The Howling Cliffs (Sara Mason Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Deal

  “Didn't make the inside pages either.”

  “But follow that front page article where it continues on the inside. It confirms a lot of things.”

  Some news the public may not have heard was printed. Witnesses inside the bar had originally reported that the missing North Shore woman left following a man having his hair in a knot and wearing a dark tee shirt with a hole in the back on the lower right side. Two guys smoking outside the bar said they hadn't seen the woman or man, only a large black truck with a loud diesel engine leaving the parking lot. They identified the truck from the owner's photographs. “Now we're getting somewhere.”

  “That large black truck that drove me off the road was diesel.” Sara set her cup down and leaned in closer to read. “I knew it! The motor sounded the same when that truck started to back out of the cul-de-sac, before he rammed that car.” Sara pointed to the article, prompting Birdie to finish reading. The article went on to say that the owner of the truck had allowed Maleko to drive it whenever he claimed to have a date. “No wonder he never bought a newer one.” The truck was more impressive than Maleko's own island-kine junker.

  Maleko had been borrowing the friend's various vehicles for years. “They interviewed the owner of that black truck. He may be drawn into this as a possible suspect.” Birdie ran a finger down the article as she read. “I'll bet he never loans another vehicle.”

  The article mentioned the search warrant but nothing else about what went on at Maleko's property. “So the truck ties him to the missing woman.”

  Birdie closed the paper and half-folded it. “And ties you in as a witness.”

  “Yeah, since I saw a dark truck parked along the road with its lights off.” Sara nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I'll be seeing more officers at my door.” If the dark truck parked along the road in Waimea was Maleko, then he recognized the custom pearly blue of Sara's car and ran her off the road, intending to kill her so she couldn't be a witness.

  “That was pretty dumb considering—”

  “Considering I had no idea he was the driver of the truck, had no way to know anything but that a black truck was parked there.” Sara shrugged. “Could have run out of gas, for all I knew. But, yeah, I did see a truck in the same location of the body no matter who was driving.”

  For the first time in a long time, Birdie didn't rush to get back to her gardening. “Let me understand this. Maleko is probably responsible for sending his sister over the cliff. Then you come along investigating cold cases. He saw you as a threat.”

  “Not to mention you with your forensic dog before me. Those rat pellets were meant for Ka'imi to eat.”

  “The combination of your experience and my forensic dog spelled trouble for him. He may have been the one to push you over the cliff.”

  Doubt was being washed away. All the coincidences and strange occurrences were falling into place. “Well, you did fall down my trail instead of me. And him, likely the one who hung the pig skin on that tree, then barbequed the carcass with Hien. This man is sick and needed help a long time ago.”

  “He's had his eye on you after he learned your background.”

  “Could all have been premeditated.”

  “In the meantime, he picks up a woman for sex and a joy ride down to the west side where he kills her and dumps her body in an abandoned cane field.”

  Sara watched Birdie's sour facial expressions. Birdie seemed fed up with Maleko, never having liked him from the beginning. “You know, maybe it would have been only a rape, but that big lug of a guy got carried away with his roughness. He could have been killing her when I passed by.” Sara expelled a breath of exasperation. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it.

  “Then when he leaves the scene, he sees your sparkly minivan and thinks you're spying on him. The crazy didn't realize that you wouldn't connect him to the truck.”

  “But I could eventually place the truck in the area.” That first time she almost lost her life was still clear in her mind. “So he dogs me and tries to run me into the mail boxes out in the middle of darkened rolling fields. All the while, another woman lies buried under his picnic table.” Sara took a sip of coffee. The circumstantial evidence was too great. “The remains are speculated to be his mother. Who else could it be?” Sara shook her head again. “It's like a fiction novel, but makes me wonder…” She sipped her coffee, thinking.

  “About?”

  “If Maleko's been borrowing his friend's vehicles all these years…”

  Birdie eyes opened wide with surprise. “And they can now tie him to one woman's disappearance and death…”

  Sara finished the thought both had. “What's the likelihood that any of those six women currently missing didn't meet the same end in a different borrowed vehicle?”

