Murder of the Hula Dancers

by R. Barri Flowers

"According to the coroner, she wasn't sexually assaulted," Leila pointed out.

  "That doesn't mean she didn't do the nasty with someone willingly," Chung countered. "Someone like her ex. Who's to say they didn't have an off and on relationship? Maybe after she kicked him to the curb one time too many, he snapped...in a big way."

  "That's a stretch," Leila told him, "and it doesn't jive with what Yoshie's housemate had to say about the relationship being over, the restraining order, etc."

  "Hey, stranger things have happened," he told her. "It's also a solid piece of evidence to work with."

  "That's what I thought," Delfino said, turning to one and then the other. "We're checking the sample for a match in the Convicted Offender or Arrestee Index and the Forensic Index state databases. If he's in the system, we'll soon know who he is and what else he's done."

  Chung grinned. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Delfino."

  He grinned back. "If that's supposed to be a compliment, I'll take it."

  "That's probably about the best you can expect from Chung," Leila said. "I'd leave it at that, if I were you."

  "Then I will," Delfino said, "and I'll wait for you guys to solve this case with an arrest of the victim's killer, whoever that may be."

  Chung's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Paul Hailey, the ex-boyfriend of Yoshie Akiyama.

  Answering it, Chung said in a hard voice: "Detective Chung."

  "Yeah, it's Paul Hailey. I got your card asking me to give you a call."

  Chung couldn't have been more excited that the man had done just that, short of a full-fledged confession and personally wrapping the cuffs around his wrists. Still, he tempered his desire and said evenly: "We have a few questions we need to ask you."

  "About what?"

  Chung doubted he had no idea, but played along anyway: "The murder of Yoshie Akiyama. Why don't you come in and talk to us? It's better that way," he added, as though to soften the blow. Or give him a false sense of security.

  He listened to the murder suspect's response, expecting resistance from him as a likely guilty person.

  When Chung hung up, he gazed at Leila and said: "Paul Hailey agreed to come in for an interview—"

  * * *

  Leila studied the suspect through the one-way window as he sat in the interrogation room. Paul Hailey was thirty-seven and of medium build, with long chestnut hair and blue eyes. He had a tan and was wearing a colorful print shirt and dark jeans.

  He was originally from California and had lived in Hawaii for the past eight years. A criminal background check revealed a history of violence, particularly with the women in his life, and two DUIs.

  Leila noted that Hailey was fidgeting like someone who had something on his mind—like perhaps guilt for committing a heinous crime. But, at the same time, he had come in voluntarily. This suggested to Leila that he was either ready to confess to murder or some other criminal activity, such as domestic violence. Or maybe he was there to convince them that they were looking in the wrong direction for his ex-girlfriend's killer.

  "What do you think?" Seymour asked, as he stood next to her, with Chung on the opposite side.

  Chung responded first. "He's been conveniently absent while his ex-punching bag is lying on a slab. That stinks to high heaven, if you ask me."

  Leila considered this for a moment or two, before taking a more cautious approach. "It's probably best if we don't jump to conclusions here. Let's just hear what the man has to say first."

  "That's a better answer," Seymour said candidly. "Hailey's got some explaining to do, but getting ahead of ourselves is probably not a smart idea."

  "It's not dumb to think we could be looking at a cold-blooded killer in there," Chung said, sticking to his guns. "Too bad the dead can't speak and save us the trouble of extracting a confession."

  "I agree," Leila said, "no matter who the culprit is."

  She went into the room alone, prepared for this to go either way, while trying to keep an open mind, even with the image of Yoshie Akiyama's repeatedly punctured corpse and nearly severed head foremost in her mind.

  "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Hailey," Leila said, though she doubted it was out of the goodness of his heart.

  "I wanted to get this over with," he said brusquely.

  Leila got a chill in being in the same space as this potential killer, but refused to show it. She set a folder on the table, took a seat, and said levelly: "Yes, I'd like that, too." She gazed at him. "Just so you know this conversation is being recorded."

  "Doesn't matter to me," Hailey claimed. "I have nothing to hide."

