Before his final transformation, he was the true hunter of the world. The need crackled throughout his skeletal frame. A seething energy percolated beneath the surface of his flesh.
He knew it. Felt it. Welcomed it.
Keo glanced to the sky, at the stars, as the eyes awakened and beckoned to him to serve them.
Keolo’ewa.
* * * * *
She ran down the darkened street, her flip-flops slapped the sidewalk. The harder and faster she ran, the longer the distance became. Branches scratched at her bare calves, her lungs expanded, and still, she couldn’t catch them.
Where were they? They were supposed to be home by now.
She ran faster.
Suddenly, the street changed to an alley. Two bodies lay in blood, and still clutched each other’s hand. She ran to them. Her parents were dead, eyes glazed and set in a forever stare. No matter how fast she ran the outcome was still the same.
Emily woke from the recurring dream with a startled cry, sitting up, tears running down her cheeks. She reached for Rick, but the bed was empty.
“Em?” Came a voice at the bedroom door.
She quickly wiped her face. “Yeah Jordan.”
The door opened wider. “You okay? I heard sobbing and a strange scream.”
“I’m fine, just a nightmare.” She stared at him standing in the evening light. “Where’s Rick?”
“I heard him go out about an hour ago.” He said.
“Oh.” Emily knew that Rick took late night walks to settle anything that had been bothering him.
Jordan took a step into the bedroom. “You sure you’re okay?”
Emily forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry I woke you.”
“No problemo.”
“Get some sleep, you’re going to need it.”
“Nite.” He slowly shut the bedroom door with a soft click. His bare feet padded down the hallway.
Emily stared at the darkened room and couldn’t help but feel more alone than she had ever before.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wednesday 1037 Hours
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The heavyset man in his late forties replied. He shifted his overweight body, teetered back and forth on each side, edgy and breathing hard.
Chief Rogers dressed like a tourist with baggy Bermuda shorts, dark green polo shirt, with a gun resting in a hip holster. He took another step closer to the man. “I know what you’ve been doing. Cutting yourself a little extra here and there. After everything I’ve done for you.”
A crew of men worked to load the harvest of marijuana; it would be trucked to a waiting boat and then dispersed. The finest cannabis, a lucrative Hawaiian export manipulated under the radar.
“I would never steal from you, you know that.” He stuttered a rebuttal.
With a sarcastic undertone, he said. “Well then, everything is okay.” The chief looked at his accomplice Detective Simpson, who pulled a drag from a cigarette and nodded. They passed a known look between each other.
A few of the men stopped and watched the confrontation. The mood and energy brewed a familiar distaste for teamwork. It was more curiosity than surprise from the curious lot.
The chief put his left arm around the supervisor’s shoulders, steered him away from the group. “You know that this is just all about business. Nothing personal, right?”
“Ah, right.”
The chief slipped out his Glock 19 and pumped two bullets into the man’s stomach.
The surprised man stepped back, processed the reality of what happened, pressed his hands to the gaping, gushing wound, while his shirt soaked crimson blood. His organs scrambled and the slow death was inevitable, as he stepped back in slow motion and fell to the ground. Twitching and gasping for two more seconds, the man bled out. He went forever quiet.
The chief turned to face the dumbfounded workers. “If anyone thinks that they can steal from the law, they have another think coming. Got it?”
The group nodded and scurried to continue their duties of loading the heavy-duty trucks cleverly disguised as tree trimming vehicles.
Chief Rogers walked back to where Detective Simpson stood. Neither man seemed to care about the dead, bloody man lying on the ground ten feet away.
The last man from the group tried to skirt away from the confrontation.
The chief stopped the worker. “Get someone to help you get the body out of here. Throw him down the lava tube.”
The frightened man nodded and quickly jogged off to get a couple of men to help him.
“Reminds me.” The chief asked. “What’s the status on the homicides?”
Detective Simpson smiled, took one last puff of his cigarette butt, tossed it to the ground before he replied, “It’s going through the motions, but no new leads. The press is having a field day.”
“By the way, you look great on TV.” He started to inspect the trucks. “How’s Candena working out?” He chuckled to himself and absently wiped his sweaty forehead.
“What do you think?” The detective joined in with the laughter. “He thinks that he’s the newest member of CSI. What a chump.”
“Now, be nice. He’s perfect for the fall guy if things get too hot with this business. You know how he’s been sniffing around for a big dope bust?”
“Yeah.”
“He may get his big wish, just not the way he imagined.”
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wednesday 1300 Hours
Jordan jumped out of the Jeep, slammed the door, and entered the Kauai Sport & Scuba Adventure. He pushed open the front door, the tiny bell jingled overhead, and he spotted Matt coming from the back storage room.
Two other employees assisted customers on the big decision of either buying or renting snorkels and scuba masks. The small storefront was crammed with narrow isles of everything adventurous, merchandise stacked high, along with large photo images of surfing, snorkeling, and boating attached to the walls behind the main counter.
