I carefully got to my feet, aware he was watching my every move intently. "You got your revenge against Carter, Edwin Axelrod, and killed Antonio Ramirez," I told him, figuring there was no reason to sugar coat it. "What do you want with me?"
He grinned. "I want you dead," he snapped. "If it hadn't been for Delaney making me chase after you like your damned dog, I probably wouldn't be in this mess..."
"Who are you kidding?" I taunted him. "Whatever dirty work you did for Carter, I'm sure he paid you handsomely for it. It was your own greed that got you fired. Probably the same reason Axelrod gave you the boot. I don't know what you had against Kalolo Nawahi or Antonio Ramirez, though I suspect Ramirez was merely a convenient patsy. Killing me is not going to right all the wrong moves you've made, Trevor."
I figured my best plan of action at this point was to stall for time by getting him riled up.
"Maybe not, bitch," he spat, "but at least it'll make me feel better by ending your misery. You just kept digging and digging till you got what you wanted. Happy?"
"You got what you wanted, too!" I told him, glancing at Ollie, who was still out cold. I hoped he didn't have internal injuries from the assault. "Everyone who betrayed you is dead now, Trevor. My investigation was never about you. It was about me and Carter, and why he refused to leave the past where it belonged. I needed to find out for my own peace of mind. If you walk out that door right now, you can go anywhere you want and I won't try to stop you. Otherwise you're just digging a deeper trench for yourself with no escape—"
He chuckled and said: "The trench is already dug and I'm halfway in it. But before I go, I want to finish what I started..."
I flashed him an exaggerated stare, my heart pumping madly. I knew this was the moment of truth. Attacking the brute with a .357 pointed at my face was suicidal. If I was going to die, I wanted to at least be able to have a proper funeral with an open casket.
"So why not finish it like a man, Trevor?" I dared him. "Do you really need to shoot me? Why not strangle me like you did Carter and Ramirez? Or are you afraid you can't take me?"
He threw his head back and laughed boisterously. "Who said anything about shooting you? This was just to get your attention." He moved the gun up and down for effect, and then tossed it to the floor. "You and me, we're going to have a little fun, before I wring your pretty neck—"
Trevor Baldwin approached me full of confidence—the type of poise one gains when strangling two people with his bare hands, among other violent crimes. I noted that Ollie was beginning to stir, but knew I couldn't count on him, Ridge, or anyone else to bail me out of this one.
When Baldwin got close enough, I threw both fists at his face, hitting him solidly with a left and right hook. He shook them off as though merely tickled, grinning broadly.
"You've got to do better than that," he said crookedly. "Like this—"
A fist came at me too fast to duck, landing flush on my jaw. I went down like an imploded house. Dazed, I felt myself lifted back to my feet as if weightless. As another blow approached, instincts made me turn my face away, so that the punch was only grazing. I felt blood trickling from my nose, while getting back my senses.
An overconfident Baldwin tried to grab my neck, getting air instead as I managed to duck. At the same time, I slammed the heel of my shoe into the side of his knee, instantly dislocating it.
He wailed like a big baby, and screamed: "You bitch!"
I made sure I earned his rage as my fists went after his face again, throwing uppercuts, while bobbing and weaving like a middleweight champ. It was like hitting steel, as the blows seemed to bounce off his body and reverberate back to me.
Putting his weight on one leg, Baldwin still managed to wrap a large hand around my throat. I had no intention of waiting for him to tighten the noose. I gripped his shoulders and lifted my body up so that I could head butt him while simultaneously slamming my knee as hard as I could between his legs, and again.
It worked on both counts, as Baldwin grunted and moaned, his grasp loosening enough so that I was able to go for his windpipe, pounding my fists against his throat. He released me while he backpedaled, gasping for air.
I was taking no chances that this asshole was down and out. Staying on the offensive, I lunged at Baldwin and again went to work hitting him squarely in the nose several times until it broke. Then I smashed my fists into both cheeks with everything I had.
Just when I thought I had gained the upper hand, Baldwin swung wildly and caught me on the jaw. I managed to stay on my feet, but was seeing stars as he dragged himself forward. Before I knew it, he had both hands around my neck, literally lifting my entire body off the floor like in a bad horror movie.
I felt myself losing the battle and consciousness, when Ollie came to the rescue. At full speed, he dove into the air like a flying dog and landed squarely on the back of Baldwin, clamping his powerful jaws into the side of his face.
Baldwin shrieked and released me, while trying to fight off a determined Ollie. I knew now that it was my turn to save my dog. I went after Baldwin again, kicking and throwing punches wherever I found an opening. There was enough blood to go around.
We all went down to the floor, with me on top of Baldwin, and him on top of Ollie. In my attempt to win the battle, I never saw that Baldwin's outstretched arm had managed to grab hold of his gun.
