It was the one place where Leila could get away from it all and be normal instead of a homicide cop. The modest house was built in 1934 and previously owned and lived in by her grandfather, who then passed it down to her parents. She had taken possession of it nearly six years ago after her mother had gone to live on the Big Island of Hawaii. Though the cottage had retained its original wood frame windows and hardwood flooring, Leila had renovated the kitchen, bathrooms, and her bedroom.
No sooner had she kicked off her shoes and poured herself a glass of wine, intending to enjoy a nice hot bath, when the phone rang. She didn't even have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Almost like clockwork every few days at around this time, her mother called to talk, snoop, and basically try to run her life from afar.
And, as was usually the case, Leila did her best to stay deferential to a conservative and often set-in-her-ways Hawaiian mother with Polynesian roots. But that didn't always work, especially where it concerned her professional life, which she found herself constantly defending as something that a modern day woman was fully capable of handling. Even if her mother accepted this, irrespective of the fact that her own father and husband were in law enforcement, she still believed that Leila belonged in a more traditional occupation, such as nursing or secretarial work.
Then there was her love life—or lack thereof these days. Her mother fully expected her to uphold tradition, as she had, and marry a Hawaiian man. Though Leila didn't reject this outright, she didn't exactly embrace it either. She was not ready to marry anyone right now with her busy life. When such time came, it had to be based on mutual love and respect, not the race or ethnicity of her partner.
But since there was currently no one in the picture, she had no reason to share this opinion with her mother only to have to defend it, especially when she knew her mother was not very open-minded on this front.
Leila answered just before it went to voicemail. "Hi, Mom."
"I was hoping I didn't have to leave you a message," Rena Kahana said.
"Is everything all right?" Leila asked, though she had no reason to believe otherwise.
"Maika'i no au," came the curt response.
Leila knew this meant she was fine in Hawaiian, which her mother chose to use whenever it suited her, as if to turn her back on English in favor of the language of their ancestors.
"I was happy to hear that the lava flow from the Kilauea volcano had subsided," Leila said, referring to the most active of the island of Hawaii's five volcanoes, "and no longer posed a threat to the people in the town of Pahoa."
"The threat is always there for those who choose to live in that area," Rena remarked. "The sacred mountains are always speaking to us and we must listen."
Leila thought about the legends associated with the island's volcanoes. The summits were regarded by many, including her mother, as holy and were an important part of Hawaiian mythology.
"Maybe we do," she allowed.
"So what are you doing right now?" her mother asked.
"I just got home and was about to take a bath."
Rena made a grunting noise. "I suppose you're working on another big case."
"All cases are big, Mom." Leila thought it best not to shy away from the truth. "I always treat each case the same and try to solve it if I can."
"I hope you don't end up getting hurt one of these days. Crime is a dirty business, you know."
That much Leila couldn't argue with, but she did anyway. "Right, and it's my job to clean it up, just like Makuakāne and Tūtū," she said of her father and grandfather when they were in law enforcement.
"It's never that simple," Rena said. "They both learned the hard way. Maybe you will too."
Leila decided to put a different spin on this, rather than irritate her further. "Well, I believe that with their blood running richly through my veins, I'm up to the task of doing my job effectively, even if it's challenging at times."
Her mother sighed. "Okay, well I guess I'll let you take your bath now."
To Leila, this was her way of pausing on the subject matter until the next time. "Okay. Aloha au ia 'oe," she added.
"Love you too," her mother said and then hung up.
Leila wondered if all daughters had to constantly battle to live up to the expectations of their mothers. Or was it just her?
She ran the water in the bath, adding some Japanese cherry bubble bath. After testing it with a toe and deciding the temperature was perfect, she got in. Her body relaxed almost instantly and the stresses of the day that had left it tightly wound faded away. She grabbed her wine glass and took a sip of the white wine.
Closing her eyes, Leila inadvertently found herself thinking about Blake Seymour. She hadn't been with a man since they broke up. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she wasn't eager to have her heart broken again. Or maybe she was content at the moment to go it alone. Or maybe she just hadn't met anyone who captured her fancy.
I'm not going to freak out about it, she told herself.
Leila sipped more wine and turned her thoughts to her current case and the prospects that a serial killer had struck again.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was just after six p.m. and Parker Breslin was eager to get home from his job as a landscaper. He and his business partner, Vincente Miyake, operated the company with a crew of ten. Jobs were lined up all over the island, sometimes in conjunction with the Aloha Architectural Group and properties they developed. The current main project the landscaping company was working on involved consultation and design work for a new condominium complex in Wailea, a resort community in South Maui.
In spite of their success, Parker didn't always see eye to eye with Vincente. They sometimes clashed over everything from work assignments to crew misbehavior to money, which caused strain in their relationship. But as far as Parker was concerned, they would simply have to agree to disagree and look at the big picture. He realized it was easier said than done. But what choice did they have? Neither of them wanted to see the company go under. Or was it possible that Vincente was willing to sink his own investment purely out of spite?