Matt caught sight of Jordan, smiled and approached the main counter. “Hey Jordan, what’s up? You want to go fishing or for maybe an evening cocktail cruise?”
Jordan glanced at his scribbled list of supplies, folded it, and put back into his top pocket. “Big Matt.” He shook the tour guide’s hand. “I just need some maps of the island.”
“Sure, we’ve got that.” He walked to a tall display turntable. “We’ve got a basic one with all the hot spots to visit, including restaurants. Or, did you want hiking and camping ones?”
The distinct jingle of the door opened and closed.
“I was thinking more of camping and hiking maps. Maybe one overview and one detailed?” Jordan glanced at the young man that came into the store. He searched his memory of where he had seen him.
Matt turned the display rack, grabbed a couple of maps. “Here you go.”
“Thanks big guy.” Jordan noticed an oversized, well-used map tacked up in the corner behind the counter with different colored pushpins. His turned his attention to where the young man disappeared.
“Hey, I tried to call Rick and Emily at the condo to see how they’re doing from the tour from hell and they’ve check out. Are you flying solo?”
“No, they’re still here. We’re staying at a friends house.”
“Cool.” He walked around the counter to ring Jordan’s purchase up. “Be sure to give me a call if you guys want any more tours of the island. I promise that it will be smooth sailing this time.”
Jordan handed Matt a twenty-dollar bill. “It wasn’t your fault dude, besides it just made it more memorable. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot at.” He laughed.
Counting out some coins, Matt gave Jordan the maps and his change. “See you around.”
“See ya.”
Jordan hurried out of the store to the car and tossed the maps onto the backseat. He suddenly realized where he had seen the man before. It was the same g
uy that flipped out in the restaurant and held his ex-girlfriend by knifepoint.
Why was he at a tourist adventure outlet? Shouldn’t he be in jail or a mental facility?
Jordan never could turn off his mind when it came to suspicious people or things and especially if it contributed to more questions. He loved being a part of the Behavioral Science Unit with the FBI until it reeked with the usual politics sticking up the place with supervisors that had little or no experience in forensics and behavioral evidence.
As usual, whenever Jordan thought about his previous work at the FBI his thoughts invariably turned to Emily and their adventures. He silently lectured himself on being a silly schoolboy with a first crush. He knew that Emily and Rick were the tightest couple and if they couldn’t withstand the ups and downs of a relationship, then there was no hope for anyone.
The warm breeze blew through the convertible, swirling the tropical air conditioning as lush gardens passed by the windows.
Jordan punched the gas pedal, there were several more stops he had to make before returning to the house. He lost the coin toss of who went to do errands. Running his list visually, he recalled that they needed more toner for the printer, paper, USB cables, flash drives, mini binoculars, and mini camera disguised as something else.
He laughed out loud. He wondered if Kauai had a spy store.
Glancing at his watch, he wanted to finish his stops in a couple of hours.
* * * * *
The blue rental Jeep pulled into an available parking space at a local strip mall followed at a safe distance by a white subcompact rental car. The parking lot was filled with various rental cars from tourists.
The occupant of the second car watched the blonde man leap out, glancing in several directions before he entered the computer store. At first glance, he looked like any other tourist with his white walking shorts, polo shirt, and sandals. Even with the extra care Jordan took of his appearance, hair gelled, clothes pressed, and a perfect tan didn’t disguise his hidden demeanor of once being in law enforcement.
Somehow when a person becomes a sworn law enforcement officer, an imprint never leaves them, even when they quit, retire, or go into another profession. Jordan Smith had that forever stamp.
It was easy to find Jordan back in California; the man knew that it was only a matter of time before he would be reunited with Emily Stone again. He heard that she had died due to the complications of the knife wound, but deep inside, he knew that she was still alive.
From prison, he followed some stories of solved missing person and homicide cases that had Emily’s MO all over them. That was where he learned the names Rick Lopez and Jordan Smith – persons of interest for him.
Emily’s life had no meaning except as a loose end to his perfect first kill so many years ago. Then his life would be complete and up to date. Also, he would pay her back for killing the only best friend he ever had.
How could he have been so stupid not to know that twelve-year-old Emily wouldn’t have been with her parents?
He knew that Jordan would eventually lead him to Emily. How bittersweet, he thought. He had planned her torture and murder so many times in his head. He lusted for her in every way, but wanted her mutilated, lifeless body to be his reward.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wednesday 1650 Hours
“Stop!” Emily giggled.
“What?” Rick laughed, but held her down on the couch kissing her neck.
“We’ve got to get back to work. Jordan will be bouncing in at any moment.” She tried to hide her smile.
“How do we know he doesn’t watch us already?”
“What?”
Rick sat up. “C’mon, you can’t tell that he wouldn’t love to trade places with me?”
“Jordan is just… Jordan.”
