Murder of the Hula Dancers

by R. Barri Flowers

  Guess I'll just have to man up and get it over with, he thought assuredly.

  "Looking for me?" Chung asked smugly.

  Padalecki, tall and solidly built with short brown hair, responded cynically: "How did you guess?"

  Chung stood up, sneering. "I hope this isn't going take long."

  "Guess that depends on you, Detective."

  Chung was not about to let him get under his skin by playing into the intimidation tactics of Internal Affairs. They had nothing that could disprove Yoshioka was shot and killed fair and square.

  Moments later, Chung was seated in Padalecki's office, where he was asked sharply: "What were the circumstances that led to you shooting and killing Motoshi Yoshioka?"

  Taking a short breath, Chung responded coolly: "He was coming at my partner with a knife. I did the only thing I could to stop him from taking a stab at her, no pun intended."

  Padalecki peered at him stone-faced. "And your partner is Detective Sergeant Leila Kahana?"

  "Yeah," Chung said with annoyance, knowing full well the investigator already knew the answer.

  "Did she have her own firearm out?"

  "No. She was in the process of that, but Yoshioka closed in on her way too fast."

  "Did you ask him to stop and lay down his weapon?"

  Chung rolled his eyes. "There was no time for that," he said honestly. "The man was intent on killing someone he believed to be a hula dancer, like his other victims. I wasn't going to let that happen."

  Padalecki paused thoughtfully. "And how did you happen to be at that location?"

  Chung considered his words carefully. "It was part of a strategy we devised for luring the killer out in the open and he fell for it."

  "Lieutenant Seymour seems to back up your account of this being part of a broader operation," Padalecki said. "The rest appears to square up with the evidence. Let's see what Detective Kahana has to say about it."

  Chung had no doubt that they were on the same wavelength, given that it went down pretty much according to her plan, aside from hoping to take Yoshioka in alive. But plans had a way of changing when the suspect had his own ideas for how things should go down.

  "Am I free to go?" Chung asked.

  "Yes, for now," Padalecki said curtly. "If we need anything more during the course of our investigation, we know how to reach you."

  I'll bet you do, mused Chung, standing. As far as he was concerned, he had dodged a bullet or two. Too bad the same couldn't be said for Motoshi Yoshioka.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Seymour caught Chung after he left Bradford Padalecki's office, seemingly confident that he had aced the interview.

  Without confirming this, Seymour asked: "Got a minute—?"

  "More than that," Chung said wryly, "since I'm on administrative leave."

  "Why don't we step into my office," Seymour said firmly, and led the way. "Have a seat," he ordered the detective, watching him do so, before sitting down at his desk. This was where Seymour wished he hadn't been privy to damaging information about Chung. But, at the same time, not knowing he had a crooked cop in his unit would have been even worse.

  "If you want to know how I held up under Padalecki's grilling—" Chung began.

  "That's not what this is about," Seymour told him.

  Chung cocked a brow. "So what's up?"

  Seymour paused and looked him right in the eye. "I know you've been doing business with a drug dealer named Shichiro Gutierrez."

  Chung colored. "I don't know where you got your information, but—"

  "It came straight from the horse's mouth," Seymour said candidly, not wanting to implicate Leila in any way. "Gutierrez was picked up two days ago by the DEA and has been singing like a canary ever since. He named you as a crooked cop."

  "And you believe him?" Chung looked outraged. "He's an asshole who would say anything to cut a deal..."

  "The DEA happens to believe him," Seymour said. "Gutierrez claims he's been cutting you in on a slice of the proverbial drug pie since you were with vice."

  "He's lying," insisted Chung, visibly nervous.

  "Cut the crap!" Seymour bellowed. "I'm sure you used a burner phone for most of your illegal activities and otherwise pretended to keep your hands clean, but there's a witness—another drug dealer—who will testify to seeing you with Gutierrez more than once." Seymour lied about the nature of the witness, again to keep Leila from being branded as a snitch. "In other words, you're in big trouble..."

