Stalked in Paradise

by Charley Marsh

  She was a woman he could see himself with long term. A woman he could marry and have a family with.

  The realization hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. It stole his breath, the same way Danny Wong had knocked the wind out of him when they’d been new recruits practicing with batons and had skipped their protective pads. Danny had connected a lucky shot with his unprotected chest that had dropped Alex to his knees and left him gasping for air.

  He was having the same trouble breathing now.

  Marriage was not something Alex had ever contemplated before. He thought women were wonderful–for fun and companionship and in a few cases, for friendship. But not for long term. Not for the nitty gritty of daily life year after year.

  He shook his head. He didn’t have time to travel down that crazy path right now. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

  Looking at the short list of resort employees with criminal records, he set the names in the order he wanted for interviews. He would start with the two gang members first and eliminate them right off. He couldn’t think of any reason they could have for killing Bradley Higgins so he didn’t expect to get anything there. Unless it was a case of murder for hire, which he doubted.

  He decided to interview the suspects in the field rather than bring them into the security office and set off to track them down.

  As he suspected, he didn’t get any sense from the two ex-gangers that they had anything to do with Bradley Higgins’ murder, but they had had to be eliminated. He didn’t consider it a waste of time. Solving murders was often a tedious process of elimination.

  His interview with the employee accused of domestic violence and the one with the record for car jacking were equally fruitless.

  All four employees had solid alibis for the time period in question, although Alex did warn each of them that one wrong step and they’d not only find themselves fired but also charged with any crime committed. Alex made it crystal clear that he had a zero tolerence policy for crime on the island.

  That left Alex’s two most likely candidates for the murder–the ex-cop forced into early retirement for employing excessive violence when making arrests, and the never-convicted-but-several-times-arrested spine cracker. He decided to start with the spine cracker. Any man who broke bones in order to force people to pay their debts was a man who could be hired to kill.

  He found Raymond Mackleworth in the maintenance garage, working on a floor sweeper and polisher. While nearly spotless, the garage still smelled like a garage–of oil and grease and orange-scented cleaner.

  Raymond was an older, large, pale-skinned man with broad shoulders, a tattooed bald head, and piercing, flat black eyes.

  “Raymond Mackleworth? Alex Hayes, resort security. I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

  Mackleworth straightened and wiped his hands on a rag before extending one to Alex. “Raymond will do. I wondered when you’d get around to me.”

  Alex shook the hand, noticing it’s strength and rough texture. He raised his eyebrow at Raymond. “And why would you wonder that?”

  “I’ve been arrested multiple times, and even though I’ve never been convicted–and I want to stress never convicted–I figured you’d look at me for the murder of that bloke who was hung here last week. I’ll make it easy for you. No, I didn’t know him. And I had no reason to kill him.”

  Raymond Mackleworth turned his back and knelt by the faulty piece of equipment he was trying to fix, obviously dismissing Alex.

  “Maybe you didn’t have to know him,” Alex said mildly.

  The spine cracker had a complex mandala tattooed on the top of his skull. A Buddhist spine cracker? Alex shook his head. One thing he’d learned as a cop–it took all kinds to commit crimes.

  “Maybe you were hired to kill Higgins,” he added. He noted with interest that a muscle jumped in Mackleworth’s neck when he mentioned murder for hire. He pushed a little more.

  “Could I please have your whereabouts for the twenty-four period starting the early morning of this past Wednesday through Thursday morning?”

  Mackleworth stopped what he was doing and gave Alex a flat look. “I was either here or in my room. You can check the employee quarters’ security disks and my log-in and log-out times here.”

  “I’ll check the disks, I assure you. Can anyone confirm that you were here the entire time you were logged in?”

  “No.” Mackleworth’s smile was cold. “No,” he repeated. “The other guys were in and out. I could have snuck away and back again and they would’ve just thought I was doing my job. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “I’d think you’d want to help yourself.”