As he drove down South Kihei Road in a new black Chevrolet Colorado, Parker's thoughts shifted to an equally pressing matter: the fate of his little girl Marie. He was currently in a nasty custody fight with his ex-wife Willa. She had gone out of her way to paint him as an alcohol abusing, workaholic jerk who neglected his daughter the way he had her during their marriage.
At the end of the day, he doubted the judge would believe her. He loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and would never hurt her. He wasn't an alcoholic and never put his work ahead of his little girl.
Surely the judge would see this and award him full custody of Marie, since he was the major bread winner and most stable parent.
Parker sighed, trying hard not to get himself all worked up. He pulled into the driveway of his home on Keonekai Road in Kihei on the island's southwestern shore. He grabbed a bag of snacks he had picked up at noon in anticipation of Marie's stay for the next week. His ex was due to drop her off any time now. He hoped they could at least remain civil, if only for Marie's sake.
After exiting the pickup, Parker headed for the house when his periphery spotted a figure moving his way from the sidewalk. His first thought was that it was a neighbor he had become friends with. But when he turned to look, he realized the person was a complete stranger.
And he was holding a gun, aiming it straight at him.
For an instant, Parker was frozen with fear. But the thought of never seeing his daughter again scared him even more. So he bolted for the house.
He didn't get very far, as a bullet ripped into his back. He immediately fell to the ground flat on his face and the bag flew from his hands, landing nearby. Searing pain from the bullet coursed throughout his body.
He could hear the shooter move closer. Then another shot rang out. Parker felt it explode into his head, just before he blacked out. He never knew what hit him when a third s
hot lodged inside the back of his head, shattering everything in its path.
The shooter immediately took off on foot, leaving Parker Breslin mortally wounded.
* * *
He glanced back at the dude he'd just taken out. Breslin was sprawled out on the ground like a frog, blood oozing out of him. No question about it, the man was no longer amongst the living. And he never even saw it coming, not till it was too damn late to stop it from happening.
With long, lean legs, he ran briskly down the block, keeping his head bent down and his collar up. He made sure not to make eye contact with anyone along the way or say anything that could come back to haunt him. Fortunately, he hadn't run into anyone who could identify him. Mindful of home security cameras, he used his hands to shield his face so there would be no clear image the police could use to come after him.
Turning the corner, he moved onto another street and slowed down, not wanting to draw any undue attention as though he were in a hurry to get away from something. Or someone. His car was waiting for him at the end of the block. He slipped into it, took a deep breath, and drove off. Mission accomplished.
Or just about. There was still one more thing that needed to be settled and then the Parker Breslin kill would be behind him for good.
* * *
Officer Natalie Yuen was patrolling the streets of District VI, which included Kihei. It had been a quiet evening, giving her time to consider if she should stay with her boyfriend. The relationship had grown stale of late and she wondered if they had simply grown tired of each other and should just cut their losses now before things got any worse.
Those thoughts were put on hold when a report of a shooting on Keonekai Road came in. Since it was only a couple of blocks away from where she was, Natalie wasted no time getting there.
The moment she pulled up to the address, she could see what appeared to be a man's body sprawled out on the walkway in a pool of blood. She got out of her car and immediately took out her Glock semi-automatic pistol, though there was no sign of a shooter—assuming the shooting wasn't self-inflicted.
Moving carefully toward the victim, Natalie winced as she realized that half of his face had been blown off and there seemed to be at least one shot in his back. Still, she had to check and see if he might somehow still be alive.
No such luck. Someone had clearly wanted the man dead. But who?
She would leave that to the detectives to determine. Since she was the first responder, her duty right now was to secure the crime scene and try to preserve any evidence that could point toward a killer.
* * *
Lieutenant Blake Seymour was in his department-issued sedan en route to the scene of a murder in Kihei. It marked the second homicide in less than twenty-four hours in Maui County, which was somewhat unusual, but not unheard of. Still, it was troubling for both the Maui Police Department and the Hawaii Tourism Authority. For the former, any crimes were too many crimes, with murder the worst of the worst, that couldn't be tolerated. For the latter, perception meant everything. Maui was viewed as one of the top destinations for tourists and places to settle down and enjoy paradise. If people believed it was more akin to an episode of Hawaii Five-O, it could spook them into looking elsewhere.
As he drove down South Kihei Road, Seymour's primary focus was dealing head on with any homicide investigations under his watch. It was, after all, what he had signed up for when he was promoted to lieutenant in the Homicide Unit six months ago, following the retirement of Paul Ortega. He had learned a lot from the man and wanted to measure up to the standard he set with the department as a no nonsense, finish what you started type person.
In the process, that meant he had to end his relationship with his former partner Detective Sergeant Leila Kahana, with whom Seymour had embarked on a brief affair while separated from his wife Mele, and by extension, their daughter Akela. He was now back with his family and doing what he needed to do to make it work this time around at age forty-seven.
