“That’s easy. She was smart, funny, gifted, and always there for the people she cared about.”
“Did that include her husband?”
Suzanne’s brow furrowed. “It wasn’t easy being married to Kenneth. He could be a real bastard sometimes.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“He was possessive and treated her like a trophy wife rather than an equal as a physician and wife.”
“Do you think that’s why she had an affair with Larry Nagasaka?”
“Liz liked the way Larry made her feel. And not just in bed. He treated her with respect. She never felt anything long term would come out of the relationship, but was just willing to go with the flow.”
“Did Racine know about his wife’s affair?”
Suzanne rolled fingers through her hair. “She tried hard to keep it from him. Don’t know if she succeeded. But I do know Liz had planned to ask Kenneth for a divorce and was afraid of how he might react.”
Ferguson’s brows knitted. “Like he might try to hurt her?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. Once Kenneth had his hooks in you, he didn’t want to give up easily.”
* * *
Seymour stepped inside the Wailuku tavern on 31st Street. He found just the person he was looking for sitting at a table all by his lonesome, nursing a scotch on the rocks.
Marty Mendoza had grown up on the island and gotten involved with the wrong elements. It led to a confrontation that cost him his eyesight ten years ago. For half that time he had supplemented an insurance settlement by being a listening ear on the streets of Maui for information that might prove useful to Seymour that was normally out of his reach.
Once again he was counting on Marty earning a few bucks.
“Can smell you a mile away, Seymour,” Marty claimed and showed his teeth.
“Didn’t know my cologne was that strong.”
“It isn’t.” Marty laughed. He wore dark shades.
Seymour sat across from him. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“Only if you join me.”
Seymour tossed aside the no drinking on duty policy. “Sure.” He ordered two scotches.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Marty asked. “Or do you want me to guess?”
“Two people were shot execution-style at a condo last week.”
“Yeah, I heard. Hope they got their groove on in time.”
“Wouldn’t know.” Seymour left that one alone. “The murder weapon was a .25 caliber gun. I’d like to find out if the perp bought it off the street. And, if so, from who?”
“What’s in it for me, aside from a cheap drink?”
Seymour slid three bills across the table so they touched Marty’s hands. “That’s fifty dollars. I’ll double it if you give me anything useful.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Marty squeezed the money between thick fingers. “I’ll see if there’s anything on the grapevine.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You make it easy to do my civic duty.”
The drinks came and Seymour held up his end of the bargain and looked for a greater return down the line.
* * *
That night Leila’s mother, Rena, phoned. As always, Leila tried to remain respectful, even when it could be trying at times dealing with a mother large on tradition and being a good Hawaiian girl. This meant not working outside the house unless in an approved field such as teaching and nursing. A career in law enforcement was frowned upon. Even if Leila was following the footsteps of her father and grandfather.
“It’s not the life I envisioned for my only daughter,” Rena complained.
“I didn’t envision it for myself either.” Leila bit her lip. “But it’s my job and I’m trying to make the best of it.”
“No reason to settle for something that isn’t right for you and could get you killed.”
“This is the right thing for me at this time in my life, Mom. And I could die anywhere, no matter my profession.”
“You could move back home.”
“This is my home now. It has been for a few years.”
Rena made a snorting noise. “Must you always be so stubborn like your Makuakane?”
“I’m proud to be like dad and Kapuna,” Leila point out, adding her grandfather as though it would make difference in trying to appeal to his daughter. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Are you eating right? You’re way too thin these days. It’s not good for you.”
As always Rena changed the subject when things got heated. Leila considered this to be safer ground for debate.
“My eating is just fine. You taught me how to cook and I haven’t forgotten. Being fit is necessary for my work, so I have to show restraint in what I eat.”
“I just hope that job doesn’t make you anorexic. Heaven knows how awful that would be.”
Leila’s nostrils flared. Would this ever end? Of course not, so long as she continued to dance to a different drummer.
“I’ve been at this for a while, Mom, and I haven’t turned into a stick yet. Don’t worry so much about me.”
“I’m your mother,” Rena said unapologetically. “Worrying comes with the territory.”
Leila got that and had no basis for argument. “I have to go now.”
“Are you going out?”
Leila wished that were the case. Instead, she was once again spending the night with her own company.
Maybe that would soon change if things between her and Seymour panned out.
Or maybe it was just her destiny to be a failure in all meaningful relationships.
EIGHT
On Tuesday morning, Gabe Devane walked into Maui General Hospital. He had been told the elderly mugging victim, Roslyn O’Shea, was being kept under observation for a couple of days. Gabe decided to pay her a visit since she reminded him of his own grandmother who passed away at ninety-two. He hoped longevity was in his genes, as there was still a lot he wanted to do in life.
For the moment, he would settle for checking up on the woman he’d rescued from an attacker. Now that the asshole was in police custody, it made things easier all the way around. Gabe still wasn’t sure how the man had managed to evade Sal, unless his dog was losing his touch.
