“The defense is ready to present its case, Your Honor.”
She nodded and looked at the defendant. Roberto Martinez—a thirty-six-year-old, muscular, Hispanic construction worker—had been charged with beating his live-in lover half to death. The medical report said that she had sustained multiple fractures, including a shattered nose, broken jaw, broken arm, and broken leg. But she would live. And so would the memories.
Martinez grinned crookedly, as if to say: “It would have been more fun had you been on the other end of my fists, Your Honor.”
Carole glared at him. She could feel the tiny hairs stand on the nape of her neck. But this was invisible to those before her who saw only the cool, calm, and collected attractive judge. Her russet colored individual pixies curved under her chin and onto slender shoulders, contrasting a beautiful butterscotch complexion. Beneath the black robe was a tall, shapely body with long, runner’s legs.
She faced Julian Frommer again. “You may call your first witness, Counselor—”
* * *
It turned out his first witness, the victim, was a no-show. She was going to be wheeled in from the hospital where she was still recovering from her injuries. She had apparently had a change of heart and now refused to testify against Martinez. The State’s case further began to unravel when it was revealed that the only other witness was a known drug dealer whose testimony came as a result of a plea bargain that would keep him from doing hard time.
Meanwhile the defense had produced witnesses who would testify that the defendant was seen at work at the alleged time of the assault. It was a shaky alibi at best that left a window of opportunity for Roberto Martinez to have committed the offense and returned to the job. But given that the victim was unwilling to refute this, the prosecution had little choice but to go along with George McArdle’s request that the charges be dropped.
And neither did Carole, though this pained her more than she was willing to admit. The thought that a scumbag batterer like Martinez should get off so easily was disturbing. But then, that was the system for you. Justice often needed help to be dispensed properly.
Looking Roberto Martinez straight in the eye, Carole announced unaffectedly: “The charges have been dropped. You’re free to leave, Mr. Martinez.”
He grinned lasciviously, gave his attorney a hearty bear hug, and headed for the door without so much as a slap on the wrist.
Growling at Julian Frommer, Carole snapped: “I would strongly suggest that in the future you not waste the court’s time—or mine—with a case you were clearly unprepared to make!”
On that note and without giving him a chance for a lame response, she headed for her chambers, disappointed that another woman beater, who was obviously guilty, had found a way to beat the system. Much in the same way he had his lover.
* * *
At Portland General Hospital, Lucie Garcia winced from the pain that wracked her entire body like it was being assaulted all at once. This in spite of the painkillers she had been given. They told her she was lucky to be alive. She didn’t feel so lucky.
The Hispanic twenty-three-year-old rolled her large ink-black eyes, as if to ward off danger. Her brunette hair splayed across the pillow soaked with perspiration. An irregular line of blood had seeped across it from her mouth, which had been cut and was swollen to twice its normal size. A tube was helping her to breathe. Her fractured bones were held together with pins and casts. The rest of her was held together through sheer willpower.
She thought about Roberto. She’d been told he had been released from custody. Without her testimony, the case had gone out the window. Like a parakeet freed from its cage.
When it came right down to it, Lucie knew she couldn’t testify against Roberto. Though she was afraid of him, and the beatings had become more frequent and more violent in recent months as his alcohol abuse grew worse, she loved him. She couldn’t help it anymore than a mother could help loving her son, no matter what he did to hurt her.
Roberto was the only man she had ever loved. The only one who didn’t run away at the first opportunity another piece of ass came into view. For that she was grateful. The rest just came with the territory as far as she was concerned.
Still, Lucie wondered what awaited her when she got home. Would Roberto take it out on her because he had been in police custody? Would he want her back now that she was badly bruised and broken and didn’t look anything at all like the pretty Latina who had captured his attention in the beginning?
Lucie winced again before the sedative began to take effect and she drifted off into a restless sleep. Her last thought was that maybe she would awaken and find it had all been an awful dream.
Deep down inside she knew otherwise.
# # #
Following is a bonus excerpt of the bestselling police procedural and medical mystery eBook, MURDER IN MAUI: A Leila Kahana Mystery, by R. Barri Flowers. Available in Kindle, Nook, iTunes, and Google eBooks
PROLOGUE
The handgun was loaded methodically. Time for payback. Now they would know what it felt like to be humiliated. And only then could some peace of mind come.
And just maybe a life again.
First things first. There was a job to do and the doer was determined to exact some vengeance against those deserving.
Stuffing the gun in a pocket, the soon-to-be-killer downed the rest of a glass of liquor before heading for the door.
It was a relatively quiet evening by Maui standards, what with the constant throng of tourists practically taking over the island. This was a good omen. No need to draw undue attention or have to take out someone who didn’t deserve to die.
The doer got into a vehicle and began the drive down Mokulele Highway toward the South Shore.
Arriving in Wailea, the car was parked not far from the Crest Creek Condominiums.
