Deadly Reunion

by Lakes, Lynde

  “I’d like you to go with me to tell Kiki’s family about the murder. Having you there might make it easier on them.”

  “On them, or you?” He knew at once what she was up to. She didn’t need him to make a rough job easier, or to give the family support. She wanted to see his reaction to their grief. And their reaction to him. “Will you show them the snapshots, too?” he asked.

  “No, that was for your eyes alone.”

  Resentment burned inside him, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “All right, let’s get it over with.” This is a nightmare. Kiki is dead, and the cops actually suspect I murdered her.

  Chapter Three

  The deep shadows of late afternoon and the moaning Kona breeze whipping through the tangled mass of thorny kiawe branches deepened the sorrow in Malia’s heart and set the dreary mood for the bad news she carried. The lanai of Kiki’s parents’ wood-frame home stretched along the front and around the side of the house. The chipped and peeling paint on the eaves of the forty-year-old Aina Haina home and the downed gutter from the last hard wind barely registered in Malia’s mind. She could only think of the sadness she was bringing to people who deserved only happiness. She had no rehearsed words to make this easier. It was always difficult, but never more than now.

  Her steps resounded heavily on the natural lava stone walkway. She glanced up at Damon as he strode beside her, tall and erect. What was going through his mind? Was the sadness in his expression real? His woodsy aftershave scent wrapped around her, arousing an emotion she didn’t want to analyze. He took her arm as they went up the three rickety steps; for some unexplainable reason she didn’t pull away. He took the initiative and knocked on the worn wood. The hollow sound thumped back at them.

  When Kiki’s mom, Kopa’a, came to the door, Damon greeted her with a long hug that seemed too fierce, too full of regret to go unnoticed. Damn. She didn’t need him upsetting the old woman here on the threshold. She needed to ease into this. Yet, when he stepped back, Malia found herself hugging the woman she called Auntie with the same intensity.

  “What is it?” Auntie asked, her smile fading.

  Malia took a deep breath. Auntie had always had quick insight. “Is Uncle Toby home?” Malia wanted to tell them together.

  A voice came from the living room. “In here, Malia.”

  After slipping off their shoes, as was the local custom, they all followed the sound of the booming voice. Toby slouched on the couch, shirtless and wearing his usual home-wear of Bermuda shorts, his stomach hanging over the waistband like an airless inner tube. He held the remote control in one hand and a beer in the other. He muted the TV. “Damon,” he said, getting to his feet and shaking his son-in-law’s hand. “What a welcome surprise.”

  Auntie was born in Hawaii to Chinese immigrants, Toby to Korean and Filipino. The blend had resulted in a very exotic and beautiful Kiki. Now she was gone.

  Malia stood rigidly next to Damon, watching him closely, waiting for him to give himself away. All she saw in the sharp clean lines of his profile was compassion, regret. Could he really be innocent?

  “Sit down. Sit down,” Toby said. He launched into the routine of welcoming them, treating them like family he hadn’t seen for a while, offering drinks and snacks.

  “Nothing for me,” Damon said. “Do you want to tell them, Detective? Or shall I?”

  Auntie had been frowning since the fierce hugs at the door, twisting the dishtowel in her hands, looking more edgy by the second. “Tell us what?” Her face crumpled. “Oh, Lord. Damon called you detective. This isn’t just a visit, is it?”

  “You’d better sit down, Auntie.” Malia put her arm around the woman, guiding her to the overstuffed chair she liked to sit in. Malia’s throat felt raw, tight. “Kiki’s dead. She’s been murdered.” She hated the cold sound of her words, but there was no easy way to tell them that their only daughter was dead.

  Malia’s gaze shifted between Kiki’s folks and Damon; it was difficult to gauge how the old folks were taking the news and watch Damon at the same time. But she had to. That’s why she’d brought him here. His face, tight with concern, looked as devastated as she felt.

  Suddenly, Toby gasped for breath. Before Malia could react, Damon grabbed up an asthma nebulizer inhaler and assisted the older man until he began to breathe normally. Damon’s quick action showed that he was familiar with Toby’s medications and cared enough to have learned just what to do. That was a point in his favor.

