Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Instinctively, I lifted the arm and noticed no sign of Ollie's handiwork. I asked Mitsuo: "Did Carter have any wounds that could have come from a dog bite?"

  His eyes widened. "No." He put the arm back under the sheet. "Why do you ask?"

  I told him about Sumiyo Ishimoto's speculations regarding the dog bite.

  Mitsuo flipped through his autopsy notes. "There was no indication that Carter was bitten by a dog." He gave Ridge, then me, a puzzled look. "If your dog bit someone with AB negative blood, I'm afraid it wasn't Carter. DNA tests should confirm that."

  Then it must have been Carter's killer, I told myself. Carter's death had suddenly taken on a whole new dimension—beginning with the reality that we were no longer dealing with a suicide, but cold-blooded murder.

  "By the way," Mitsuo said to both of us, "this probably doesn't have any bearing on your investigation, but I thought you should know that Carter was legally intoxicated at the time of his death—"

  Ridge and I pondered that information.

  * * *

  "That could explain how Delaney ended up at your house instead of your office," Ridge said when we were back in the car.

  "And," I suggested, "it could explain how someone may have been able to murder Carter apparently without much of a struggle."

  Even to the end, Carter looked like he was in pretty good shape. He had always prided himself on being mentally and physically prepared for any trouble that dared come his way. Obviously both had failed him when he needed them most.

  "Sorry I ever doubted your woman's intuition or whatever the hell it was about Delaney," Ridge said, breaking a stony silence. "Maybe in his own way the man was trying to tell you something," he added, changing lanes.

  "Maybe in his own way, Carter was," I agreed. "Only he never got the chance to finish what he started."

  "We'll see if the DNA sample Ollie took from the presumed killer matches anyone in the CODIS database," Ridge said, referring to the Combined DNA Index System, a national DNA databank that can help identify persons involved in criminal activity.

  "That would certainly simplify things," I said, "at least in terms of telling us who we're looking for." I knew that actually finding the suspect would not be as simple.

  "Don't get your hopes up," Ridge told me. "It could go either way."

  At this point, I wasn't willing to bet the house that it would go my way. "Maybe we'll get lucky," I said, sounding less than optimistic.

  "Yeah, maybe," Ridge said. "In the meantime, I don't suppose I can persuade you to stay out of this, can I?"

  My eyelids fluttered at him defiantly. "I wouldn't even want you to try—"

  He sighed. "This is a police matter, Skye. We're talking about the murder of your ex. You'll only get in the way if you go around asking questions to the wrong people—and that includes Delaney's widow."

  If only it were as cut and dry as letting the police do their job, I thought. Since Carter was my ex-husband and client, I felt a moral obligation to do my own investigation into his death. I owed him that much for what we once had.

  "Carter was murdered in my house, Ridge. Until I know why, please don't ask me to look the other way." I softened my tone and added: "Meanwhile, I'll do my best to avoid stepping on the toes of police detectives...or at least one in particular—"

  Of course, I could offer no guarantees. Wisely, Ridge never asked for any.

  * * *

  After I got to my office, I went over my recent case files with a fine tooth comb. I couldn't rule out that someone with an unfulfilled grudge or perhaps extreme dissatisfaction with my work might have wished to do away with me. I wondered if somehow Carter's death might have tragically been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The problem with that theory was that he should not have been at my house in the first place. So why was he? If the killer had meant to kill me, why kill Carter instead and keep me alive for another day to be better prepared for the next possible attempt?

  My search produced nothing viable that I could give to the police, much less send my own warning bells into high alert. I made a couple of calls to clients where the conclusion of the case had caused particular grief and resentment to others. They gave no indication they were in fear of their lives and doubted I had any reason to be as it related to them.

  I kept the possibilities open and would keep backtracking on the small chance that I was a marked woman. But my better half believed that the intended target was Carter, and the mission had been accomplished.

