Murder in Maui

by R. Barri Flowers

  Leila eyed Seymour thoughtfully.

  * * *

  “This Nagasaka was a real character,” remarked Seymour behind the wheel.

  “Sure looks that way.”

  “Brennan never bothered to mention that wrinkle involving his ex.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “Or maybe he thought it was.” Seymour slowed down as traffic had stopped at the light. “Could be an O.J. wannabe, only in reverse. That is, unable to deal with the jealousy and betrayal of a cheating wife, even though no longer married, Brennan decides to take his rage out on Nagasaka and the latest cheating spouse he’s bedding.”

  Leila rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?”

  “Probably. But he had motive and means for being at the scene of the crime. We’ll see if it’s got any legs.”

  She waited a beat. “Didn’t know you were a leg man, Seymour.”

  He grinned. “You don’t know me very well.”

  “Who’s fault is that?”

  “Point taken.” He would like them to get to know each other better.

  Leila turned his way. “So tell me something else I don’t know about you?”

  Seymour swallowed, deciding he might as well be up front about this. “My wife wants a divorce.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be. I saw it coming.” Even if he’d tried to block its path.

  “That doesn’t make it any better for you.”

  He winced. “You’re right, it doesn’t.” Somehow she made him feel better. “I’ll be fine. People break up all the time, right?”

  “Yeah, it seems like it.” Leila looked out the window. “Sometimes they get back together.”

  “I doubt that’ll be the case this time.” Seymour wondered if Mele had really thought this through. Had they truly reached the end of the line? Maybe it was time to let go and focus on someone who did seem to want to be with him.

  “Can’t say my own love life has been all that great either,” Leila said sourly. “I’ve made some mistakes and avoided others.”

  Seymour recalled her last relationship. She hadn’t spoken much about it, but seemed to have trouble finding someone who understood what she was all about. He hoped they would never end up each other’s mistake, while fearing it may be unavoidable.

  “We’re only human,” he said as if she thought otherwise. “Better to fail than not try at all, as they say.”

  “I agree.”

  Another reason why Seymour liked her.

  TWELVE

  Leila felt like really getting dressed up for the art show. Or was it more to impress Seymour? Maybe a little of both. She slid into a black silk ruffle dress and matching slingbacks, adding some simple pearls around her neck for effect.

  She felt nervous. After all, this was their first date. And it was Seymour’s first since his wife asked for a divorce.

  How would that affect their relationship? Would Seymour be on a guilt trip now, so why bother?

  Leila put those thoughts behind her, wanting only to get through this evening for starters.

  By the time Seymour came to pick her up, Leila had regained control of her nerves.

  “You look nice,” she told him. He wore one of his better suits. “Especially the black tie.”

  “I’m a man of my word.” He smiled. “I like your dress.”

  She blushed. “Gave me a good excuse to wear it.”

  “Maybe your friend needs to have more showings.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Leila looked up at him. For the first time, she noted the tiny mole on his cheek. “Are you ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  The gallery was not far from Leila’s house on Dickenson Street. Seymour grabbed them both a flute of champagne being offered and took a chocolate truffle for himself. This type of thing was normally outside of his league, but he was happy to attend.

  Especially with Leila looking as appealing as he’d ever seen her.

  “There you are,” he heard the spirited voice. Looking to his right, Seymour saw the artist briskly approaching.

  Leila hugged her. “Hi, Jan.”

  “Hi, back at you.” She turned to Seymour. “Why you must be the partner I’ve heard so much about?”

  Seymour half grinned. “Yeah, that would be me. Blake Seymour. Hope she only told you the good things.”

  Jan chuckled. “You mean there are bad things?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Then we won’t go there.” She smiled. “Thank you both for coming.”

  “You think you could have stopped me?” Leila grinned.

  “Not if you valued our friendship.”

  “I do.”

  “In that case, let’s show Blake around and see what he thinks of my artwork.”

  “From what I’ve already seen, you clearly know what you’re doing,” Seymour told her.

  Jan crinkled her eyes at Leila. “Better hold onto this one. He’s a real charmer.”

  Leila colored. “We’ll see about that.”

  Seymour liked how she opened the door to whatever happened, while leaving them both some wiggle room. At the moment, he couldn’t think of a better place to be than in her company.

  Except for maybe in her bed.

  * * *

  The showing was a success by any measure and Leila envied Jan for using her artistic talents in a way she could only dream about. Maybe in another lifetime when there were no more bad guys to go after.

  If only.

  When Seymour took her home, all Leila could think of was jumping his bones. He had been one of the nicest looking men at the show, even if in an unassuming way. They hit it off well together in a social setting that didn’t involve the police department. Seymour seemed to enjoy her company as much as Leila enjoyed his.

  She believed the real test would come later. Was he ready to move beyond his failed marriage? Was the sour taste left in Leila’s mouth after her last involvement with a man ready to turn sweet again on someone?

  “Do you want to come in for a nightcap?” she asked tentatively.

