That's what they all say, he thought. "Me too. But in the meantime, why not hang out together?" He grabbed one of the shots and downed it.
Renee seemed ready to object, but had a change of heart. "Sure, why not?" She glanced around and rested her eyes on him before downing a shot herself. "So do you have anything new to report?"
He grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. There has been a development in the case I'm working on—"
She gave him her full attention. "Tell me..."
Chung paused, knowing that telling her too much would only put him in hot water if it was traced back to him. On the other hand, it didn't hurt to put the squeeze on suspects by sharing little bits and pieces of investigation for public consumption.
He had another shot and said: "We think we're closing in on Joyce Yashiro's killer. At the same time, we might be able to tie it to the murder of Parker Breslin."
Renee's eyes widened with enthusiasm. "Really..."
"Yeah. Looks like our killers are lovers who set out to cut ties permanently with their former spouses—"
"Interesting," Renee sang. "I can't wait for some more details."
Chung looked up and saw Shichiro Gutierrez and two of his cronies enter. It was time to collect hush money the drug dealer owed him for allowing him free reign across the island.
"I'm afraid that will have to wait," Chung told her, downing another shot before standing. "I have some business to attend to." He grinned lasciviously at her. "Later."
He walked away and gestured at Gutierrez to follow him toward the back of the bar and away from prying eyes.
* * *
Renee watched with curiosity as Chung met with another man, before the two disappeared.
"Sorry I'm late," she heard over her shoulder and turned to see Franco standing there.
Though she wished he hadn't been late, Renee fashioned a smile on her lips and said: "It's cool."
He sat down. "So who was that man I saw you talking to?"
She glanced back over to where Chung had disappeared, and then faced Franco thoughtfully. "No one." Lifting up a tequila shot, she poured it down her throat. "I was just waiting for you."
He grabbed a glass, grinning. "Wait no more!" He drank a shot, ignoring the empty glasses.
Renee grinned back. She was starting to feel a little tipsy, but was still up for a few more shots, even as she considered the important news Chung had shared with her, though their conversation had been cut short.
Franco took her mind off that as he ran his hand up and down her thigh, exciting her. When he suggested they continue this at her place, Renee was more than willing.
Twenty minutes later, they were in her condo having sex. Renee must have passed out between orgasms, for when she came to, Franco was gone.
* * *
Rachel Lancaster sat in the living room of her home in Waikapu, a census designated area not far from Kahului. She was flipping through a photo album, looking at pictures of her and her late husband Greg. Today would have been their tenth anniversary had his life not been cut short much too soon. She put her fingers to his handsome face, wishing he was here in the flesh to touch, hold, kiss, and make love to.
But all she was left with were the memories of the life they had together. It would have to sustain her, even if at times it seemed as if their marriage was but a figment of her imagination, as she struggled to remember some of the day-to-day moments in their lives. Was this what it meant to lose a loved one—the memories start to fade as time goes by? Would the day come when Greg was extricated from her mind altogether?
Rachel's thoughts turned to her murder investigation, something that was more palpable in her daily life. She was pretty sure that Willa Takeyama and her lover, Verlin Yashiro, were behind the murder of her ex-husband, Parker Breslin. Even if they hadn't pulled the trigger, they almost certainly had blood on their hands in both Breslin's death and the murder of Yashiro's estranged wife, Joyce Yashiro.
Now that she was working in tandem with her fellow detectives, Rachel was sure it was only a matter of time before they took down Takeyama and Yashiro. Until then, they would not let up or give them room to breathe. Parker Breslin's daughter, Marie, would suffer mightily in learning that her mother had orchestrated a plot keep her away from her father forever. But the little girl would suffer even more if the truth never came out and she lived her life under false pretenses.
When her cell phone rang, Rachel grabbed it and saw that it was her sister Arlene calling from Santa Fe, New Mexico. Rachel smiled, knowing that Arlene had remembered this was the anniversary of her wedding day.
* * *
Trent Ferguson sat beside Blake Seymour at the bar in Whaler's Village, a popular beachfront shopping and dining center in Kaanapali. They were talking shop over beers.
"You think they were both in on it from the start, don't you?" Ferguson asked the lieutenant.
"Don't you?" Seymour eyed him over the mug. "Wouldn't be the first time two lovers conspired to murder their spouse or ex-spouses for money, child custody, or some bizarre combination of the two."
"You're right," Ferguson said. "Chances are they were planning this for some time—right down to their hard-to-discredit alibis for each other, giving Takeyama and Yashiro everything they wanted."
