"We get the picture," Rachel teased. "I can't wait to see if our killer's name or a weapon surfaces as a result. What other forensic results do you have?"
He smiled at her. "I'm glad you asked. We were able to extract some DNA from a piece of chewing gum found not far from the body, as well as a half smoked marijuana cigarette located on the grass. With any luck, either or both may have been dumped by the killer and his DNA will show up in CODIS." When he gave forensic science seminars on college campuses, Delfino loved to talk about the FBI's Combined DNA Index System, which contained DNA profiles that were put in by forensic laboratories on the federal, state, and local levels. But that didn't mean the detectives shared his enthusiasm.
"That's good news," Rachel told him. "Now if only we can get some positive results."
"I wouldn't hold my breath on that," Ferguson said. "Chances are whoever killed Parker Breslin probably watches CSI or Investigation Discovery's plethora of crime shows at least some of the time. Leaving DNA behind so carelessly, while managing to get away scot free for now, somehow doesn't add up."
"Things rarely do with criminals," Delfino couldn't help but say. "And that's why the jails and prisons are filled with them."
Rachel smiled. "Even Ferguson would have a hard time contradicting that."
Ferguson grinned crookedly. "Okay, so not all criminals are the brightest bulbs in the chandelier. We'll see if this one gets a passing grade."
"Or not," Delfino said, firmly believing that all killers leave something forensically behind that eventually leads to their downfall.
* * *
Detective Trent Ferguson and his partner Rachel Lancaster, along with Lieutenant Blake Seymour, watched through the one-way glass as Willa Breslin sat patiently in the interrogation room. She had voluntarily come in when asked and seemed to be cooperative in the investigation into her ex-husband's murder. But it had come to light that she and Breslin were not on the best of terms at the time of his death. Both had thrown accusations at one another, some wild, others plausible, as each sought sole custody of their daughter Marie. Did that mean Willa might have had something to do with Breslin's murder? That's what they intended to find out.
"Do you think we've given her enough time to sweat it out?" Rachel asked.
"Yeah," said Ferguson, looking down at the petite but muscular detective. "Let's see what she has to say."
"For her sake, I hope she didn't play a role in leaving her daughter fatherless," Lieutenant Seymour said.
Ferguson scratched his square jaw. "I was thinking the same thing. Some people will go to any lengths to get their children. Or to protect them from some perceived threat."
Seymour wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. "Murder is never the answer, no matter the reason."
Ferguson was sure he was thinking about his own daughter and how close he came to possibly being embroiled in a child custody case himself, before patching things up and getting back together with his wife. "We'll see if she understands that."
"What about the shooter?" Seymour asked.
"We know he was a male between thirty and forty and quick afoot, but not much else at this point," Rachel responded. "Apparently no one got a good look at his face. Or at least nobody has been willing to come forward."
Ferguson chipped in: "We're still talking to neighbors and asking for security videos from homes on the block and the next couple of blocks over where the shooter could have left his getaway vehicle."
Seymour pursed his lips. "You think it was a hit?"
"Damn sure looks that way," Ferguson said. "Question is: who ordered it and why?"
All three looked at the ex-wife, who had to be considered the chief suspect at this point, though the investigation was just getting started.
Ferguson stepped inside the room. He gave the suspect a weak but friendly smile. He would play the nice guy routine and see how that went. Rachel would take over later, if necessary.
"Thanks for coming in," he told her.
Willa smoothed an eyebrow. "I wanted to do whatever I could to help."
Glad you're being so accommodating, he thought. Let's see if it continues.
He sat across from her. "I appreciate your assistance, knowing how difficult this has to be with your husband, er ex-husband, being the victim of a homicide—"
She reacted. "In spite of everything, I still loved Parker, and would never have wanted him to be murdered."
No one has accused you of wanting that, Ferguson mused suspiciously. At least not yet.
"Unfortunately, someone out there felt otherwise." He met her eyes. "Do you have any idea who that might be?" He was aware that she had told Rachel that Breslin had no enemies that she knew of. Would she stand by that?
Willa stared at the question thoughtfully before responding evenly: "I know Parker did not always get along well with his business partner, Vincente Miyake. But I find it hard to imagine that Vincente would do something like this—"
Ferguson gazed at the one-way mirror, certain that Rachel was taking notes. "Breslin was a landscaper, right?" he asked, though he'd already established this.
"Yes. He's been in the business for the past decade."
"What type of problems was he having with Miyake?"
"Mostly money problems," she said. "Sometimes they would argue over silly things."
"Such as...?"
"Hiring crews or what jobs to take or pass on."
Ferguson did not necessarily consider those issues silly. Nor did they necessarily rise to the level of murder.
"Is there anyone else you can think of who might have wanted your ex dead?"
"No," Willa said. "Parker seemed to get along well with most people. Why anyone would do this is beyond me."
Ferguson leaned forward. "Let's talk about your relationship with your ex-husband..."
She tensed. "What do you want to know?"
"How long have you been divorced?"
"Two years."
"Why did you get divorced?"
"Why does anyone?" Her lashes fluttered. "We grew out of love and simply decided to go our separate ways."
