Deadly Reunion

by Lakes, Lynde

  Cops leapt from their vehicles and spread out like warrior ants, blocking off the whole area, letting no one in or out. They herded people into large groups. The daylight fire added to the snarl of traffic, general chaos and onlookers. With so many people milling about it slowed the process of checking IDs. But they would eventually get to him.

  He had to do something, or he’d be trapped.

  ****

  Malia’s cell phone rang. It was Wilcox. “Is Damon still on your tail?” he asked. “I haven’t caught sight of either of you.”

  “No, I must’ve lost him. But he knows I’m headed for a fire at the hotel and will probably show up there. Put out an all-points bulletin on him and meet me there.”

  Malia cringed at the sight of the column of black smoke curling angrily into the sky. She left the freeway and zigzagged through the maze of traffic, cursing drivers who were slow to pull over.

  This morning when she had awakened in her room still alive, and found no evidence of any security penetration, she’d harbored a small hope that the killer had given up on the hotel. Tightening security at construction sites and military bases had stopped him from bombing the hotel, but not gaining access. He’d gotten past security and set a fire. That meant, even with all her care, she’d failed.

  Heart heavy, she reached her destination. Firefighters on extended ladders sprayed the blaze from outside. She knew others were already inside, fighting the flames and getting stranded people out. Smoke curled from the sixth floor windows and terraces. She parked her car ascew next to the other HPD units, found Ku giving orders to their men, and got an update on the next-to-nothing information that he had. It seemed the perp had managed to shut off the water and electricity, leaving the building and occupants totally at the mercy of the fire. And fire has no mercy.

  Firefighters escorted and carried people out as quickly as possible. The best news was they’d managed to hook up to adjacent water lines to fight the fire. FD choppers were on their way to drop their quelling loads, if necessary. HPD forces had surrounded the hotel and were holding everyone on the grounds until they could check identifications. Malia shuddered. If that

  bastard could get in, he could probably get out.

  She said a quick prayer for the hotel staff and guests and then met Ku’s gaze. “Look for anyone who could be wearing a disquise, anyone alone, or anyone cowering in the center of the groups. Put a man on all exits. We can’t assume that he’s out. He might be waiting on a lower floor to file out with one of the groups.”

  “We can’t waste manpower,” Ku said. “ I’m sure he’s out. One of the firefighters found a wedge in the ground level door. The firebug must’ve jammed the doors during his escape.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that to start with?” Malia asked. Immediately sorry for losing her temper, she added in a calmer voice, “Okay, you’re right. We’ll concentrate on the grounds.” She wished she could get an artist’s drawing of the killer to all the firefighters, but they had their hands full just trying to get the blaze under control and get the people out.

  Media vans nosed their way into the area, and reporters swarmed from the vehicles like locusts. Although motorcycle officers struggled to hold them back, one wiry reporter slipped through. He rushed up to the fire chief and jammed a microphone into his sooty face. The chief cursed at him and gently handed the little girl he carried to a woman who appeared to be a relative. He quickly kissed the tiny hand of the little girl with the tear-stained face, and waving the reporter away, headed back into the building.

  An officer chased after the reporter, grabbed him, and roughly escorted him back behind the barricade. Malia shook her head. Didn’t the arrogant newshound know that saving lives took a backseat to his breaking story?

  She scanned the area, looking for anyone built like the perp. For a fleeting second she thought of Damon. He’d followed her. Was he here somewhere? Actually, she could use his help screening the people. Whoa, erase that. The last thing she needed was to have to worry about him.

  ****

  Motorcycle cops turned Damon back several blocks from the blazing hotel and rerouted the traffic. He was stuck in an inner lane, and even if he’d seen a parking place, there was no way he could get to it. He parked in a parking garage four blocks east and jogged toward the hotel. Smoke filled the air and burned his nostrils. He grabbed a silk scarf from a sidewalk vendor table, and, after throwing five bucks down, held it over his mouth and nose and continued on.