  Auntie went to Toby’s side, and the couple clung together weeping. Damon sat down next to them. “Would you like me to call Dr. Fujimoto?” he asked gently. “She can call in a sedative to a pharmacy, and I’ll pick it up.”

  Auntie shook her head. She unwound herself from Toby’s arms and sat a little straighter. “Okay, we’re ready,” she said in a strong voice. “Tell us what happened.”

  Always a rock, Auntie could be counted on during emergencies. Toby had a harder time coping when things went bad. But he was trying to pull himself together. In spite of the old couple’s efforts to show courage, their faces were gray, drawn and wrinkled, aging years in the few minutes since she’d told them the news. She wished she could take it all back and make them smile again. But she had a job to do. As gently as possible, Malia told them where their beloved daughter’s car had been found. “No one has been arrested yet, but we have some suspects.”

  “I’m one of them,” Damon said. Oddly, there was no bitterness in his voice, only a deep sadness.

  Auntie’s eyes widened. “Is that true, Malia?” she asked with an incredulous tone. Before Malia could confirm it, Auntie snorted and said, “If it is, that’s ridiculous. Don’t waste your time on such nonsense.”

  Toby, eyes glistening with moisture, nodded in agreement. “What are you doing to find the real killer?”

  The united support for Damon struck Malia speechless. She knew Kiki’s parents were aware that their little girl was promiscuous, and her insatiable passion for a non-ending parade of men worried them a great deal. But to give such wholehearted support to an estranged husband was rare. He must’ve been a great son-in-law. Still, not convinced that Damon was the good guy they seemed to think, Malia held back the meager details. She would say only enough to give them peace of mind. “We’re canvassing Kunia Road where Kiki’s car was found, the neighborhood near her work, and her condo. We’ll check out any other suspects who turn up.”

  “What about composite drawings of the killer, yah?” Toby asked, a quiet rage in his voice. “Broadcast it on every local TV station? And what about road blocks and vehicle checks?”

  Malia would have smiled, but her heart was too heavy. Toby was big on watching cop shows on TV. It was easy to be an armchair detective. “We have no witnesses. We’re still trying to locate the true murder site. I assure you my top priority is to get this guy.”

  She shifted her gaze to Damon to let him know she hadn’t totally bought his innocence. He stared back at her with a masked expression. If anyone had seen him with Kiki the day of her murder, Damon would be in big trouble. In a lineup, he’d stand out like a leading man among bit players: his height, impressive shoulders, taut lines and certain indefinable something would draw attention to him like a magnet.

  Why hadn’t he been enough for Kiki? Her cheating must’ve made him crazy. Big, big motive. Jealousy had driven more than a few men to kill.

  Chapter Four

  Malia had no evidence to hold Damon, so, as the sun set in a blaze of coral, she dropped him off at his apartment. “Don’t leave town, Shaw,” she said.

  He darted a sharp look at her, then shot out of the car without a backward glance. She sat with the motor idling and watched his wide, erect stride, detecting nothing to help her build a case either for or against him. All she could tell for sure was Damon Shaw was a man who couldn’t get away from her fast enough. But he couldn’t escape. Although he’d met the first challenge, the gauntlet had been thrown down, and he still had a long way to go to clear hi
mself.

  Malia thrust the car into gear and headed for her parent’s place, unable to shake Damon from her thoughts. He’d been caring and attentive to Kiki’s parents, not at all like the usual estranged husband. Or maybe he was just very clever.

  When Malia arrived at her parents’ Portlock beachfront home, she pushed her thoughts of Damon to the edges of her mind.

  After she gently told her folks the sad news, her dad’s face went pale. He closed the hard copy of the investment journal he was bringing up-to-date and sat still, stiff. Her mother stilled like a frightened fawn. Their eyes filled with tears, but no sound came from either of them.

