Poe's First Law: A Murder on Maui Mystery

by Robert W. Stephens

  I left the bedroom and walked back to the sliding glass door. The door was locked, and the Livingstons had placed a thick wooden dowel rod between the edge of the door and the wall as a secondary lock. It would have been impossible to get through without breaking the glass. That meant the killer had to have come into the house through a window or the front door. I checked all of the windows next. They were all locked and none looked tampered with.

  There were two possibilities. Option one was that Guy Livingston had come home, walked into the bedroom and retrieved his gun. He then shot and killed his wife with it. Possibility number two was that an unknown person came through the front door and headed to the bedroom because they knew a gun was in the nightstand. They then waited for Mrs. Livingston to return so they could kill her.

  That also meant the killer knew the code to the keypad. If you’ll recall, Guy Livingston said only he and his wife knew the four-digit number.

  I know what you’re thinking. Things were not looking good for Guy Livingston. You would be right.

  15

  Dog Days

  That evening, Alana gave me the name of the man who’d found Eric Ellis while walking his dog. She even got his address for me. The man’s name was Daniel Davis and he lived in an apartment complex off Hana Highway in Paia. I would have thought he lived in Haiku since it was closer to the old pineapple fields where the body was buried. But he could have gone for a short ride down the coast and then decided to stop and take his dog for a stroll. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen that happen. I even did it several times a year with my own dog.

  Alana wasn’t able to discover the name of the eyewitness who’d pointed to Mele Akamu and Samson for the murder, but she promised that she’d look into it again in the morning. I figured Mara would also be a good resource for that since she was apparently now on Mele Akamu’s defense team. The defendant had a right to face his or her accuser. The police would have to name the witness at some point.

  You may be wondering if there were fireworks when Alana got back to the station after driving me to my car. There weren’t. She said she never came across Detective Parrish since he was busy interrogating his two suspects. Alana did say the office was abuzz with gossip about her argument with her fellow detective over yours truly. I felt a little bad for dragging my wife into my disagreement with Detective Parrish. I made a mental note to reach out to him in a few days and try to broker some kind of peace treaty.

  The next morning, I spent about an hour thinking about the nature of eyewitnesses, especially as they pertained to this specific crime. My mental exercise came at the same time as my morning swim and jog. I find those incredibly productive moments to ponder over my investigations.

  Most people have heard how eyewitnesses are often unreliable. There have even been university studies done to prove this point. In one particular study I read, ten people witnessed a staged crime and those same ten people gave ten different physical descriptions of the suspect. Some saw him as tall. Others said he was average height. Some saw dark hair while others saw a blonde man. One person even thought that the man was Asian, while the others said he was Caucasian.

  There was another problem I had with the idea of an eyewitness to this particular murder. I didn’t see how Mele Akamu would be so reckless as to commit the act where others could potentially see her. That brought up two options in my mind.

  Option one was that the eyewitness was someone in her inner circle who knew about the murder and had decided, for whatever reason, to come forward now. The second option was that Mele Akamu was innocent and someone was trying to frame her. Again, a likely suspect could have been an inside person who was making a power grab for her throne.

  Either way, I didn’t see how this could be some random person who accidentally saw the murder, but I’ve been known to get things wrong from time to time. The bottom line was that I needed the name of that witness.

  After spending the morning performing my mental sleuthing exercise, I climbed into my convertible and made the short drive to Harry’s where I met Foxx in the parking lot. We got into his Lexus SUV and drove to Paia, one of my favorite little towns on the island. I made Foxx stop so we could grab a shave ice. I selected a tasty blend of grape and strawberry, while Foxx stood off to the side and wondered how a grown man could be so addicted to these things. I don’t see how he could question that. They’re delicious, and I’m sure you’d say the same thing if you’ve had one before.

  Once my craving was satisfied, we drove all of sixty seconds to the apartment complex. We found one empty parking spot in the back of the lot and climbed out of the Lexus. It was a relatively small apartment building, maybe twelve units in all, with six on the bottom floor and the other half on the second. Alana had also given me the make, model, and license plate for Daniel Davis’ car, which I spotted in the lot, a good sign that he was home.

  We took the exterior stairway to the second floor and knocked on the door for apartment eight. A tall man, somewhere in height between Foxx and me, answered a few seconds later. I guessed his age at around thirty. He had black hair that was long enough to cover his eyes.

  He pushed his hair away from his face after opening the door. I had at least thirty pounds on the fellow. He was so skinny I could easily see his Adam’s apple protruding from his neck. He kind of reminded me of Ichabod Crane, the famous literary character who was chased by the Headless Horseman.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a deep voice that didn’t seem to match his body.

  “Yes, my name is Edgar Rutherford. This is Doug Foxx. We’re consultants for the police department. We’d like to ask you a few follow-up questions regarding the man’s body you found while walking your dog.”

  Daniel Davis hesitated a long moment. Then he nodded and stepped back so we could enter.

