Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery

by Flowers, R. Barri

  "All the same," Rennick said sharply, "I'd appreciate it if you'd provide us with a list of your clients for the past year and the nature of each case—"

  I flashed him an "excuse me?" look, not so much for the unrealistic request, but that he apparently expected me to buckle from the weight of his stare. I replied candidly: "I can't do that. What you're asking for is confidential information that I believe has no bearing on your investigation. You'll just have to take my word on this one—"

  He frowned, then seemed to back down, but still made his position clear. "I try not to take anyone's word when it comes to murder." Standing, he said: "I hope you don't have any travel plans, Ms. Delaney"—he made his voice sound intimidating—"just in case we need to talk to you again."

  I lifted to my feet. "I wouldn't dream of taking a vacation, Mr. Rennick. There's no other place I'd rather be than Honolulu." A tiny smile played on my lips. "Oh, and just for the record," it seemed worth saying, "I came here voluntarily. Thanks for the crummy coffee—"

  I felt as if I'd just dodged a bullet after leaving Rennick's office and making my way outside the building. For how long was anyone's guess. Right now, I was glad to have come away with more information than when I went in. The question was whether or not Kazuo Pelekai was just another hard-to-corner thug. Or was he the man behind Carter's murder?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It wasn't like I expected to extract a confession from Pelekai. But stranger things had happened. I had to find out for myself if this man who had people in the Prosecuting Attorney's office sweating was the one I should be going after for the murder of Carter Delaney. I brought Ridge along for the ride in a nonofficial capacity.

  He was less than thrilled with my determination to take on Kazuo Pelekai. "This isn't a man you want to screw around with, Skye—" he insisted from the passenger seat.

  "That's not what I had in mind," I quipped, though I took the matter very seriously.

  Ridge lowered his brows. "Then what the hell do you have in mind?"

  "Just a few questions, nothing more," I replied laconically.

  Ridge was still leery. "Pelekai is already under investigation for this case and a dozen others that I know of. If we had anything we thought could stick, he'd already be behind bars. In the meantime, if he is somehow involved in Delaney's death, he wouldn't think twice about doing you in too, if it meant saving his own ass—"

  "Carter was murdered in my house," I said, as though he had forgotten. "If the killer had wanted to kill me too, I'd already be dead." I knew this was a sorry rationale for feeling I'd be able to walk in on Pelekai's turf without putting my life in jeopardy. Even if I hadn't been the intended victim, that hardly meant I wouldn't become the next one. I looked at the road and back at Ridge, this time giving him a smile. I took one hand off the steering wheel and put it on his. "Besides," I added cutely, "isn't that why you're here? To protect me from harm's way?"

  He wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, well let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

  Though I had the utmost confidence in Ridge's ability—and my own for that matter—to get physical, I had brought along my 9-millimeter just in case it was needed.

  Kazuo Pelekai lived in an impressive Mediterranean villa on Poipu Drive in East Honolulu. It stood out like a palace even in an upper middle class neighborhood that was known for its upscale and gated properties.

  A gate attendant let us in after Ridge flashed his badge and told him we were here on official business. I drove onto a circular driveway and parked next to a late model Lexus and Mercedes.

  Before we could ring the bell, Kazuo Pelekai opened the door himself. This was somewhat contrary to my image of crime bosses being layered with bodyguards and first cousins. I recognized Pelekai, whose reputation in the city preceded itself. In his mid forties, he was of medium build and had short black hair parted on the side and ebony eyes. Apart from his run-ins with the law, he had often appeared before television cameras as an upstanding, charitable member of the community. But the police and prosecutors seemed to believe that much of what he gave away was nothing more than blood money and hush money.

  Pelekai furrowed his brow and peered at me. "What's this about?" he asked.

  I sucked in a breath and said concisely: "The late Carter Delaney—"

  Pelekai didn't even flinch. "Yeah, I heard about his death. What does it have to do with me?"