  She hadn’t heard them cry since the unknown man had murdered her sister over thirteen years ago. They had cried nightly for a month straight, and then all tears stopped. Laughter, too. She waited for some further show of emotion and received only stunned silence. The room went so quiet that Malia heard the rhythm of her own breathing.

  Through the open slider, sweet fragrances of plumeria mingled with salt air. To the unaware it was just another day in paradise. Why didn’t her parents say something? After what seemed like an eternity, her mom threw down her knitting and jumped up from her chair and paced the plush carpeting. “This is a sign,” she said, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “You can’t stop the senseless killing, Malia, and if you stay with the force, you’ll end up dead, too.”

  She had heard it all before, over and over. She stared westerly out the wall-of-windows across the expanse of sparkling bay to Diamond Head, faintly aware of the brilliant sunset dipping behind it. How could she convince her parents that nothing they said would change her mind? With two such stubborn parents Malia figured she came by her own intractability naturally. Her mom was born in Hawaii to Japanese immigrants, her dad from Scotch-Irish stock. Whether they liked it or not, the blend had given her the strength and determination to stand up to them when necessary. But she hated it. “I understand your feelings, Mom. But I’m a cop. And now, more than ever, I’m committed to being the very best cop I can be.”

  “It’s too late to help Kiki,” Dad said, approaching Malia and putting his hands on her shoulders. “But you’re our only daughter, now.”

  She twisted from his hold and whirled away from him. “This is about Kiki, Dad, not me.”

  “You’re such a little thing, Malia.” Dad went on as though deaf to her words, “barely a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Being a cop takes brawn and size. Get a ladylike job, and let the men in the H.P.D. take over.”

  Her dad had spent twenty years as an officer in the Air Force and should have known better, but when it came to his wife and daughter, he was as much a chauvinist as the jerks who’d given her such a bad time when she first joined the department. “I’m outta here,” she said. She forced herself to give each of her parents a hug, which they received stiffly, and then she slammed out the door.

  As usual, not willing for her to have the last word, her dad stuck his head out the door and shouted, “Next time you park in front of our place, take that rack and cop light off the top of your car.”

  She rolled her eyes and climbed into her vehicle. Wasting no time, she quickly gunned the engine to life. Her parents hated the signs that she was a cop almost as much as they hated her job. To them, lights and her gun symbolized the danger she faced every day. She pulled away from the curb, fighting her desire to speed and burn some rubber. It had been hammered into her that good cops controlled their emotions.

  In her rearview mirror, Malia saw a blue Nissan Altima parked down the street make a U-turn and follow her. The sky wasn’t completely dark, but tinted windows made it impossible to see the driver. She thought of the hang-up calls she’d been getting. Her skin prickled. “Getting a bit jumpy, are you, Detective Reed?” Malia asked herself, using her cop name to steel her nerves. Although the driver pulled out the same time she did, that was no reason to go on alert. Still, she gave an occasional glance at the rearview mirror. The driver hung back.

  At a stop light on Kalanianaole Highway, Malia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Her mind turned back to her parents. They didn’t understand. She’d chosen a life of purpose, sacrificing dating and the stirring touch of a man. It was hard at times, but her determination was unshakable, a single goal ever in mind – get as many violent perps off the streets as possible.

  A wave of guilt washed over Malia. Her sister had always been the smiling agreeable one. Malia, on the other hand, was the one who’d given her parents most of their gray hairs. Secretly, they had to wish that if one of their twins had to die… Malia bit down on her lip, fighting an incredible ache within. Why couldn’t her parents understand that because she was the one still alive, it was essential to make her life count?