  “I’m not sure what else I can tell you. I told the police everything that happened.”

  “Understandable, but sometimes certain details can pop into your mind a few days later,” I said.

  Daniel Davis led us over to the sofa, which was covered with a few surfing magazines and a crinkled bag of pretzels. I looked around the room as he removed the items so we could sit down. I saw a couple of surfboards leaning against a wall. A skateboard was turned upside down and was sitting on the floor beside the surfboards.

  The other walls were covered with posters of giant waves, as well as some images of specific surfers who I assumed were on the pro circuit. I didn’t recognize any of them, which doesn’t mean they aren’t famous on the islands. I simply know little to nothing about the surfing community. There was a tiny kitchenette at the back of the apartment and a hallway off to the right, which probably led to the bedroom and bathroom.

  There was one thing I didn’t see, and that was a dog. Furthermore, I didn’t see any items that would indicate a dog even lived in the apartment. There were no dog toys, no dog dish, and no dog bed. I looked on the sofa as I was sitting down, but I didn’t see any animal hair. Granted, some dogs, like mine, don’t shed.

  “Can you tell us again how you found the body?” Foxx asked as he sat beside me.

  I must admit that Foxx was really getting the hang of this investigator thing. He was going to give me a run for my money in no time.

  “Really? I’ve gone over this no less than ten times,” Davis said.

  “If you don’t mind, please go over it once more,” Foxx said.

  “I took my dog for a walk off Pe’ahi Road. He kept tugging on the leash and whining, so I let him go. He ran into the fields and I followed him. That’s when he found that guy’s body.”

  “Do you normally let your dog off the leash like that?” Foxx asked.

  “Sometimes. He needs his exercise and I like to let him run.”

  “What kind of dog is it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a lab or something like that.”

  “Where is the dog now?” I asked.

  Daniel Davis paused a moment. It was maybe on
ly a second or two, but it was long enough to get my attention.

  “He’s at the vet.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “Surgery. I’m getting him neutered.”

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  “Five. Why all the questions about my dog?”

  “We’re dog lovers,” Foxx said.

  “What’s his name by the way?” I asked.

  “Fred,” Davis said.

  “Great name. Simple and easy to remember. But you’re right. That’s more than enough questions about Fred. Let’s get back to the unfortunate discovery you made. Has anyone come by to see you since you reported the body to the police?” I asked.

  “Just you guys.”

  “The man’s identity was established as Eric Ellis. Did you know him?” Foxx asked.

  “Why would I know him?” Davis asked.

  “Can you describe what the scene looked like?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was most of the body uncovered or just some of it?” I asked.

  “Just his arm, part of which was in my dog’s mouth. To tell you the truth, it was kind of hard to tell what it was. I thought it was an animal bone at first. Then I saw the guy’s hand.”

  “I’m sure that was quite upsetting,” I said.

  “Yeah, you could say that. I got my dog out of there and then called the cops. Look, I don’t know anything more than that.”

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Davis, and good luck with your dog’s surgery. I’m sure he’ll pull through fine,” I said.

  “Thanks.”

  We stood and Daniel Davis walked us to the door.

  “Thank you again,” I said.

  We exited the apartment and headed for the stairs.

  “Well that was a giant waste of time. Why did you want to see that guy anyway?” Foxx asked.

  I ignored his question. We got to the bottom of the staircase and continued toward Foxx’s SUV.

  “You’re not going to answer me?” Foxx asked.

  “Sorry, I wanted to get farther from the building. I didn’t know what we’d find, but I had an inkling something was up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A theory I had this morning. Either Mele Akamu killed Eric Ellis or she didn’t. One of those statements must be true and one must be a lie.”

  “Of course. What’s your point?”

  “If Mele Akamu didn’t do it, then someone is setting her up.”

  “You mean the eyewitness?” Foxx asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Daniel Davis doesn’t really have a dog, does he?”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see any sign that a dog lived there. I can’t tell you how many times I tripped over your dog’s toys when you two lived with me.”

  “There was something else. He said his dog was getting neutered, but he also said the dog is five. Most people get a male dog neutered when they’re much younger.”

  “Maybe he just adopted the dog,” Foxx suggested.

  “Maybe. Let’s head back to Harry’s. The drive will give me time to make some phone calls,” I said.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We climbed into Foxx’s car and I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I googled veterinary clinics and found five that were fairly close to Paia. The first one that came up was called the Maui Veterinary Clinic, not the most original name, but it got the job done. I pressed the phone icon link on the website and a receptionist answered a few moments later.

  “Good morning, Maui Veterinary Clinic. This is Teri. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, Teri. This is Daniel Davis. I’m calling to check on my dog’s surgery. His name is Fred. Is he out yet?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Davis. I don’t have a dog named Fred for today’s surgery. I suspect you called the wrong clinic.”

  “You’re right. I hit the wrong link. My apologies.”