  He cut through several hotel lobbies and exited in the middle of an alley that led to the blazing hotel. Smoke stung his nostrils. Quickly, he tied the scarf over his face. The crackle and roar of the fire echoed around him; smoke spread low between the buildings that lined the alley. Through the haze, he could see that cops had both ends blocked. A firefighter wearing a heavy yellow slicker was running his way. His face was blackened with soot, and he wore an oxygen mask over his face. Why was he running away from the fire? The guy had the killer’s build … and the killer was a master of disguises. He had to assume it was killer. If he was wrong, he’d apologize later. He darted behind a commercial trash bin and glanced at the overflow of debris on the ground. When he couldn’t find anything hefty enough to serve as a club, he settled for a busted suitcase and wire coathanger.

  Damon listened for footsteps. If there were any, they were drowned out by the roaring fire, the noise of helicopters and screams of fleeing people. He peered around the trash bin and saw nothing but billowing smoke and emptiness.

  ****

  Al Lee pressed himself against a wall where the billowing smoke and shadows mingled like collaborators in his pursuit of justice. At the first glimpse, Damon looked like a robber in that scarf. The revenge gods were in Al’s corner; they had brought the fly right into his web. But he wasn’t dealing with an unsuspecting classmate. This guy was military-trained, which meant he’d have to disable him with the first blow. He eased into a doorway and peeled off the yellow slicker from his grey maintenance coveralls. Humid smoky air rushed to his sweaty skin, cooling him, oddly refreshing him. Dropping flat to the ground, he crawled silently on his belly. Hidden by smoke and debris, he passed in front of Damon and slithered behind a stack of plywood about six feet beyond where Damon crouched squinting in the opposite direction. Al pulled a wrench from his tool belt. The weight of it in his gloved hand quickened his heartbeat. He remembered Kiki and Rosado and the thrill of bringing the hammers full force down on their heads, remembered the hollow thumps. Smiling, he crept up quietly behind Damon.

  ****

  Firefighters had managed to get all the people out, and ambulances rushed those overcome by smoke to the nearest hospital. A medic told Malia that most of the people would survive the smoke inhalation. The only exception might be an elderly lady who, according to her husband, had an existing serious lung problem.

  Malia shoved a smoky tendril behind her ear and stared up at the sixth floor, now a blackened shell. Miraculously the fire had been contained there, but the damage was extensive. And due to smoke and water damage throughout the structure the hotel would have to move guests elsewhere and close down for repairs and cleanup. If only the mayor had let her evacuate the guests when they’d received the warning. The only thing that saved the hotel from complete devastation and saved many lives was the quick-acting firefighters who had managed to hook up to adjacent water lines to fight the fire.

  They had done an excellent job, but she had failed. Although HPD forces had surrounded the hotel and held everyone on the grounds until they could check identifications, she hadn’t weeded out her perp. Malia shuddered. It was as if he had a thousand faces and could disappear at will. Anger coiled in her gut. Still, it didn’t surprise her that he’d gotten away. She’d known that if the perp could breach security and get in, that he could probably get out.

  She had the hotel set up a special table where all class reunion guests could sign in with an officer who was armed with class pictures. She needed a live
body count. She suspected that one or more might be missing, their identity stolen with their lives. Already firefighters had found a dead security guard, a maintenance man, and now they were carry out another body – a dead fireman.

  With bowed heads and sooty faces, they carried their downed brother out of the building on a stretcher with a blanket over his head. One fireman called, “It’s Smitty.” The firefighter’s voice was hoarse and heavy with sorrow.

  Suddenly the ground team formed a line, and, as the lost man passed, all movement stilled and the men and women afforded their slain brother the dignity of a moment of silence.

  Malia’s throat tightened, and she pressed her lips together. She took a deep breath and briefly spoke to one of the men. She’d learned that the perp had crushed the firefighter’s skull and stripped him of his slicker, mask and boots. That meant a new disguise. She walked among the weary blackened faces as firefighters rolled up their equipment. Satisfied that they all were the courageous men who’d just fought a fire, she accepted the possibility that he could have already ditched that disguise and donned another. But she couldn’t be sure of that. With every flash of yellow, she did a double take, and any guy with a muscular build like the perp’s also got a second look.