This seemed reasonable to Ferguson, considering that he too was recently divorced after his wife left him for another man. Though it hurt like hell, he didn't want to see her dead because of it. Quite the contrary, he just wanted her to be happy. If not with him, then someone else.
Could Willa Breslin say the same when her marriage ended?
Ferguson met her eyes. "Tell me about the custody battle you and Breslin were engaged in for your daughter."
Willa swallowed musingly. "Not much to tell. We both thought we could be the better parent for her and hoped to convince a judge of that."
"Did you consider Breslin to be a bad parent?"
"Not really. But I was still better able to care for her."
Ferguson glanced at an information sheet. "According to records in your child custody petition, you accused your ex of being an alcoholic, workaholic, and neglectful of his child. Do you still stand by that?"
She flinched. "Yes." Her eyes watered. "It's why our marriage broke up. And why I felt Marie was better off with me."
Ferguson considered what appeared to be shifting reasons for her marital failure and custody battle. Did it mean she was lying? If so, could her deceptiveness extend to being involved in Breslin's murder?
Just then, the door opened and Rachel walked in. She gave him the eye, signaling that she wanted to question the suspect. He was happy to oblige, as he tried to read Willa Breslin.
Rachel remained standing as she said tonelessly: "Just a few more questions and you can be on your way—"
Willa eyed her warily. "Ask me whatever you want. I have nothing to hide."
"All right." Rachel glanced at Ferguson and back. "Was it you or your ex-husband who decided he was going to pick up your daughter at seven p.m. that day?"
"We both decided it," she answered. "It worked out for Parker with his work schedule and it gave me time to get Marie read
y."
"Have you lived with your mother since the divorce?"
Willa lowered her eyes for an instant. "I lived briefly with another man. When that didn't work out, my mother offered to take us in."
"So your daughter has been living with you since the divorce?"
Willa nodded. "For the most part. Parker had her one day a week and some weekends. But then he decided he wanted more time, in spite of his busy schedule."
"And you resented this?"
"I wasn't very happy about it," she admitted. "But I wouldn't have killed him to keep Marie all to myself."
"Do you have an alibi for the time of his death?" Rachel asked bluntly.
Willa did not hesitate. "Yes, I was at home with my mother and Marie, waiting for Parker to pick her up."
Ferguson wasn't particularly surprised with the alibi, which he assumed the mother would corroborate, considering that the actual killer was believed to be a male. That didn't mean he hadn't conspired with the ex or someone else to do the dirty deed.
"Thanks for coming in," Rachel told her equably.
Willa fixed her with an uncertain look. "I can go now?"
Rachel offered her a forced smile. "Yes, I think we have all we need from you for now."
Willa stood, smoothing some wrinkles on her print dress. She turned toward Ferguson. "I really hope you catch the person who took away my daughter's dad. We both need that for closure."
"We'll do our best," he said, standing. "We'll keep you informed."
"Mahalo," she told him, and he saw her to the door and out.
When he and Rachel were alone, she said: "Am I mistaken, or was a possible suspect in the murder of her ex actually hitting on you?"
Ferguson wondered the same thing, but responded sarcastically: "You're definitely mistaken. I doubt I'm her type."
"You mean the type that ends up dead?"
He chuckled. "More like the type who's not easily conned."
Rachel cocked a brow. "Are you saying her story had the same holes that I picked up?"
The thought had crossed Ferguson's mind. He still wasn't prepared to indict the lady just yet. "I think we need to confirm her alibi, see what else she's been up to and who with, and check out Breslin's partner and anyone else who might have had it in for him."
"So let's do it," she said flatly.
He nodded, wanting to wrap this one up as quickly as she did, knowing that there were always more investigations to come.
But first, they needed to put the Parker Breslin case to rest—and that meant eliminating and adding suspects, including Willa Breslin, wherever she fit on the scale when all was said and done.
CHAPTER NINE
Renee slipped into the passenger side of the detective's sedan. She was surprised when Jonny Chung sent her a text asking to meet. It was clear that this was about his latest case and not a booty call, for which she was thankful. Since she was still involved with Franco, more or less, that would have been a problem.
"You're late," Chung said.
"I got here as soon as I could," she countered. "I do have a life, you know."
"Yeah." He started to drive off. "Buckle up."
Renee pulled the seatbelt across her and snapped it, then gazed at him. "Where are we headed?"
"Just for a drive while we talk. I wouldn't want any snoops catching us."
She agreed, more than happy to keep her official sources all to herself. "So what do you have for me?"
"The man we arrested for Joyce Yashiro's murder, Bradley Sawyer, probably didn't kill her after all."
"Really?" Renee cocked a brow. When Chung had texted her with the scoop on Sawyer, it seemed like a done deal. So what changed?
"The estimated time of death and the time we estimate Sawyer was at the crime scene isn't a comfortable fit," Chung said, turning the corner. "He's still a crook, but probably not our crook."
"Are you saying he's no longer a suspect in the Zip Line Killer murders either?" she asked.