  Not waiting around to see if there was a DNA match with a known offender, I spent the next two and a half hours trying in vain to locate a clinic or hospital where someone with AB negative blood had been treated for an injury, possibly a dog bite, in the last few days. So far, the results had been pretty much the same with statements such as: "We have no record of anyone with that blood type or dog bite being treated recently."

  I put the bottled water to my lips in frustration and thirst, while viewing my computer screen and the dwindling number of medical facilities left in the city. Had Ollie's bite been deep enough for the person to require treatment? I wondered. I also considered that the victim could have gone to a private physician or somewhere outside Honolulu.

  Luck was always a welcome friend in the private eye business, especially if it came quickly and conveniently. That did not seem to be in the cards this day, until a ray of hope suddenly emerged...

  "Yes, someone with type AB negative blood was treated at the Honolulu Medical Center two days ago," said the nurse informatively, "and released..."

  "What can you tell me about the patient?" I asked hopefully.

  A pause. "I'm afraid, not much," she said. "All patient records are confidential."

  I posed as an investigator with the Centers for Disease Control, and explained that we were tracking individuals with this rare blood type who may be susceptible to a potentially deadly bacteria strain.

  "All we really need is some basic information on the patient," I said smoothly. "Race, age, and gender can usually give us a good indication of whether the person is a high or low risk candidate. And, of course, a name so that we can get in touch with him or her to be tested, if necessary—"

  The nurse seemed to be biting the bait. "Well, let's see..." she mumbled. "Does a seven-year-old Filipino girl sound like a high risk candidate?"

  "No," I told her, and slouched in my chair. Damn. Unfortunately, I was back to square one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ridge stepped into the office of Honolulu Mayor Lloyd Newman, who had requested to speak to him personally as the detective in charge of the Carter Delaney murder investigation. Ridge had tried to get around this, not wanting or needing the mayor to tell him how to do his job. But when the mayor wants to see you, you go. So ordered his boss Captain Felix Chu, who was also present, along with Detective Henry Kawakami.

  They were seated around a square glass table. This was to be the sixty-something mayor's last term in office, with an eye supposedly on the governorship.

  But there was still some unfinished business.

  After some small talk, mostly by the mayor, he got serious and said to Ridge in a tough voice: "I don't think I need to tell you, Detective Larsen, that it's imperative we get to the bottom of Carter Delaney's murder as quickly as possible."

  "I understand that, sir," Ridge responded tightly, looking him right in the eye.

  "Do you?" Newman asked before glancing at Captain Chu, a thirty-year veteran on the force.

  "What's not to understand?" Ridge asked, hoisting a brow, as if he hadn't a clue. "You want the case solved. So do I."

  Newman sucked in a breath, looked at Homicide Detective Kawakami who was a thirty-seven-year-old native Hawaiian, and back at Ridge, before saying: "When you were assigned this case, Detective Larsen, the assumption was that we were looking at a possible suicide." He paused, eyeing all the parties present. "Now that we know Carter Delaney was a victim of foul play—"


  Ridge's brows came together, not liking the implication. He decided to speak up before this went any further. "Are you saying you don't think I'm qualified to run this investigation?"

  "Not at all, detective," Newman said calmly. "You're a damned good cop. At least that's what everyone keeps telling me. But Delaney was a good friend of mine, and active in the community. It's important to people in this city that we don't give the impression of dragging our feet in bringing his killer to justice. For that reason, we think you should have as much help as you need, leaving no stones unturned in conducting this investigation."

  He stopped and deferred to Captain Chu, who said flatly: "It's still your case, Ridge. But I'm bringing in Detective Kawakami to help run the investigation. Hopefully, together, you two can make everybody happy by getting some hard evidence and arresting whoever is responsible for Carter Delaney's death." Sighing, he faced Ridge and asked: "Any questions?"