Then came the wait, certain they would show up. After all, their routines had been studied and memorized.
Ten minutes later both arrived in separate BMWs. The tall, handsome man left his car first and casually looked around as if lost before heading toward a condo.
The woman waited an appropriate amount of time before stepping out of her car. She was attractive and leggy with long blonde hair.
She joined the man in the condo.
It didn’t take much to imagine what they might be doing inside, having already witnessed it firsthand.
She was the loud type; while her lover was more focused on rough actions speaking for him.
Glancing at a watch, the doer decided it was time to get this over with.
Moving quickly toward the condo, the doer resisted the temptation to look around in the dim light, knowing this small impulse alone might cause someone to hone in on a passing stranger.
Pausing at the unit and listening carefully for any sounds within, there was nothing perceptible due to the thick walls, which would work well for the purpose in mind.
The gloved hand turned the doorknob, slowly opening the door.
Inside two goblets of wine sat on a table in the living room. Clothes were strewn about the hardwood floor as if they couldn’t get them off soon enough. Muffled sounds could be heard upstairs.
The doer climbed the steps, moving steadily. The master bedroom was just down the hall. Laughter and moaning grew louder, along with the frenetic movement of bodies.
The two were on the bed naked having sex. She was on top, galloping like a stallion, while he had one hand clamped firmly on her breast and the other gripping a buttock.
Removing the gun, a few brisk steps toward the pair followed. Before they were even aware of another presence in the room, it was too late. Bullets were systematically pumped into the pair until the killer was satisfied there was no life left in the room other than one.
ONE
Leila Kahana had been with the Maui County Police Department for seven years, working in the Criminal Investigative Division as a detective and composite sketch artist. She’d joined the homicide squad t
hree years ago and had seen her share of murder victims in various types of positions, ranging from fetal to awkward to dangling. But none made her olive skin flush like the present victims. A Hawaiian man and white woman, both in their thirties, were naked and locked in coitus; the woman slumped astride the man.
Identified through their driver licenses as Doctors Larry Nagasaka and Elizabeth Racine, both had been shot at point blank range in the head and the woman had bullet wounds in her back. The two were literally lying in a pool of their own blood.
The call had come in this Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. with a report of gunfire at the Crest Creek Condominiums, one of the new and expensive developments in the exclusive Wailea Resort. Neither victim lived at the residence that, according to records, was owned by the Medical Association of Maui.
“Looks like they went out with a bang, no pun intended,” her partner, Detective Sergeant Blake Seymour, said as a police photographer took pictures of the decedents.
Leila winced, hoping Seymour didn’t notice how uncomfortable she felt seeing the victims locked in the sex act. Not that she had anything against sex, other than being without for the past six months. It just seemed like some things should remain private and not exposed for everyone to see. Or at least not a bunch of gawking law enforcement personnel.
But then Leila didn’t imagine the pair knew they would be murdered at the worst possible time. Or best, depending on how you looked at it.
“I guess we can pretty much rule out murder-suicide,” she said, as there was no murder weapon found anywhere near the bodies. Not to mention they were shot multiple times and in difficult positions, making it all but impossible that either victim could have been the shooter.
“I agree. Not unless one or the other was a glutton for punishment and Houdini at the same time.”
Leila wrinkled her nose. “There was no sign of forced entry either. And it doesn’t look like anything was taken. Once you get past their messy remains and clothes scattered around, the place is immaculate. Not exactly evidence of a burglary.”
Seymour flexed his latex gloved hand and lifted a shell casing, dropping it in a plastic bag. “Someone invaded the place all right, and found exactly who they were looking for. The question is, under what circumstances and who got the jump on the lovers?”
Leila made it a point to never try and get inside a killer’s head too soon. The evidence had a way of leading them down the right path, even if less than straight and narrow. She looked again at the victims.
“No reason to believe they were expecting company. Obviously it didn’t deter the killer. Whichever way you slice it, this was definitely personal.”
“Sure looks that way. Whoever did this definitely wanted to make a statement. They didn’t have a fighting chance.”
“So we’ll fight the fight on their behalf.”
Leila stepped aside as the photographer took pictures of the corpses from a different angle. She believed the killer not only wanted to execute the pair, but humiliate them, too.
She instructed other CSI members to document the crime scene including identifying, collecting and processing any possible physical evidence.
Following Seymour downstairs, Leila couldn’t help but wonder if anyone ever used the place other than for sex. If only her house were as tidy. Or maybe that would make it seem too artificial rather than a place to live.
She noted the door key on a cabinet off the foyer. “I’m guessing one of the victims used this to get in. Probably left the door unlocked and that’s how the killer got in.”
Seymour looked. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Still, you never know. If the killer had a key, he or she might have tossed it aside, no longer needing it once the deed was done.” He said to a nearby CSI, “Dust this key for prints.”
“Sure thing.”