  “No problem. Have a good day.”

  “You too,” I said, and I ended the call.

  “No Fred?” Foxx asked.

  “Nope. Let’s try the others.”

  I repeated my gimmick four more times and struck out with each one. I even called two additional clinics that were located on the opposite side of the island. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and turned to Foxx.

  “Well, I called every vet clinic on Maui. Unless Daniel Davis is getting some back-alley surgery for his dog, he lied to us.”

  “If he lied about the dog, then he had to have lied about the way he found the body,” Foxx said.

  “Here’s the next question. Who put him up to it? This helps us focus our investigation. We were looking at who might have killed Eric Ellis. Now we need to discover who benefits the most from Mele Akamu going to prison.”

  “I don’t know, Poe. I don’t think this lets Mele Akamu off the hook for killing Eric Ellis.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said.

  “You know, there’s a giant hole in your theory.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eric Ellis has been in the ground for five years. If someone was setting Mele Akamu up, then they started the con job years ago. That’s a hell of a long game to play.”

  16

  The Wedding Planner

  Foxx and I drove back to Harry’s. Foxx invited me in for a drink and we spent the next hour debating what we’d learned in our interview with Daniel Davis. We both agreed that Daniel had probably lied about owning a dog. Although Foxx thought there was a harmless explanation for the lie, my mind went to more nefarious theories. Who was right? I had no idea.

  I was about to drive home when I received a phone call from Hani. She told me that she’d just gotten a phone call from a wedding planner who wanted to view our event space in Wailea. Apparently, her clients were unhappy with the places they’d viewed, and their wedding planner had told them about our venue as a last resort.

  I certainly didn’t like my business being viewed that way, but I agreed to meet the couple and their planner since Hani said she was still too distraught to leave her house. I made a quick U-turn and pointed the little silver car east.

  It gave me an opportunity to listen to Dave Brubeck, another legend in the jazz world. I got through his songs, “Take Five,” “St. Louis Blues,” “To Us Is Given,” “Weep No More,” and “Autumn in Washington Square.” The last song of his that I listened to, “I May Be Wrong,” perfectly summed up how I was feeling about the Eric Ellis case. I was certain of nothing except the fact that I didn’t know what in the world was going on.

  I eventually pulled into the parking space for my Wailea venue and found the happy couple (actually, they didn’t look all that happy) and their surly wedding planner. Was the wedding planner surly because of the couple or was the couple upset because the wedding planner was surly? Perhaps it was both.

  The wedding planner, whose name I’m intentionally withholding, greeted me with a curt, “It’s about time. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?”

  I was tempted to answer her by turning around and immediately climbing back into my BMW for the return drive to Kaanapali. But I am a team player, when I want to be, and I didn’t want to lose the potential commission for Hani.

  The end result of the tour was that the couple seemed to like the space, at least they said they did, but the wedding planner replied, “We can do better.”

  Again, I was tempted to be nasty right back, but then I looked past her to the ocean in the distance. The water was one of the most gorgeous shades of blue I’d ever seen, and I came to the happy conclusion that there was no way this person was going to ruin my mood.

  The couple thanked me for my time. The wedding planner did not, and they headed out the door. I didn’t immediately walk for my car too. Instead, I went onto the back deck that overlooked the beach. It was a reliable place to catch a nice breeze, and I decided to hang out for a while and enjoy the weather
and the view.

  I was about to leave when I heard the door open behind me. I turned and saw Hani walking toward me. She joined me on the deck a moment later.

  “Change your mind about meeting the clients?” I asked.

  Hani got this nervous look on her face.

  “They haven’t gotten here yet?”

  “They left about ten minutes ago.”

  “Thank God, I hate dealing with that woman.”

  “Oh, so you willingly threw me to the wolves?”

  “Poe, you deal with murderers all the time. I figured you could handle a grumpy wedding planner. Besides, I’m just not in the mood. Did they book the place?” Hani asked.

  “That’s a big, fat no. The wedding planner said they could do better than our place.”

  “She really said that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, she can go…”

  Yes, I trailed off the words to save you from hearing what my sweet sister-in-law said. But I’m sure you can guess what it was.

  “If you didn’t come to see the couple, then why are you here?” I asked.

  “I need a fresh perspective, one that doesn’t belong to my mother or sister.”

  “I assume this is about your own wedding.”

  “Partly.”

  “Then the other part has to be your father.”

  “You have to promise me that what I’m about to say goes no further than this room. You can’t even tell Alana.”

  “Come on, Hani. You can’t ask that of me. I don’t want to lie to Alana.”

  “You don’t have to lie to her. Just don’t mention anything.”

  I know I’ve posed this philosophical question before, but is an omission of a fact also a lie?

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Not until you promise me.”

  “Look, I already know what it is, so let’s just start talking about it.”

  “You can’t possibly know.”

  “You went and saw your father,” I said.