  Ridge replied: "Mind if we come in?"

  Pelekai looked at him distrustfully. "Yes, I mind. Do you have a warrant?"

  We didn't, but I wasn't about to let that deter us. "Why, do you have something to hide, Pelekai?" I asked. "We just want to ask you a few questions, that's all."

  He shifted his eyes from me to Ridge and back. Displaying a slight grin, he said: "All right. Come in—"

  We guardedly followed him into the house that looked even larger on the inside. Two very big muscular bodyguards greeted him and glared at us.

  "It's fine," he told them. "They want to ask me some questions about Carter Delaney—"

  Pelekai's associates remained tense, but did not speak or appear as if they were ready to present a problem without Pelekai's say so. We were led across a hardwood floor past the traditionally furnished living room to a formal dining room, where a long wooden table was loaded with a variety of traditional Hawaiian foods. At the far end sat a thirty-something, attractive Asian woman with shoulder length dark hair.

  "This is my wife, Shizue," Pelekai said, introducing her as if we were the new neighbors. To her, he said: "We've got some visitors. Detective Larsen and—" He looked me in the eye.

  "Skye Delaney," I told him. The name seemed to draw everyone's attention.

  "Would you like something to eat?" Shizue asked politely.

  Before I could decline, Ridge said: "We didn't come here for dinner."

  Pelekai kept his cool. "Okay, then let's go to my study to talk." He looked at his wife and said: "Start eating. I won't be long."

  She looked disappointed, but complied.

  Pelekai raised his hand to halt his bodyguards. "I'll do this alone," he told them. "Sit and eat."

  They did as he asked and we followed Pelekai down a curving hallway and past several well-appointed rooms, until he pulled open double doors leading to the study.

  Once we were inside, he leveled his eyes at me. "Let's get this over with. Ask your questions..."

  He was clearly a confident man who was no stranger in talking to the police, and probably private investigators as well. Ridge and I looked at each other and realized that since this visit was not part of the official police investigation, Kazuo Pelekai was within his rights to talk or not. Obviously, he had made up his mind to say something, but we weren't holding our breaths that it would be an outright confession.

  "Okay," I said, "did you have anything to do with Carter Delaney's murder?"

  "You his wife?" he asked curiously.

  "Ex, which is beside the point," I told him.

  Pelekai seemed to let that sink in before saying: "Like I already told the other cops, I don't know anything about Delaney's death, other than what I heard on the news—"

  "Cut the crap, Pelekai," Ridge said with an edge to his voice. "We both know you've had it in for Delaney since his prosecutor days. It was just a matter of time before you and your crime syndicate cronies were on your way to the state pen, thanks to some of his efforts that continued to put the squeeze on your operations. So maybe you started feeling the heat and figured you would be better off just getting rid of the man who was giving you nightmares, once and for all."

  Pelekai's nostrils flared. "You come into my house and make such wild accusations, while offering no proof? If you expected some type of confession to a made up story, you've wasted your time and mine. I had no part whatsoever in Carter Delaney's murder and don't know who did!"

  He showed no sign of buckling under pressure, which was still far from making him an innocent man. I decided to come at him from a different angle. />
  "There are rumors flying all around town, Pelekai, that you did play a role in Carter's murder," I told him. "I would think that kind of negative publicity of killing a former prosecutor would be very bad for business. Is that what you really want?"

  He glared at me. "Ms. Delaney, rumors mean nothing without solid evidence to back them up. I'll be honest when I say I'm not shedding any tears over Carter Delaney's death. But that doesn't mean I had anything to do with killing him. No respectable businessman, which I am, would take out Delaney in this city. As you say, it would be very bad for business..."

  If nothing else, Pelekai impressed me with his poise and façade of innocence. But was it reverse psychology? Or was it an indication that he truly was the wrong person to point the finger at for Carter's murder? Even if that were that the case, it didn't mean someone from his inner circle hadn't done the dirty deed, with or without Pelekai's knowledge, having just as much to lose if he went down.