"No, he's not a serial killer either. His alibis during the times those women were believed to have been killed checked out. We now think Yashiro's murder was committed by someone trying to pin the wrap on the Zip Line Killer."
"Wow," Renee said, feeling a little disappointed. She really wanted to see both cases solved in one fell swoop. "Do you think it was Evan Locklear?"
"We can't eliminate him altogether, but I suspect it was someone closer to Yashiro, like her estranged husband or drug using son, something like that. Just don't quote me on it—yet."
"I won't," she promised, not about to bite the hand that was feeding her some juicy information. Even if what he'd given her about the alleged murderer of Joyce Yashiro was apparently a false lead.
"Good." He planted his free hand on her knee. "So, if you're not doing anything later, I thought I might drop by so we can play."
She removed his hand. "No can do. I'm seeing someone and I don't want to mess it up."
Chung frowned. "Relax, it's cool. Can't hurt to ask, right?"
"I guess." Renee wanted to quickly take his mind off of her, so she asked: "Is there anything else going on in your unit that I should know about?"
"I'm sure you heard about that landscaper who was gunned down in front of his house."
She nodded, and also knew it had been assigned to another reporter. "He must have rubbed someone the wrong way."
"Yeah and paid for it with his life," Chung said.
"Anything else to share with me?" she asked. "I mean, other than yourself."
Chung laughed. "Funny. It's all on a need-to-know basis, as always." He came to a stop, right where they started. "I'll be in touch."
"You know how to reach me," she told him and got out. "Aloha!"
"Aloha," he said and drove off.
Renee watched the back of his car momentarily, before heading to her own car while pondering her next move as a journalist.
* * *
Leila was sitting at her desk while Bradley Sawyer was accompanied by two uniformed officers to an interrogation room at her request. She had no idea where Chung was, leaving it up to her to see what, if anything, she could get out of their previous suspect for the murder of Joyce Yashiro and possibly a string of other women. Though some of the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit, more did not—making it unlikely that Sawyer was guilty of anything beyond the crimes to which he'd confessed. But maybe he knew something that could help them track down the real killer of the lecturer.
Taking her cup of coffee with her, along with a sketchpad and pencil, Leila made her way to the room, saying a few words of encouragement to some of her fellow homicide detectives—all of whom were, like her, involved to one degree or another in trying to solve one or more murders without driving themselves crazy in the process.
She stepped inside the interrogation room where a handcuffed Sawyer sat, a dour look on his face.
"If you're here to try to pin a murder rap on me—"
"I'm not," she wanted to make clear. She sat across from him. "Your alibis check out for the murders attributed to the so-called Zip Line Killer."
He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't hurt that lady on Kaanapali Beach either."
"I believe you." Leila sipped her coffee. Or at least she believed it was more likely than not that someone else had targeted Joyce Yashiro.
"So why am I here then...?"
She almost hated to say this—almost—but she wasn't above leaning on someone in custody for information. "I need your help..."
Sawyer scratched his pate and regarded her uneasily. "With what?"
Leila met his gaze. "If you didn't kill that woman on the beach, someone else did. I don't believe it was the same man you nearly ran into who also fingered you. But the timeline of her death indicates that the actual killer had probably just fled the scene. Did you see anyone else during your walk?"
He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Let's say I did—what's in it for me?"
She frowned. "How about helping t
he police department solve a crime?"
Sawyer twisted his lips musingly. "How about helping me get some charges to go away?"
She wasn't surprised that he was playing hardball. Most people facing jail time did just that. "I'm not a lawyer," she told him. "I can't simply make your confession and the follow-up that confirmed your crimes disappear like magic."
His nostrils flared. "I don't want to go to jail. You find a way to help me, and maybe I can do the same."
Leila flashed him a suspicious look. "How do I know you won't say anything just to save your own neck?"
"I'm not that type of person," he maintained with a straight face.
She almost laughed at his declaration, considering his present situation. "This isn't a game, Sawyer. Did you see anyone else or not?" she demanded, before they went any further. "If not, you're just wasting my time."
"Yeah, there was someone else..."
Leila peered at him, not sure if he was telling the truth or, for that matter, if the information would prove to be useful. Given the fact that he might have actually laid eyes on a killer, she had no choice but to play ball—only to a certain extent.
She tasted the now stale coffee and grimaced. "Tell me about this person. If I believe you're being straight with me, then I'll talk to the detective handling your case about possibly reducing the charges. Helping solve a murder would certainly be viewed favorably by both the police department and the Prosecuting Attorney's office. I can't promise anything, but that's the best I can do."
Sawyer needed only a moment to consider this before saying: "A couple of minutes before I nearly collided with one dude I saw another guy. He wasn't that close, but he was running across the beach like he was in a big hurry to get out of there. I never gave it much thought. Maybe I should have—"
Given the early morning hours, Leila was skeptical. "How far would you say this man was from you?"
"I don't know, maybe ten feet at one point..."
"Did he see you?"
"I doubt it. It looked like he was only interested in getting where he was going."
"How do you know it was a man?"
Sawyer shrugged. "I could just tell by his body type and height."
Leila gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Can you describe him?"
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