  Chung swallowed thickly. "Okay, so I've taken a little drug money on the side," he admitted. "But no one got hurt."

  "Do you really believe that?" Seymour asked, glaring at him. "You've hurt those who believed in you, like me and your partner. Not to mention the public's trust."

  "I'm a good cop," Chung tried to say convincingly. "I stuck my neck out for Leila in helping to put the brakes on the Hula Killer. You have to keep the DEA off my back."

  Seymour couldn't deny that he had stopped Yoshioka from possibly stabbing Leila to death. And he had served the unit well as a homicide detective. For those reasons, Seymour was willing to bend the rules a little.

  "The case they have against you is mostly circumstantial, with Gutierrez and the other drug dealer unreliable witnesses," he suggested. "I'm sure I can get the DEA to drop their investigation. Unfortunately, I can't have a dirty cop on my team."

  Chung narrowed his eyes. "So what are you saying?"

  Holding his gaze, Seymour responded bluntly: "I'm saying that you're out of the Homicide Unit. But I'll give you one chance to get your act together. Once you're off administrative leave, you have a choice of either transferring to the Property Crimes and Robbery Division or taking a position with the Honolulu Police Department as a homicide detective, as they recently had an opening."

  Chung was thoughtful, but offered no response.

  Seymour finished with: "If you screw up this time, you're not only out of law enforcement, but I'll personally contact the DEA and ask them to reopen their investigation into your dirty dealings, which will likely result in you spending a number of years behind bars. Now get the hell out of my office—"

  Chung stood up and walked out without saying a word.

  Seymour sighed. He had no doubt he'd done the right thing, even if it felt wrong on many levels. The rest would be up to Chung.

  Seymour's thoughts turned to Leila and what he would and should say to her about this, what happened last night, and where things went from there.

  * * *

  Having been placed on administrative leave, Leila sat before Bradford Padalecki, knowing that Internal Affairs was thorough, if not always fair in their investigations. She also knew that she was in the hot seat vacated by Chung. How had he done? What would happen to him as a dirty cop over and beyond the killing of Motoshi Yoshioka? Would they decide that excessive force was used to subdue the serial killer who was intent on making her another victim?

  "Thanks for coming, Detective Kahana," Padalecki said tonelessly.

  Like I had a choice, Leila thought. "I know the drill," she told him. "I'm always happy to cooperate with IA."

  "I wish your partner had felt the same way. I got the impression he was stonewalling, to one degree or another."

  "I doubt that," she said, defending Chung. "There wasn't anything to stonewall on. What happened was pretty cut and dry."

  "If you say so," Padalecki muttered as he glanced at his notes. "I just have a few questions for you, Detective."

  Leila braced herself, not wanting to get Chung in any more trouble than he was already in.

  "What's your account of how Detective Chung came to shoot and kill Motoshi Yoshioka?"

  "The suspect was charging toward me wielding a long knife," Leila said. "And Detective Chung fired at him when he showed no sign of slowing down."

  Padalecki was expressionless. "As I understand it, you did not have your own firearm out at the time. Is that correct?"

  "Not by choice," she told him. "As part of
my cover, I had the gun in my handbag rather than my holster, so I wouldn't tip my hand while drawing the suspect in. Unfortunately, before I could grab the weapon, Yoshioka was virtually in my face. Had Chung not acted quickly and decisively, well, I doubt I'd be in any condition to talk to you right now."

  "Perhaps you wouldn't be," Padalecki allowed. "At any time, did you identify yourself as a police detective?"

  "Yes, I clearly articulated that to the suspect well before he reached me with intent to do bodily harm," Leila said firmly.

  Padalecki leaned back in the chair. "Do you think making yourself a target for a serial killer was a smart move?"

