Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  “Are you okay?” His voice was husky. He reached out a long finger and pushed a curl out of her eyes. She could only imagine how unsightly she looked.

  “I don’t know.” She brushed past him and went into the house. “I guess so. I have a date with Tom Watanabe to get ready for.”

  “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

  “You keep saying that. I actually didn’t know her that well.” Lei heard how wooden, how stilted and wrong this sounded and couldn’t seem to make it any different. She stood by the sink and looked out the window as she sipped the coffee.

  “Well, she’s got some good people on her case, I hear.” He sat in one of the kitchen chairs and turned his coffee mug in his hands. “I don’t want you to go out with Watanabe. It’s a bad idea, especially today.”

  She picked up his shirt—draped over the back of a chair—and tossed it at his head. “And I think you should put this on.”

  She sat down as he pulled on the shirt and combed his dark hair with his fingers. She took a big swig of coffee.

  “I actually can’t believe I’m going on a date with this guy,” she finally said. “What was I thinking?”

  “You can always call and cancel.”

  “I guess I better. I’m just not up to it today.”

  Lei went to the coffeepot, pouring herself a refill for something to do. The muffled, insulated feeling was dissipating, replaced by an exquisite oversensitivity. The tiny hairs on her body seemed to stand on end, colors were suddenly too bright and her ears rang with every nuance of sound.

  She must be going crazy.

  Before she could change her mind she opened her phone, called the number on the card Tom had given her, and told him she was sick and couldn’t go.

  “How about dinner then? Next couple days, whenever you feel better. No big deal, I’ll make one of my grandmother’s recipes, you can just walk down the block.”

  “Okay,” Lei said. Easier to say yes than keep arguing with Stevens across the table from her, listening. “I’ll call you.”

  She snapped the phone shut.

  “I got interviews set up with the two rape victims. Feel up for a road trip? Maybe it would be good to get your mind off Mary by doing something for the investigation.”

  “Absolutely,” Lei said. “Let me just do something about my hair.” No one was saying it yet, but Lei was sure whoever killed the Mohuli`i girls had also murdered her friend. She walked into the bathroom and whispered to her ghostly-pale, puffy face in the mirror.

  “Interviewing rape victims. Great. Well, Mary, at least I’ll be doing something for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She and Stevens drove to Kona first, knocking on the door of young Jesika Vierra’s house. Her mother answered the door, brought them into the living room reluctantly. Jesika had little to add beside what was in the report.

  The girl was pale, hair unkempt and eyes hollow, still traumatized by an attack she could hardly remember. The halting monotone of her story caused Lei’s head to swim. Battling the familiar vertigo, she’d muddled through the interview with Stevens taking the lead. The only new clue they came away with was Jesika’s impression that he was fastidious, for she’d found herself waking thoroughly clean and smelling of baby wipes.

  “The smell makes me vomit now,” she said, chewing her thumbnail. It was down to a nub.

  “Definitely the same M.O. as Mary Gomes,” Stevens said, starting up the SUV as they departed. “Even with the seawater they found traces of propylene glycol, the ingredient in baby wipes, on her.”

  “Yeah,” Lei said. They drove in silence, headed for the other side of the island where Cassie Kealoha lived. Lei stared out the window at the sunshine on the ocean, remembering her trips to the beach with Mary. It was better to think of that than Mary’s cold dead skin under her hand.

  Cassie’s family had a large tract of land on the Hamakua Coast, widely regarded as one of the most beautiful areas on the Big Island. They turned off the highway and wove their way into a lush valley ringed by jungled mountains. Tall pili grass waved in the breeze and a row of coconut trees, edging the driveway, led to the large plantation-style home.

  Several trucks were parked on the grass and a huge pit bull heaved at his chain from a stake beside the porch. The dog’s venomous barking brought the father to the door.

  “What you like?” The tall Hawaiian crossed tattooed arms over a barrel chest as he eyed the police SUV.

  “I’m Detective Stevens and this is Officer Texeira,” Stevens said. “We’re investigating the assault on your daughter and we’re here to ask her some questions.”

  The man glowered from the top step of the porch, and the dog continued barking.

  “She no like talk about it,” he said. “She sick today.” The mother, equally physically imposing, came to the screen door.

  “You folks nevah tell us nothing about what stay going on,” she yelled in pidgin over the dog’s snarling. “This the first time anybody even come talk to Cassie since when she went hospital.”

  “I’m sorry no one has been in touch,” Stevens said. He took his card out, held it toward the father, but even that simple movement caused the pit bull to go into a frenzy, heaving its brindled body against the chain. Finally the man shushed it, gestured them to come up onto the porch. The mother held the screen door ajar and they went into the living room.

  Several couches lined the walls, and an older couple was sitting on one of them, watching a ballgame. The father went over and turned off the TV, and the old man got up and shuffled out, leaving his elderly wife crocheting. She scarcely looked up at them. Cassie’s father gestured to the couches.

  “Sit,” he said.

  They sat.

  “Thanks for talking to us,” Stevens said. “The reason no one’s contacted you is that there haven’t been any solid leads on your daughter’s attacker.”

  A long moment passed as they digested this.