  We'll see about that, she thought, peering at him. "Why don't we start with you telling me what size shoe you wear?"

  Hailey rubbed his chin and said matter-of-factly: "Eleven. Why?"

  So far so good for us and bad for you, Leila thought, knowing Seymour and Chung were listening in carefully. "Just curious," she told the suspect. "Where were you when your ex-girlfriend, Yoshie Akiyama, was stabbed to death on Sunday night between eight-thirty and ten-thirty?"

  Hailey hesitated. "We had our issues and were off and on, on and off, and then just off. I never wanted her dead—"

  Leila pursed her lips. "Please just answer my question."

  He met her eyes. "Sure. I was in Honolulu. My kid got sick. His mother asked me to come and I did. It was only a case of food poisoning, so he's fine now. I just got back to Maui when I found the detective's card under my door."

  Leila held his gaze thoughtfully. His alibi would be easy enough to check out. Still, even if he was conveniently off the island when his ex was being stabbed to death, it did not mean he didn't have a hand in it.

  "How old is your son?"

  "Eight."

  "I'm glad he's going to be all right." She paused before saying: "I wonder, though, are you raising him to be abusive toward females like his father?"

  Hailey scowled. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

  "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," Leila said sharply. She pulled out his arrest record and ran off some of the charges and convictions. "Seems like you've made a bad habit of being violent toward others, Mr. Hailey. And that includes your ex, Yoshie Akiyama, who had to take out a restraining order against you."

  "It didn't have to be that way," he muttered. "We could've worked things out."

  "Right. That's what they all say," Leila said, glaring at him. "For your sake and your son's sake, I hope bullying and assault don't run in the blood. Otherwise, you've put him on a path of repeating mistakes that can't be taken back."

  "My kid is a good kid—thanks to his mother. Sure, I've made some mistakes and have had some anger issues," he said unapologetically, "but I'm not a killer, especially since I can't be in two places at once."

  "Maybe not," she conceded. "But maybe you were so angry that Yoshie wanted nothing more to do with you, you hired someone else to do your dirty work and kill her, while making sure that you had a solid alibi."

  "That's ridiculous!" he barked, nostrils flaring.

  "Is it?" Leila glanced at the mirror, picturing Chung and Seymour watching them on the other side. She looked again at the suspect, hoping to shake him up, if he had something to hide. "From where I sit, nothing is being ruled out, as long as Yoshie's killer is on the loose. I promise you, we'll find the person, and arrest anyone else who was involved in the homicide."

  Hailey leaned forward. "Maybe you should be talking to the guy Yoshie's been screwing. He's probably the one who did her in."

  Leila raised a brow. In spite of DNA evidence that the victim had recently engaged in sexual relations, she had kept her options open as to the source of this involvement. "Who might that be?" she asked.

  "Billy Hashimura. He's a fire knife dancer she met at the Aloha Hula Dance Company. If anyone had a reason to kill her, it would be him."

  "And why is that?" Leila asked curiously.

  "Because the bastard's married to another hula
dancer named Teresa and I'm sure he would do anything to keep the affair with Yoshie a secret, including murdering her—"

  Though she wasn't quite ready to cross Paul Hailey off as a suspect just yet, he had certainly given Leila food for thought and a possible whole new direction for the case.

  * * *

  Leila watched in awe as the fire dancers masterfully twirled their flaming knives, moving them magically between their hands and tossing them in the air, all while staying in motion to choreographed dance routines with a blend of Hawaiian, Tahitian, and Samoan music. The performances were in Lahaina at an oceanfront luau, a traditional feast of Hawaiian food, history, and entertainment.

  She watched alongside Chung and a group of tourists as the fire knife dancers continued to mesmerize the audience, slapping their chests, stomping their feet, and grinning from ear to ear, while literally playing with fire. Leila was mainly focused on the dancer in the center: Billy Hashimura. He was in his thirties and muscular, with black hair that fell just past his shoulders. She had seen him practicing at the Aloha Hula Dance Company. Now she wondered if he had perfected the art of murder, along with fire dancing.

