"Yeah, we could sure use that type of break." He paused, gazing at her. "If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."
Leila wasn't sure if he meant professionally or personally. She assumed it was the former, as the last thing either of them needed was to slip back into anything personal.
"Will do," she said tonelessly, then turned back to the papers on her desk while waiting for him to leave. He did and she found herself wondering how his nine-year-old daughter was doing. She had been the love of Seymour's life and, by virtue, a brief part of Leila's life. She would welcome being updated about the cute little girl every now and then, even if she was perfectly content otherwise maintaining a business-like relationship with Seymour as her boss.
CHAPTER THREE
Leila drove the department-issued sedan onto Hakui Place, cruising down the palm tree-lined road with expensive homes atop a hill in Kaanapali.
"Looks like Joyce Yashiro was living the good life before disaster struck," Chung said. "If I could live in one of these places, I think I'd put in for retirement in a heartbeat."
"Dream on," Leila told him. "This area is way outside of both our pay grades."
"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "Apparently the victim didn't have such a problem."
"Maybe not," she said.
Leila had done a cursory search of the victim on the Internet. Apart from teaching Hawaiian Studies at the College of Maui, she was married and had a son. Obviously, the family had done well for themselves, since they resided in one of West Maui's most exclusive communities. Which would make it all the more difficult to have to reveal her passing to her loved ones.
But it was the job she had signed up for, meaning Leila would do it professionally and with respect for both the dead and the living.
They pulled up in front of a large Mediterranean style, two-story residence that included several palm trees. A tall male about nineteen or twenty with black hair in a short ponytail came out of the house. He glanced at them and continued walking toward a black pickup truck in the driveway.
Leila got out of the car, along with Chung, and approached him. "Excuse me," she said, "I'm Leila Kahana with the Maui Police Department. And this is Detective Jonny Chung."
The young man seemed nervous. "Okay..."
"We're looking for Verlin Yashiro," Leila said.
"He's my father."
"And you are...?"
"Ayato Yashiro. So what did he do this time?"
Leila glanced at Chung and back, wondering what the elder Yashiro had previously done. "We just need to talk to him."
"He doesn't live here anymore—at least not right now. My mother kicked him out. You can ask him why."
"Where can we find him?" Chung asked tersely.
Ayato shrugged. "Probably at work."
"And where is that?"
"The Aloha Architectural Group in Kahului. He's the director."
Chung nodded. "Okay, we'll catch him there then."
Ayato narrowed his eyes. "So what's going on?"
Leila hesitated. They usually preferred to give such news to the spouse first as a courtesy, even if they were apparently estranged. "We're not at liberty to say," she told him simply.
He rubbed his nose. "Did my mother send you after him?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Because she has before—"
"Why?" Leila pressed.
"Forget it. I probably already said too much." He sighed. "I have to go."
Leila studied him. She could tell by his bloodshot eyes and reddish nose that he was high on something—maybe meth. "Do you live here?" she asked curiously.
He looked away. "No. I have my own place. I just came over to feed the dog while my mother's at work."
Leila eyed Chung, while wondering if that was his only reason for being there. "Does anyone else live here besides your mother?"
"No."
"Well, we won't keep you any longer," she said, and thought, for now anyway.
He nodded and got inside the pickup, but seemed content to wait there till they left.
* * *
Detective Jonny Chung looked at Leila as they drove off, leaving the pickup truck and Ayato Yashiro behind.
"So what did you make of him?" Chung asked her.
"He's not exactly someone I would've wanted to bring home to mom when I was his age," she said. "He was high as a kite."
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing." Chung thought back to his days with the vice squad. He had dealt with his fair share of druggies and dealers, with the two often interchangeable. He wondered if the kid was dealing too. The drug business had proven to be lucrative on the Hawaiian Islands, in spite of the best efforts of local and federal law enforcement. Chung had skillfully managed to get in on the action and slowly build up his retirement fund, even as he switched to the homicide division in partnering up with Leila Kahana. He wouldn't mind if things got personal between them. But she didn't seem interested and he wouldn't push it, especially when there were so many other attractive women on Maui to play around with.
"Did you buy his story that he just came over to feed the dog?" Leila asked him.
"Not really," Chung said. "With the father staying elsewhere, the kid is probably taking advantage of the situation by stealing whatever he can from his mother."
Leila frowned. "Unfortunately, with her now dead, it could be open season on what he claims for himself."
Chung faced her. "You think he could have had anything to do with her murder?"
"He certainly isn't the person in the composite sketch," she said, "so maybe he gets off the hook there. We'll see what the father's story is."
"Yeah. From what the kid implied, part of his story is he's a wife abuser with the cops being called at least once."
"I got that impression, too."
"You think that's why they're separated?" he asked.
Leila glanced at him from behind the wheel. "Isn't that reason enough?"
"Yeah, definitely. I just wondered if it might have been something else."
"Maybe we'll take the son's advice and ask him."
"Even if the man beats up on his wife, it doesn't mean he killed her," Chung pointed out.
She nodded. "I agree. If he's not the man the witness saw, hopefully we'll be able to match the sketch with someone on the surveillance video."