  The traffic started again. The Nissan disappeared into the maze of cars. Good. If the driver was following her, he’d blown it. Driving on mental automatic, Malia headed out H-1 toward the home she’d had built in Makakilo. Why did life always have to be such a challenge? Her parents weren’t the only ones who thought the job wasn’t for women. Even after she and another female recruit, Toni Sharpe, passed the test and the grueling training and became police officers, the guys bitched that because women didn’t have the brawn to handle troublemakers it would force the men to protect them, endangering their own lives. She remembered the day that attitudes started to change. In spite of her five-foot, six inch frame, too tiny for police work her dad always harped, she had chased down a two-hundred pound perp high on crystal meth and cuffed him. A feat even the male cops had trouble with. After that, the men in the department had finally accepted and respected her. Once she passed that trial, she set out to prove that women were better able to use conflict resolution skills, using verbal acuity, keen insight and compassion, which cut down on unnecessary injuries. She had another aptitude the department chiefs liked. She was especially good at paperwork, which a lot of the guys hated, and her persistence and thorough follow-through on a case earned her convictions. By the time she got a perp to court, she had the evidence to back her up. She persevered and rose to the top, becoming the first female homicide detective in the Honolulu Police Department.

  And she wasn’t through moving up yet. With all the progress since 1975 – when the first woman, Lucile Abreu, filed a lawsuit to break the barrier and gotten admitted as a full-fledged police officer, there were still no women among the department’s assistant chiefs and deputy chiefs. If Malia had her way, she’d be one of the first.

  Her climb up the ranks wouldn’t be easy. It seemed with all the struggles she’d had to face as a female cop, she shouldn’t have to battle her own family, too. Her parents had humored her at first, believing that when faced with all the roadblocks she’d get the so-called crazy idea out of her system and quit on her own. Fat chance. Now, more than ever, she wanted to be part of the force – to avenge Kiki’s senseless and brutal murder.

  Before the killer had snuffed out Kiki’s life, Malia had, in many ways, secretly envied her. Kiki easily juggled a successful career in real estate and a full personal life. When Kiki told Malia that she’d finally found Damon, the man who could fulfill her needs, Malia had been delighted for her. For a while Malia had believed Kiki was on her way to having it all, not only a great career, but a dream husband who could give her the love she desperately needed and heal her damaged soul. Unfortunately, even during the engagement, Kiki had kept right on dating whomever struck her fancy. It was sad seeing her throw away what seemed like a storybook romance. Then Kiki had married Damon. Maybe the marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart if the Air Force hadn’t sent him on an isolated tour for a year only three weeks into the marriage. When Damon had returned after arranging to cut his tour to nine months to surprise Kiki, he had caught her in their bed with his best man, of all people. A few days later, it was a guy from her office. Damon gave her a third chance, but a week later she was in bed with the pool man, unable to survive without the constant attention of her string of lovers.<
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  Malia tried not to judge Kiki. She knew what had triggered her friend’s strong need for men, for sex – a long-term molestation by Kiki’s Uncle, Pete. Until an angry father of another victim shot and killed Pete, Kiki had never told anyone. Then she told only Malia. By that time, she and Kiki had entered their teens, and the damage had been done. Kiki needed the constant touching, cuddling, and sex like a drug. She became the huntress, always searching for the next conquest, insatiable. Probably no man could have ever given Kiki what she needed.

  Malia sighed. Could any man give a woman what she needed? It was an intriguing question, but she was too obsessed with her job to find out. Oh, she’d dated a few times, but guys who weren’t cops didn’t want to date a woman who packed a 9m.m. Smith and Wesson or her personal weapon, an eighteen-round Beretta. That left other cops. Most of whom were married. Which for her, meant they were kapu. Off limits. The few single ones didn’t interest her either. Dating coworkers never worked out. Besides, overall, cops made poor spouses. It wasn’t because they didn’t try. On the contrary. It was just that the stress and crazy hours killed marriages.

  Malia glanced in the rearview mirror. Darkness had settled over O’ahu, and all she saw was a sea of headlights, one pair following too close for comfort. It was 8:00 P.M. when she left the H-1 Freeway and stopped to collect the mail from her post office box in the Campbell Building Complex. She parked on the street, right in front. Fighting a prickling in her neck – the same needle-like sensation she felt when she entered a dark alley after a perp – she forced herself to leave the car. She jerked as dried leaf skittered across the road. Her gaze followed its path as it tumbled into the dark recesses beyond the street lights. Was that the glint of metal in the shadows? Hand going instinctively to her gun, she squinted into the darkness.