by Lakes, Lynde
“Don’t worry about Shaw. Only his usefulness has kept him in the picture.”
“We don’t need civilians doing our job for us.”
“Not doing our job, of course. But you know as well as I do that civilians are often a part of cracking a case. Damon Shaw came closer to catching our perp than any of us.” She wanted to add that last night he’d saved her life, but that information would trigger a slew of questions that she didn’t want to answer.
“Maybe I should hire him,” the chief said wryly. Then in a harder voice he said, “Other than as dictated by the case, no contact with this guy, got it?”
“Got it,” she said. Her heart pounded against her breast so hard that she feared the chief could hear it. As dictated by the case replayed in her head. That would be her excuse. Why did she think she needed an excuse? One of her suspects had been murdered. She sure as hell was going to do all in her power not lose another key person in this senario. Or her heart.
The chief rubbed his jaw. “The only reason I’m not yanking you off this case is your keen instincts and drive.”
“Thank you, Sir.” He’d failed to mention the real reason again: the HPD’s shorthanded situation due to the mass retirements and the bombardment of dignitaries from other countries.
“Don’t think you’re home free. The mayor’s not happy. That means I’m not happy. And now we have a new situation – a fellow officer has been killed. You have forty-eight hours after Morales’s funeral to find the killer. After that, the case belongs to Kwock.”
That gave her roughly five days, she thought, as she left the chief’s office. She hoped it was enough time. I have to get this killer myself. I owe it to all those he has killed … especially Kiki…and Morales … a fellow officer.
Ku came around the corner of the long corridor and stopped short at the sight of her still wearing the getup she’d worn last night. “You look like you just got laid.”
After dealing with the chief, her frayed nerves were shredding, but she managed not to blast Ku for his wisecrack. Besides, it was only Damon’s sense of honor that had made her partner wrong. “And you look like you didn’t,” she managed with a sufficient amount of mockery. Then with hardly a breath, she got back on track. “Why didn’t you call me about Gabriel Rosado?”
“Check your damned phone messages. I waited until this morning to call. I heard about the fire and figured you had enough to contend with for one night.”
“Appreciate your concern, but that wasn’t your decision to make. I’m still the head of this team, and I need to be kept abreast of all new developments.”
He studied her a moment, perhaps weighing the advisability of a sharp retort, then shrugged his hulking shoulders and said, “This could get ugly. We’d better talk in your office.”
Ku didn’t take Malia’s arm; he just waited until she stepped in the right direction and then walked beside her, adjusting his steps to hers. In her office, she gestured to a chair and sat behind her desk, mostly to downplay her unsuitable office attire. Ignoring his comment about things getting ugly between them, she said, “Okay start at the top.”
Ku gave her a brief rundown of the essentials as he saw them, slipping in and out of pidgin as he often did when under pressure. “About 3:00 A.M.,” he said, “neighbors made a stink about the blaring music at the old Martin house. Officers found the front door wide open, followed the noise of the ear-splitting rock music, and found Rosado, face down on a tile floor, his blood splattered about slaughter-house fashion.”
“What was he doing there so late?”
“Owners claimed they’d given him a deadline. If he didn’t finish on time, they would impose stiff financial penalties.”
“With all that blood,” Malia said, “the killer should’ve gotten splattered.”
“He didn’t clean up on site, so he probably got blood all over his car.”
Malia would have agreed, but so far their killer had been meticulous. “When he drove Kiki’s car to the pineapple fields, he didn’t get a drop of blood on her car. He seems to plan ahead and knows how to cover his tracks. What about on-site DNA?
“We’re waiting for the full forensics report. The prelim examine gave us zilch.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
After Ku left, Malia sat at her desk, trying to make sense of the notes she’d taken while viewing the reunion video. The background check she’d run on all the classmates who fit the perp’s description turned up nothing surprising. The ne’er-do-wells were still struggling along making messes of their lives. Several had done jail time, and those most-likely-to-succeed types had left no imprint as far as the law was concerned. The unknowns were classmates who hadn’t signed up for the reunion. All she had to compare to their senior picture was a computer-generated rendering of what they might look like today. The killer had always been disguised, so a current picture might only be useful to eliminate suspects. But that was a beginning. If only she had more time.
She closed her eyes briefly and tried to think back to any early warning signs. Which classmate was ruthless, brutal, with a propensity for cruelty?
Of course, any of the kids who’d tormented classmates who were different could fit in that category to some degree. That could include quite a few. But what if it wasn’t a classmate and instead was the spouse of a classmate? Mickey Dunn came to mind. Could he have graduated from kicking dogs and putting cans on cats’ tails to killing his wife’s classmates? But what would be the motive? Raging jealousy?
Dunn as a suspect didn’t make sense. He and the waiter were in the room at the same time, and she knew it was the waiter. Uncovering the food handler’s identity would take time. She needed help.
She called a meeting of the HPD research technicians and computer specialists and set the wheels in motion. “What I need,” she told them, holding up a copy of the graduate list, “is the works about everyone listed here: employment, credit, and banking, anything that might show true character.” She divided the work equally and passed out the assignment sheets.
