Murder on Kaanapali Beach

by R. Barri Flowers

  "Tall, solid build, I think his hair may have been dark. I couldn't really make out his face."

  She opened up her sketchpad and picked up the pencil, figuring that any type of description he could give them was better than nothing in trying to locate this man, who may or may not be the one who suffocated Joyce Yashiro.

  "Tell me everything you can remember about him," Leila demanded. "And don't leave anything out, no matter how small it may seem. We've got all the time in the world..."

  In reality, she knew that the clock was ticking. The longer their killer remained on the loose, the harder it would be to track him down or prevent him from possibly killing again.

  * * *

  Seymour sat at the head of the table in the conference room located on the second floor of the police department. His homicide detectives sat on either side for the daily meeting, shooting the breeze, comparing notes, and what not. He focused on Leila Kahana, who was conferring with her partner, Jonny Chung. Leila seemed pretty content these days—at least on the job. Since things ended between them romantically months ago, he didn't know much about her private life. This, in spite of the fact that they were still on friendly terms and his door was always open to her in that regard.

  He wondered if anything could be going on between her and Chung. Detective Chung had a reputation as being somewhat of a player and he seemed okay with that. But would Leila actually allow herself to fall into that trap?

  I'm sure she can take care of herself, Seymour thought. She certainly didn't need him to tell her who to watch out for. All things considered, he was probably the last person she wanted advice from on her love life. And he had to respect that, for better or worse.

  He called the meeting to order. They had two current homicide cases on the agenda, a serial killer still at large, and other hot, warm, and cold cases that remained unsolved. As lieutenant, it was his job to keep morale high and everyone's eye on the ball as their performance and success ratio reflected not only on their jobs, but on the entire department.

  He eyed Leila and said evenly: "What's happening with your investigation in the murder of Joyce Yashiro?"

  Leila licked her lips and responded: "Well, we're in the process of getting a search warrant for her house. Our first serious suspect appears to be off the hook. However, he did provide a description of a new possible suspect that we're looking into. We're trying to match that up with the men in her personal and professional life and any forensic evidence that can point us in the right direction."

  "What's your take on where things stand, Chung?" Seymour asked interestedly.

  "Right now, I think she could have been killed by the husband, son, or some other man in her life with a beef against her. But I wouldn't rule out the stranger danger trap that she might have fallen into by being at the wrong beach at the wrong time."

  Seymour sat up straight. "So there's no connection with the Zip Line Killer case?" he asked knowingly.

  "Doesn't look like it," Leila told him for the benefit of others in the room. "Someone appears to have made a concerted effort to mislead us. It failed. Whoever wanted Mrs. Yashiro dead was after her alone."

  "I see." Seymour was already on top of this, but wanted the detectives in the unit to learn from each other as they investigated their respective cases. "Well, do whatever you need to without crossing any lines—including going door to door on her block, if needed, till you get this son of a bitch!"

  "Believe me whoever killed her won't get away with it," Chung said.

  Seymour grinned contentedly. Chung was proving to be a real asset to the Homicide Unit, if only for his grit and determination. And having Leila's back wasn't a bad thing either.

  He faced Detectives Trent Ferguson and Rachel Lancaster, sitting beside one another, to get an update on their investigation into the execution style murder of Parker Breslin.

  "We know someone definitely had it in for the victim," offered Ferguson, "be it the ex-wife or someone else. We're trying to track down the victim's stolen phone and we're also contacting everyone in Breslin's life so we can interview them. And we're also waiting to get more information on some possible DNA evidence the killer may have left behind."

  "Apart from being in the middle of a nasty custody battle," Rachel said, "Breslin was also apparently having issues with his partner in the a landscaping business. That gives us two directions to go in right off the bat."

  Seymour nodded. "Sounds like Parker Breslin had his fair share of people who weren't very happy with him. Almost like a powder keg waiting to explode."

  "Only he may have been the last person to know just how much he pissed someone off," Ferguson said.