  “I’m Lehua Kealoha, and this my husband, Kenny,” said Cassie’s mother finally.

  “We looking for him ourselves,” Kenny said. He stood up and paced, waving his powerful arms. Tribal patterned tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and calves. “We know plenny people, and we going find the asshole who wrecked our baby girl.”

  “I don’t blame you for wanting justice,” Stevens said. “But please, let the authorities deal with him if you get any leads.”

  Kenny frowned and stabbed a finger at Lei.

  “You related to the Texeiras up Kona side?”

  “No. My family stay from Oahu.”

  “What is one girl doing investigating a crime like this?” Lehua said, her lips pinched disapprovingly. Her hand brushed a large gold cross that hung in the graceful neckline of her tropical-print muumuu.

  “My friend was attacked too,” Lei said. “I want to get the guy who did it as bad as you do.”

  Lehua seemed to consider this, studying Lei. She finally got up.

  “Okay then. I’ll go get her. Cassie stay lying down.”

  The grandma continued to crochet, and Kenny said, “You like something for drink?”

  They were sipping cans of guava juice when Lehua came back, Cassie in her wake. She was tall like her father, a river of thick, shining black hair grazing the backs of her thighs. Her mother prodded her, and she came around the side of the couch and sat facing them, her parents on either side. She held her head high with unconscious pride, but her eyes stayed on the floor.

  “Hi, Cassie,” Stevens said, and introduced himself and Lei. Cassie glanced at them briefly, a flick of diamond-dark eyes. Lei put her elbows on her knees as she leaned toward the girl.

  “Cassie, I know this has been a terrible thing. It’s going to take awhile to get back to normal, and if you want to talk to someone, counseling can be helpful. I know from experience.”

  Lei felt Stevens go still beside her, but she knew she needed to make some kind of connection with Cassie. The girl glanced at her again, a littl
e longer this time.

  “We read the report about the attack. Is there anything you’ve remembered since then that might help us find who did it?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Speak up, girl,” her father rumbled. “These folks stay trying fo’ help you.”

  “I told them everything.” Cassie looked up, pushed her hair behind her ears. “At the hospital.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kealoha, this might be easier for Cassie if you left the room,” Lei said gently. The parents looked at each other for a long moment, and then Kenny got up and touched the grandma on the shoulder.

  “Tutu, come.” The two of them left, but Lehua put her arm around her daughter. She wasn’t going anywhere. Lei went on.

  “It’s hard to think about, I know. But if there’s anything more you can remember, it’s important. I’m wondering if you might remember anything about being ‘posed and photographed.’”

  “It was just ...like a dream. He moved me around like a doll, and I saw flashes of light and heard clicking. When I was awake I thought it might be that he took pictures of me. It was like when you kinda remember something, but aren’t sure.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I felt stuff like...silky stuff.” She darted her eyes sideways to her mother, took a breath and went on. “I felt like...silky things. On my body. He also put something on my feet. I know that because when I woke up I had strap marks. I felt something wet and chilly on my skin. I must have opened my eyes sometimes, ’cause I can remember the blue color of the tarp overhead, and the light flashes ...I know I was trying to wake up, but also not, because I think I knew what he was doing to me and I kinda didn’t want to know, either. I feel guilty I nevah try harder to wake up, get away…” Her voice trailed and she hung her head, the curtain of hair sliding down around her.

  “You never did nothing wrong.” Her mother rubbed the girl’s back in little circles. “You alive today and that what counts. Maybe he would have killed you if you seen him, if you fought him.”

  “That’s right,” Stevens said. “This man is very dangerous. I can’t say anything more right now.”

  Lehua looked up at them, her eyes blazing with emotion.

  “Get him. Find this monster who hurt my baby.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lei went into Dr. Wilson’s office for her session late that day.

  “Hey,” she said. The psychologist sat behind the sleek modern desk in the corner, poring over some papers.

  “Hey to you too,” Dr. Wilson said, pulling reading glasses off, laying them aside. She came around the desk and reached out as if to hug her. Lei stood stiffly. Dr. Wilson backed away.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” the psychologist said.

  “Forgot what?”

  “You don’t like to be touched.”

  “I never said that.”

  “I can tell you don’t like to be touched. Especially when you don’t initiate it.”

  “If you say so,” Lei said. She put her hands, clenched into fists, on the coffee table in front of her, and then consciously spread her fingers. “See how irritated you make me? I was having a good day until I got here.” Except for the interviews, and the ache of sorrow that felt like cancer in her bones…

  “Hmm. I thought things were going better between us than this. Could be some transference going on.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s when the client projects their relationship issues onto the therapist. Do I remind you of someone?”

  “Every stupid haole bitch who tried to help me growing up. None of you could do shit for me back then, and you can’t help me now either.” Lei surprised herself with the anger behind her statement.

  “Too true,” Dr. Wilson said comfortably. She settled back in her overstuffed lounger, pulling the lever on the side that reclined the seat. She opened the throw blanket draped over the arm and spread it over her lap. She folded her hands, closed her eyes. Lei stared at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a nap. Let me know when the session’s over.”

  Lei frowned, fidgeted. “I actually was going to tell you something, but obviously you don’t care.”