  Leila kept her tone even when she replied: "Sometimes you need to be creative when you're trying to flush out a killer. In this case, it made sense for me to go undercover as a hula dancer in order to capture Yoshioka's attention and draw him away from any real hula girls who may have come into his crosshairs. At the end of the day, it worked out for everyone but Motoshi Yoshioka."

  "Yeah, what a loss," Padalecki said sarcastically. "I've been told that you did a damn good job as a hula dancer, leading some to believe you might have a means to earn some extra money when you're not on the clock."

  Leila took that as a compliment and decided not to push the envelope by saying something cynical. "You never know," she told him, even if she did know that hula dancing and playing for the audience was not for her.

  Padalecki grinned. "Well, I think that covers it. Mahalo."

  Leila smiled, stood, and left the office before he could think of something else.

  Now it was time for her to face the real music as she headed for Seymour's office.

  * * *

  Seymour was sitting at his desk when Leila walked in. "Hey," she said as if this was just another meeting, rather than one that came the day after they slept together. Awkwardly, she closed the door behind her.

  He looked up. "Hey. So how did things go with Padalecki?"

  "I think he's satisfied that the shooting was justifiable."

  Seymour nodded. "Good. The last thing we need is IA all over us, busting our chops and trying to find fault for stopping a vicious killer."

  "That's true." Leila knew that Seymour was overlooking the liberties she had taken to lure Yoshioka into a trap without letting him know her plan in advance. "There's more good news, if you could call it that," she said. "The crime lab found blood on the knife Yoshioka tried to attack me with. It was a match with his last victim, Saba Fujikawa."

  "I guess that puts an exclamation mark on linking Motoshi Yoshioka to the string of hula dancer murders."

  "Looks that way." Leila only wished this meant the horrific crimes would go away forever. Instead, she knew that the memories would haunt her and the victims' loved ones for a very long time.

  Seymour suddenly stood up, as the subject they both wanted to avoid took center stage after a moment of silence. After moving closer, he said in a conspiratorial tone: "About last night—"

  Flushing, she stopped him by saying: "It was obviously something that shouldn't have happened."

  "Yeah, you're right." He ran a hand across his mouth. "I'm sorry if I—"

  Again, Leila cut him off. "It's no one's fault." At least she saw no point in affixing blame. They both allowed things to get out of hand and would have to let it go, if possible. "We played on our emotions and acted irresponsibly. Let's just forget it."

  She seriously doubted that could happen, but truly believed they would see it for what it was—reacting to a moment of weakness—and nothing more.

  "Can we?" Seymour asked, meeting her eyes. "I don't want this to make working together too uncomfortable for either of us..."

  "Neither do I," Leila assured him. "We both know it was wrong and are committed to our jobs and partners. So why don't we just leave it at that," she reiterated.

  He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Okay, consider it left alone."

  Leila locked eyes with him and then turned away as clarity seemed to settle in on her and what she wanted in life. And who. "I have something I need to do," she said and left his office without looking back.

  She hoped that he wouldn't look back either, metaphorically speaking. He had a wife and child that he belonged with. Leila wanted no further part in coming between them or having her own relationship thrown off track from a one-night stand that brought back memories that were better left sealed for good.

  * * *

  At Island House, Leila spotted Maxwell talking to his chef just outside the kitchen. He was the person she wanted—needed—to see.

  She started to walk his way and he turned, saw her, and met her halfway. "Leila," he said with clear surprise. After all, they had not seen each other since her brush with death and closing the case on Motoshi Yoshioka. She had texted him yesterday and this morning, bringing him up to date, but asked him not to come over, as she would be busy getting some things in order. As usual, he didn't push her, making her want him even more. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "Yes!" Leila said exuberantly, grinning.

  He lifted a brow. "Does this mean what I think it does?"

  Leila lifted her hand, flashing the engagement ring he gave her. She confirmed it in Hawaiian "'Ae," and then said, "I will marry you, Maxwell—if the offer still stands?"

  He beamed. "Of course it does. I love you, Leila."

