Jordan trotted up in bright Hawaiian swimming trunks and apologized. “I’m sorry about that Em. I was messing around with some of the bottles underneath the bar, you know spinning them like Tom Cruise in Cocktail and one got away. I should’ve known better, since I designed this security system.” Looking at Lani, he realized, “Oh hey, from the restaurant, right?”
Lani nodded in recognition.
“He must be one of Kauai’s hardest working cops.” Emily said as she passed by Jordan and disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the slider behind her.
“Again, sorry for the false alarm.” Jordan piped up.
“Not a problem.” Lani walked past Jordan and continued to his patrol car. He cast a quick, suspicious glance inside the lavish home.
* * * * *
The sunset took center stage and slowly dropped behind the horizon with a dramatic display of reds, oranges, and yellows. The Pacific Ocean sparkled and simmered down to a muted teal green. The trade winds that blew across the island had died down allowing the warmth and humidity from the day to diminish.
Splash.
Emily dove into the long, narrow pool with low lights illuminating in the water. Relieving tension and sore muscles, the silkiness of the water flashed and caressed across her body. She loved the feeling of weightlessness. For just a brief instant, she forgot about serial killers, pot farmers with guns and dogs, and curious local cops.
Plunging deep, she effortlessly somersaulted and returned to the surface, swimming back to the other shallower end of the pool. She pushed her cardiovascular levels to the limit, felt the weakening of muscles in her calves, back and neck.
Emily completed more than a dozen laps, never relenting to her exhaustion. It was only when she noticed Rick standing at the pool’s edge did she slow her pace. He stood with his arms crossed, shirtless, wearing loose tan shorts that showed off his lean abs. He had already complimented the sunshine that showed off a medium, bronze tan. An affectionate smile broke his usual stern stare as he watched Emily.
Breathless, Emily said. “Hey.” She took an extra moment to enjoy the view of his body.
“Fighting phantom demons again?”
“Something like that.”
“Has Jordan been bugging you too much?
She laughed. “No, he’s just Jordan, you know how he is. We need him if this case is going to be as big as I think it is.”
Rick didn’t answer.
Emily knew that he wasn’t pleased with the way the case was unfolding. Every case was potentially dangerous, not only for them, but for the public as well. There was something ominous about this case; it was like fighting a ghost around every corner.
Emily pushed her body to the pool’s edge and propped her arms on the tile surface kicking her feet gently. “Want to go for a swim?”
Rick looked to the horizon on the beach. “Not sure.”
“You have something on your mind.”
“Maybe.”
“If I had to guess…”
He looked down at Emily. “Guess away.”
“These cases have been tough.”
“And?”
“And… I think we need to enjoy some time.”
“Time?” He raised an eyebrow.
She smiled and reached out her left hand, touched Rick’s ankle and ran her fingers up his calf. “You know what I mean?”
He bent down to look Emily in the eye.
She laughed and pulled him into the pool. She caught him off balance and he splashed headfirst into the pool with a surprised look on his face.
Rick met Emily face to face, his intense energy intoxicated her, dark eyes, strong arms, and she felt his undying love. Remembering when she first met him, he had exasperated her, but deep inside she wanted to be with him even then.
Droplets of water rolled down his face as he leaned in and kissed her, gentle and soft, turning to deep, and passionate. It was the only time Emily felt weak and vulnerable being submissive to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist pulling him closer to her, arms tighter around his neck. Tongues. Passion. His hands untied each side of her bikini bottom, he moved his hands up her back and removed her top.
* * * * *
The curtain slightly pulled to one side just enough for him to view the erotic display without being seen. Jordan watched the couple in the pool from the living room. He knew that Emily and Rick’s relationship could withstand about anything thrown at them – even against most odds. He had seen it first hand. Still, it stung him. He didn’t realize how much he loved her until he saw her again.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Monday 0130 Hours
Emily and Rick decided to start the serial investigation at square one, hoping that the killer wouldn’t take another victim before they had a solid lead. They scrolled through the listing of registered sex offenders at their luxury headquarters, noted the men that were new arrivals to the island, and one name kept rising to the top of the list - Clarence Rasmussen A.K.A. “the packrat”.
The felon and recent sex offender known to keep all types of memorabilia in his travels like matchbooks, napkins, discarded receipts, anything small and personal from women, proved a solid suspect to investigate first. The group set out to observe Rasmussen to gain some insight into his behavior and background. It took only a few searches and links to find out where he lived.
The small, blue cottage at the end of a dirt road with peeling paint, and window screens in dire need of replacement, remained quiet. The outside porch light burned throughout the night as Clarence banged down drinks at the local bar. The dim indoor lamp in the living room glowed inside the house.
Emily and Rick made a perimeter sweep of the empty house. Nothing unusual. Emily snapped a few photos of the area around the house and the front and back yards. The visual documentation helped to gain a better perspective with a person of interest.
“Are you sure that you don’t want to change your mind?” Emily asked.
“No, I won fair and square.” Rick smiled.
