hit list, the man's likely going to go for broke."

  "And that's why every minute counts till we find him—no matter what his reasons are for going after hula dancers," Seymour said.

  "I couldn't agree more," Leila concurred.

  "So how are things going between you and Maxwell these days?" Seymour asked casually.

  Leila cocked a brow at the question that seemingly came out of the blue. Though he had met Maxwell at a police banquet, they hadn't spoken much about her involvement with him, as if the subject should be off limits. Or maybe it was better that he knew how close they were.

  "Things are going great," she said. "In fact, he asked me to marry him..."

  Seymour's head snapped around in her direction. "Wow! I didn't see that coming."

  "Probably because you weren't looking," she told him cynically.

  "Maybe you're right." He chuckled uncomfortably. "Congratulations on your engagement. I'm happy for you, Leila. You deserve to be with someone who cares deeply for you and is stepping up to the plate to prove it."

  "Thanks," Leila uttered, and thought: Why didn't I tell him that I haven't accepted Maxwell's proposal? Did she want him to be jealous or to have second thoughts that things had ended prematurely between them? Maybe she just wanted to keep her private life private, even with a man she once felt a real connection to. "Yes, he does care deeply for me, and vice versa."

  Seymour nodded. "You can't ask for any more than that as the basis for building a foundation together."

  She gazed at his profile, deciding to turn the tables. "How are things with you and Mele?"

  "We're hanging in there."

  "Just hanging...?"

  "We're good," he said. "It's not always everything one could want at all times, but when you have a young child depending on you for a stable home, nothing else really matters."

  Leila didn't necessarily agree, though admittedly it was coming from the vantage point of someone who never had kids. That notwithstanding, she believed that love, sex, loyalty, and reachable goals did matter—with or without children in the picture. So did that mean things were on the rocks with Seymour and his wife? Or was she misreading what he was saying, given that she had been there and done that once before?

  "I'm sure that when and if I have children, I'll feel the same way," she told him.

  "I think so," he said quietly, and pulled into the parking lot.

  * * *

  Seymour was still thinking about Leila's engagement and upcoming marriage as they entered the Mental Health Center. He hadn't realized things were so serious between her and her boyfriend. But then, it wasn't like she shared the details of her intimate life with him. He had given up that right a while ago and would have to live with it as a decision that was in both their best interests. At least he convinced himself that was the case.

  In any event, Seymour realized that what was done was done, and he couldn't have a redo. Even if he could, he doubted Leila would want any part of him again. After all, with Maxwell she had everything Seymour felt he wasn't in a partner, starting with not being torn between two women.

  So why did he still feel envious of Maxwell, as if he had let his own opportunity to have a life with Leila fall by the wayside?

  Seymour bit back the thought as they entered the office of Doctor Colleen Basilridge.

  "Thank you for seeing us," Seymour said, shaking the hand of the blonde-haired psychiatrist who looked to be in her fifties.

  "No problem, Lieutenant," she said, eyeing him behind glasses. She shook hands with Leila and said: "How can I help you?"

  "We understand that Motoshi Yoshioka was a patient of yours," Seymour stated.

  Basilridge nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

  Giving her the benefit of the doubt, Seymour said: "You may or may not be aware that Yoshioka is under investigation for multiple murders, including the murder of his mother, Isabella Yoshioka—"

  "Yes, I heard about that."

  "We're hoping you can shed some light on why Yoshioka is committing these murders," Leila said.

  Basilridge hesitated. "As much as I'd like to help, I have to abide by doctor-patient confidentiality—"

  "With all due respect, Doctor," Seymour muttered brusquely, "this man is a cold-blooded murderer and he's on the loose. We need to find him, and fast, before someone else dies. That includes you, as your name could also be on his list of people to take out..." He didn't truly believe that the doctor was in imminent danger, but Seymour wanted to at least implant the thought in her mind, if that's what it took to get her cooperation. "We could get a court order," he suggested, "but given what's at stake, we're hoping you'll do the right thing so we can use the information to try to figure out his next move—maybe even before he does."

  Basilridge drew in a breath, before complying. "Have a seat..." Seymour and Leila sat around a table and she joined them. After a moment or two, she said: "Twenty-five years ago, Isabella Yoshioka was a hula dancer on the island. At the time, she was married to Motoshi's father, Takuzo Yoshioka. Isabella had an affair with someone she met while performing and ran off to Australia with him, leaving her husband and eight-year-old son behind." The doctor paused, glancing at Seymour and Leila before continuing. "Despondent and humiliated over losing his wife and being left alone to take care of their son, Takuzo committed suicide right in front of Motoshi. The boy was sent to live in foster care and has been dealing with serious mental issues over his ordeal ever since—"

  Leila leaned forward. "Are you telling us that Yoshioka is murdering hula dancers to get back at his mother?"

  "Actually, Detective, in his warped way of thinking, I'd say that he's killing his mother over and over, in effect, through these other women. He views them as immoral through their costumes, style of dancing, appearance, or some other trigger."

  "So why didn't he just kill his mother from the start?" questioned Seymour. "Then he'd be done with his rage, revenge, or whatever. Why target innocent women?"

