Murder on Kaanapali Beach

by R. Barri Flowers

  We'll see where it leads, thought Rachel. Until then, she had to give the ex the benefit of the doubt and respect that she would truly be grieved and shocked upon learning of Breslin's death.

  Rachel drove to a Kihei subdivision on Kawailani Circle, arriving at the single family home owned by Lynnette Takeyama a few moments later. There was a red Honda and a blue Buick in the driveway.

  Rachel glanced at the rocking chair on the lanai and ran a hand through her shoulder length blonde hair, before ringing the bell.

  A short Hawaiian woman, perhaps in her late fifties to early sixties with graying hair, opened the door but said nothing.

  "Hi," Rachel said. "I'm Detective Lancaster with the Maui Police Department. I need to speak with Willa Breslin."

  "I'm her mother," she said coolly. "May I ask what this is about?"

  Yes you may, but I'd rather not tell you, Rachel thought. "I think it's best if I just talk to your daughter."

  She nodded. "All right. I'll get her."

  Rachel's impression of the mother was that she was a no nonsense type of person who probably dictated her daughter's life now that she was no longer married and back under her roof.

  A tall, slender woman in her mid thirties with short black hair came to the door. "I'm Willa. How can I help you?"

  "Are you Parker Breslin's ex-wife?"

  "Yes," she said calmly. "What's this about?"

  Rachel thought she might have spotted a little girl with long dark hair through the door opening. It wasn't the type of news she should overhear. "Can you step outside for a moment?" she asked Willa.

  "Yes."

  Rachel waited till she closed the door and faced her before saying tonelessly: "I'm afraid I have some bad news—"

  "Did something happen to Parker?" Willa asked with trepidation.

  Rachel wondered why those were the first words from her mouth. Did she know something about his death? "He was murdered this evening..." she told her straightforwardly.

  Willa put her hands to her mouth. "Oh no... How?"

  "He was shot to death in front of his house," Rachel answered, observing her demeanor.

  Willa shook her head. "I can't believe it! Parker was supposed to pick up our daughter, Marie."

  "What time was that?" asked Rachel.

  "Seven o'clock."

  Rachel realized that was around the time the 911 call came in, reporting the shooting. Coincidence? She regarded the ex-wife thoughtfully. "And he was picking her up for—" she cut it off there to see what the response was.

  "The rest of the week," Willa said with watery eyes. "We're divorced and share custody of Marie. It was his turn to have her—"

  But that opportunity was cut short at the worst possible time, thought Rachel. Could the ex have had anything to do with it? "Do you know of anyone who would have wanted your ex-husband dead?"

  Willa stared at the question. "No. As far as I'm aware, Parker had no enemies."

  "Well, someone wanted him dead," Rachel said bluntly. "He was shot three times at pointblank range."

  Willa wiped tears from her face. "I need to tell my daughter—"

  "I understand." She expected no less, considering Willa was now the only parent the girl had left. "I need you to come to the morgue to identify the body. If you'd like to do that a little later—"

  "No, I'll do it now," Willa said flatly. "I want to see for myself that Parker is really dead before I have to break this news to our daughter..."

  Rachel found her wording odd, but reasoned that each person reacted differently to such tragic news.

  Half an hour later, she stood with Willa Breslin at the Maui morgue, where the ex-wife of Parker Breslin formally identified his remains before breaking down in tears. Rachel felt appropriate sympathy for her, fully understanding loss as well as anyone. But as a homicide detective, she also had to consider that the grieving former wife of a murdered man could be playing her while going through the motions as a party to murder.

  CHAPTER SIX

  On Tuesday night, Renee went for a drink at the Coconut Club on Front Street in Lahaina. She had learned over the course of the day that the victim of the Kaanapali Beach murder was Joyce Yashiro, a thirty-nine-year-old Native Hawaiian and lecturer at the College of Maui. She was believed to have been jogging when attacked. What Renee didn't know yet was whether or not Joyce knew her attacker or vice versa.

  According to Detective Jonny Chung, there were no indications that a sexual assault had taken place. That fit the pattern of the earlier victims of the Zip Line Killer. But did that mean they were looking at the same killer? Or was someone intent on making it look that way?

  Renee looked around the club hoping to find Franco, as this was his favorite watering hole. She spotted him. Only he wasn't alone. There were two shapely young women commanding his attention. Or was it the other way around?

  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, she thought. Though they weren't exclusive, a tinge of jealously crept through her otherwise calm appearance. What did she expect when she decided to sleep with him? That they would suddenly go from friends with occasional sex benefits to girlfriend and boyfriend. She wasn't sure she wanted that any more than he did. And clearly, he did not.

  "What's up?" She heard the voice say over her shoulder.

  Renee turned away from Franco and looked into the handsome face of another guy. "I'm good," she said.

  He flashed a smile. "Same here. Buy you a drink?"

  She glanced back at Franco, who was so wrapped up with his company that he hadn't even realized she was there.

  "Sure, why not," she told the man.

  "I'm Todd," he said.

  "Renee."

  "Nice to meet you, Renee." He stuck out his hand for her to shake.