"Right, and if he turned out to be the Zip Line Killer, it would solve all our problems."
"Or at least an immediate problem," Leila said.
Chung heard his cell phone chime. He took it out of his pocket and saw that he had a text message from Renee Bradley, the reporter he had been banging a few months back. Ever since then, she had been hitting him up for information. He had gladly leaked just enough info to keep her happy, while keeping his own options open should he need her services in the future—either personally or professionally.
She wanted to speak to the witness in the Joyce Yashiro murder investigation. He glanced at Leila, who was focused on the road, then texted Renee the name of the hotel where Doctor Evan Locklear was staying along with his room number.
* * *
Renee was glad to get Jonny Chung's text, letting her know that the witness was named Evan Locklear and he and his wife were vacationing at a hotel right on Kaanapali Beach. It just so happened that she was in the area, so she might as well see if he would talk to her about what he saw.
She stepped inside the massive lobby of the Kaanapali Seas Hotel and basically ignored a bellhop who was hitting on her. Finding the elevator, she went up to the sixth floor and down the hall till she arrived at Evan Locklear's room.
What should I say to him? she asked herself in preparation. It was more about what he said to her in trying to gather as many details as possible in this latest chapter of the Zip Line Killer investigation, which people she'd talked to seemed to believe fit the M.O. of the serial killer terrorizing the island to perfection.
Renee knocked on the door. It was opened by a striking b
londe-haired woman in her late thirties.
"Aloha," Renee said sweetly, assuming she was his wife. "I'm looking for Doctor Locklear."
"And you are?" the woman asked suspiciously.
"Renee Bradley. I'm a reporter for the Aloha News. I'm doing a story on the woman who was discovered on the beach early this morning. I was hoping to have a word with the doctor, since he's the only witness to come forward thus far..."
Hope I didn't let the cat out of the bag, thought Renee, not knowing if Locklear had bothered to share the news with his roommate.
The woman nodded. "Come in."
Renee flashed a little smile.
"I'm Sara, Evan's wife. He's getting dressed. He'll be out in a moment."
"All right." Hope he doesn't to take too long, she thought. She still had a few other stops on her schedule and possibly a repeat performance tonight with Franco.
"Have a seat," Sara offered.
"Thanks." Renee sat in one of several plush chairs in the suite. There were two empty glasses and a half filled bottle of wine on the table. She suspected the couple needed a drink after what he had witnessed. Who wouldn't?
She watched as a man came out of the bedroom. He was gray-haired, tall, tanned, and trim, wearing casual clothing.
"I didn't know we had company," he said, eyeing her.
"This is Renee Bradley. She's writing about that poor woman you found on the beach."
Evan regarded her warily. "How did you find me?"
Play it cool, Renee thought, glancing at the iPad on her lap. She responded: "It's what I do—ask around and get answers." She decided not to mention her source with the police department, Detective Chung. "I promise not to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to hear in your own words what you saw."
He sighed. "There's not much to tell really. I was jogging on the beach and saw a man. A moment later, I tripped over something that turned out to be a woman. She was dead...and there was nothing I could do to save her."
Renee could tell that it had hit him hard. "Do you think the man you saw was her killer?"
"Yes, I think so, especially considering the way he tore out of there."
She took notes. "Is it all right if I quote you?"
He shrugged. "Sure, why not. I saw what I saw and the police know it, so it's not exactly a secret. And there is a sketch."
"Sketch?" Renee asked.
"The police did a composite sketch of the guy, based on what limited description I had of him."
She recalled the doctor talking to Detective Kahana, who doubled as a sketch artist for the police department. "Can you describe the man to me?"
Evan did just that, and she got him to describe the woman too, while establishing that the low light had made it difficult to be too accurate.
"Did this man say anything to you?" Renee asked.
"No, he didn't say a word."
"Maybe it was a good thing that you didn't exchange words with him," she said. "There have been several similar killings on Maui recently—all believed to be the work of a serial killer."
Sara put a hand up to her mouth and said, "That's terrible!"
Much worse for the victims, Renee thought, but said: "The police are doing their best to get this guy. If he is the same person your husband came face to face with, then hopefully the composite will get people talking and result in an arrest."
"We hope so," Evan said. "We came here to get away from bad stuff—not have to deal with it on an ongoing basis..."
Renee suspected they were having second thoughts about choosing Maui as their vacation destination. "No place is perfect," she told them. "Not even Hawaii. But it is true paradise much of the time." She stood up. "Mahalo for talking to me."
Evan smiled crookedly. "If your story can help the police nail this killer or serial killer, then I'm all for it."
"So am I," Sara added.
Renee smiled at them. "Aloha."
She left, feeling she had gained enough information to write something compelling. Of course, it would be even better once the victim was identified and her killer revealed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kahului was in central Maui and included the island's main airport, a commercial harbor and seaport, a wildlife sanctuary, and several major shopping centers. Unlike some other parts of Maui County, it was not a big attraction for tourists, but was popular among the locals.