  Ridge felt as though he was being put on the spot. He could rant and rave about this conspiracy to undermine his authority in investigating Carter Delaney's death. But what good would it do, when he was clearly outnumbered by those who counted? He decided to make the best of the situation and try to put this case behind him as soon as possible.

  "None whatsoever," he told his boss.

  Chu nodded agreeably, as did Newman.

  Ridge regarded the muscular Henry Kawakami, whom he had worked with briefly once before, and said: "Welcome aboard."

  Kawakami nodded and asked: "I understand you ran a DNA sample of a suspect bitten by Skye Delaney's dog through the national database?"

  Ridge pursed his lips. "Yeah. There was no match," he said. "Whoever the dog bit, they aren't in the system. But it did indicate that the DNA belonged to a male." In fact, he had already assumed this to be the case, given the nature of Delaney's murder. But Ridge wasn't ruling out female involvement in the homicide, with the victim's widow a prime suspect, considering recent circumstances.

  "So we'll have to rely more on good old-fashioned detective work to get the bastard," Kawakami said, running a hand through his coarse dark hair.

  "Yeah, whatever it takes," Ridge said.

  Everyone seemed in agreement on that.

  "There is one other thing..." Newman said, looking directly at Ridge.

  Isn't there always? Ridge thought to himself, sensing what was coming.

  "I've heard rumors that you're involved with Carter Delaney's ex-wife—" Newman looked uncomfortable mentioning it.

  Ridge thought about denying it, especially with Captain Chu looking on, but then figured what was the point? Especially when he wanted their relationship to become public knowledge. The fact that he was seeing Skye had nothing to do with this case, per se. Or his ability to conduct the investigation.

  "They're more than just rumors," Ridge admitted. "Skye and I are dating, so..."

  "I understand she's an ex-cop turned security consultant and private eye," Newman said.

  He's obviously done his homework, Ridge thought. Or more like he'd gotten someone else to do it for him.

  "Right on all counts," Ridge said, wondering where this was going.

  Newman scratched his nose. "Will she be a problem?"

  Ridge raised a brow. "A problem...?" He knew damned well what the mayor was talking about, but he wanted to force him to say it.

  Newman adjusted in the chair. "The last thing we need is for Ms. Delaney, with her background and professional skills, interfering with this investigation. Think you can keep her in line?"

  Ridge thought about it for maybe one second, then said: "With all due respect, Mayor, it's not my job to keep Skye Delaney in line. I have no control over what she does as a private investigator or citizen for that matter—"

  Newman frowned. "Don't get me wrong, Detective Larsen, I don't give a damn about who you're sleeping with. This is about not jeopardizing this case for any conflicts of interest. I hope I'm making myself clear."

  Ridge composed himself before responding. "You are. But, just for the record, there is no conflict on my part. I intend to treat this case like any other and Skye completely understands that. She'd never ask or expect me to compromise the investigation in any way." Not that she's above asking for favors, Ridge thought, which he was happy to give, as long as they both understood where to draw the line.

  Captain Chu seemed satisfied and so did Detective Kawakami. Mayor Newman gave a polite nod and said: "Glad to hear that." He stood. "I guess this meeting is over. The sooner you wrap this case up, the better for all of us."

  Ridge took the words seriously, believing that the longer the investigation dragged out, the greater the pressure to solve Carter Delaney's murder, particularly with Skye just as determined to get at the truth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was my turn to pay Darlene Delaney a visit.

  This time it was anything but a get-acquainted house call. Whatever problems she and Carter may have had, there was no escaping the fact that the woman he had chosen over me was having an affair at the time of his death and was also involved with a drug dealer. In my mind and experience, that was more than sufficient reason to make her a leading suspect in Carter's murder before, during, or after the fact.

  Whomever Ollie bit had no DNA record on file with CODIS. But the person did have AB negative blood, which would help narrow the field. Since the suspect was believed to be a male, that would rule Darlene out. However, she got no free pass from me for possibly being complicit in Carter's murder.