  Paul Hailey's alibi had checked out, which appeared to clear him of the murder, at least for now. Even then, with his willingness to use his fists against another human being, she wouldn't be surprised at all if they crossed paths again someday.

  "It would have been a lot easier if Hailey had knocked off his ex," Chung muttered.

  "Easier for whom?" Leila asked. "Either way, Yoshie would be dead and someone would need to be held accountable."

  "Yeah, I know. I just hate the thought that an abusive jerk is off the hook, so now some other woman down the line will take the brunt of his blows."

  "We're definitely on the same page there," she said, somewhat surprised that he would take such a hard line against Paul Hailey. She wondered if perhaps Chung was a child victim of an abusive parent, while realizing she knew very little about his history. "But, right now, we have to play the hand we've been dealt," she told him. "And it appears to be pointing directly at Billy Hashimura."

  When the show was over, they approached the fire dancer as he was putting out his knife.

  "Aloha ahiahi," he said spiritedly.

  Leila knew this meant good evening, to which she said: "You too." She flashed her badge. "Detective Kahana with the Maui Police Department."

  "Detective Chung," her partner followed.

  Hashimura did not seem rattled. "How can I help you, Detectives?"

  "We'd like to ask you some questions about Yoshie Akiyama," Leila said equably.

  "Sure." He shook his head sadly. "Everyone feels terrible about what happened to Yoshie. She was part of our hula family."

  "Then that would make sleeping with her incestuous, wouldn't it?" Chung spat.

  Hashimura cocked a brow. "Excuse me?"

  "We know you were having an affair with Ms. Akiyama," Chung said with an edge to his voice, "so don't even bother denying it."

  Leila understood that since they were simply going on the word of a jealous ex-boyfriend, there was no proof as yet that there was such an affair. Bluffing the suspect was a good way to find out.

  Hashimura sighed deeply and looked both ways, as though fearful of being watched. "All right, Yoshie and I were sleeping together. So what?"

  "So it doesn't look very good when a married man is having an affair with a woman who was stabbed to death," Leila told him.

  Before Hashimura could respond, Chung added: "Yeah, especially if she threatened to tell your wife and you decided in order to keep your infidelity a secret, Yoshie had to be silenced for good. Does that sound about right?"

  Hashimura frowned. "No, it sounds totally wrong."

  "Maybe you should fill in the blanks for us," Leila said, keeping the pressure on. "And it better be convincing—"

  "My wife and I are getting a divorce."

  Leila rolled her eyes. "Right. How many times have I heard that before?" She thought about Seymour, for one, who teased her with that very thing, before deciding it wasn't what he wanted after all. "You'll have to do better than that."

  "Is that what you told Yoshie?" Chung asked. "And when she didn't buy that line, did you kill her so she wouldn't mess up the good thing you had going?"

  Hashimura scowled. "It's the truth. Teresa, my wife, and I have been struggling for a while. We finally acknowledged that things weren't working and weren't likely to change, so we called it quits and I moved out. Apart from that, I broke things off with Yoshie."

  "Was that before or after you had sex with her?" Leila asked pointblank. "We have DNA from semen found on Yoshie's underwear. And I'm betting it's yours—"

  "All right, we had sex a couple of days before she died," Hashimura conceded. "But it was over between us after that, I swear."

  "Yeah, right," Chung snapped, "till the next time you wanted some action from a willing participant on the side. Cut the crap!"

  Leila was skeptical about his convenient breakup with Yoshie after getting what he wanted from her. "Maybe we should continue this conversation at the station," she suggested.

  "Good idea," Chung said, glaring at him. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

  "I didn't want to end things with her," Hashimura insisted, "but he left me no other choice."

  "Who?" Leila asked.

  "Who do you think? Her ex, Paul Hailey." Hashimura sucked in a deep breath. "He threatened me with bodily harm if I kept seeing Yoshie. She told me he had a hot temper. I didn't sign up for dealing with a psychotic ex-boyfriend when I got involved with her and it just wasn't worth the headaches he was causing me—and Yoshie. I told her it was over in front of some friends at a club—the Train Stop—on Kaanapali Parkway. You can ask any of them."

