Murder of the Hula Dancers

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Who found the body?" he asked.

  "A man who lives nearby," Lisa said, glancing at her notes. "Name's Nelson Espiritu. Apparently he was coming home from work when he saw what he initially thought was a wounded animal. Not quite."

  Sugimoto was well aware that some killers liked to pretend to have discovered their victims as a perverse thrill of hiding in plain sight. The proximity to the nearby popular Wailuku River State Park suggested that the killer could have come from anywhere on the island when they dumped the body. But since most of the bodies had been found in East Hawaii, which included Hilo, it was likely the killer lived in the vicinity.

  Perhaps it was even the person who allegedly discovered the victim.

  "Let's bring him in and go over his story again," Sugimoto said.

  "Good idea," she agreed.

  He cleared his throat. "In fact, we need to search the entire neighborhood to see if anyone else might have seen the body being dumped or the vehicle the killer was driving."

  Lisa frowned. "I doubt that was the case—not at this time of the morning."

  "And I'm sure the killer was counting on that," he said. "But it only takes one person to make a difference."

  "Too bad it couldn't come soon enough for her." She shifted her blue eyes to the body.

  "Yeah." Sugimoto regarded the photographer. "Be sure to take some pics of the sidewalk and street. We might be able to get tire or footprints that can lead us somewhere."

  "No problem," Pahukoa said. "I always take way more than we need, just in case."

  Sugimoto looked at the decedent. He wanted to cover her up, give her some shred of dignity after the killer had taken it away. But to do so might contaminate evidence that could be used to nail the bastard. That was even more important in the scheme of things.

  He looked up and saw the medical examiner's van approaching. At least now the victim could be taken off the street and, after making a formal identification and determining the cause of death, turned over to the family for a proper burial.

  Sugimoto greeted the M.E., Joseph Osaki, wryly. "Glad you could make it."

  "Sorry, I had another call." Osaki, gray-haired and stocky, touched his glasses and acknowledged the others who were present. "So what do we have here?"

  "Caucasian female, mid-twenties...murder victim who appears to have been sexually assaulted," Sugimoto said grimly.

  Osaki shook his head and twisted his lips. "It's beginning to sound like a broken record."

  "No kidding," Lisa said.

  Osaki did an on-the-spot examination of the body. "Looks like she was worked over pretty good," he said glumly.

  "That's how this asshole gets his kicks." Sugimoto wished the victim could rise up and take them straight to her killer.

  The M.E. studied the body. "Has she been moved?"

  "Not since I got here."

  "That's exactly how she was found," Lisa confirmed.

  "Good. We should be able to preserve everything you need to build your case without the evidence being compromised."

  "Are there any clues you can give us about the killer?" Sugimoto asked.

  Osaki sighed. "Not much that you don't already know. He's cold, calculating, and precise. The latter is especially true. The pain and indignities performed on the victims clearly indicate just how sick this person is, yet he's sane enough to go about it all methodically like a demented machine."

  "Yeah, tell me about it." Sugimoto winced at the thought. No matter how much he tried to detach himself from his work, every case was personal.

  Every time a battered, raped, and demeaned corpse showed up, it reminded him that he hadn't done his job in apprehending the killer and sparing other women from suffering the same fate. It made Sugimoto that much more determined to stop the perp in his tracks before another woman's body surfaced too late to save her from a horrific death.

  * * *

  He picked that street at random to dump the body. So maybe it wasn't totally random. After all, he knew the area well, having lived there at one point. It was a perfect spot to get rid of what he no longer had any use for. Just as he'd discarded the other bitches in low lit but easily accessible spots on the island to make sure they would be found, while still keeping the police off balance and clueless.

  The last one had been particularly entertaining right to the very end. Feisty as well as beautiful, he tricked her into falling into his trap. Once she realized she'd been conned and was now his sex slave, the bitch did everything in her power to break free of the restraints and tried to stop him from raping her. At one point, she even spat in his face. All he did was lick off the salty sputum as he continued to rape her. Then he sodomized her, partly as punishment for giving him a hard time.

  But the most pleasure he derived was biting and sucking her toes, causing some of them to bleed. It was an acquired taste, courtesy of his mother. She'd made him kiss her feet all the time when he was growing up. If he refused, she had several ways of punishing him. He learned quickly that it was better to do what she wanted.

  At least until the day he'd had enough and strangled her with his bare hands.

  A crooked smile formed on his lips. The best part about getting rid of the mother from hell was that he didn't have to take credit for it and either end up on the run forever or in prison for the rest of his life. The police pinned her death on a local drunk who'd been trying to get in her pants and actually broke into the house just as he was trying to decide how to dispose of the body. It was easy to knock the bastard out and make sure the police found him on the bed next to his mother's corpse.

  The look in her eyes at the moment before death was priceless. If he'd thought about it, he would have taken a picture so he could take pride in his handiwork forever and a day.

  Fortunately, he was given another opportunity to make things right.

  And a second.

  Third.

  Fourth.