Seymour did a quick scan of the area. “Would’ve helped if they’d had a first rate security system.”
Leila blinked. “Maybe the association didn’t feel one was needed.”
“A costly error in judgment, though something tells me the victims were here on their own time taking care of business, so to speak.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.
Seymour managed a weak smile.
Leila approached Officer Tasia Gould. “Who called this in?”
“A neighbor.” She lifted a notepad. “Barbara Holliman.”
“We’ll need to speak with Ms. Holliman.”
“And anyone else in the immediate area who was home when the call came in,” Seymour added. “Someone must have seen the shooter.”
Tasia nodded. “That’s usually the case, even if they didn’t realize it at the time.”
Leila looked up at Seymour, who was nearly a foot taller than her five-four with most of it muscle. “You think this is an isolated incident?”
He shrugged. “Guess that will depend on why someone wanted the doctors dead while caught in the act.”
Leila refused to speculate on motive beyond the obvious that the killer knew the doctors. Not till they had more to go on regarding the victims.
And perpetrator.
* * *
Leila sat in the passenger seat as Seymour drove. Both were trapped in their own thoughts about the latest case to bring them out into the night. For her part, Leila never considered one investigation to be any less or more important than the next. When dealing with human beings and loss of life through violence, all cases deserved their best efforts.
She glanced at Seymour’s profile. He was nice enough looking, if not the most handsome man she had seen. His salt and pepper hair was cut short and he’d recently grown a mustache, which Leila hadn’t decided if she liked. They had been partners for two years and she still didn’t know him very well. At times he could be moody, witty, or a million miles away.
Seymour was currently separated from his wife. Leila suspected he wanted to get back together with her, but tried to pretend otherwise. She wasn’t sure what to tell him, having no experience in that department.
At thirty-two, Leila had never been married. Born in Hawaii to conservative Polynesian parents who believed it was her duty to marry an established Polynesian man, Leila wasn’t opposed to marriage as much as being with someone she didn’t love. That included her last boyfriend, who had turned out to be a real jerk.
Leila preferred to be on her own for now till someone came along who really made her want him.
She looked again at her partner. “Why are you so quiet over there, Seymour?”
“Just thinking about disappointing my daughter.” He paused. “I was supposed to pick her up for the night. Then duty called.”
“Is it too late now?”
“She’s probably asleep.”
“She knows you’re a cop. I think she’ll understand.” Easy for her to say.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Seymour sniffed. “I still hate letting her down.”
“So find a way to make it up to her.”
“I’ll think of something.”
Leila’s mind returned to the grisly crime scene. They were on their way to notify next of kin before the press could. This was one of the hardest parts of the job, along with tracing the winding path that had culminated with a double murder.
* * *
The address they had for Larry Nagasaka was in nearby Kihei. It was a beachfront estate surrounded by swaying palm trees in a gated community. Seymour could only imagine what a place like this went for. Certainly way out of his league.
Apparently the doctor wasn’t entirely at home here though, considering he’d chosen another location to have sex.
The door was opened by an attractive petite Asian woman with long raven hair, almost as though she’d been expecting them.
“Yes?”
He identified them. “And you are...?”
“Connie Nagasaka.”
“Is Dr. Larry Nagasaka your—?”
“Husband. Yes.” She frowned. “What is this about?”
“Co
uld we please come in?” Leila asked.
Connie met her eyes and nodded. She led them into a large foyer. “What’s happened to Larry?”
Seymour cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband’s dead.”
A hand flew to her mouth. “How?”
It was always the initial reaction Seymour tried to gauge in determining if such news came as a total shock.
“He was shot to death.”
“Where?”
“At a condo in Wailea.”
Connie’s nostrils flared. “Was he with her?”
“Who?”
“His lover.”
Seymour glanced at Leila, deferring to her.
“You knew your husband was having an affair?”
“He made no secret of it. Neither did she.”
Leila Glanced at her notes. “Two people were shot to death tonight. Your husband and a woman named Elizabeth Racine.”
Connie started to cry. “I told Larry she wasn’t worth it. He never listened to me.”
“Mind telling us how you spent your evening?”
She favored her sharply. “At home. By myself. I’ve gotten used to it.”
Seymour chewed on his lip. “Do you know anyone who would’ve wanted your husband dead?” He was still trying to decide if she belonged on that list.
“Maybe Liz’s husband, Kenneth,” Connie answered matter-of-factly. “Few men can tolerate a cheating wife.”
* * *
Leila eyed Seymour after they reached the department issued dark sedan. “She wasn’t exactly a grieving widow.”
“Not everyone takes the news the same.”
“Especially when you have an adulterous husband who happens to be bringing in what has to be big bucks.”
Seymour opened the door. “Think she did it?”
Leila imagined Connie pumping bullets into the lovers. “Anything’s possible. Or maybe someone did the job for her.”
Killer in The Woods: A Psychological Thriller Page 24