  She headed for the crowd of displaced persons, couples, families, sitting on the ground on blankets. Relentlessly, she scanned their faces. The Red Cross had arrived and, along with hotel staff, were comforting the guests and beginning the arduous process of finding replacement accommodations. Red Cross workers and volunteers from the community passed out coffee, milk, and fruit. A sense of local pride swelled in her chest. That was what she loved about Hawaii. In an emergency the community always pulled together.

  Buses pulled into the hotel driveway to transport guests to their newly assigned accommodations. The extra people coming and going on the site made her job harder. She checked in with her men and the other HPD forces who were assisting and ordered them to double check every identification, no exceptions. Finding the perp in this mass of humanity would be like retrieving a contact lens in shuffling sand on a crowded beach.

  With her intense scanning, searching and energy directed in a hundred directions at once, why hadn’t she run into Damon or at least caught a glimpse of him? He’d followed her. She knew that for sure, so where was he? A chill of foreboding slipped down her spine. If Damon saw a firefighter coming toward him, what would he do? Oh, God. He’d probably offer to help him and leave himself open to a surprise attack. What was she doing? She mustn’t let her imagination run away with her. Damon was skilled in military combat and had proven able to take care of himself. So why did she still have this knot in her stomach and the relentless chill?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Behind him, Damon heard the crunch of loose gravel, but before he could dodge and whirl something hard came down on his head. With the blow came intense pain, exploding stars, then blackness.

  ****

  A flash of pain shot through Malia’s skull and settled between her eyes. As if the pain were a premonition of present danger to Damon, she glanced around desperate to catch a glimpse of him. The cop in her, trained to deal with cold facts, didn’t give strong credence to signs or omens, but it was difficult to push away the spine-tingling urge to run around like a chicken with its head off looking for him. She had to stay cool and professional. Her job right now was to focus on the killer. He’d murdered at least three more people. The body count was mounting, and if she didn’t stop him, more would die.

  After systematically striding through the crowd, looking for the perp, she located Ku and got his report. “We’ve covered every inch of the hotel and grounds,” he said, “and the killer’s not here.”

  Ku would have told her if he’d seen Damon, so she held back an urge to ask. “The perp has to be here. How could he escape with the perimeter blocked off?”

  The question hung in the smoky air unanswered, and as the afternoon wore on, she was forced to concede that the killer had indeed somehow slipped through their human blockade and escaped. His latest disguise, like all the others, had rendered him invisible. She remembered how classmates had taunted Al Lee, and called him ghost. If the killer was Al Lee, maybe the cruel nickname had become a reality. He’d learned to make himself invisible.

  Was Damon invisible, too? She still hadn’t seen him. She’d run into Wilcox, and he hadn’t seen him either. Maybe when Damon ran into road blockades, he had turned around and gone back to Kopa’a’s place. She had Wilcox stand by while she checked with Kopa’a.

  The phone rang and rang. Why wasn’t the recorder coming on? Kopa’a and Toby kept it on even when they were home. Since they were another of the non-cell-phone generation, Malia knew the only way to find out what was going on was to stop by and check on them before heading back to the office. But first she had to cover all the bases here. “Take a team,” she told Wilcox, “and check all parking garages, lots and street parking within a six-block radius.”

  Her stomach knotted as she watched him walk away. Would this be another futile wild goose chase? She should stay and find out, but the search could take hours. Maybe a better use of her time would be to check on Kopa’a, who might actually know where Damon was. Torn, Malia flipped a coin. Heads she stayed; tails she left. She glared down at the buffalo head shining up at her. Dammit. Since when had she let a flip of a coin decide things for her?

  Fifteen minutes later, Malia skidded to a stop in Kopa’a’s driveway and rushed to the door, not sure why she had this urgent uneasy feeling. At the door she heard only the tinkling of the wind chimes, no TV, no radio, no voices. The front slider window was open several inches. There was no sound inside, no whirring fans, nothing but stillness.