Roslyn O’Shea was in room 461 and, according to a nurse, had good vital signs, along with a couple of cracked ribs and some minor bruising. Apparently she was still a bit disoriented from the mugging.
Gabe stepped into the room, observing a woman in her fifties who bore some resemblance to Roslyn. He assumed she was her daughter.
She shot him a cold look. “Who are you?”
“Gabe Devane. I was there when your—”
“You—” Roslyn spoke in a hoarse voice.
Gabe faced her. She looked every bit her age, but tried to smile.
The other woman didn’t see it that way. “Look, Mr. Devane, you’re upsetting my mother, so if you could just—”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue, young man,” Roslyn said forcefully.
“I wasn’t sure if you would remember.” Gabe recalled the police saying that she had been unable to identify her attacker to support his eyewitness account.
“Of course I remember,” she snapped. “I don’t have Alzheimer’s disease. Not yet anyway.”
He cracked an amused smile. “Sorry about what happened. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’ll be fine. Just a little winded, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m sure you were told they caught the man, so you won’t have to worry about him attacking you again.”
She sighed. “I’m happy he’s behind bars. Maybe that will do him some good.”
Gabe doubted that. He was of the opinion most criminals left incarceration worse than when they went in.
He didn’t want to upset the woman. “One can only hope.”
“It’s nice to know there are still people in the world willing to get involved by
helping others in need.”
Gabe grinned. He wanted no part of being a hero. He was anything but that. As long as it made Roslyn feel better, he could deal with it.
Now if only this good feeling could cross over into the rest of his life.
* * *
Leila stood outside the interview room next to Rachel, Seymour, Ferguson, and Lt. Ortega. They watched through the one-way window as the suspect, Connie Nagasaka, sat quietly. It was decided that Leila and Rachel would question her, believing Connie would be more likely to open up to them.
“I’d say we’ve let her sweat it out long enough,” Leila said.
“Agreed. Go talk to her.”
“It will be interesting to see how the widow responds,” Ferguson said. “There’s no doubt there was some bad blood between her and the husband’s mistress. Could’ve spilled over into murder.”
Rachel curled her lip. “Money’s always a strong motivator for getting rid of your husband. But it’s also a reason to keep him around, even if he is unfaithful.”
“Just remember she’s here as the widow of a victim and not a suspect, per se,” Ortega made clear. “The moment she asks for a lawyer, the questioning stops.”
Leila nodded. “Got it.”
The two detectives went in the room. It was Leila’s job to be the soft-spoken one, while Rachel played the tough cop. Sometimes it was the other way around, depending on the case.
Leila had no problem either way, so long as there were results.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she told Connie Nagasaka.
“No problem. Did you speak to Kenneth Racine?”
“We did, and he has an alibi for the time of his wife’s murder.”
Connie looked disappointed. “Maybe you should double check that.”
“Actually, we’d like to know more about what you were doing at the time your husband was killed,” Rachel said bluntly.
Connie’s lashes fluttered. “I already made clear I was at home.”
“But, you see, the problem is no one can verify that.”
“Am I a suspect in Larry’s death?”
The detectives exchanged glances before Leila answered. “This is just a routine part of the investigation. We need to eliminate everyone close to the victims so we can focus on the perpetrator.”
Connie sighed. “I understand.”
Leila took a moment, eyeing her. “Why don’t you tell us about the million dollar insurance policy you insisted Larry get a month before he died?”
Connie looked caught off guard. “It was Larry’s idea, not mine.”
“You’re sure about that?” Rachel regarded her with skepticism. “Seems to me it was more money than necessary on top of the other policy. Especially for a man who had his eye on another woman.”
“Most men think from below the waist.” Connie maintained her composure. “Larry still loved me and would never have left me for her. He wanted me to be taken care of in case something happened to him.”
Leila arched a brow. “Are you saying your husband feared for his life?”
“There were some concerns he may have made some enemies. Larry had a gambling problem. He liked to bet on baseball and basketball games. He wasn’t always able to cover what he owed his bookie. Larry usually managed to work something out, but feared what could happen if he fell short.”
Leila caught Rachel’s gaze. “Do you know the name of his bookie?”
“I only know him as Art,” Connie said.
It didn’t surprise Leila that Nagasaka was a gambling addict. She’d read that many professionals got into gambling as a way to relieve the pressures of the job, only to find themselves hooked. Was that what had happened to Nagasaka?
Or was it a clever attempt by Connie to divert attention from herself as a suspect?
“We’ll certainly look into this,” Leila promised.
Rachel leaned toward Connie. “Do you own a gun?”
“No. I’m afraid of guns.”
“Lots of people are. But it doesn’t stop them from using one to kill somebody they hated.”
Connie’s eyes narrowed. “I loved my husband and felt sorry for Elizabeth Racine. Because her own marriage failed, she went after my husband. And now I’m paying the price.”