“Yeah well, he has fantasies about you.”
Emily kissed Rick on the lips, lingering. “I thought you were over that.”
“I am, but…”
“But what?”
“It just reminds me how important you are to me.”
Emily got up from the couch and headed toward the office room. “I think I’ve taken a long enough break.”
“Work…work…work…”
As Emily stepped over the threshold to the makeshift command post, it nudged her body and mind back into the investigation. The sea air and beautiful tropical setting agreed with her, but it would never stop the work that had to be done.
She took a few minutes to gaze at their work board and what information they had already. With Clarence Rasmussen out of the picture, it was not likely that he was the serial killer, just a bad criminal with a hatred toward women. It would be only a matter of time before there was another killing and that would mean they could toss his photo in the trash.
Rick joined her and he immediately sat down at one of the desks to search for more information beginning with news articles, recorded police scanners, backgrounds of local police officers, previous homicides on the island, and crime in general around all the islands. Computer prowling was one of his best strengths, especially with the new software.
Emily leaned against the other desk and stared at the board. It was obvious what was missing. They weren’t going to be able to move forward in a systematic and productive manner until they had more information. She hated feeling like she had to guess without all the facts, forensic evidence, and backgrounds of victims.
“Hmmm.” She thought.
Rick looked up from one of his searches. “What’s up?”
“We need to get a look at the autopsy reports since we didn’t get to see the bodies.”
“We may not get to.”
“You know how I work, I need to see at least photos of the bodies, but the autopsy reports can tell us so much more.”
“I figured we could work the victimology angle and then fill in the blanks with the forensics of the bodies.” Rick watched Emily take in all the information.
Emily was troubled. She knew that the killer was someone local and not someone who was a recluse. It was a person that could fit easily into society without being noticed. That made her job ten times more difficult than it already was.
* * * * *
Jordan sped into the driveway, slammed the brakes, and waited for the garage door to open. Music blared from the speakers, booming to an infectious beat. There were bags stacked in the back seat from his shopping excursion.
A black pick up truck pulled into the driveway behind Jordan and cut the engine. As the driver’s door opened, Lani stepped out dressed in civilian clothing. Regular attire made him look more approachable, but still didn’t take away from his presence.
Jordan looked in his rear view mirror. “Here we go.” He mumbled. He zoomed into the garage and exited his vehicle in a split second to meet Lani. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see Emily Stone.” He said flatly.
“Okay.” Jordan pulled a couple of bags from the car. “We’ll get there a lot faster if you help.”
Lani stacked several bags in his arms. He followed Jordan obediently into the large house.
The garage door hummed steadily as it shut behind them.
* * * * *
Jordan came up the long hallway. “Hi honey, we’re home.” He entered the den where Emily and Rick diligently worked on their preliminary profile of the serial killer.
“We?” Rick said as Jordan was followed by Lani entered their makeshift command post.
Jordan dropped the packages on the table.
Emily stood up surprised. “Sergeant Candena.”
“Lani.” He said and looked at their boards and set the bags down.
Rick pulled Jordan aside. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hey, I think we need to get everything out in the open. Be friends…”
“Does he always talk like this?” Lani directed his question to Emily.
“Yes. You get used to it. It’s one of his end
earing qualities.” Emily pulled out another chair. “Please sit down.” She dreaded this conversation and her life teetered on what would be revealed. There could be officers waiting for her outside to take her to jail.
“Just what do you want Sergeant Candena?” Rick began, the pulse in his forehead pronounced.
“Please.” Emily held up her hand.
Jordan and Rick stood at the far end of the den and watched, waiting intently.
The room sat silent for a moment, as it appeared that the sergeant gathered his thoughts.
Emily watched Lani trying to disguise her terror that pounded inside her chest. She didn’t realize before that his face was kind, thoughtful, and even a little sad. He gave a different impression without his uniform.
Lani turned, voice even and assertive, and looked directly at Rick and Jordan. “Well, how about I start with you two?” As he turned, the chair gave a dramatic squeak under his weight.
Jordan responded quickly. “Knock yourself out...Lani.”
“Rick Lopez, decorated police detective from the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Office. Retired early, no known reason and no injuries. Last documented case was the arrest of two serial killers in Valparaiso, Indiana. Got divorced at the same time you quit the force. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He shifted slightly in the chair that seemed to be a little bit too small for him. “You had a great arrest and solve rate record considering you didn’t become a cop until a little bit later after working a labor job. Now you’re a licensed PI in the state of California.”
Rick watched the officer and remained quiet. He gritted his teeth and kept his arms crossed.
“That brings me to Jordan Smith. Grew up in Spokane, Washington in a foster family and your foster mom got arrested and convicted of homicide, killing her boyfriend. Life couldn’t have been easy for you growing up in the one of the worst ghetto areas. I can only imagine that your high intelligence and cockiness got you through that rough time.”
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