  "That's the point, Lieutenant," Basilridge said candidly, "these women weren't innocent, from his perspective, but rather were cut from the same cloth, per se, characteristic-wise, as his mother—and they had to die. When Isabella returned to Maui about a decade ago, she wasn't the same person who left, as far as appearance and youth. And, of course, she had given up hula dancing years before. Motoshi has struggled in processing this, while also dealing with the demons inside of him that wanted to punish his mother. Apparently, this came to a head when he could no longer hide behind anonymity—and he felt he had to finish the job by killing Isabella."

  Leila peered at her. "If you've known this, why didn't you come forward when it could have made a difference for some or all of the victims?"

  Basilridge removed her glasses. "I didn't put all of the pieces together until now," she insisted. "Treating Motoshi has been a work in progress, as it is with all of my patients. Speculating on capabilities versus dealing with actualities are two different things; as well as maintaining the confidentiality of patients and investigating crimes, which is your job."

  Seymour wouldn't blame the doctor for the patient's homicidal tendencies, any more than he wanted to blame the mother for the sins of her son. Infidelity may have been heartbreaking for a father and son, but it wasn't a criminal offense and didn't cause the majority of victims to become nut cases.

  "With his mother dead, will that be enough to stop Yoshioka from killing others?" Seymour asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

  Basilridge met his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't say, one way or the other," she responded tonelessly. "Motoshi may be satisfied now, or he might still believe it's his mission to go after hula girls, whom he deems as disposable in his mother's past image."

  "Is there anything else you can tell us that might help us in o
ur search for him?" asked Leila.

  Basilridge considered this. "Only that on some level Motoshi feels that he's both honoring his father and saving his mother from herself. I'm guessing he will probably hide out in plain view in a setting where hula dancers perform or hang out, where anything could trigger his homicidal impulses..."

  Seymour had heard enough. "We're done here," he told Leila, satisfied that they were leaving with more than they came in with to assist in their investigation. The rest would be up to them. He stood, along with Leila, and told the doctor: "If you think of anything else or hear from Yoshioka, please give us a call." He handed her his card to that effect.

  She glanced at it. "I will," she promised. "But I doubt Motoshi will contact me again. You see the last time we spoke, he decided—against my better judgment—that he no longer needed help. And my hands were tied from that point on."

  "Clearly, he was delusional," Seymour said.

  "My sentiments precisely, Lieutenant," Basilridge told him.

  Seymour nodded while thinking that Yoshioka may have been nuts, but he was also clever enough to dodge the authorities and prolong his penchant for serial murder. This made him perhaps scarier than ever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  That evening, Leila met Jan for dinner at an Italian restaurant called Delights on Front Street in Lahaina. When Jan had suggested they go to Island House, Leila coolly pointed them in another direction, knowing how awkward it would be to dine at Maxwell's place, given the current circumstances of their relationship.

  "So what was so urgent that you wanted to talk to me about?" Jan asked curiously, after Leila had beaten around the bush before they were served their meals.

  Leila twirled the fork in her shrimp scampi. Her mind meandered between her personal issues with Maxwell and her professional ones, with an unbalanced serial killer on the loose.

  "Maxwell asked me to marry him," she said somberly.

  Jan's eyes widened. "He did? When?"

  "Yesterday morning."

  Jan frowned. "And you're just telling me this now?"

  "Well, after what happened between you and Erik, I wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject of engagement," Leila admitted. At least that was partially true.

  "I'm not that fragile, Leila. You don't have to feel like you're walking on eggshells around me."

  Leila regarded her with a sincere look. "I don't feel that way." Still, knowing how hard Jan had taken it when Erik called off the engagement was enough in and of itself for Leila to be hesitant to discuss her own situation. She bit into a garlic breadstick thoughtfully.

  "So I assume congratulations are in order for this wonderful news," Jan said with a grin, as she forked her crab and herb fettuccine.

  Leila sighed. "I told him I needed more time to think about it."

  "What? Have you lost your mind?" Jan asked incredulously. "What's there to think about?"

  Leila shrugged and looked down at her food. "I don't know. I guess he just caught me at a bad time with so much going on."

  "It's a perfect time for you to lock up your relationship with a drop-dead gorgeous and well-to-do restaurateur," argued Jan. "The man is all that and more."

  "I know..." Leila tasted her food, while wondering if she had blown it with Maxwell.

  "Then why in the world are you hesitating to accept his proposal? Don't you love him?"

  "Yes, I do."

  Jan crossed her arms and frowned. "I sense there's a but in there somewhere..."

  "No buts," Leila said, trying to convince herself of that. "Between the demands of my job as a homicide cop and Maxwell's restaurant business, along with being used to having my own space and giving him his, I just want to be sure this is really what I want before moving ahead full throttle. Surely you can understand that?"

  Jan sucked in a deep breath as she sipped her drink. "I suppose," she said evenly. "I just wish I had taken more time to get to know Erik first, so I could see him for the jerk he truly was before I turned my heart over to him, only to have him break it into a thousand little pieces."