Leila looked at the one-way mirror, imagining what they were thinking on the other side in assessing the twists and turns of this case.
She favored Connie. “Whoever killed your husband and Elizabeth Racine will pay a far worse price.”
* * *
Though Connie Nagasaka was hardly in the clear, her assertions about her dead husband’s gambling problem was something Seymour and Leila could hardly ignore. Particularly when it gave someone else a motive to murder Larry Nagasaka, with Elizabeth Racine possibly killed simply because she’d chosen the wrong man to have an affair with.
Seymour was willing to go along with this theory for the time being, among other possibilities.
It didn’t take long to figure out the bookie known as Art was in fact Arthur Zachias. He ran a small bookmaking operation in Lahaina.
Seymour headed over there with Leila to have a chat with him.
“Did you buy the bit about it being Nagasaka’s idea to make his wife a millionaire upon his death?” Seymour asked.
Leila blinked. “Not sure. They certainly had a strange relationship. My gut feeling tells me it was more about Connie looking out for number one.”
“Yeah, same here,” Seymour said. “Not that I could blame her any, since Nagasaka was definitely more focused on himself.”
“For her sake, I hope Connie didn’t play the wrong hand here. If it turns out she’s responsible for her husband’s death, she won’t get to spend a dime of that insurance money. Not where she’ll be headed.”
Seymour turned onto Front Street. “Too bad most killers only think about the present and not the effect it will have on their future.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure they think at all,” Leila said. “Otherwise they might want to rethink things before there’s no turning back.”
“True.”
“It’s scary how easy it is for some to take another’s life.”
“Scarier is when you’re the one being targeted,” Seymour said. “The laws do an adequate job of putting the bad guys away eventually. But usually it’s too little, too late for the victim.”
“Tell me about it.”
Seymour glanced her way. He wanted to get to know the woman outside the detective. Would she let down that barrier? Or should he not go there, unsure what he could offer in return?
“So is the art show a black tie affair or what?”
“No. Business casual is good.” Leila smiled. “Bet you’d look great in a black tie, though.”
“Oh you think so, do you?” Seymour felt flattered.
“Yeah. You should try it sometime.”
He would do just that. For her.
* * *
Leila was still thinking about Seymour in a black tie till they entered the building. A climb up steep stairs took them to a small office open for business.
A forty-something, deeply tanned man with grayish blond hair was yapping on the phone. He hung up before they could ask him to.
“What can I do for you?” He eyed them warily.
“You must be Art,” Leila said.
“Yeah, that’s me. So what.”
She showed her badge, as did Seymour. “We’re investigating a homicide. The victim is—was—one of your clients.”
“I have lots of clients. Who are we talking about?”
“Larry Nagasaka,” said Seymour.
Zachias licked his lips. “Yeah, heard about his death. What’s that got to do with me?”
“We understand you took bets for him.”
He tensed. “Hey, I run a strictly legit operation here. I’m a business man.”
“That’s not what we hear.” Seymour gave him a hard look. “But that’s not our concern.”
“Oh? So wha
t is?”
Leila peered at him. “Whether or not you went from placing bets to murder.”
His eyes bulged. “You’re asking if I killed Larry?”
“Maybe when he couldn’t cover his debts, you decided to take his life instead.”
“I never laid a hand on him.” Zachias sat back uneasily. “Yeah, he owed me money and I hate when people don’t pay up on time. But murder—no way. Not only is it bad for business, I’d be a fool to knock off an addict doctor who had a ready source of income and risk spending the rest of my life in prison.”
This made sense to Leila, except that murder was typically a crime of impulse.
And often greed.
“Do you happen to own a .25 caliber handgun?” she asked.
“No. I’ve got a .38 revolver. Bought it legally for protection. That’s all.”
Seymour’s brows touched. “Hope you’ve got a good alibi for the time Larry Nagasaka was shot to death.”
“Try me.”
NINE
On Wednesday evening, Ferguson drove from Maui General Hospital to the Crest Creek Condominiums and back. Going slightly above the speed limit, he was able to cover the distance in less than half an hour. Word from the hospital staff was that there were approximately forty-five minutes around the time of the murders where Kenneth Racine could not be accounted for, leaving him more than enough time to slip away, kill his wife and lover, and return with no one being the wiser.
But did the doctor actually commit a double homicide?
Ferguson wouldn’t rule it out. He’d seen firsthand the lengths some men went to when it came to intimate matters and betrayal. And some women, too.
Racine had agreed to come in on Thursday morning for an informal talk. If he came with his lawyer, it would suggest Racine was covering his bases as a guilty man. Ferguson hoped he came by himself so he could trip him up more easily if he had something to hide.
Ferguson drove to the part of Lahaina where he expected to find Gina plying her trade. He spotted her leaning against the side of a building, smoking a cigarette.
She must have recognized his car, for Gina approached him, her large breasts bouncing with each step. He let the window down in anticipation.
Murder in Maui Page 6