“But…”
“No buts… I’m going in and you’re monitoring the updates from Jordan at the bar.”
Emily sighed and adjusted her earpiece. “Fine.” She walked back to the car and got into the passenger seat and picked up her laptop and cell phone.
“Okay, can you hear me okay?” She asked.
Rick replied, “Loud and clear. Can you see from the webcam?” He wore the wireless camera fixed to his baseball cap.
Emily adjusted her laptop screen and could see a moving image without much detail as Rick walked toward the back door.
“Yeah, it’s a little blurry, but I can make out the details okay.”
Emily punched in a text message to Jordan on her cell: Can U read me?
His message: Purrfectly baby
She rolled her eyes in response.
Everyone was in place.
There was nothing to do, but wait for Rick and Jordan to do their job.
Emily fidgeted in her seat and tapped her fingernail against the dash, she hated being the odd one out. She glanced at the monitor from time to time to make sure that Rick wasn’t walking into a trap.
Emily tried not to put her own feelings and unfounded observations into a potential suspect as she stared at Rasmussen’s photo. Everything boiled down to the eyes, dark, bottomless, and intense. She scrolled down her chronological notes for the sex offender: born on the big island of Hawaii, an avid fisherman, boatman, and was known to camp in remote areas on all the islands.
* * * * *
Rick surveyed the backyard and made sure that neighbors couldn’t see him enter the house and call the police. Breaking and entering didn’t sit well with him. The law was everything to him, especially as a previous law enforcement officer.
With a few quick moves, he disengaged the lock with his tiny picking tools. The door popped open. Rick let out a breath. He stepped over the threshold into a small kitchen with dirty dishes piled
in the sink. A large trash bag overflowed with empty beer bottles and cigarette butts rested at the end of the counter.
“You getting all this okay?” Rick whispered.
“Yep. He needs a maid and a decorator.” Emily’s voice sounded distorted through the connection.
Taking a quick scan of the room, Rick turned a 360-degree rotation. He moved into the living room where more trash was piled high on the coffee table. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him. The place looked typical for a single ex-con.
Climbing the stairs, Rick carefully placed each step on the board as it squeaked beneath his weight. He smelled cheap cologne and caught a hint of a recent steamy shower. He glanced into the small, outdated bathroom with a rusted porcelain sink and toilet. Two towels wadded up on the floor rested in the far corner.
The short hallway ended at a small bedroom. Rick stopped at the doorway and slowly moved his head for Emily to see the room clearly as he flipped on the flashlight.
“Check the drawers and closet for anything that might be a trophy.” Emily instructed.
One nightstand closest to the door had two drawers, he opened them. Inside were folded pieces of paper from the newspaper and well used matchbooks from various bars and restaurants. He quickly took inventory of the names.
There was one newspaper article, old and torn, described his rape case conviction. A bold red pen circled the name Roberta Martinez.
The headset crackled in his ear as Emily said. “That must be the only woman that testified against him.” He heard her keystrokes on the computer.
An old newsprint photo of the woman had a tear across the neck. It looked eerie in the dim lighting.
“Yeah, I wonder where she is now?” He mumbled.
Rick kept searching through the bedroom, but nothing looked incriminating. Dirty clothes and an overflowing ashtray kept the room smelling dank and moldy.
* * * * *
Emily’s boredom grew as her mind wandered, she almost got out of the car to stretch her legs.
A chime from her cell phone caught her attention.
The text read: Can’t find him… get out now.
“Shit!” Emily sat up and said. “Rick, get out. Jordan lost the visual on Rasmussen. Get out.”
“Do you see him yet?”
Emily craned her head and saw a tall man lumbering toward the house and turn up the driveway. “Rick get out, he’s here.”
* * * * *
As Rick reached the bottom of the creaky staircase, he heard the key in the lock at the front door. He rounded the corner and stepped into a closet just outside the kitchen.
Rasmussen’s heavy footsteps walked into the kitchen and flipped on the lights.
Rick waited in the closet and dared not to move. His pulse heightened and he put his hand to his mouth to keep from making any audible noise.
He heard the refrigerator open and saw a flash of light, and the sound of the bottle cap hitting the kitchen counter. The man groaned and snorted loudly clearing his sinuses.
The kitchen light went off. The footsteps moved into the living room and the low sound of the television volume filled the quiet the house.
“Rick.” Emily whispered.
Rick kept quiet and his breathing grew louder as he eased open the closet door. He could see the flashing light from the TV as scenes changed and the idle chatter of commercials. The side door was only ten feet away, he took the chance and quietly moved to the exit. Turning the knob, he pulled the door just wide enough to slip though and then shut the door quietly. He hoped that the sound of the rerun sitcoms would camouflage any noise he made.
* * * * *
Emily waited and kept glancing at the house. She debated whether or not to approach the dwelling to help Rick. Instead, she waited. Finally, to her relief, she saw Rick jog across the street. He opened the driver’s door and quickly got in.
“Well, that was close. No thanks to Jordan.” He said annoyed.