The Aloha Architectural Group was on East Ka'ahumanu Avenue, near the Maui Mall. Leila and Chung went inside the building and walked up to the receptionist.
"Aloha," the woman said cheerfully.
Leila flashed her badge. "We need to speak to Verlin Yashiro."
"He's on a conference call right now."
"He'll want to see us," she said, knowing that likely wasn't the case, under the circumstances.
"Just a moment," the receptionist said.
As they waited, Chung spoke lowly: "Since they weren't together anymore, Yashiro might not be all that broken up about her death."
Leila disagreed. "No matter what their troubles were, I doubt he wanted his wife dead."
"Unless, of course, he actually did want her dead," Chung said half-joking.
"We'll see about that." As far as she was concerned, even a spouse abuser had to be given the benefit of the doubt when it came to cold-blooded murder—until the evidence suggested otherwise. Especially for a case that had all the earmarks of being linked to a serial killer.
They were approached by a forty-something Hawaiian man wearing glasses. His black hair was parted on the right side and he was dressed professionally in a blue suit.
"I'm Verlin Yashiro," he said. "You wanted to see me...?"
Leila tried to imagine him as a wife beater and found it hard to picture—not that abusers came in any particular shape or size. He didn't look at all like the person she had sketched either. "I'm Detective Sergeant Kahana and this is Detective Chung. Is there some place we can talk in private?"
He met her eyes uneasily. "Yes, my office. Follow me..."
Leila walked behind him next to Chung. They went down a long hallway and turned right, before entering a large office with an interesting design and ergonomic furnishings.
Yashiro faced them. "What's this all about?"
Leila swallowed. "It's about your wife..."
"Is she all right?"
Leila paused. "I'm afraid your wife is dead."
"What—?" He looked from one detective to the other. "Was she in a car accident or something?"
Or something, Leila thought sadly. "No, she was murdered."
"Murdered—?" Yashiro looked visibly shaken. "By who...?"
Leila deferred this to Chung, who responded: "We don't know yet. Her body was found on the beach this morning and it looks like she was strangled."
Yashiro's shoulders slumped. "I can't believe it! Joyce is dead... Murdered..."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Leila told him respectfully. "We need you to come to the morgue to identify the body."
"I have to call my son..."
"Of course." She looked at Chung and back. "Maybe you should tell him in person—after you've confirmed that it is, in fact, your wife."
He nodded. "Yes, okay, I'll do that."
A couple of minutes later, they were in the police car, with Leila again behind the wheel and Verlin Yashiro in the back seat.
After a moment or two, she said casually: "We actually went to your wife's house first and spoke to your son, without telling him what happened, believing it would be best if it came from you."
"Thank you."
Chung jumped into the conversation. "We understand that you and your wife were separated..."
"Yes, we were dealing with some issues."
"You mean like domestic violence?" he asked bluntly. "Were you beating up your wife?"
"No, it wasn't like that."
"So what was it like?" Chung asked.
Yashiro paused. "It was actually my wife who got violent at times, acting out wit
hout cause. After a while, it just got to be too much."
Chung glanced at Leila with a healthy dose of skepticism. "You mind telling us where you were at five o'clock this morning?"
"In bed asleep. If you're implying that I killed my wife—"
"I'm not implying anything," Chung said. "It's just routine questioning."
Leila glanced at her partner knowing that he was building the foundation, should it be proven later that Yashiro was somehow involved in his wife's death. For now, she was willing to at least give him the courtesy of confirming what she already knew—Joyce Yashiro was dead and possibly the victim of a serial killer.
* * *
Leila and Chung accompanied Verlin Yashiro to the Maui Forensic Facility in Wailuku, the county seat in central Maui. They headed into the walk-in refrigerator unit, where the deceased were kept for identification, preservation, and autopsies. Leila stepped inside the viewing room with Yashiro. Behind a glass partition, the body was lying on a slab, covered with a sheet.
"Are you ready?" Leila asked delicately.
Yashiro touched his glasses and sucked in a deep breath. "Yes."
She nodded to a morgue attendant, who lifted the sheet up enough to show the face.
Watching his reaction to the face of death that was unmistakable, Leila waited for his response.
"It's Joyce," he muttered.
"You're sure?" she had to ask routinely.
"Yes, that's my wife."
Leila gave the morgue attendant, who was standing beside Detective Chung, permission to pull the sheet back up. She turned to the widower. "I'm very sorry."
"She didn't deserve to go like that," Yashiro said sadly.
Leila gazed at him earnestly. "You're right, she didn't. And we're going to do everything in our power to identify her killer and see that justice is served."
"I appreciate that."
She could only hope he meant it and wanted his wife's murderer brought to justice as much as she did. Only time would tell, along with a deeper investigation.
* * *
Leila was glad to be home after another difficult day on the job, where murder always took center stage. Her two-bedroom plantation cottage was on Wainee Street in Lahaina, the second largest area in West Maui. The onetime Kingdom of Hawaii capital and 19th century whaling village, Lahaina was previously called Lele, meaning in Hawaiian, "relentless sun." Now it was one of Maui's hottest spots, with numerous art galleries, restaurants, and shops.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 3