  In spite of his attempt to distance himself from Carter's death, something told me that Pelekai knew more than he was letting on. So, grasping at straws, I asked: "If you had nothing to do with Carter's death, then who did? Give us a name—"

  He chuckled. "I'm not a psychic, Ms. Delaney. Sorry, but I can't help you."

  "Can't or won't?" I tossed back at him. Then I threw in another angle that was worth a try, even if out of my control: "Giving us something to work with now might give the P.A.'s office a good excuse to find someone else to go after—"

  Pelekai seemed to ponder the notion, but refused to budge from his position.

  "Let's get the hell out of here," Ridge told me. "We're not getting anywhere with him." He issued a warning to Pelekai: "Next time you see me, it won't be a voluntary chitchat—"

  Pelekai clasped his hands together. "I'm always willing to cooperate with the authorities," he said, "as long as it doesn't become harassment."

  It was hard to argue the point, so I didn't. I decided it was best to save that for another day when we were better equipped to back up our suspicions that Kazuo Pelekai was a key part of the puzzle that resulted in Carter's premature death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  After we left Pelekai's place, Ridge asked me: "So, other than being a well positioned drug dealer, illegal firearms dealer, pimp, and all around son of a bitch thought to be involved in organized crime throughout the islands and on the mainland, what was your take on Pelekai?"

  As if those things weren't bad enough, I answered bluntly: "He knows something about Carter's murder. Don't ask me what. Call it women's intuition."

  "Maybe," Ridge said, sounding less than convinced. "Try taking that to court."

  "I didn't say he killed Carter," I told Ridge. "I'm pretty sure Pelekai wouldn't do the dirty work himself, but that doesn't mean one of his bodyguards or other associates couldn't have done the deed."

  "Yeah, I agree," Ridge said. "We've had our eyes on the so-called bodyguards for some time now. Alfonso Takemoto and Masakazu Miyoshi. A couple of scumbags who are suspected of drug dealing and assault, among other things. They're also suspects in a drive-by shooting that killed a snitch named Frankie Pokipala."

  I wondered what Ridge meant about the cops having their eyes on the bodyguards. Either they believed Kazuo Pelekai and his comrades were involved in Carter's death or they didn't, apart from their other alleged criminal activity. I steadied the car over a bumpy stretch of road, then inquired innocuously: "Does the P.A.'s office, or your office for that matter, really think it has a case against Pelekai in Carter's death? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?"

  Ridge ran a hand across his head, which also seemed to give him time to consider the question carefully. "Sure would wrap things up in a nice, neat little package if we could arrest Pelekai and his cronies for Carter's murder," he admitted. "And, to be quite honest about it, it would make our job in the department a hell of a lot easier if they were all locked away—"

  I flashed him a look of skepticism. "Does easier mean looking for a scapegoat instead of finding the real murderer?" I had to ask, though I already knew the answer.

  "We're doing the best we can," Ridge said defensively. "Carter Delaney, like him or not, left his mark on this city and many of the people in it. No one in the department wants to pin his death on the wrong person or persons. If Pelekai had nothing to do with it—and I'm not sure I buy that—he'll be dropped from our list of suspects and we'll go on from there."

  "Sorry," I told him sincerely. "Guess it's easier being a cop when you're not one anymore." This seemed especially true when it happened to be your ex-husband's murder that was being investigated.

  "Hey, there's nothing in the rule books that says a cop who retired ahead of schedule can't rejoin the force," Ridge hinted. "I think it would be fun working with you officially for a change."

  "Don't hold your breath," I warned him. "There's no amount of money or other enticements that could get me to give up my freedom to return to the grind of the rank and file. Besides, I'm not sure you could handle dating someone you had to work side by side with on a daily basis."

  He must have agreed, given his sudden loss of speech.