  She tapped on the door and listened for footsteps. Silence. She knocked harder and heard only the hollow thump echo back at her. She headed around to the rear of the house. Wind gusted around her ankles and rustled the bougainvillea bushes. Standing on her tiptoes, Malia looked through one of the windows that lined the upper part of the garage door. The family car was inside. Her heart pounded. Something didn’t feel right.

  She crossed the yard and entered the picket-fenced flower garden. After bending down on one knee, she located the key hidden inside the rotund statue of the God of Protection. The key was a bit rusty, but to her relief, it still unlocked the back door. She eased it open.

  “Kopa’a,” she called. Toby? Anyone home?”

  Inside, the kitchen looked neat as usual. She continued on to the living room which was tidy as well. Only the area around Toby’s favorite leather recliner was littered with an open newspaper, two out-of-kilter magazines, and a half a mug of coffee. The mug felt cold.

  With the hardwood floors creaking beneath her steps, Malia roamed the house feeling like an intruder. Why? This had always been her home away from home, a place that had rung with laughter and the buzz of activity. Now, it was as silent as a scary scene in sci-fi horror movie where everyone had been abducted by aliens. She stiffened at her next off-the-wall thought. What if the killer had kidnapped them? That was overreaching a bit, but still the thought sent a chill down her spine.

  She checked the message pads by the phones and found nothing, not even a scribble. Toby often had asthma attacks. She called 911 to see if an ambulance had been dispatched to this address. It hadn’t.

  At the sound of a car pulling into the driveway next door, Malia rushed to the window. Kopa’a was helping Toby out of the front passenger seat of the neighbor’s old Cressida. Toby looked pale, and Kopa’a’s face was flushed, her eyes worried.

  Malia hurried outside to greet them. She wanted to hug them, but their distraught demeanor made her hesitate. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  A silver-haired neighbor came around the car, a tentative smile on her face. “I gave them a ride to the ER. Toby couldn’t catch his breath. But the on-duty doc fixed him right up.” Her smiled widened briefly, then she glanced regretfully at Kopa’a. “I gotta sked
addle and feed my kitties now.” With that she turned and disappeared inside her house.

  “Why didn’t someone call 911?” Malia knew why they hadn’t taken the family car. Kopa’a hadn’t driven for six months since fractures to her spine had made driving too painful and rendered her left leg unreliable.

  Kopa’a let out an exasperated harrumph. “You know Toby. He’d have to be unconscious to get him into an ambulance.”

  “You have to be firm with him, Auntie. One of these days a ride with the EMTs might save his life.” Auntie gave Toby an I-told-you-so look, and Malia knew she wasn’t saying anything that he hadn’t heard before, probably, many times. She took Toby’s arm gently and helped Kopa’a get him into the house and settled into his favorite recliner.

  “Why wasn’t your recorder on?” Malia asked.

  “Well,” Kopa’a said, “I must have accidentally turned it off.” She turned it back on. “I don’t want to miss any calls, especially with all the trouble that’s been brewing since Kiki’s murder.” A deep sadness pinched her expression. “Have you caught her killer, yet?”

  Malia took a deep, bracing breath. “I’m sorry, not yet. When we do, you’ll be one of the first to know.” Before Kopa’a could push for more information, Malia asked the question she feared she already knew the answer to. “Have you seen or heard from Damon?”

  Kopa’a shook her head. “Officer Wilcox told me Damon went chasing after you. Then after your call, the officer tore out of here with hardly a goodbye.” Without taking a breath, Kopa’a asked, “Do you have a message for Damon if he comes by?”

  “Yes. Tell him to call me – and to stay put.”

  Auntie Kopa’a wrinkled her forehead, and her eyes darkened. “What’s going on? Your tone worries me.”

  “No time to explain things now. I have to get back to work. Don’t fret. You know me. I’m a worrier.” Malia hugged Kopa’a and Toby. “That’s one of the things that HPD pays me to do. I worry so you and the public won’t have to.”