  Chapter 53

  Two days later, Sara had just made a half pot of Kauai coffee and carried it to the rear lanai where she planned to relax and read. Her body needed rest and to further heal. Det. Lio and a young officer who could have been new to the force paid her an unexpected visit. She retrieved two more mugs.

  Det. Lio got right to business. “What we know so far is that you'll be called as a witness when this case is sorted out and goes to trial.”

  “There'll be more than one trial, right?” Sara poured each a half cupful and drained the pot.

  “Most likely, although they'll try to combine at least a couple.” He went on to explain that the prosecutors would like to try Maleko for the alleged deaths of both his sister and the woman buried under his house. “Going to be hard to prove murder with the sister.” He sipped his coffee. “The Coroner said the blow to the head of the woman was not from a fall. It took some real force to knock that hole in her skull. They found a piece of bone inside there.”

  “So if it's proven that woman was murdered, especially if she is Maleko's mother, then they may have a stronger case for murder of his sister, too, right?”

  “Some of the suspicions in the sister's case probably can't be proven. We have no witnesses to the time when either his sister or his mother met their fateful ends.”

  Sara felt a slight let-down. If Maleko murdered both his sister and mother, even if he was a little huhu, he was a master of cover-up and should get punishment to the fullest extent of the law. “Could Maleko blame his mother's demise on anyone else, one of his visitors maybe, and get away with it?”

  Det. Lio looked doubtful. “It's slim, but we can connect him to the murdered woman case down in Waimea now. That makes him look awful dirty about his family.”

  “Wish there was more proof. Couldn't they find something that belonged to the murdered woman inside that truck? Him using that truck and her being in there—”

  “You're really on it, Sara.” He nodded sharply in agreement.

  “I'm learning.” She could feel the rush, her face getting warm, but her ego would remain intact. Comments like that were confirmation that what she chose to do with her life was right.

  “That truck belonged to a family man. We found hairs inside there. Lots of different hairs. They're being checked for a possible match with the victim's hair.”

  The young officer hadn't spoken. Though attentive, he seemed to have fallen in love with Kauai coffee.

  “When will you know if the woman was Maleko's mother?”

  “Oh yeah, we've got Maleko's DNA now. The DNA from the child on the cliff belongs to the sister.”

  “I always suspected it. I told Officer Makamai right away.”

  “Yeah, he said you were always one jump ahead but wanted things kept hush-hush till they could prove out.” He smiled again and nodded his approval. “The lab extracted material from the femur of the remains under that house and sent it to Honolulu. We should hear back in about a week.” Det. Lio looked around. “Where's your neighbor today?”

  Sara smiled. All she had to do was wait a moment after conversation stalled. She looked toward Birdie's yard and, sure enough, two blue eyes rose up from behind the lava rock wall. Sara laughed
. “Birdie!” She motioned. “Come for a minute. Bring your coffee pot.”

  Birdie arrived with Ka'imi and her coffee pot and filled the officer's mugs.

  Det. Lio sipped, and for the first time not seeming police-like, petted Ka'imi as if he intended to rough-house with her. “We like to get court cases rolling fast here on Kauai, so both of you… don't go far, okay?”

  “Oh-oh. I'm due to go to the mainland. I have some business that won't wait.” Sara needed to be in the comfort of Huxley's arms. It had been much too long for them to be apart. She needed to feel safe again. The responsibilities on Kauai tore at her emotions.

  “She's been on searches in the Vietnam jungle several times already.” Birdie blurted it out, evidently returning to her usual self, full of information she judged okay to pass along. “With a search team, looking for MIAs.”

  “Birdie!” Sara felt her face redden.

  The detective stopped teasing Ka'imi and paid more attention. In The Islands, veterans were revered, especially the elderly members of the celebrated 100th Battalion of the 442nd Combat Team during WWII. Hawaii families were just as affected as anywhere else when it came to the making of war heroes and scarred lives.