  She did so, while sizing him up further. He was over six feet tall and in good shape, with thick dark hair and gray-blue eyes.

  He flagged down a waitress and then asked: "What would you like?"

  "I'll have a Lava Flow."

  Todd ordered it, and himself a Mai Tai. "So are you a tourist?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

  "Are you?" She turned the question around, since she hadn't seen him there before.

  "Not exactly. I'm here on business. How about you?"

  "I live on Maui."

  He grinned. "Lucky you."

  She smiled, but thought about Joyce Yashiro, whose luck had run out. "All that glitters is not gold," she told him. "Not even in the paradise of Hawaii."

  "I suppose you're right. Fantasy and reality don't always go hand in hand."

  The drinks came and Renee noticed that Franco and the two women were gone. She couldn't imagine them hooking up at his grandmother's house. But that didn't mean he hadn't taken them elsewhere. Renee knew there was little chance he would end up in her bed tonight.

  So maybe she would have to settle for someone else.

  "What do you on Maui?" Todd asked, getting her attention.

  "I'm a journalist."

  "What do you write about?"

  Renee had a feeling he wasn't really that interested and was just making small talk while hoping to get into her pants. She would save him and herself the trouble.

  "Do you want to get out of here?" she asked bluntly.

  He cocked a brow. "Yeah, sure. Where to?"

  "Your hotel room," she suggested, preferring not to go to her place for a change.

  "Sounds good to me."

  Twenty minutes later, Renee was in bed with a total stranger, while fantasizing that he was Franco. Maybe next time it would be. Or not.

  For the moment, she fully intended to make the most of the situation at hand before getting back to the grind tomorrow of chasing another island murder, wherever it might lead.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Leila was up at five-thirty a.m. for a quick jog while getting the sleepiness out of her. She had been jogging for years now, enjoying the way it made her feel. She imagined Joyce Yashiro felt the same way, not expecting tha
t she would run smackdab into a killer.

  As such, Leila was on guard for anything or anyone suspicious. She resisted the urge to carry her personal handgun, not wanting to give in to fear with one or more killers on the loose. She was well schooled in self-defense techniques and would not hesitate to use them if necessary. She ran down Front Street, which was currently empty compared to later in the day when tourists and locals would vie for space. Forty-five minutes later, she headed home to get ready for another day on the job.

  When she got to work, Leila was greeted by Detective Jonny Chung, who had a strange grin on his face.

  "What's up?" she asked curiously.

  "I think we may have a hit on the sketch."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. I looked at surveillance footage we retrieved from the closest hotel to where the victim was found and, in accordance with the time line, I saw a man moving across the lobby, clearly in a hurry. He looks like the one in the composite. You can see for yourself..."

  "All right." Leila contained her enthusiasm that they might have a solid lead on Joyce Yashiro's killer, knowing how composite sketches, for all their strengths, could still be off the mark. Especially if the witness had provided an inaccurate description or, even worse, was purposely misleading.

  They went to the crime lab, where their resident Certified Forensic Video Technician David Lovato was doing what he does best, analyzing data fed to him from the various divisions of the police department.

  "We need you to pull up that footage again we looked at from the Kaanapali Seas Hotel," Chung ordered him.

  "Ahh yes, the chunky white guy who looked like he was doing his best to avoid being seen," Lovato said, and touched his glasses. "Unfortunately for him, it didn't work."

  "Let's take a look," Leila said anxiously over the shoulder of the lanky, twenty-something technician.

  "Just a sec," he said, and pulled up the digital video, advancing it to the right spot. "This was taken a little after five a.m. Here goes..."

  She watched with interest as the suspect walked into the lobby. He appeared to be in his thirties, medium build, with curly short hair and some hair on his face. He was wearing what looked to be a maintenance uniform. She recalled the witness had said he was wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Had he changed outfits between then and when this footage was taken? Or were they looking at two different men?

  "What do you think?" Chung asked her, holding up a copy of the composite sketch.

  Leila had to admit that it bore a pretty good resemblance to the man on the video, who looked a little flustered. Did he have good reason to be?

  "I think we need to find out who he is," she responded. "And fast!"

  "I'm with you there," he agreed. "I'm guessing he works at the hotel, or at a nearby one."

  Lovato adjusted his glasses. "Hope you guys get him, assuming he's the one who murdered that poor lady."

  There's only one way to find out, Leila thought. If he was their man, there was a good chance he would recognize himself in the composite that had been circulated to the media, and make a run for it. The thought of a possible serial killer slipping from their grasp was more than she wanted to bear.

  * * *

  Jonny Chung thought about his old gig with the vice squad as Leila drove them to Kaanapali. If the truth be told, he missed the good old days when he dealt with drug dealers, addicts, and whores. He worked the system as he saw fit, while establishing a good track record for arrests and cases solved. But working homicide was a step up the ladder. And it didn't hurt to have a hot partner, even if he was smart enough not to step over the line she had set. Then there was the fact that he got to play a role in getting cold-blooded killers off the street and behind bars where they belonged.

  Putting the screws to the Zip Line Killer would certainly be a major coup and a feather in his cap. Especially since this asshole had been picking off vulnerable women and strangling them before he was transferred to the unit. He was ready to bring him down and get the respect he felt had always been lacking with vice.