  * * *

  Ridge and I went to dinner at a place on Ala Moana Boulevard called Yoshio's Bar & Grill, where we ordered smoked salmon and fettuccini.

  I took a sip of red wine before asking Ridge: "So how the hell does someone with Carter's same rare blood type follow him to my house, strangle him, dump him in the Jacuzzi tub, lose some flesh and blood to Ollie's fangs, and then manage to apparently go underground—all without being seen or heard by anyone? It can't be that easy to hide in Honolulu."

  If that was a mouthful, Ridge seemed able to digest it with one even swallow. "Obviously, the whole thing was well thought out and executed without a hitch, except for Ollie's ferocious appetite. And maybe it wasn't so ferocious after all. Unless he bit a doctor, it couldn't have been much more than a flesh wound, since there's no indication the person was treated anywhere on the island."

  A thought occurred to me as I tasted more wine. "Do you remember reading about that clinic in Manoa on Punahou Street that was shut down a few weeks ago due to unsanitary conditions?"

  "Yeah, why?" Ridge asked.

  "I think I heard they were back in business while they appealed their case," I told him.

  "So?"

  "So," I said, "whoever Ollie bit could have gone there for treatment..."

  "That's assuming they knew the clinic existed, much less reopened," Ridge said skeptically.

  "But it makes sense," I said. "The clinic isn't far from my house, and just about every other medical facility in the city has already been accounted for. Being under the radar, it would have been the perfect place to get patched up."

  Ridge dribbled his fingers on the table pensively. "Seems like a stretch, but I suppose it's worth checking out."

  That told me the cops hadn't checked it out yet. It was a surprising oversight for a police force that was supposedly checking every nook and cranny to find Carter's killer. I didn't blame Ridge, per se. He may have been in charge of the investigation, but he was only one man dependent on the professionalism and dedication of his partner and their subordinates.

  Meaning I needed to check out the clinic myself and see if it led anywhere.

  The conversation turned to topics more suitable for two people who were seeing each other socially, if not sexually of late. The timing for intimacy hadn't been right, and the mood had definitely been all wrong ever since Carter's death, as if he were somehow sabotaging my relationship with Ridge even from the grave.

  This night was no different, as I dropped Ridge off at his house and went straight to my own, favoring my company over his. He didn't press it, and I hated putting him in a position where he had every right to press. I didn't want to lose him, but was afraid I might do just that if he got tired of waiting while I sorted out what I needed to.

  Sleep was my escape—but it came at a price. In a dream
, Carter came back to haunt me in the image of how I had last seen him dead in my tub. I awoke in a cold sweat and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. It seemed like Ollie was also having a restless sleep. I found him half-draped over a living room chair, whimpering.

  "It's just a bad dream, boy," I said, gently running my hand across his head. "Maybe water will work for you, too?" He licked my hand. I took that as a yes and put my glass to his mouth where he quickly lapped up the rest of the water with his tongue.

  Back in bed, with Ollie on the floor beside me, I was ready to give sleep another try. When it finally came, I was spared the nightmare of Carter's death. But I had a feeling that it was merely waiting for another time and place to strike again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Manoa was less than a mile from Waikiki and home of the University of Hawaii at Manoa. It was also where the Manoa Aloha Clinic had recently reopened its doors.

  It was nearly noon when I stepped inside the clinic. The place was crowded with people waiting to be treated and in various stages of health. I headed over to the reception counter, where I saw a thirty-something receptionist with thick dark hair and blonde highlights.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure," I admitted. "I need some information—"

  "What kind of information...?" She gave me a serious look of distrust, as though I might be a spy from the Health Department.

  I explained in an improvisation of fact and fiction that someone had broken into my house about a week ago and stole some jewelry. In the process, my dog bit the person before he or she got away. Due to the amount of blood left behind, I figured the wounds were probably deep enough to require treatment and since this was the closest medical facility...