After the meeting, she began checking those on her section of the list. She came upon the name of her old friend, Al Lee. With time at a premium, she thought about just skipping his name. There was no way the pasty-face, skinny, long drink of water could be the well-built waiter – and no way could that mild mannered egghead be a violent, brutal killer.
A chilling premonition stopped her from crossing through his name. He was a difficult guy to understand, and as far as she knew, she’d been his only friend. She remembered how cruel some of the kids were to him over the years. His albino skin made him different, and being unique turned him into a loner. Due to his sensitive skin, he didn’t surf or go out for any outdoor sports like the other boys. Instead, he spent all of his time indoors on a computer or in the shade reading. Some kids didn’t understand that his delicate skin was the reason. What a burden to bear for a kid, especially in Hawaii.
Malia had tried to help him see that, in many ways, he’d brought it on himself with his glowering stare and sober manner. She’d believed he could get past being different if he’d just participate in something, indoor basketball for instance, or drama.
She had invited him to attend events with her. But after her sister’s murder, she had become a loner just like him, staying home and isolating herself. She had kept her friendship going with Al. His anger over his situation had seemed to match her anger at the man who’d taken her sister’s life. It had been a case of misery loved company.
After a year, she’d joined the world again. Lee hadn’t liked that; he liked having her all to himself, wanting their friendship to be more. With brooding eyes, he hung on the sidelines. She had felt sorry for him, but friendship had been all she had to give.
She wondered if he’d grown up to be a hermit, or a babbling street person. Or maybe he was a millionaire like that computer whiz. He was certainly smart enough.
Her heart beat faster. In many ways, his loner personality and abused childhoo
d fit the profile of a killer. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous thought even as she started checking him out.
What little she could find on him turned out to be frighteningly interesting. In the Marines he’d been an ammunition specialist. He must have had his sight corrected to get in the Marines, she thought. Even there he didn’t fit in, and was eventually given a mental disability discharge. Chills skittered down her spine when she read that his first civilian job had been as a makeup artist in a morgue. His next employment was with Mason Construction as a demolition specialist. After that, he dropped off the work circuit and disappeared for several years. It was as if he’d ceased to exist. Then he cropped up again six months before the reunion and contacted Kiki and gave her a P.O. Box address in Las Vegas.
Although his history sent goose bumps up her arms, Malia couldn’t see a connection between the murders. If the murders were revenge, why the waiter…why Rosado? They weren’t classmates, and the M.O. was odd, changing with the wind. The only thing consistent was the inconsistencies.
Her breath caught. That meant something. If the killer was after anyone even loosely connected with the reunion that included Damon. A snaking, icy brainwave that might have been a forewarning omen slithered over her. Damon was both the ex-spouse of a murdered classmate and a friend of a classmate, who happened to be the lead detective on the case.
She called Ku into her office, told him what she’d learned, and gave him a copy of the computer extrapolation of what Al might look like today. “Set up a team to find this guy,” she said. “Hit every hotel, every rental car agency, and every taxi and get this picture out to all the bus drivers.”
Ku paused and gave her a worried look. “You look frazzled. Take a break. And get some decent clothes, for crissakes.”
“Okay, clothes-police. I’ll consider it just as soon as I check one more thing.”
She had to call Kiki’s mom, Kopa’a, and make sure Damon had gotten to her place all right. “Hi, Auntie. Is Damon still at your place?”
“No, Honey, he just dropped off your bunny and left. Are you all right? Damon told us about the fire.”
“I’m fine. Did he say where he was going?” He was no longer a suspect, but he had been. What if the killer went after him?
“No. But he seemed in a big hurry. Has something else happened?”
She assured Auntie that all was well and that she’d come by later. She hung up and took a breath. Her morning had zipped by fast and furious with little time to think about anything but the case. And Damon was part of the case whether her boss liked it or not. And she didn’t know where he was – and he could be in grave danger. Thoughts of the kisses they’d shared, sent heat to the hollow of her throat and upward into her cheeks. She thought of her boss’s orders. He’d take her off the case in a second if he knew the attraction between her and Damon had heated last night to the point that she’d been willing to cross the line.
****
Every one in the department got their kicks making cracks about Malia’s hooker get-up. Sick of fending them off, she checked out a vehicle from the motor pool and went to Macy’s. Without much looking, she charged a black tailored pantsuit and some low-heeled boots. She took a little longer selecting lacy underwear and a lacy keyhole chemise to wear to bed. Don’t judge me, she told her conscience. I have a right to be feminine under the professional attire. And it’s no one’s biz what I wear to bed.
Wearing the new outfit and confident that she looked capable, she made two brief stops before returning to work. The first stop was her parents’ palatial Portlock villa. The hassling scene was just what she’d expected, and she wondered why she’d bothered. Next, she stopped at Auntie’s warm, inviting home, where she grabbed a sandwich.
Afterwards, she returned to her office and listened to the afternoon messages, making notes as they unraveled themselves. The DNA report yielded nothing. As usual the killer had been meticulous. She thought about how neat Lee had always been and how he liked to analyze everything. But he’d been such a turn-the-other-cheek guy, never fighting back. She wanted to catch the killer, but she didn’t want it to be Lee.