  Det. Lio's expression softened drastically. “MIAs, huh? I didn't know. I commend you.” At that moment, he wasn't a cop but a humble friend nodding thoughtfully.

  A moment of silence took over. Sara didn't like them all looking at her. “You wanted Birdie here too?”

  “Oh, yes, I did. You both will be subpoenaed along with Bao. The investigators will want to talk more with each of you before anything goes to trial.”

  “Can you tell us anything more at this point?” Birdie had to calm Ka'imi as she spoke.

  “I can't disclose more but there's a whole list of charges against him involving the attempts on both your lives. Birdie, did you know Maleko's mother?”

  “Never met her.”

  “Well, that's okay, we've already talked to Bao. That old guy has an indelible memory. He'll help us a lot with his old photos too.” Det. Lio looked sympathetic. “Bao's taking this awfully hard. I hope you ladies will look in on him.”

  The officers finished their coffee. The conversation had stalled. Sara felt relief that at least momentarily life would quiet down a bit. “Where do you go from here?”

  “Well, we're trying to get Maleko to tell us about his mother. The psychiatrist claims he's either a total pupule or fakes it real good.” Det. Lio's expression said he might be inclined to believe the latter. “He talks softly about how he loved his mother, but goes huhu when he can't understand how she could make a child with Down syndrome.”

  “Is that reason for him to do away with Leia?” Perhaps the first time Maleko saw is sister, it left him with a distorted liking of her.

  “May not be enough to charge him with murder either.” Det. Lio seemed saddened.

  Everyone wanted to see the perpetrator sorely punished but knew some of the charges could be dropped.

  “Unless you can get him to talk.” Sara said.

  “He's under suicide watch.” Det. Lio stood and stretched his back. “We have a standing warrant for that guy's property. We'd better get over there. We need to collect more evidence before we seal the doors.”

  Chapter 54

  Sara and Birdie watched Det. Lio and the officer walk up the street toward Maleko's house. The officers ducked under the yellow tape and soon entered through the front door.

  “They went inside.” Birdie pointed. “I wonder what they're looking for.”

  “Me, too. Let's go.”

  “Not me. I'm through with this, and you'd better stay put.”

  “I can't.” Over the top of the lava rock wall, she could only see the top of the front door and they hadn't closed it. “If our strange neighbor turns out to be a serial killer, I want to know what it is they think they'll find that could clinch it.”

  Birdie left for home. Sara headed up the street and slipped under the tape. Fabric of the tented canvas awning Maleko used to house his pickup billowed and snapped in the wind. She quietly slipped in through the opened door. Letting her eyes adjust from the bright sunlight, she looked around and was shocked. As without, so within. The littered yard had hinted of what she might expect of the interior of the home. It was just confirmed. So then, with his overall property in such disarray, what could be the state of his mind?

  Maleko's island style plantation house with its single walled construction was a mess. Loose magazine pictures and some island-style curios hung from nails pounded into the exposed two-by-fours. He lived with old broken down bamboo furniture. In its original condition, it might have been some of the most fashionable tropical furnishings of the period.

  If Maleko truly hated his mother, maybe the sight of her expensive furniture reminded him of a time he'd rather forget, or of a heinous act he committed. That might attest to his hate for her.

  The sofa frame sagged in the middle. The matching chair had one side propped up with a wood block so it sat somewhat even. The floral design on the sofa and chair cushions was faded and pathetically grimy. Cushion corners and edges were frayed.

  Magazines in pieces and yellowed newspapers were strewn and stacked high everywhere except a couple places to sit. Beside those areas were dirty paper plates piled in stacks, each looking to contain shriveled remnants of food or meat bones of one type of other. The odor that emitted from the filth was incomparable. The odor of marijuana must have permeated everything and hung in the air like last year's dirty socks. If the production crew from the TV show Hoarders would film at this house, it would garner them an Emmy.

  “Unbelievable!” She wished not to have to breathe in there.