  "Sometimes you can never know what you need until it's too late," Leila said, hoping to comfort her, even while realizing that applied to her as well. Could there be a different, darker side to Maxwell that was just waiting to emerge after they were husband and wife? Was she secretly hoping he turned out to be a creep to make it easier for her to break things off?

  Had she truly ever gotten over Seymour? Had he fully returned to his wife, or was it more out of a sense of obligation for his daughter?

  Am I just going around in circles for no reason other than panic at the thought of being married? Leila mused.

  "Maybe you are smart to take a pause, until you're absolutely certain you're prepared to spend the rest of your life with Maxwell as his wife," Jan told her.

  I doubt Maxwell sees it that way, Leila thought. But she wouldn't be pressured into doing something she might live to regret. On the other hand, she could see herself spending the rest of her life with Maxwell.

  At least someday.

  It remained to be seen if that time was or should be now.

  * * *

  Seymour glanced up at a large palm tree before entering the Coconut Tavern on Limahana Place in Lahaina. "Blue Hawaii" was playing lowly in the background amid chatter from patrons. Spotting private eye Eddie Naku at the bar, Seymour walked over to him, curious as to what he had come up with in his search for the birth mother of his daughter, Akela.

  "Hey," Seymour said.

  Naku turned around and smiled. "Hey," he responded. "Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Sure, why not?" Seymour said, sitting beside him.

  "What are you going to have?" Naku asked.

  "Gin and tonic," he told the bartender.

  "I'll have another beer," Naku said.

  "Coming right up," the pretty bartender uttered.

  After the drinks came, Seymour asked: "So what did you find out?" He figured he might as well get right to the point in hoping to alleviate Mele's fears that Akela's birth mom would somehow magically appear at their front door and demand access to her daughter.

  "As you know, because it was a closed adoption, it wasn't easy to get information on the birth mother," Naku pointed out. "But I was able to pull a few strings and call in a favor or two to get some results. The birth mother's name is Gina Ruth Mahelona. She's a twenty-nine-year-old Native Hawaiian." He lifted an envelope from the bar. "I took the liberty of doing a criminal background check on her. She's been arrested a couple of times on Maui for prostitution-related charges. Other than that, she's kept a low profile."

  Seymour opened the envelope and glanced at the information thoughtfully. The idea that Akela's mother was a hooker was disturbing. At the same time, he wasn't foolish enough to believe it was an inherited way of life. Who knew what circumstances had propelled Gina into the sex trade. In any event, Akela was certainly surrounded by love and being raised by parents who would do all they could to steer her in the right direction in life.

  Nothing else stood out to Seymour initially, making him feel that Gina Mahelona was no threat to them or Akela, insofar as infringing on their lives. It was only when he looked at the mugshot that Seymour recognized the face, causing his mouth to open with disbelief.

  "What is it?" Naku asked.

  "I know her," Seymour muttered with asperity.

  Naku sipped his beer. "Really? How?"

  Seymour sucked in a deep breath. "She's currently living with a member of my homicide team..."

  Naku lifted a brow. "Anyone I know?"

  Seymour tasted his drink and, after a moment or two, answered: "Yeah, Detective Trent Ferguson—"

  * * *

  Leila had barely been home from her dinner with Jan, when her doorbell rang. She padded across the hardwood floor, wondering if Chung had decided to pay her an off duty visit for some reason. She hoped not. She wasn't interested in pacifying his guilt or coming clean that she had ratted him out as a crooked co
p.

  When she opened the door, Leila saw Maxwell standing there. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other since she left his house the morning before, still sitting on a marriage proposal. He was dressed casually and holding a bottle of wine.

  "I bring a peace offering of Macadamia Nut Honey Wine," he said equably. "It's quite tasty."

  "I'm sure it is," she said, while adding ruefully, "but I didn't know we were at war."

  He smiled. "We're not. I care for you too much to go down that road. Still, I want a redo to get us back on the right track."

  Leila wasn't sure if he wanted to ask her to marry him again or take back the engagement. Both left her off balance. But she owed it to him and their relationship to keep an open mind.

  She flashed a smile. "Please come in."

  He did so, and handed her the wine. "I can open it, if you want."

  Though she didn't feel that was necessary, and had probably already had too much wine this night, Leila said: "Good idea."

  They went into the kitchen, where she got two wineglasses out of the cabinet and watched as he opened the wine and half-filled the glasses, handing her one.

  Gazing at Leila, Maxwell said: "I'd like to apologize for jumping the gun in throwing an engagement in your face like that."

  "You didn't do anything wrong," she made clear.

  "I should have realized that asking you to marry me while you're hot on the trail of a serial killer probably wasn't a smart idea."

  "It wasn't a dumb idea," Leila said, trying to make him feel better as she tasted the wine. "I was just caught off guard. And with everything going on—"

  "I understand," he said sincerely. "I don't know what I was thinking. Putting you on the spot like that under the circumstances was a mistake. I still want to marry you, but I don't want you to feel any pressure to give me an answer until you feel you're in the right place at work and in your life in general."

  Leila was relieved that he was giving her an excuse to put a pause on their engagement, even if it was something that she was honored to have been offered. She just wasn't sure that honor was enough. Or even love, for that matter. And as long as she could question it, there was no reason to rush into anything.