  Mackleworth stood. He had two inches and about thirty pounds on Alex, but Alex wasn’t worried. He could see that the spine cracker had let himself go soft around the middle and he knew he would be quicker on his feet than the larger, older man.

  He braced himself just in case, but Mackleworth only tossed down his wrench.

  “You want to know something?” he asked, his eyes fierce. “You’re right. I do want to help myself. I hate this island. I hate everything about it. I miss the action of the city and I’m going back to where I belong.”

  “Not until I catch whoever killed Bradley Higgins. You can give your notice, but you can’t leave the island until I say so.”

  Mackleworth’s fists tightened. His mouth thinned and his face and neck flushed a deep red.

  Alex braced himself again until he saw Mackleworth make a visible effort to relax. The spine cracker simply shook his head. “Yeah, sure. I’ll stick. Hurry up and find the bastard, will ya? I need to get back to pavement and traffic and city lights. I’m freaking dying here on this wasteland. People are nuts to pay to come here.”

  “I’ll let you know when you can leave.” Alex left Mackleworth swearing at the floor machine and mounted his motorcycle.

  One more to go–the forcibly retired cop.

  He found Tarbell Fox wolfing down a huge lunch in the employee canteen. The place was about half full with mostly hotel staff. Alex studied the ex-cop for several minutes before making his approach. He saw a burly, military type with short reddish hair and a clean-shaven face, wearing a neatly pressed porter’s uniform.

  It was quite a come-down from cop to baggage carrier. Alex wondered how well Tarbell Fox was dealing with his current circumstances.

  Seeing that the ex-cop was nearly finished with his meal Alex walked over to his table and slid into a seat opposite.

  “Mr. Fox? I’m Alex Hayes, chief of security for the resort.”

  “Yeah? Ex-bloodhound, huh?” Tarbell Fox gave Alex a studied once-over, shrugged and went back to his meal. “So?” he asked, around a mouth full of food.

  Alex had debated with himself about how to approach this particular interview. He expected Tarbell Fox to be stiff and proud, and he was. If he came right out and asked for Fox’s whereabouts and alibi for the time in question he would only succeed in putting the ex-cop’s back up.

  Some inner sense made Alex feel reluctant to take that approach. Respect for a fellow cop?

  He decided to try another tack instead. “In checking employee backgrounds I discovered that you’re an ex-cop. Where’d you serve?”

  “Boston.”

  “Why does a cop trade his badge for a porter’s uniform?”

  Fox grunted. “Maybe things got a little briny.” He saw the confusion on Alex’s face. “I had no choice.” Fox’s eyes were like orbs of green ice. “But you know that already. What’s it to you?”

  Alex shrugged one shoulder, leaned back. “I’m investigating a murder. Bradley Higgins. Know him?”

  “Nope. Never laid eyes on the dude. You thinking I wasted him?”

  Alex looked Tarbell Fox in the eyes. “Did you?”

  “Nope. If that’s all you have I need to bring time. My boss is waiting for me back at the hotel.”

  “Bring time?”

  “Work, man. I got to get back to work. We done here
?”

  Alex felt reluctant to let Fox go. “Have you heard anything? Any rumors that might help me?”

  Fox pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. He studied Alex. “I thought you used to be a hotshot snatcher.”

  “Snatcher?” Alex was having a hard time following Fox.

  “Big city murder cop.”

  “I was a homicide detective, yes. I don’t know about the hotshot part. I do know that cops help each other unless they’re wrong cops.” He let that hang in the air between them.

  Fox narrowed his eyes. “I was never a wrong cop.”

  “But you were forced out of the job.”

  Fox slammed his fist on the table, making the plate and flatware jump. “I was accused of using excessive force on a suspect during an arrest. The asshole came at me jacked up on dope with a pig sticker in his hand and death in his eye. I defended myself. Broke his arm. It didn’t even slow him down. He was too doped up to feel pain and he wasn’t going to stop. I wanted to live so I killed him.