  Were they on the right track in catching the elusive killer? Or were they barking up the wrong tree in pinning down the person responsible for the death of Joyce Yashiro?

  "If this killer does turn out to be an employee at a Kaanapali Beach hotel," Leila said, "it stands to reason that if he is our serial killer, he must be moving around from job to job, given the location of the other murders."

  "I was thinking the same thing," Chung muttered, though he was looking at it from a slightly different angle. "But the guy wasn't expecting to be seen by the good doctor, who was able to give us a description of him."

  "Which makes him all the more dangerous," she noted.

  "Yeah, and that's why if the guy in the footage is the Zip Line Killer, or even a single event killer, we have to get to him now when he's caught off guard."

  "Exactly."

  Leila turned off the Honoapiilani Highway and onto Kaanapali Parkway. A couple of minutes later, they were entering the Kaanapali Seas Hotel.

  Chung quickly spotted a male supervisor who was directing someone from the maintenance crew. After he was through, the worker walked away. They moved to the supervisor.

  Showing his badge, Chung wasted little time getting right to it. "We're detectives with the Maui Police Department."

  "How can I help you?"

  "We're looking for a man who may work at this hotel in maintenance."

  "No problem. Do you know his name?"

  "We only have a picture of him, taken from video surveillance in this lobby," Leila said. She removed the still shot and handed it to him.

  The supervisor reacted. "It looks like Bradley Sawyer, one of our custodial workers."

  Chung and Leila exchanged glances, optimistic that they were onto something. "Take another look to be sure," Chung said.

  "Yeah, that has to be him," he reiterated.

  "What can you tell us about Mr. Sawyer?" asked Leila.

  "He's only worked here for three months. Mostly keeps to himself, but hasn't had any problems that I know of. What did he do?"

  Chung did not hold back. "We're investigating him as a possible murder suspect."

  The supervisor was clearly shocked. "What—?"

  "Does he happen to be here right now?" Leila asked hopefully.

  "Yes, he should be on the lower level buffing the floor."

  Chung noted the sprawling nature of the hotel. He didn't want to give Sawyer any extra time to escape. "What's the quickest way to get there?"

  * * *

  Bradley Sawyer went through the motions as he buffed the floor. It wasn't exactly the ideal job on the island, but he'd had worse. Moving to Hawaii definitely had its ups and downs. Same was true when he lived in Boston, Atlanta, and Portland along the way. In the latter instance, he'd made the mistake of getting a woman pregnant who told him she couldn't get pregnant. He never stuck around to see what her plans were. All he knew was that he could barely afford to take care of himself, much less another mouth to feed.

  He did the best he could to roll with the punches and try to keep his head above water. Maybe when things went south on Maui he'd try his hand on the Big Island. He'd heard they were hiring there and it was also a good place to lay low.

  Sawyer was just about to go over a spot he missed and then go for a smoke on his break, when he spotted an Asian man coming his way. There was something about the man's demeanor that rubbed him the wrong way. He looked like a cop, including the cheap suit. Or was it his imagination? He'd had a few run-ins with cops and feared that they were onto him and his latest criminal activity. He didn't want to go to jail again.

  He pretended not to notice the man while continuing to buff the floor. Once he turned away, Sawyer bolted for the exit that he knew was nearby. It would take him out the back way and he could disappear. He heard the man in hot pursuit yell: "Stop!"

  Sawyer ignored him and continued to run. As he approached the exit, a Hawaiian woman appeared. She pulled
out a gun and pointed it at his head.

  "Going somewhere?" she asked sarcastically as he stopped in his tracks.

  Sawyer was surrounded by the two people, both aiming weapons at him.

  "Put your hands up where we can see them," ordered the male.

  Sawyer obeyed, raising his arms. He tried to play innocent. "What's this all about?"

  "Are you Bradley Sawyer?" the male asked in a tough voice, as if he already knew the answer.

  "Yeah, so what?" he responded brusquely.

  "Detective Chung of the Maui Police Department," the man said, "and this is Detective Sergeant Kahana."

  Sawyer knew he was screwed, but still hoped he could somehow worm his way out of it. "Look, you've got the wrong guy, whatever he did."

  "Is that why you ran?" Chung tossed back at him.

  Sawyer felt his armpits perspiring. "I didn't know you were cops," he claimed lamely.

  "Well now you do," Leila said while removing handcuffs. She folded his right arm back, cuffed his wrist, and did the same with the other, before saying: "Bradley Sawyer, you're under arrest on suspicion of murdering Joyce Yashiro. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

  He listened as she droned on with the rights thing, and wondered why they were treating him like Public Enemy Number One for passing some bad checks.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Leila looked through the one-way glass as Bradley Sawyer sat restlessly in the interrogation room, still handcuffed, having possibly seen his last taste of freedom in this lifetime. He had a deep tan, which might have explained why the witness, Evan Locklear, was unsure if the man he saw leaving the murder scene was Caucasian or Hawaiian. Other than that, the doctor was pretty much spot on in his description of the suspect.