  Seymour met her eyes. “Yeah, that works for me.”

  “Good.”

  Just how good remained to be seen.

  * * *

  The moment Seymour stepped inside the house, he only wanted to kiss Leila and be inside her. Were they on the same wavelength? He needed to be sure. Once that line had been crossed there was no turning back.

  “I have beer, wine, cognac,” she said. “Sorry, no champagne.”

  “What I really want is you.”

  “I want that, too.”

  He put his arms around her slender waist. “Yeah?”

  Leila raised her face and kissed him. “Does that answer your question?”

  Seymour licked his lips, becoming instantly aroused. “Loud and clear.”

  This time he kissed her. Then they went to the bedroom, where each undressed till they were naked.

  Seymour liked what he saw. Leila’s breasts were high and small, stomach flat, and her legs nicely toned. She kissed him again, and then lay on the bed in wait.

  After putting on a condom, he joined her lustfully. Their mouths kissed some more and bodies touched. Seymour put his hand between Leila’s legs. She was wet and wanting.

  So was he.

  Unable to hold back anymore, Seymour inserted himself inside Leila. It was a tight fit, stimulating him all the more.

  Now it was time to make this new sexual relationship everything it could be.

  * * *

  Leila clutched his buttocks, pulling Seymour deeper inside, needing the feel of his erection, the closeness of his hard frame.

  She climaxed almost instantly as expected. He followed shortly thereafter, both breathing heavily and bodies trembling till settling down.

  Leila gave a little chuckle, with Seymour slumped half atop her. “Looks like we both had no staying power whatsoe
ver.”

  He rolled off her. “Can we work on that the next time?”

  She gazed at him. “So there will be a next time?”

  “I hope so.”

  “So do I.” Leila touched his shoulder. “I don’t want this to affect us on the job.”

  “No reason it has to.” Seymour kissed her chin. “What we do in our private lives stays here.”

  Leila smiled, though unsure if it was possible to totally separate the two. But she was willing to try, as he was worth treading the line.

  She put her hand between his legs. He still had an erection. “Maybe we could make that next time right now?”

  He grinned, hungry for her and no one else, including his wife.

  “Maybe we could,” he said.

  THIRTEEN

  On Monday, Leila focused on the black and white photograph. The eight-year-old Polynesian girl in the picture had been missing for seven years now, abducted by her own father after a bitter custody battle with the girl’s mother, Ingrid Mumea. It was thought that Jordan Mumea had fled from Oahu to Maui with his daughter, Iolana, hiding amongst relatives there.

  “Can you do an age progression sketch of the girl?” Lt. Tanji of the Kidnapping and Parental Abduction Unit asked.

  “I think so,” Leila answered. “Do you have any other pictures of her?”

  “Afraid not. Apparently Jordan Mumea confiscated all the photos of the girl before he abducted her, except that one.”

  “Then this will have to do.” Leila looked at the picture again. “I’ll get right to work on it.”

  Tanji made a tiny smile. “Thanks. Whatever you come up with will be more than we have to go on now. We may never find the creep who stole his own daughter and broke her mother’s heart, but you never know. With the sketch, we could get lucky and everyone ends up happy.”

  “Everyone except the father,” she said. “But that’s his problem.”

  Hers was giving the police another important tool to work with. Leila would have to rely largely on her own insight and imagination to draw the age progression sketch as to how the girl might look today.

  She left his office and went to get her supplies. Tony Fujimoto was at the end of the hall. He came toward her.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “Have to do a sketch of a missing girl.”

  He made a face. “As in presumed dead?”

  “As in taken by her father years ago. The mother wants her daughter back.”

  “Better late than never.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Fujimoto.”

  He laughed. “So you sing, too? What else am I missing?”

  “More than you’ll ever know.” Leila gave a teasing laugh and moved on lest he get any ideas.

  Her mind was still fresh on the sex with Seymour two days ago. She didn’t know how long this would last, but planned to go along for the ride as long as he wanted the same thing.

  * * *

  Seymour took Akela to the mall for ice cream. He watched with joy and a bit of uneasiness as his soon to be nine-year-old little girl was growing up right before his very eyes. In less than a decade she would turn eighteen. Adulthood, and likely even sooner, meant everything from her own cell phone to a car, college, and boys. He didn’t even want to think about Akela dating or getting married and having her own children. Not yet anyway.

  Seymour hated to think that Akela would one day no longer be as dependent on her parents and have to make her own choices in life, good or bad.

  One choice he figured she would one day make was to try and meet her birth mother. As far as Seymour was concerned, she had the only parents who mattered—even if no longer together. But who was he to say Akela shouldn’t satisfy her curiosity, should it to come to that?

  They knew little about her birth mother. Only that she’d had a tough life and wanted to do right by Akela by giving her a chance for a better life. That was good enough for Seymour and Mele who loved Akela as much as any child they might have conceived on their own.

  But would that suffice for Akela at the end of the day?