  The electronic gate was open when I arrived. Darlene's BMW was parked in the driveway. It looked like it had just been washed. At least she has her priorities in order, I thought cynically. Or maybe she had something to hide. Noticeably absent was Carter's Cadillac, currently impounded by the police as possible evidence in his murder.

  Professionally dressed in a periwinkle suit and sandals, I moseyed up to the arched double doors and rang the bell three times before someone answered. It was not Darlene, but a forty-something dark-skinned female.

  "Yes?" she asked in a non-friendly voice.

  "I'm here to see Ms. Delaney," I said, unsure of how to address the woman with whom I shared a name and, for a time, the man behind it.

  The woman batted brown eyes at me and said: "Mrs. Delaney is mourning the loss of her husband and isn't seeing anyone she doesn't have to—"

  "I think she'll see me," I said firmly. "Tell her it's Skye Delaney—"

  She gave me a disbelieving look, as if I somehow did not measure up to the name, then finally said: "Just a moment..." before closing the doors behind her.

  When they opened again, it was Darlene who stood there. She was a far cry from the stylish woman I was used to seeing. She wore no makeup and had on an oversized sweater, jeans, and was barefoot.

  "Elberta is our housekeeper," Darlene told me. "With the press hounding me since Carter's death, I've found it easier to have her screen visitors."

  I understood, but said bluntly: "We need to talk!"

  She regarded me coldly. "I think you're right," she spat, "considering that my husband was murdered in your house—"

  It was a reality I was still trying to wrap my mind around, even as I considered what role, if any, his widow may have played in his death.

  Once inside, I glanced around at the spacious, immaculate setting with high-beamed ceilings, walls painted in earth tones, French doors, and plantation shutters. The architecture was exquisite and the bamboo floors were accentuated with Oriental rugs. I marveled at the Great Room's contemporary furnishings.

  All in all, the place seemed to represent everything Carter had dreamed of in a home, right down to the neoclassical art and collectibles. I got a glimpse of Elberta moving from one room to another, but not before she pinned me with her glare. She seemed to resent my presence.

  Might as well get used to me, I thought, because you and your employer are going to be seeing a lot of Skye Delaney until Carter's murder has been solved and the killer
or killers are brought to justice.

  I followed Darlene into the huge study. It had a wet bar and an impressive wall-length wooden ornamental bookcase filled with Carter's law books. That part of his life had apparently always remained with Carter, even if it had taken a back seat to his strong desire to become a force in the business world.

  "I'd give you the grand tour, but..." Darlene left it at that.

  "Don't knock yourself out," I told her sarcastically. "I didn't come here to see what Carter left behind."

  We settled into leather accent chairs around a glass top coffee table, facing a floor to ceiling window with a magnificent view of the ocean beyond a swimming pool.

  Darlene frowned. "He left behind a wife and a daughter who will never really get to know her father..."

  Although I concurred with her, especially regarding the daughter, I said tersely: "Carter didn't leave either of you intentionally. Someone chose to snuff out his life."

  She stared at that reality for a moment, and said in a monotone voice: "Yes, that is what the police are saying." Darlene drew in a long sigh. "I think I need a drink..." She rose swiftly and headed for the wet bar. "Can I get you something?"

  Three o'clock in the afternoon was usually way too early for me to indulge, particularly when investigating a murder, but I found myself borrowing her words from our previous meeting: "I'll have what you're having."

  She made two martinis. Handing me one, Darlene said: "Carter told me that I drink too much. Funny, but I often accused him of the same thing..." She put the glass to her mouth. "I guess that makes me a living alcoholic, and him a dead one—"

  It was hard for me to believe that Carter was an alcoholic, but when I thought about it, the signs were there long before the medical examiner told me that Carter's blood alcohol level was excessive at the time of his death. The man I was married to had always been able to carry his liquor. Now I strongly suspected he had carried it way too far.