  Dr. Wilson opened her eyes. They were a clear, commanding blue.

  “You just told me a minute ago I couldn’t help you. I’m tired. I might as well take a nap as listen to you make me the bad guy—first for trying to help, now for not trying.” She closed her eyes again.

  Lei looked down at her hands. They’d clenched into fists again. She wanted to get up and leave, but she knew she had to stay the hour. She’d wait it out. She sat back, rubbed her sweaty palms against the stiff blue of her uniform slacks.

  The silence was broken by the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on Dr. Wilson’s desk. Lei reached into her pocket to rub the well-worn triangle of the note Stevens had left her the first night he slept over. She got up, paced. Tension still crawled along her nerves.

  “I’m ready to talk now.”

  Nothing from Dr. Wilson. Was that a snore? Like, a little, ladylike snore?

  “I’m sorry. I was rude.”

  “Did you say something?” Dr. Wilson’s eyes opened a crack.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t fair, what I said.”

  “You were right. No one can help you. I bet you know the answer why.”

  “I have to want help?”

  “Bingo. And then, you have to help yourself. I’m just a sounding board.”

  “Sounding ‘bored’ is more like it,” Lei said.

  “Good one.” Dr. Wilson chuckled. She didn’t retract her chair though, still looking like she might fall asleep any minute.

  “A lot happened this week,” Lei said. “I chased someone I think might be my stalker. And my friend was kidnapped and murdered.”

  “Oh my God. Mary Gomes? She was your friend?”

  “Yes,” Lei said, and her eyes filled for about the hundredth time.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s a huge loss.”

  Lei nodded, unable to speak, and yanked a couple of handfuls of tissue out of the box beside her on the couch. She honked her nose.

  “What really sucks is that there are no leads. It’s like the Mohuli`i girls all over again. In fact, I think it’s the same doer.”

  “So it’s easier to focus on the investigation. Are you a part of it?”

  “For the girls. Not Mary’s investigation. What else can I do?”

  “Grieve.”

  Lei got up, paced. Rubbed her hands up and down on her legs. “I don’t want to grieve,” she said. “I want justice.”

  Dr. Wilson inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. Lei went on.

  “This is why I became a cop and not a nurse or a social worker. Justice is what I want, not tears.”

  “Can’t there be both?”

  “Not and do the job.”

  “So you hide it. Like you hide the dissociation episodes.”

  “I have to. I was so afraid I was losing my mind, I always tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. I guess it’s good to know I am not going crazy, but ...how do I make it stop?”

  Dr. Wilson retracted the chair and sat forward, brushing the lap blanket out of the way.

  “Girl, here we are at the crux of the matter. You have to want to tackle this badass beast that is your past. You have to be in a place in your life where you feel strong enough to remember terrible things that were done to you by people who should have protected and loved you. I won’t kid you. It may get worse before it gets better if you go down this road, because what brings healing is the integration of the past with the strong healthy person you are now. And it may take longer than your mandatory six sessions.”

  Lei sat back down. She slid her sweaty palms up and down her thighs. “What’s the alternative?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe you’ll get better on your own, maybe you’ll get worse. What I’ve seen is that children who were abused and trau
matized often hit a wall. Something sets them off, such as a major relationship, or having their own child, and they begin to decompensate. If they don’t work through it with support, they often end up doing self-destructive things to themselves and those around them.”

  “Great. As if it wasn’t bad enough with my mom dead and my dad in jail...I gotta be messed up for the rest of my life too? Damn it!” Angry tears filled her eyes. She jumped up, paced. “Every time I bust someone I feel like I’m getting them back, just a little bit. The best thing I ever did was become a cop, and now this shit is trying to take that away from me, make me act crazy, make me miss things. I almost lost it in the morgue seeing Mary’s body. I can’t afford to be like this.”

  “Can’t afford to be human? Come on,” Dr. Wilson said. “And anger is good. It’s fuel. But don’t stay there. That fuel can burn you up.”

  The psychologist reached out, picked up the little brass rake and brushed it through the silvery sand of the Japanese sand garden on the coffee table. Back and forth, back and forth. Lei slowed her pacing, sat on the couch to watch. Back and forth went the rake.

  “You are safe here.” Dr. Wilson held the rake out to Lei. “You were a helpless child then, but you are a strong, capable woman now, who can make her life what she dreams it to be.”

  Lei took the rake. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh, feeling the rage subside. She drew designs in the sand: arcs, swirls, waves.

  “I am making my dreams come true already,” she said, the ring of truth filling her words. “And I don’t want to let the past steal one more minute of my future.”

  “Sounds like you’ve made your decision,” Dr. Wilson said, watching the swirling pattern Lei created and re-created. “I think that’s enough for today. I guess I didn’t really need a nap.”

  “There’s always the next happy customer,” Lei said, standing up, brushing a few grains of sand off her slacks. “You certainly have a unique approach.”

  “It’s taken years for me to learn to trust my gut,” Dr. Wilson said. “That’s what seems to work best for me and my clients.”

  She walked Lei to the door, and staggered a little, off balance, as Lei turned and impulsively hugged her.