  "Which makes him the only person so far," added Rachel, "who may have gotten a close look at his assailant before trying in vain to get away from him."

  Ferguson eyed Seymour and said: "We have a vague description of the suspect, which happens to fit many of the men living on Maui. We're trying to narrow it down through security cameras that may have caught him leaving the crime scene as well as jogging a few memories in the neighborhood—"

  "Stay on top of it," Seymour pressed. "Breslin left behind a daughter, not much younger than mine. If anything happened to me, I sure as hell could not rest in my grave till the case was solved—if only to allow my daughter to live her life in peace, to the degree possible. I'm sure Breslin would feel the same way."

  Seymour could see that he had struck a nerve throughout the room. He exchanged glances with Leila and felt regret that she was no longer part of his daughter's life. Maybe someday that could change.

  He reviewed several other cases and general department information before ending the meeting and sending everyone on their way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That evening, Leila got together with her good friend and artist, Jan Monroe, at a new Japanese restaurant on Kaahumanu Avenue in Kahului called Island House. She loved hanging out with Jan, as it was a chance to unwind and just be herself without having to wear her badge and department-issued firearm.

  But Jan, who was tall and thin with long, blonde hair and green eyes, did not always differentiate between the two.

  "So tell me, which killer are you after this time?" she asked curiously, fluttering her lashes.

  Rather than bore her with details, Leila answered succinctly, hoping to leave it at that: "Well, I'm after more than one killer, but right now we're trying to catch a guy who killed a woman on the beach in Kaanapali."

  "I heard about that. It really freaked me out because the night before it happened, Erik and I went to a restaurant there."

  Erik Hollander was her fiancé and a high-end real estate agent. After moving from one man to another at the drop of a hat, Jan had finally settled on one guy and Leila couldn't be happier for her—even if her own love life had become all but nonexistent at the moment.

  "As it is, we believe the victim was specifically targeted," Leila told her, as she nibbled on sukiyaki steak. "So I doubt you would have been in any danger. Still, it's nice to know that Erik was there to act as your protector, just in case."

  "I guess you're right about that," she said. "He's so sweet and he hates to let me out of his sight."

  Leila made herself smile. "Lucky you."

  "Yes, lucky me." Jan put down her fork and peered at Leila. "Who's got your back these days with Blake out of the picture? And please don't tell me you're too busy catching the bad guys to enjoy a little loving..."

  Leila chuckled and glanced at her plate. "No one at the moment," she hated to admit. "But, hey, maybe Mr. Right is right around the corner."

  "He could be!" Jan smiled and sipped Japanese plum wine. "After all, that's pretty much how Erik and I became an item."

  Just then, a tall, handsome Asian man with nicely trimmed black hair, wearing a dark suit, walked up to their table. Leila noted he was holding a tray with several things on it.

  "Aloha, ladies," he said formally. "My name is Maxwell Kishimoto. I'm the owner of the restaurant. I
trust the food has been to your liking?"

  "It was excellent," Jan told him, flashing her teeth.

  When he eyed her for a reaction with incredibly deep brown eyes, Leila agreed. "Yes, it was marvelous."

  "That's good to hear." He smiled brightly. "I have taken the liberty of bringing you dessert on the house." He put a plate down for each of them. "First we have Aloha apple pie, which has a delicious brownie crust, macadamia nut ice cream topped with bananas, chocolate, and whipped cream."

  "Sounds delicious," Jan cooed.

  "It does," Leila had to admit.

  "And it tastes even better," Maxwell said confidently. "Try it, and then wash it down with our mint chocolate chip martini, consisting of Mozart gold chocolate cream liqueur, peppermint liqueur, and vanilla vodka."

  Leila did as he suggested, sampling the pie and tasting the martini. As both melted on her tongue, all she could think to say was: "Wow!"

  Maxwell chuckled richly. "Then you approve?"

  "Absolutely," she said.

  "Me too," Jan agreed.