  “It was a righteous kill. Him or me. I chose me. The asshole turned out to be the mayor’s wife’s cousin. I was offered early retirement or a long court battle I couldn’t afford. End of story and end of my career.”

  Alex said nothing for several minutes while he absorbed Fox’s story. If true, then Fox had gotten a raw deal. If the victim had been any ordinary guy on the street Fox never would have lost his job. All aspects of the death would have been reviewed, Fox would have been tested and most likely reinstated and the case filed under Righteous Termination.

  Which, if Fox was telling it straight, was how it should have been classified. Alex felt a twinge of sympathy. “You like it on the island?” he asked, trying to get a better feel for the man.

  Fox shrugged. “Good vittles. Cubby’s fine. It’s far away from home and everyone I knew before so that’s a good thing. The work is easy. Maybe too easy, but I have no complaints.”

  “I have a murderer on the island and no leads. Mind if I run the case by you?”

  Surprise flashed in Fox’s eyes followed by wariness. “Why?”

  It was Alex’s turn to shrug. He felt as surprised by his request as Fox, but now that he’d asked, he realized it was what he needed–another person who thought like a cop to bounce the whole case off.

  “I need a sounding board. I don’t have anyone on the island who understands police work to toss around ideas and theories with. It always helped me before to talk out what I had with my partner when I was working a case. You game?”

  Hope flared in Fox’s eyes and was quickly replaced with caution. “Maybe. I need to check with my supervisor. See if Albie can spare me.”

  “I’ll call Albie and tell him I need your services for the rest of the day. Do you know where the security building is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. Meet me there in forty-five minutes. Change out of your uniform but into something like this.” He indicated his own khakis and polo. “We’ll be out in the field and you need to look as if you work with me.”

  As Alex rode back to his office he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake taking one of his suspects on as an aide. But Fox’s story rang true and would be easy enough to check out. He’d call an old friend on the Boston police force. He had time to do that before Fox arrived.

  It occurred to him that if Fox worked out he could get him transferred to the security department. It would be good to have another experienced cop working resort security, even if Fox used some strange words.

  He was whistling by the time he strode into the security building lobby.

  A whirling red dervish launched itself at him and nearly knocked him off his feet.

  “Alex!” Lana threw herself into his arms. “Oh Alex. The killer is after me!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Fortunately the security office lobby was empty other than Mary. Alex saw a small grimace briefly cross Mary’s face when Lana threw herself at him but the droid immediately resumed her usual placid demeanor. He wondered how long Lana had been waiting. It couldn’t have been too long or Mary would’ve called his link.

  Lana wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist much as a boa constrictor would seize its prey. He reached back to grab her hands and peeled her off his body. It wasn’t easy. For such a little thing she was amazingly strong.

  “Calm down, Lana. You’re safe now,” he said. “Take a seat, right here. That’s a girl.” After he had Lana settled on one of the cushioned chairs he asked Mary to fetch her a glass of water.

  Lana grabbed onto Alex’s shirt front as he knelt in front of her with the water. “Easy now,” he said soothingly. “Drink this and catch your breath, then tell me what happened.”

  Lana took the glass with one hand, keeping the other tightly wound in his shirt. Red was the color of the day–her hair, nails, lips, eyes all colored a bright, candy-apple red. Her red eyes seemed to glow. They reminded Alex of artwork depicting the devil.

  “I needed something from my room so I ran back and–,” tears spilled from her eyes, “and . . . Oh, it’s just awful. All my things are cut to shreds, just like Harry’s were.”

  Fox came in the security office door just as Alex freed his shirt from Lana’s fist and stood. He took one look at the weeping woman and tried to back out.

  “Oh no you don’t. Get back in here, Fox. I need you.” Alex turned back to Lana and indicated the ex-cop. “Lana, this is Tarbell Fox. He’s assisting me. I want you to stay here with Mary while Fox and I check out your room. What’s your room number?”

  “Can’t I wait in your office?” Lana’s lips quivered.