  "We'll do that," Leila promised. "In the meantime, why don't you tell us where you were on Sunday night?"

  "That's easy," he responded confidently. "I was at the Aloha Hula Dance Company, from about seven to eleven, practicing my fire knife dancing."

  As if to show off his moves, Hashimura began moving the knife he was holding from hand to hand.

  Chung surprised him and Leila when he intercepted the knife and threw it, hitting a wooden tiki a few feet away.

  "Where did you learn to—?" Leila asked, wide-eyed.

  "It's just something I picked up when I was a kid," Chung said modestly. "No big deal. But I did want to show Mr. Fire Knife Dancer here that practice doesn't always make perfect. We'll be checking out your alibi."

  Hashimura sneered at him. "Go right ahead. I just hope you give that asshole Hailey the same third degree. If anyone wanted Yoshie dead, it was him!"

  Leila gave him the benefit a hard stare and said: "Ironically, that's the same thing he said about you—"

  She was beginning to think they might be off base with both men and that someone else was responsible for the murder of Yoshie Akiyama.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The hula dancer swayed this way and that, moving her ample hips and long arms to the pleasant Hawaiian music. She seemed to stand apart from the other hula dancers on stage, as much for her ravishing beauty as her long, flowing black hair that included a fresh Dendrobium orchid haku headband. She was wearing a coconut bra and fringe skirt—which further accentuated her voluptuous figure—and fern leaf bracelets and anklets.

  Aware of the magnetism she possessed, she flaunted her body, teasing the audience with sexual gyrations and an infectious smile. It gave her a good feeling to be on stage, carrying her far away from her troubles and into a world where she could be anything she wanted. She tried her best to take full advantage of this, hoping to make it last as long as possible.

  Maybe even longer, if she played her cards right.

  She honed in on one man in particular. He was dark-haired and handsome, and a delightfully crooked smile played on his lips. He was dressed like a sailor and seemed smitten with her. So maybe she was smitten with him, too.

  She continued
to hula dance on cue with the other dancers. Only now she was dancing for an audience of one. He seemed to appreciate this, as his face broke into a toothy smile, making sure she knew they were very much on the same wavelength.

  When the performance was over, he wasted little time coming on to her, tossing compliments left and right that overwhelmed her. It was something she rarely experienced in her real life.

  It made her wonder if she needed another life. One where dreams could come true. Perhaps she had found someone who could give her such a life.

  She accompanied the sailor to his room, where she gave herself to him in mind, body, and soul.

  It seemed to be just enough to make them both believe that a better tomorrow was possible.

  For that, she considered the journey more than worthwhile, ignoring the potential consequences of her actions.

  * * *

  He had perfected the tricks of the trade as a fire knife dancer, wooing his audience as he had been taught to do. He wore only a lavalava, or loincloth wrap, around his waist, along with a flower headband, boar tusk necklace, and shredded leaves knotted around his legs just below his knees.

  Attaching cotton towels soaked in naphtha, or white gasoline, to three knives equipped with chrome blades, he set them ablaze and then started to perform traditional fire dances, confident in his ability to do so flawlessly. Using various head movements, or gego, and running actions, or mo'emo'e, he masterfully guided the knives around his neck, back, and ankles, and through his legs, repeating this several times to hearty applause. Just as smoothly, he began twirling the fire knives like batons, tumbling, tossing, and even clap dancing, jumping, and kicking in synchronized fashion—all without missing a beat to the Polynesian music.

  He stayed on par with his fellow fire knife dancers on stage, each as skilled as him in telling a story through fire dancing that spoke loudly for those in attendance. All the while, he could feel the darkness building up inside him like steam of a locomotive, waiting to be released in full force.

  He thought about his mother and her hula dancing that he once believed was a gift from the heavens. That was, until he realized it was a great curse instead—one that wreaked havoc on their family. The pain it brought was unbearable and the price very high.