  "Excellent." He showed his teeth, which were perfectly white. "In that case, I will leave you ladies to continue to enjoy your meal. If you need anything, please let me know. I'm here to serve you."

  "Mahalo," Leila told him.

  He walked away and she eyed Jan, who had a strange look on her face. "What...?"

  "He couldn't take his eyes off you," Jan said.

  "I don't think so," Leila claimed, though she had noticed him staring, but gave it little thought other than simply being courteous to a patron.

  "I know so." Jan sliced into the apple pie. "He likes you."

  "Let's not get carried away, Jan. He doesn't even know me and I don't know him."

  "That's what dating is all about, girlfriend," Jan persisted. "You're single and—"

  "And he's probably married with at least three kids," Leila broke in. Yes, she was attracted to him and it didn't hurt that he owned a classy restaurant. But she was realistic enough not to believe in fairytales, especially based on a brief encounter.

  "Yes, there is always that," Jan said, frowning. "Well, you can't blame me for trying. You deserve to find someone decent to hang out with other than your best friend."

  Leila smiled. "Thanks for looking after me, but I'm fine with things the way they are. When I'm meant to be with someone, I will be. Simple as that." She doubted romance and timing were ever simple, but it sounded good anyway.

  "Okay, I'll shut up about it." Jan tasted her drink thoughtfully.

  Leila did the same and broke the awkward silence by saying: "So tell me about your next showing—"

  This seemed to be something Jan was only too happy to discuss, which suited her just fine.

  * * *

  The following morning, Leila and Chung, along with three uniformed officers and a crime scene investigator, went to the home of Joyce Yashiro armed with a search warrant. Given the fact that her killer was no longer believed to be Bradley Sawyer, the prevailing wisdom was that the killer was much closer to home or work. The victim's home was the first place to look for any evidence that might lead to her murderer.

  Leila saw the familiar black pickup truck in the driveway, indicating that Joyce's son, Ayato, was there. She wondered if he had taken up residence at the house now that his mother was dead.

  Chung was thinking the same thing. "Looks like it didn't take long for the son to make himself at home."

  "Or maybe he's here to deal with his mother's affairs," Leila said, giving him the benefit of the doubt. "Especially if her estranged husband isn't carrying his weight."

  "Let's find out," Chung said, and rang the bell.

  Momentarily, the door opened. Ayato Yashiro stood there barefoot, wearing nothing but jeans. He rubbed his eyes as though having been awakened. "What's going on...?"

  "We have a search warrant as part of the investigation into your mother's death," Leila said, handing it to him.

  He glanced at it and faced her. "What are you looking for?"

  "Any and everything that might point to a killer," she said flatly, wondering if that would prove to be him. She remembered the dog he had supposedly come to feed on the morning of his mother's death. "Where is your mother's dog?"

  "Inside. He hasn't been feeling too good lately."

  "Sorry to hear that." Leila wondered if that was a coincidence. "Go get it, put it on a leash, and step outside with it until we finish our business."

  He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say..."

  They waited, not wanting to come inside only to be attacked by a sick dog. Or worse, have to defend themselves against an aggressive animal.

  "He better not be destroying evidence," Chung grumbled, as the door remained open, giving them a partial view of the interior.

  The thought had crossed Leila's mind. They had already lost precious time, having been thrown off by Sawyer's arrest, giving Ayato, Verlin Yashiro, or someone else the opportunity to impede the investigation.

  Just when she felt they couldn't wait any longer, Ayato came around a corner with a chocolate Staffordshire terrier on a leash. It seemed pretty tame. Almost too tame.

  "What's wrong with it?" Leila asked.

  "I think it was something he ate," Ayato muttered, unconcerned. "So how long will this take?"

  "As long as it does," Chung answered tersely.

  Everyone stepped aside as he and the dog came out onto the lanai.

  "Stay with them," Leila ordered one officer.