  Right now, Seymour intended to enjoy her sweet innocence and making a mess of a brownie sundae she could eat with her hands.

  “Sure that’s not more than you can handle?” he asked, biting off his dipped cone.

  Akela giggled. “It’s not too much.”

  “Just asking.” He wondered how much Mele had told her about their situation. Maybe more than she should have. Or not enough. “Next week, we can take in a movie. How does that sound?”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you want extra butter, you can have it. Just be sure not to tell your mom.”

  “I won’t.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “What’s going to happen with you and Makuahine?”

  Seymour was caught off guard with the question. He didn’t want to sugar coat an answer. “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you still love each other?”

  He could only speak for himself. “We do. But sometimes adults don’t get along well enough to stay together, even if they love each other. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  Seymour left it at that, while wondering if there was any chance Mele might reconsider her decision to end the marriage.

  * * *

  Two hours later Leila had completed the sketch of what Iolana Mumea might look like today.

  “Pretty young lady,” commented Rachel.

  Leila agreed, careful not to sound too sure of herself for a girl who might not even still be alive. “We have to find her and see just how good an age progression artist I really am.”

  Rachel tasted her coffee. “You’re the best. Around here anyway.”

  “Not saying too much when my competition is a computer.”

  “Doesn’t that say it all?”

  Leila smiled. “I suppose so.”

  “Hope the guys can find her. I know if it were my daughter, just knowing she was out there somewhere, maybe even right under my nose, would drive me crazy.”

  “I know what you mean.” Leila thought about Rachel losing her husband. The one good thing about it was his death was confirmed. Meaning she wasn’t left wondering like with some soldiers who were MIA.

  Or a mother not knowing if her daughter was alive or dead.

  “I’d better get this to Lt. Tanji.”

  Rachel put the cup to her mouth. “And I’ve got another person to interview.”

  Leila nodded. “You mean the kid who supposedly overheard another kid bragging about killing the doctors?”

  “Yeah. Probably a wild goose chase.”

  “You never know. The ones we overlook sometimes come back to haunt us.”

  FOURTEEN

  Rachel took the drive down Haleakala Highway to Makawao in the Upcountry part of Maui. She admired the views it afforded of the North and South Shores. Once upon a time she and Greg had shared a romantic getaway there, escaping the hustle and bustle of central Maui. Now Rachel would give anything to relive those days instead of having to go it alone.

  She turned onto Makawao Highway and soon made her way through downtown, where Makawao’s legacy as a paniolo or cowboy town was very much evident in the old west architecture. Past this, Rachel came to the address on Baldwin Avenue for Emily Hofmeister.

  The front door opened before Rachel could ring the bell. A fortyish woman with short gray hair stood there.

  “Are you Emily?”

  She nodded. “You’re the detective I spoke to on the phone?”

  “Yes. Detective Lancaster.” Rachel flashed her ID.

  “Please come in.”

  Rachel stepped inside the small house. The stench of stale cigarettes crossed her nostrils.

  “Is your son Donnie home?”

  Emily nodded. “He’s in his room. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  Rachel suspected he already knew that. After all, it was his allegations that had brought her there.

  A momen
t later she saw the tall, lanky sixteen-year-old walk into the room. His head had been shaved, but he had a goatee.

  “Donnie, this is Detective Lancaster,” his mother said.

  “Hi.” He stuck his hands in his pockets nervously.

  “Hello, Donnie.” Rachel looked at Emily. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

  “You heard her.” Emily eyed her son and the two sat on a worn sofa.

  Rachel took a chair. She directed her attention to Donnie. “I understand you have information pertinent to a murder investigation?”

  He didn’t respond, as if having second thoughts.

  “Go on. Tell her what you heard,” Emily instructed.

  Rachel tried to make the boy feel at ease. “Whatever you say, I promise it won’t get back to anyone you’re accusing of a crime.” Not unless he was called upon to testify, should his story lead to an arrest and trial.

  Donnie wrung his hands. “Okay, I was just hanging out at the playground when I heard this guy I go to school with, Travis Takamori, talking on his cell phone. He said he was responsible for killing those doctors.”

  Rachel lifted a brow. “What exactly did you hear him say?”

  He paused, glancing at his mother.

  “It’s okay. Tell her,” she said, holding his hand.

  Donnie looked down. “Well, he said, ‘I took care of them doctors and it was easy. I knew right where the key was. I liked watching them die, choking on their own blood.’”

  Rachel frowned. “That’s quite a bit to remember.” Maybe too much. “You’re positive that’s what you heard?”

  “Yeah. Kinda freaked me out, you know. I just wanted to forget about it. But I had to tell somebody, so I told my mom. She said I should repeat it to the police.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Rachel wondered if Travis Takamori could be their killer. “Is he the type of person prone to practical jokes?”

  Donnie shrugged. “Don’t really know him that well.”

  “Travis is a crack head,” Emily said. “And a little crazy. I wouldn’t put anything past him, including murder just for kicks.”