  With plenty more to come...

  He drove two blocks past the garbage truck and pulled into an apartment complex, stopping near the dumpster. It was overflowing with trash. He looked around and saw no one out this early.

  Perfect.

  Quickly, he removed the double black plastic bag containing all the personal items of the bitch. He lifted up a couple of big bags in the dumpster and inserted his own, then put the others on top.

  Then he drove home. He had to do a bit more tidying up so there was no evidence of his recent guest.

  Even so, since no one knew about his soundless, secret death room, there was little chance of tipping his hand. But one could never be too cautious in this age of DNA, CSI, FBI, and other means they had to track down cunning killers like him.

  Fortunately, careful was his middle name and killing was his game.

  He laughed, amused with his impromptu but apropos rhyme, while already looking ahead to the next time...

  Chapter Two

  FBI Special Agent and profiler Heather Augustine measured her breathing as she increased her speed on the FBI Academy track in Quantico, Virginia. She loved pushing herself the extra mile, using every fiber in her body to make it happen. She wasn't sure where this determination came from.

  Perhaps it was from her parents who were hard working civil servants and never knew the word quit for as long as they were on this earth.

  Or maybe she wanted to somehow compensate for the unexpected loss of her older brother Simon, who was an FBI agent five years ago. During an especially grueling serial killer investigation in Honolulu, Hawaii, he had a nervous breakdown. He was found wandering around a neighborhood naked, brought in for observation, and then released prematurely.

  A month later, Simon took his own life.

  To this day, Heather wondered if there was something she could have done to prevent the tragedy. Why hadn't she seen the signs? Depression. Irritability. Indecisiveness. Stress. Strain. And more.

  She had been aware of many of these symptoms, but thought they were just part of the job. Or
so he always told her. It was supposed to be no big deal.

  Maybe part of her had become an FBI agent to prove Simon's rapid decline wasn't hereditary. Or at least put any such notion to rest for her superiors.

  Overall, Heather was in it for herself. Joining the FBI seemed like a natural progression after receiving her graduate degree in criminal psychology from Michigan State University's renowned School of Criminal Justice, as was her promotion to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime's Behavioral Analysis Unit. She loved the challenges it afforded her, including travel and using her expertise and keen insight to help solve cases and put bad guys and gals away.

  Heather reached her maximum heart rate and then began to slow down. She noticed her supervisor Gavin Naylor waiting at the end of the track. He was wearing one of his trademark tailored navy suits that enhanced his tall, solid frame. They'd been dating until two months ago when she finally realized he had no intention of ever leaving his wife as he'd promised to do seemingly a thousand times or more.

  Heather wondered why it had taken her so long to figure out what everyone else seemed to know. Gavin liked her in bed, for deep conversation, and even on the job, but not enough to give up the ties and conveniences of being married to a Congressman's pampered and manipulative daughter.

  "Looks like you're getting ready for the Olympics," he said, a grin playing on his lips.

  She sucked in a deep breath. "Not quite. Just trying to do my best with what I've got."

  He gave her the once over. She was five-foot-six and her taut body looked nice in a purple tank top, multicolored cropped leggings, and running sneakers. Her long red hair was tied in a ponytail and complemented aquamarine eyes.

  "I think you're doing very well, by and large," Gavin told her.

  Heather ignored the sexy way he looked at her. "I'll take that as a compliment, as long as it's strictly professional." She doubted that was the case, but wanted to put it out there, lest he have any notions of them getting back together anytime soon.

  He lifted up his arms as if to block her attack. "Don't worry I won't try to overstep the boundaries you've set."

  She didn't smile. "Thanks."

  He handed her a towel. "I've got a new assignment for you."

  Heather should have known that he was there for more than just a trip down memory lane, even though it was something she preferred to forget. She wiped the perspiration from her face and asked, "What kind of assignment?"

  "They've got a situation on the Big Island of Hawaii that requires your assistance. A serial killer with a foot fetish has abducted, raped, and murdered at least four women. He gets his kicks out of sucking and biting their feet and toes before—and maybe after—killing them."

  Heather made a face. "Sounds like a real piece of work!"

  "Yeah, and then some," Gavin muttered. "They've requested our assistance. I'm sending you there for a threat analysis, to profile the unsub, and to work with them to enhance their investigative strategies in bringing this case to a head. You'll be working out of the FBI Kona Resident Agency satellite office, but closely with the Hawaii Police Department. I left a dossier of the case on your desk."

  Heather was just one week removed from her last case in which they tracked down a serial child sexual predator. But not before he had victimized four little boys in Colorado. The case had been mentally and physically draining. Heather doubted those boys would ever be able to have a normal childhood. She also worried that their victimization could impact their lives as adults. The correlation between being a victim of child abuse and becoming a child sex abuser was well documented.

  Heather had been to Hawaii twice, but never to the Big Island. The first time was to visit her brother. Things were good for him then and they spent a lot of time on the beach, in the water, and talking about their childhood years when everything seemed possible.