  They went from room to room, combing through the victim's personal belongings and a home office. At a glance, there were no obvious signs pointing to anything suspicious, a crime, or evidence thereof. Wearing latex gloves, Leila supervised and handled items herself in assessing their value as potentially incriminating.

  In the kitchen, beneath the sink, she noticed a box of rat and mouse poison. There were occasional mice infestations on the island, so that rang no alarms bells in and of itself. However, she couldn't help but wonder if the dog could have been poisoned, perhaps deliberately by someone who didn't want it to be with Joyce Yashiro during her run. That would have made it easier to attack her, which would then suggest it was an inside job.

  Chung entered the room wearing gloves. He was holding a backpack.

  "What's inside?" Leila asked curiously.

  "Looks like what amounts to an active meth lab. It appears to belong to the son. I'd say he's got some explaining to do."

  "And it may go well beyond illegal drug possession," she said, lifting the box. "Rat poison. I think the victim's dog may have ingested some, but not by accident. What better way to keep it home while she went for her morning run?"

  "That's jumping the gun a bit, don't you think? The dog didn't seem that out of it to suggest it had been poisoned."

  "Just a gut feeling," she admitted. "We'll have him tested for poisoning and go from there."

  "You think the son could have done this?"

  "All things considered, I certainly wouldn't rule it out. Or someone else with access to the house, given there are no signs of breaking and entering."

  "Like her estranged husband?" Chung deduced.

  "He's the next logical person to come to mind," Leila said. "Why don't we wait and see what else we come up with."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "In the meantime," Leila said, "I think we need to have a talk with the son about what he knows, if anything, pertaining to Joyce Yashiro's death—especially since he seems to have made himself right at home here."

  "Yeah, complete with his own mini drug lab," Chung said. "Hopefully the home's security video will show us who's been coming and going before and after Yashiro's untimely demise."

  "That would be nice, along with anything incriminating we might find on the victim's computer." As far as Leila was concerned, everything in the house could potentially provide clues in the murder investigation and lead to a suspect. But she certainly wasn't prepared to make any hard assumptions at this point,
knowing it was still possible the killer had no connection to the victim and her household.

  But given no solid evidence that the crime was random, Leila's best guess at this point was that Joyce Yashiro knew her killer, which may have been much too close to home for her comfort. Or she was unable to recognize the danger till it was too late.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was just after one p.m. when Officers Natalie Yuen and Conrad Spinelli spotted the suspect near a cream-colored Nissan Altima in the motel parking lot on South Kihei Road. He matched the description of a tall, stocky, bald man wearing jeans and a print shirt, who had brazenly perpetrated a home invasion on Mahina Street in Kihei two hours earlier.

  "That has to be him," Natalie said, bringing the vehicle to a stop, while thinking: Hope he does us a favor and gives up without a fight.

  "Yeah," Spinelli concurred. "Let's go get him!"

  They exited the car and, with guns drawn, approached the suspect, who seemed to be caught completely off guard.

  "Put your hands up!" Spinelli demanded.

  The suspect started to make a run for it, but anticipating this, Natalie had cut off his best escape route and now had her Glock pointed within inches of his face. "Don't even think about it!" she said, lowering her voice an octave.

  Sensing that he had nowhere to go other than an early grave, the suspect raised his hands in defeat.

  As Spinelli roughly handcuffed him, Natalie put on gloves and checked the man for any weapons and also for a cell phone. She found a .38-caliber pistol on his person and a phone. Using her department-issued phone, she dialed the number of murder victim Parker Breslin. The phone rang, just as expected.

  Bingo!

  In fact, they had used Stingray to track the victim's stolen cell phone, pinpointing the location and possibly catching his killer and home invader in the process.

  Ignoring his scowl, Natalie read the suspect his rights.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Seymour shepherded the handcuffed suspect named Aaron Gifford into the interrogation room, sitting him down. It was during the initial interrogation—before the suspect had time to devise a strategy, ask for representation, and otherwise be of limited use—that they needed to go at him hard for some answers.