“I recorded everything.”
“What have you found out about Rasmussen?”
Emily looked back to her screen and the laundry list of criminal acts. “Several counts of assault and battery, bar fights, stalking, but the one case that made him go away for ten years was a rape and beating case on a housewife in Princeville.” She skimmed the reports and continued, “Looks like he cut a deal and they let him out in five years for good behavior.”
“Do you have any details of the attack and rape?”
“No, this report is just the summary.”
“The only thing I do have is a name, Roberta or Bobbi Martinez that was in the newspaper.”
“Any other photos?” Rick asked.
“Nope.”
“At least we have the newsprint one.”
The back door flung open and Jordan jumped inside. “Hey.” He was breathless as he shut the door.
Emily turned in her seat to face Jordan. “Gee, Jordan a little late on the info. What do you have?”
“What don’t I have?” He leaned forward. “You’ll want to marry me with the info I got.”
“Don’t think so.” Emily tried not to laugh. She wrinkled her nose. “You smell Jordan, like cigarettes and cheap perfume.”
“Do you want the info or not?”
“Sorry…”
“Anyway.” Jordan rolled his eyes in irritation. “Found out our boy is one nasty guy. Finally spoke to some of the local barflies at the after hours dive, pretty cute too I might add, that’s how I lost sight of him. They said that he has the same routine with women he takes home.”
“Same M.O.?” Rick chimed in.
“Bingo. He likes to throw back a few to get nice and tipsy, basically so he can get up the nerve. He takes his so-called dates to a remote place on the island and then he changes into Mr. Hyde. Tying them up, sometimes cutting them, even raping them…”
“They must not file any charges against him.” Rick added.
“Word is that he’s threatened to torture, or even worse, to the woman that put him away, ahhh, I can’t remember her name…”
“Bobbi Martinez?”
“Yeah.”
Emily thought for a moment. “He’s not our guy.”
“What makes you say that?” Jordan gaped.
“There’s no doubt this guy is a dangerous predator, but he’s not the island serial killer.” Emily paused. “He’s a serial rapist that may turn into a killer, but this guy isn’t the one we’re looking for.”
Rick interrupted her. “We can’t let this guy torture and kill the only woman that stood up to him.”
“No, we can’t and I’m not going to.” Emily was adamant. This was a bonus for her to get this guy off of the streets. “Wish we had several teams to watch all these guys.”
Jordan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it at Emily and Rick. “I’ve got an address for Ms. Bobbi.” He smiled proudly.
The group spent another half hour talking and debating the next steps before they decided to return to their headquarters to view the photographs and video.
* * * * *
The rented Jeep never moved from the parking place on the street. Most people wouldn’t notice the car mixed with the other usual vehicles on the quiet street, but the two occupants were now three. Heads bobbed back and forth in conversation, it was obvious that they were discussing something important.
He silently congratulated himself for the perfect spy hole in the cheap drywall. It allowed him to watch the street and his front yard, all without being detected. He checked back fifteen minutes later and they were still there.
Clarence knew they were watching him. They always watched him. It was the cross he had to bear being a wanted man for every woman he took a shine to. He would teach them a lesson, first starting with the bitch that took away five years of his life.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
Monday 0935 Hours
After they stopped for breakfast, the drive to Princeville took longer th
an expected to find the correct street in a new housing development. The rain poured on and off throughout most of the trip.
During the thirty-five minute ride, Emily and Rick remained quiet, lost in their thoughts and comfortable with the calm before the storm, unlike Jordan who chattered incessantly from the backseat. He talked about his work, security installations, how much he missed working homicide and serial investigations, but he was relieved about leaving the FBI.
“… Kauai is the oldest island of the Hawaiian Islands, six millions years old, five hundred square miles, most of it breathtakingly beautiful… Did you know that on Mt. Waialeale in the deep interior center of Kauai, it rains more than 400 inches, almost 500 inches in a year?” Jordan pressed the electric window button, buzzed up then down. “That’s amazing isn’t it?”
“Sure.” Emily answered, not paying any attention to what he said.
“This is it.” Rick announced as he pulled down a long gravel road soon to be paved.
“All the houses look like they’re under construction. Which one is it?” Emily squinted her eyes to read the addresses.
“What? Is she a squatter?” Jordan mused.
“She must be house sitting for the owners while they have their house remodeled. Maybe for a family member?”
“Yeah, she must be the only one staying in the neighborhood.” Jordan studied each entrance as they slowly drove past.
The street was quiet, absent of work trucks and cars. No construction activities hammered or sawed their way today; there were no carpenters, plumbers, or electricians. Plastic tarps covered sheetrock, lumber, and painting supplies, leaving the street more like a ghost town. It was unclear if the work stopped for a specific reason or due to the poor housing market.
“There must be at least fifty houses.” Jordan let out a sigh.
Rick pulled the Jeep over and parked in a shady location next to some palm trees. He cut the engine. “Looks like we’re going to have to split up and go house to house.
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