  Sara kept a hand over her nose and mouth and moved into the hallway. She passed the kitchen and cringed. A quick look inside warned not to enter. Empty food cans and other containers were strewn on every countertop, on the stove, even inside the cabinets, which once had doors. Dirty dishes sat haphazardly stacked, along with paper plates and plastic utensils, precariously perched atop more filthy opened cans and jars. Garbage bags that should have been set out for the collectors were piled on a table pushed back into a corner. More bulging black bags sat on the floor underneath. Sara imagined a rat or two jumping out at any moment and felt an adrenaline surge when several cockroaches skittered into hiding places. The filthy littered condition was why Maleko obsessed over rats coming up from the river below.

  Doors to two small bedrooms stood opened a crack. The officers must have gone directly to Maleko's master bedroom. Sara peeked into the first room. Surprisingly, it was finished off with drywall instead of the single wall exposing the framing. The white drywall contained smudged hand prints and other discolored markings and gouges. The room contained stacks of papers, magazines, more trash, and old clothing gathering dust that looked to have lain in the same heaps for years.

  The sight in the other bedroom made her gasp. Paintings and miscellaneous drawings hung on the walls around the room, but were torn and punctured.

  Sara dared step inside, eyes wide in shock as she viewed the condition of the art. What must surely be Maleko's artwork depicted his family in grotesque expressions of Down syndrome.

  The red haired woman had to be his mother, the little girl Leia, and the boy, himself. The image of the man could only be his father.

  Numerous darts stuck out of every picture, out of the surrounding drywall and many lay on the floor. The images, including Maleko's own, had been forcefully punctured numerous times, the points driven all the way in to the hilt. This second bedroom must have been where Maleko worked out his demons. Or incited them. A cold shiver went down Sara's back. Could Maleko have hated both his father and mother because it took both to create a Down syndrome child? Was Maleko ever diagnosed as having Down syndrome? It seemed strange that the father's picture was included and also punctured. It was said he died naturally of a heart attack. Or did he?

  Ka'imi had pawed and sat down in a couple
of areas near some boards covered with the flowering vines. Could it be possible that Maleko's dad didn't die in Honolulu like people were led to believe?

  Perhaps people visiting Maleko to view or buy art or play music, were taken directly to the downstairs studio via the walkway on the south side of the house, bypassing the hovel in which he lived. Surely when Hien and his friend spent the night as Birdie claimed, they must have bedded down on the rickety furniture in the studio.

  Sara found the officers in the larger bedroom at the back of the house. Wearing gloves, Det. Lio was examining rumpled clothing strewn on the floor. The officer rummaged through Maleko's broken down dresser. It, too, had once been a nice piece of white rattan furniture. The bindings at the corners and much of the weaving had dried and withered, broken loose and stuck out. One drawer front hung by a nail. Much clothing was stuffed into its open drawers. On the bed, with its frame propped up with wooden boxes, the old hotel style mattress was grossly stained with a thick dark layer of body oil. A dirty rumpled sheet was balled up at the foot.

  The officers had not noticed her. “Well, it's not in this mess.” Det. Lio sounded both relieved and yet disappointed.

  “Nor here.” The officer stood with hands on his hips and scanned the room. “I'll bet he's burned it in the fire pit.”

  “Are you looking for specific clothing?” Sara took the officers by surprise. “Try the laundry room. I noticed it right off the top of the side staircase.” She thumbed midway back down the hallway. “He seems to have another entire wardrobe laying in there.”

  Surprised, Det. Lio turned to face her. “Sara, you shouldn't be in here.” He stared at her but she didn't budge. Finally he said, “Let's check that room.”

  The laundry room was piled high with more clothing. A heavy odor of stale sweat hung in the air and, surprisingly, a tinge of soap fragrance. How could one man wear so much? Perhaps he simply bought new when others became too filthy to wear. One heap of clothing was thrown at the foot of the washer and seemed to be the clothes next in line for laundering. Tee shirts on the table by the dryer were laid out flat, one on top of another, and might have been what Maleko intended to wear next. Maybe he washed his favorites after all.