  The second time was last year, when she accompanied her close friend and fellow Special Agent Diane Ferguson to Maui for some fun in the sun and letting their hair down from the stresses of work life.

  This time figured to be mostly a professional journey with little personal time. That suited her just fine, as focusing on her work these days was more preferable than relationships that were going nowhere.

  "So when do I leave?" she asked Gavin, looking up at his broad features and blue eyes.

  He glanced at his Apple Watch. "Your plane takes off in three hours."

  She frowned. "That doesn't give me much time..."

  "Every minute counts when you're trying to stop a serial killer from taking another life."

  "You're right." Heather met his gaze. "I'll be ready."

  He paused thoughtfully. "Maybe when you get back—"

  "Don't." She checked him, unwilling to go back down a path neither of them truly wanted for the same reasons. "Let's just leave things the way they are between us."

  He nodded. "I'll let you pack."

  Heather tossed the towel over her shoulder. "See you later."

  "I'm counting on it."

  She headed toward the locker room, trying not to misinterpret his words. Or had she interpreted them correctly? Was he counting on something that was never going to happen again?

  For now, her focus had to be on doing her part to bring a serial killer to justice.

  * * *

  In her studio condominium on Potomac Avenue, Heather packed her bags. She wondered how long she would be away this time. If they were lucky, they would arrest the unsub in no time flat and she would be on her way home.

  But things rarely lined up ideally where it concerned serial killers, which was why they had reached that distinction in the first place. All killers begin with one kill. If not apprehended, they often graduate to two kills, three, and beyond, becoming serial murderers.

  I'll remain optimistic that we can take this bastard down in short order, she thought.

  On the plane, Heather studied the dossier, hoping to get as much insight into the killer's psyche as she could.

  Kidnapping.

  Sexual assault.

  Physical assault.

  Torture.

  Fetish.

  Murder.

  He was certainly cold and calculating. And it was definitely expressive violence—motivated primarily by the violent acts themselves—as opposed to instrumental violence.

  All the victims were attractive and between the ages of twenty-two and thirty-five. He liked them young as a reflection of their sexuality.

  It gave him immense gratification to take this sexuality from them forcefully, before experiencing the ultimate thrill: ending the victim's lives.

  Heather shuddered at the thought. She could only imagine what the victims went through, from their abduction to having their lives taken from them so cruelly.

  She was somewhat intrigued by the serial killer's signature or calling card: a red blossom from an ohia lehua tree. As a native flower, it was clearly symbolic of life on the Big Island. But what did it represent beyond that? She would have to work on that one by getting more information about the region, crime patterns, and characteristics.

  It was par for the course as an FBI profiler whose job it was to get to know the killer almost as well as he knew himself. She was up to the challenge, knowing failure was never an option.

  Her brother used to feel the same way until circumstances he could not control took over his ability to reason.

  She would never let that happen to her, if only to keep herself from following in Simon's footsteps.

  * * *

  He got his first taste of killing when he was eight years old. A huge spider had crept into his room from the heating vent. At first, he was afraid of the creature with eight legs and a thick hairy body.

  But then he realized the spider was even more afraid of him. He watched as it scurried under a chair before coming out tentatively on the other side. It seemed to be keenly aware of being observed and sought refuge, darting across the plank flooring in hopes of reac
hing the baseboard.

  He quickly blocked its path and the spider abruptly reversed course and put on even more speed to get away. But he was equally determined to make the critter pay for invading his space. He got down on his knees and smashed the palm of his hand on top of the spider.

  It was clearly dazed, while trying desperately to get back on its rail thin legs. He amused himself for a moment as he watched the spider squirm. It was probably hoping there was some way out of its predicament.

  But there was no escape. He wouldn't allow it. Balling up his fist, he slammed it into the spider, flattening it as blood and other icky stuff squirted out.

  Even then, somehow the spider was still alive, its legs vibrating in agony. He laughed at the pathetic little creature, wondering how he could ever have been afraid of it, before ripping two of the legs off and squashing the spider with his fist, putting an end to its life.

  He had since killed thousands of spiders and other insects, often luring them into a trap and then finding different means to torture, dissect, and snuff out their life.

  But these days he was far more interested in human subjects. He liked the way they smelled. The softness of their skin. How they reacted when he forced his way inside them numerous times. How their nipples bled and their toes wriggled in pain when he bit and twisted them.

  Finally, it gave him great pleasure when they put up a good fight before coming to the conclusion that it was pointless, and resigned themselves to a slow and uncomfortable death.

  He got an erection while thinking about the last one. Sharon Orchard. He could still see the shock in her pretty face when she first realized he was not a friend but definitely her worst possible nightmare.

  When would they ever learn?

  Not soon enough to stop him from having his way with them time and time again until they were no more.

  Someday he would join them on the other side, if there was one. But not until his life had become meaningless like theirs. Right now he was having way too much fun to want to die anytime soon.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this excerpt, stay tuned for the entire Murder on the Big Island coming soon in eBook, print, and audio.