At first, Leila hadn't taken their breakup too well. She blamed him for leading her on, sending mixed messages, and more. He took full responsibility for that and had been working ever since to try to smooth things over. They now seemed to be at a place where they could coexist professionally, while still maintaining some semblance of friendship with no sexual overtones. As far as he knew, she wasn't dating anyone. He wondered if she was somehow hoping they might get back together again. Or was that his ego getting the best of him?
Maybe Leila was simply waiting for the right unattached man to come along and be the person she had bargained for. If so, he wished her all the luck in the world, as she deserved to be happy in a relationship. Just as he did. Only time would tell if that would hold up now that he and Mele were back together.
Seymour parked just down the street from the cordoned off crime scene on Keonekai Road and headed there. He flashed his ID at Officer Yuen and she allowed him through.
"Be sure no neighbors find their way inside the crime scene," he told her.
"Yes, sir."
He headed toward the investigators on the case, Detectives Trent Ferguson and Rachel Lancaster. Both were experienced and more than capable of getting to the bottom of this killing.
"So was it a robbery gone sour or what?" Seymour asked as he stood between the two, just inches away from the bloody corpse of a male who looked to be in his mid to late thirties. Some food items were scattered about on the ground and grass near a bag.
"I'd say it was more like an execution," Ferguson said, scratching his pate. "I count three bullet wounds."
Seymour winced. "What do we know about the victim?"
"According to his driver's license, his name is Parker Breslin," Rachel answered, holding the license up while wearing a latex glove. "He's thirty-eight years old and lives at the address where he was dropped by an as yet unknown assailant."
Seymour studied the positioning of the victim's body, knowing that once the medical examiner took it away, things would never be the same again insofar as establishing the scenario of the crime.
"It looks like he was trying to make a run for it when the killer shot him—probably first in the back, before finishing him off with two clean shots to the head."
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," said Ferguson.
"The killer probably caught him by surprise," Rachel surmised, "and may have been someone he knew."
"Not necessarily," Seymour said. "If it was a hit, a professional could have done the job."
"After a preliminary search of the victim's person as well as his vehicle, there was no cell phone located," she noted. "Who doesn't carry a cell phone these days? That suggests to me the killer might have taken it for one reason or another."
Seymour could think of a few reasons, none of which was good—starting with a clear attempt to cover up evidence of a crime, which prompted him to say: "Okay, then let's try to locate his phone and see if it's in the hands of a killer." They would use the Stingray phone tracking device, which was the latest surveillance tool in the law enforcement arsenal.
"I'm on it," Ferguson told him.
Seymour looked up at the house. "Anyone inside?"
"No, it's empty," Ferguson said. "But judging by the cookies and candy Breslin brought home and never got to take inside, I'd say he was expecting company. Maybe a wife and kids."
Seymour couldn't help but think about his own daughter, now nine. He hated the thought of someone having to tell her he was dead, the victim of violence. Yet his life as a cop made anything possible. The same was true for others such as Parker Breslin, who died a tragic death, leaving others to pick up the pieces.
"Any witnesses?" Seymour asked.
"We're checking that out," Rachel said, looking down the street. "Someone must have seen something."
"If not, security cameras on some of the homes may have picked up the killer leaving the scene," he suggested.
"We'll go door to door if we have to and see what we come up with," Ferguson tol
d him. "Breslin was gunned down right in front of his house for crying out loud. Apart from the shell casings the shooter left behind, hopefully forensics can come up with fingerprints or DNA that will identify the person or persons involved in this..."
"I'm counting on that," Seymour said, even if he wasn't prepared to bet his pension on it. Outdoor assassinations often left less identifying markers than indoor killings, where perpetrators needed to touch more things and move around in an enclosed space. That said, he was confident they would find out who murdered Parker Breslin at the end of the day. And why.
* * *
Detective Rachel Lancaster had seen far too many homicides and other crimes of violence during her time with the Maui County Police Department. But no death had affected her like the death of her husband, Greg, nearly three years ago while serving his country in Iraq as an Army veteran. Being a widow at thirty-four made life in Hawaii less than paradise. Pouring herself into the job had helped to the extent that it took her mind off of being lonely and the realization that she had become an alcoholic.
But it was times like these when it hit her that life was too short, and even shorter when someone decided to end yours as a criminal action. That was the case with Parker Breslin, who had been gunned down by an unknown assailant, ending his time on earth prematurely. Now she had the unpleasant task of notifying the next of kin of his passing.
Trouble was that person was a seven-year-old girl named Marie. So they would have to notify Breslin's ex-wife, Willa Breslin, of his departure to then pass on to his daughter. It was something Rachel wouldn't wish on anyone, much less a little girl whose father would miss out on her first date, prom, marriage, children, becoming a grandfather, and more.
But this was something Rachel knew she must separate herself from, to the extent possible. Right now, a man was dead and there were no suspects. This meant no one could be excluded yet. That included the ex-wife who, as she understood it from information found in Breslin's home, had been in a child custody battle with him while staying with her mother. Of course, seeking custody of a child, no matter how nasty it got, was a far cry from an execution-style murder. But it wasn't unheard of either.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 4