  "Aloha au ia 'oe, too," she promised, feeling it with all her heart and soul. Before he could utter another word, she laid a big kiss on his lips.

  He licked his lips, laughed, and said: "Mahalo, ku'uipo."

  Leila knew that meant sweetheart. He was hers as well. "Thank you for agreeing to be my husband and giving me so much to look forward to."

  Maxwell wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her again. After separating, he said loudly: "Attention everyone! Leila and I are getting married, and you're all invited—if it's all right with her."

  Leila giggled and said gleefully: "Yes, it's definitely all right with me. The more, the merrier," she promised and meant every word of it, while thinking of the wonderful life they would have together as man and wife.

  # # #

  Following is an excerpt from book four in this exciting series

  MURDER IN UPCOUNTRY: A Leila Kahana Mystery

  By R. Barri Flowers

  Prologue

  She pretended to be asleep while he stood above the creaky bed getting dressed. She suspected he was watching her for any sign that she was really awake. As such, she used all of her willpower—what he hadn't already sapped from her like water from leaves—to lay perfectly still, eyes closed but not so they seemed squeezed shut, and her breathing measured like a normal sleeper.

  Would he buy it? Or would he figure out that she was only putting on an act? If so, she knew he would tie her up again—costing her privileges as his "girlfriend" of the moment—probably rape her, and physically abuse her again. Even worse, he could kill her, as she strongly suspected he had killer other women who had been held prisoner before they disappeared like thieves in the night.

  Please don't open your eyes or make a sound, she told herself. You can do this! Otherwise she might regret it for the rest of whatever life she had left.

  Suddenly, she heard his feet begin to move across the hardwood floor. He stopped on a dime, as if to look back at her and catch her looking at him. She didn't fall for it, keeping her eyes closed as she lay in the fetal position.

  It seemed to work, as he left the room and headed toward the front door of the single story farmhouse. He opened it and she heard him step onto the lanai and close the door, locking it. She knew it couldn't be opened from the inside without a key, which only he had. The windows were all sealed shut, except for one, which he left purposely unsealed to see if any of the women he captured would be foolish enough to try to escape. The one brave soul who did take her chances had discovered too late that she had fallen into a trap—and paid for it with her life.

  She listened as he slammed shut the
door to his pickup truck, started the engine, and drove off. Though she believed he truly had driven away, he had conditioned her so with violence, intimidation, and mind games that she laid still with her eyes closed for another five full minutes, fearing he had really not left at all and was just waiting for her to make a move, for which she would pay dearly.

  After getting up her courage, she opened her eyes and was relieved to see he wasn't there. She glanced around the room, which was pretty nondescript with no furnishings other than the bed. It was clear that the room's sole purpose was for bedding women that he had imprisoned.

  She wasn't sure how many women had come before her, after, or how many were left besides her, for that matter. They were kept apart mostly, seemingly out of his fear that they might conspire to fight back or escape. Never mind that he had an attack dog, guarding the property like Fort Knox, giving anyone who even thought about trying to get away pause for thought.

  But the dog had gotten sick recently, forcing him to take it to the vet for an overnight stay. He had gone to pick it up, and it likely wouldn't be long before he returned and the sexual slavery began all over again.

  She forced herself out of bed, feeling sluggish and a bit disoriented from being drugged. It was his way of maintaining control over his captives. She had no idea how long she'd been there, having lost track after days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had met what she thought was a hot looking guy while at a club in Lahaina.

  When he asked her to come to his place in Kula, located in Upcountry Maui, or on the upper slopes of Haleakala, she agreed.

  How was she to know he'd turn out to be a real creep and her worst nightmare? Once he had her, it was too late to turn back the clock.

  Or maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe now was the time to try to reclaim the life he'd robbed her of.

  Naked, she stumbled out of the room like a zombie, intent on making her escape. She went through the house, checking each room for other captives. She saw no one, which made her wonder if they were all dead now, waiting to be replaced by a fresh crop of unsuspecting victims of a madman.