She froze at her last message. “You’re invited to a free fireworks display in your honor.” The tone of the electronically altered voice turned deadly as the voice added, “time and location to be announced later.”
Malia quickly set up a round-the-clock security for the hotel where the majority of the reunion classmates were staying and ordered rigid security on all construction sites. She alerted the armed forces Security Command to watch for any attempted breach of security in their ammunitions storage facilities. Whatever the killer intended, she knew he’d act soon. Dear God, a whole hotel of people were in imminent danger. She had no choice. She had to order an immediate evacuation.
The hotel manager refused to cooperate and went straight to the mayor. The chicken-livered mayor halted the evacuation. There was nothing she could do; she had no proof anything was going to happen at that hotel. All she had was a non-specific message about fireworks. But I know, damn it.
After a chewing-out from her boss for jumping to conclusions like a rookie, she headed back to her desk, frustrated and jumpy as a sand flea. She wanted to go to the hotel and evacuate the guests herself. She was still seething when the phone rang. She stared at it a moment before picking it up. What if it was the killer again with specifics, or what if it was Damon?
“Homicide Detective Reed,” she said in as strong a voice as she could muster.
“Know where Damon Shaw is?” the icy altered voice asked.
Her heart pounded. “Who is this?” She wanted to ask if it was Lee, but she knew better than to tip her hand and let him know he was under suspicion. She still couldn’t picture her skinny friend as the muscled waiter with the egotistical attitude.
“I can tell you where Shaw’s been…where he is now. Interested?” Then the line disconnected, chilling her to the bone.
****
At 5:00 P.M Malia left her office to wait in the HPD parking lot for the cab she’d called to take her to a car rental agency. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long. She still had a lot of running around to do. After she picked up a car, she planned to go by the hotel that housed the reunion classmates to make sure that security was firmly in place. Then, she’d try to locate Damon.
Relief shot through Malia when she saw him coming across the grounds. He’d apparently been waiting in a stand of trees. He kept looking around as though he sensed someone nearby watching. Feeling a similar sensation, she glanced up at her boss’s window but saw no one. She scanned the late afternoon shadows. The sensation grew stronger, and she reached into her purse and closed her hand over the gun. The thing that worried her most was the growing unease that Damon had become the killer’s focal point.
Damon had told her that he wanted to stay close by, and now she needed to keep tabs on him, in spite of her boss’s warning. If anything happened to Damon because she failed to do her job… “Where were you all day?” she asked. “I left messages for you to call me.”
“I didn’t go home.”
She scanned the area again and seeing no immediate threat, she released her grip on the gun. It was probably good Damon didn’t go home since the killer knew where he lived. “Why don’t you join the rest of the world and get a cell phone?”
He gave a wry smile. “I don’t like the idea of being so dammed reachable whenever the whim hits people.”
“Well, for some of us, it’s our lifeline.” She had lots of questions, and now that she’d found him she wasn’t ready to let him go. She flipped open her cell. “I just called a cab, but if you can give me a ride, I can cancel it.”
“Sure thing. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
With that settled, she cancelled the cab. Damon took her arm and led her to his truck. He helped her into the passenger side, strode around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. While they engaged their seatbelts, she gave him a sidelong g
lance and asked her unanswered question again. “Where were you all day?” She didn’t try to conceal the sharp edge to her tone.
“Get that demanding tone out of your voice, or you’ll feel lousy when I tell you that I spent the whole day doing things in your behalf.”
She tilted her head and narrowed his eyes. “Such as?”
“I delivered your bunny to his temporary home with Kopa’a and Toby. Bought you a few clothes in case you didn’t have time to do it yourself.” He glanced at her, his gaze mockingly raking over her tailored suit. “But I see you’ve already handled that. Then I drove out to Makakilo to your burned-out house to see if I could find anything salvageable. I couldn’t really tell for sure what was worth refinishing, so I rented a locker and put the stuff in it for you to sort through at your leisure. There wasn’t much.”
Malia stared at him with her mouth open. She wasn’t sure if she was stunned and angry at his interference, or pleased by his thoughtfulness. She tried for a closed expression. She didn’t want him to know how much he’d touched her heart, didn’t even want to admit it to herself.
“I talked to the fire investigators and someone from your insurance company.” He handed her two business cards. “They gave me these. When you have time, they’d like to talk to you.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. He was tangling himself into her affairs … into her life, and it was scaring the hell out of her.
“You don’t need a rental car,” he said. “Since we’re going to be joined at the hip for the next few days, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Had she agreed to be joined at the hip? “I like my own wheels handy, especially when I’m hot on the trail of a killer.”
Joined at the hip replayed in her head.
When she picked up her rental car, she had an urge to just drive off and leave him. But she couldn’t. He was in danger, and she couldn’t let anything happen to him.
She told him about the phone threat against the hotel where the majority of the class mates were staying. “I have to check their security. If you can hang around for a while––”