  Alex hesitated. There were things in his office that were not for prying eyes, like the background reports on resort employees.

  “I’m sorry, Lana, but no. It’s against regulations. Besides, I think you would be safer staying here with Mary. She’ll watch over you and protect you until we return.”

  “Then can I come with you? I’ll feel safer with you. I want to stay with you.” Two tears slid down Lana’s face.

  “No. It’d be better if you stay with Mary. We won’t be long.”

  “What’s happening?” Fox asked as they headed toward the employee quarters on foot.

  “I’m not sure. It doesn’t make any sense.” He filled Fox in on Bradley Higgins’ murder and the destruction of Harriet’s possessions. “Harriet was linked to Higgins so I can buy that the murder is connected to what happened to her things, but destroying Lana’s stuff makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Unless you have a whacko loose on the resort.”

  “Bite your tongue.” Alex scowled at Fox. “If we have a whacko we’ll have to close the resort until we can root him out.”

  They soon reached Employee Housing One–a long, two story building–and took the nearest side entrance. The employee housing was built from the same pink stone as the larger resort hotel. The four employee buildings were classy and well-designed, the way Mr. Wade did everything.

  Employee Housing One was the southernmost housing unit, home to the non-droid food service workers and the gardeners who worked under Solomon Ayers. Each unit contained a furnished sitting room, one bedroom, a full bath, and a mini-kitchen. Alex had toured one of the units before taking the job and knew that the units were much nicer than what most people could afford to rent on the mainland, himself included.

  The wide foyer held several lush green plants, a single elevator, a door leading to the ground floor units, and a set of concrete stairs leading up to the upper floor units. The two men ignored the elevator and headed up the flight of stairs.

  The apartments were arranged on either side of a wide, well-lit corridor. Tile squares in soft taupe covered the hall floor. Bright bouquets of flowers sat on small, half-round tables set between every other door. They brightened and perfumed the space with their floral scent.

  Most of the doors had been personalized with the occupant’s name and in some cases artwork. The building was quiet. They h
eard no sound coming from any of the units. Either it was well soundproofed or most of the residents were working. Alex suspected both were true.

  “Unit two-zero-five. Here we are.” Alex took out his master and let himself inside Lana’s quarters. The men stood just inside the door, taking everything in. The place was in shambles.

  Bright neon clothing covered the grape-colored couch and two chairs. A wineglass lay on its side on a low bamboo coffee table that had been painted bright orange. Its contents splashed the bright green rug beneath the table with dull red-purple splotches.

  Bold slashes of color on canvas decorated the walls. With nowhere restful to look, the effect of all that color was almost dizzying.

  It smelled of spilled wine, dirty clothes, and an overwhelming, cloying perfume that Alex recognized as the one Lana habitually wore.

  “The woman sure likes color.” Fox shook his head. “Not sure I like what she’s done with her crib.”

  “Looks like a hurricane went through here,” Alex muttered as he moved further into Lana’s unit. Mr. Wade would not be pleased to learn that his tastefully furnished unit turned into a garish mess.

  He pulled a pair of thin gloves from his pocket and handed them to Fox before pulling out a second pair and putting them on.

  He went to the couch first and inspected the clothing strewn over it. “Hmmm. Check these out.” He held up a pair of thin sweatpants, cut to ribbons. “Just like Harriet’s. Certainly looks like the same hand.”

  They went through the unit carefully. The bedroom was as chaotic as the living room with clothing tossed everywhere. Every counter and flat surface in there and the bathroom was covered with tubes and bottles and jars of enhancers strictly organized by color family and precisely lined up like soldiers.

  By the time they were finished Alex was seething with a cold anger. “Notice anything strange?” he asked Fox.

  Fox’s intelligent eyes glittered. “Other than the fact that Miss Lana is addicted to enhancers and make-up and cheese twists? Yes, I picked up on a couple things. First, not everything has been destroyed. Didn’t you say nothing of–Miss Monroe was it–?”