"You're dead, bitch," he moaned. "So is the mutt."
Not quite.
In the process of going for the gun, Baldwin had rolled off Ollie just enough to allow him to dart over and dig his teeth into the man's wrist, forcing him to release the gun and yell, as if it would make a difference to his pain.
"Good boy," I called out, and slammed a fist flush into the slack part of Baldwin's face, putting him out for the count.
I was still on top of my would-be killer, trying to catch my breath, and counting my blessings that Ollie and I would get through this ordeal in one piece, when Ridge stormed in, gun first, with several officers accompanying him.
"What the hell took you so long?" I teased him, knowing just how close I'd come to never having this moment.
Ridge grimaced. "I thought Yayoshi was on top of the situation," he said. "When the officer didn't check in like he was supposed to, I knew something wasn't right."
"Well, I think Ollie and I managed to clean up your mess," I said with a sigh, feeling exhausted and pretty sore.
He smiled thinly. "Looks like it. Are you and Ollie all right?"
"Better than him," I replied, gazing at the man beneath me. I looked at Ollie who was still gripping Baldwin's limp wrist between his teeth and said: "You can let him go, boy. He won't hurt us ever again."
Ollie obeyed and we both released our hold on Trevor Baldwin so the authorities could take him into custody. I crawled over and hugged my dog, knowing he had been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for me, and vice versa. He licked the side of my face and seemed to say, "Don't worry about me, I'll survive."
"So will I," I told him, and looked up at Ridge. "How's James?"
"A little shook up with a king-sized headache," he said. "Other than that, the guy's a hard one to put down for the count. Much like you and Ollie."
Ridge helped me to my feet and we hugged, as if afraid to let go of one another. I knew this was but the first step toward putting what we had back on the right track, without past haunts to derail us.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
There was an elderly woman tending to geraniums planted around a gravestone. A young couple walked arm in arm by me in obvious grief from the loss of a loved one.
My own emotions were mixed as I stood before Carter's grave. I read the words on his marble headstone:
CARTER DOUGLAS DELANEY
A Man Who Believed In Family
And Stood For The Law
I wasn't sure just how true those statements were. But I applauded Darlene for honoring the memory of her husband as best she could for their daughter, if nothing else.
; I feared that somewhere along the line, Carter had forgotten all he once stood for and aspired to be. And in the end, it cost him his life and much of his legacy.
It had been three months since Carter's death. Trevor Baldwin had recovered from the mauling he took from Ollie and me and had been formally charged with the murders of Carter Delaney, Edwin Axelrod, and Antonio Ramirez. Baldwin's DNA was discovered outside my house, but close enough to put him inside, while Ramirez's DNA was found in Baldwin's cottage. Circumstantial evidence had more than filled in the blanks to tie Baldwin to the string of killings, along with attempting to murder me twice, breaking and entering, and a number of other charges. The prosecuting attorney's office had all it needed for a sure conviction. Meanwhile, the investigation was still ongoing in tying Baldwin to the deaths of Kalolo Nawahi and Kazuo Pelekai.
The one sure bet was that Trevor Baldwin would never again be able to hurt a living soul in the free world.
I held a dozen violets in my hand. Carter had once presented me with the same when he asked me to marry him. It was the memories of a time gone by that had brought me here on this overcast afternoon. Only it was the more recent past that cast a dark shadow over everything else between us.
My life was finally starting to return to normal, thanks in part to therapy sessions with Whitney. But some lingering thoughts continued to haunt me like a bad dream.
"Why couldn't you have let me go when you were alive?" I asked Carter out loud. "It might have saved many people undeserved grief and you, your life. I was never yours to worship or hold onto," I said to his headstone. "Whatever we had, you threw away. You should've been man enough to leave it at that and give your second family a fighting chance."
I could only hope that, with time, healing would come for Carter's daughter and even his widow, who deserved better, in spite of her own weaknesses.
Suddenly it no longer seemed important what my ex-husband's state of mind had been during his downward spiral. I could not and would not let him bring me down with him.
"These are for old time's sake, Carter," I said softly. I was about to put them on his grave when, at the last moment, I decided instead that they would look nice around the geraniums the old lady had prettied up for her dead husband.
Ollie had wandered off to a grave on the other side of the cemetery, as if he was in tune with the soul of the person buried there. I made eye contact and he came running.
Ridge was waiting for us by the car. He gave me an understanding smile. I gave him a long hug and said with finality: "Let's get on with our lives."
"You sure?" he asked with a catch to his voice.
I thought about it for less than a second, smiled at him, and replied: "Positive—"
# # #
Bonus excerpts from the bestselling medical thriller MURDER IN MAUI: A Leila Kahana Mystery by R. Barri Flowers
MURDER IN MAUI: A Leila Kahana Mystery
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.
CHAPTER 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 three 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."
Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery Page 25