"Right, other than to be captured and spend the rest of their lives in prison," muttered Seymour. "Most killers never seem to look that far ahead in their diabolical plans. Problem is we still need to prove their guilt. That means we need to find the shooter of Parker Breslin and the person who suffocated and then strangled Joyce Yashiro—assuming they are not one and the same—along with the deadly weapons used."
Ferguson leaned on the counter, not disagreeing that they had a tall task ahead of them. "Could Takeyama's mother and Yashiro's son also be part of the conspiracy?" he wondered out loud.
Seymour rubbed his nose. "At this point, anything's possible. My guess is the lovers did it alone, believing it was their best chance to get away with it."
But they won't, Ferguson thought. Not if he had anything to do with it. If he was ever going to make it to lieutenant himself, solving cases like these were critical.
He put the suds to his lips and asked casually: "So how are things with the wife these days?"
Seymour drank some beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're hanging in there. The sex isn't what it used to be, but I'm not complaining. We're back together and trying to make it work. I think we can."
"Then you will." In Ferguson's mind, putting forth the effort was three-quarters of the battle. Something he had failed to do in his own marriage.
"How are things with you and Gina?" Seymour asked him.
Ferguson lifted a brow. As far as anyone knew, he had met her at a Maui Friday Town Parties in Kihei and not as a prostitute. He hoped to keep it that way.
"We're good," he responded levelly. "She makes me happy and I try to return the favor. And the sex is great between us."
Seymour laughed. "Happy to hear it. If you last as long as we have, separation aside, it may drop off a bit. Or maybe not."
"Not if I can help it," Ferguson said. "Of course, I used to think the same thing about my ex and... Well, things didn't turn out too good for us."
"That was then and this is now," Seymour said. "Take each day as it is and each partner as she comes."
"Yeah." Ferguson imagined he was also talking about his stint with Leila Kahana. Some experiences die hard. He wondered if Seymour would like to have her back—at least part time. Or had that ship sailed for good?
His thoughts turned to Gina's daughter who had been adopted by Seymour and his wife. "How's Akela?" he asked innocently.
"Growing up way too fast," Seymour said.
"I'll bet." Ferguson paused, before saying: "I know you and Mele adopted her. Have you ever thought about the birth mother trying to track her down someday? Or Akela deciding on her own that she wants to meet her birth mom?"
This ought to be in
teresting, Ferguson mused.
Seymour tasted more beer thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess the thought has crossed my mind from time to time. I don't imagine the birth mother, wherever she is, will seek out Akela—given that she gave her away. If she does, Mele and I will have to deal with it then. Same thing, should Akela ever wish to contact her. We wouldn't try to stand in her way, if she felt it would make her whole—assuming the birth mother had any interest in being contacted by Akela."
Ferguson drank beer as he contemplated that response. He hoped to hell that Gina left things alone and did nothing to break up Seymour's home. Keeping things as they were was best for all parties concerned, including him.
"Like you said, it's doubtful you'll ever hear from the birth mother," Ferguson told him. "And from what I've seen, Akela looks like a very well-adjusted little girl who would never want any parents other than the ones who love her and raised her."
Seymour smiled. "Mahalo for saying that."
"Just telling it as I see it, boss." Ferguson grinned and they clinked their glasses to toast on it, even as he understood that there were always two sides to every story. Something that Gina knew all too well.
* * *
At the Westside Tavern on Honoapiilani Highway in Lahaina, Kimiko Keomaka sat at the bar nursing a drink after work. He'd come there alone to collect his thoughts now that he was nearing retirement. Eight months to be exact. He felt that he and his wife were prepared, but the truth was he wasn't sure they had saved enough to make this work to both their satisfaction. What if it didn't? Would he have to go back to work? Would she?
Kimiko tried to ignore the thirty-something man who had sat down beside him and was getting wasted. Must have had a rough day, he imagined. Or maybe he was anticipating rough days ahead. Either way, it was none of his business, except when the man tried to make it his business.
"I'm screwed, man," he muttered.
Figuring he needed to say something, Kimiko responded: "Did your wife catch you in bed with another woman or something?"
The man scratched his pate. "I wish that were the case, but I'm not married."
Kimiko noticed a lion tattoo on his forearm.
The man drank more liquor. "It's a lot worse than that—"
Do I want to hear this? Kimiko asked himself, trying to imagine what could be so bad. "What did you do?" he asked.
The man's lower lip quivered. "Did you hear about the dude who was gunned down outside his house in Kihei?"
Kimiko didn't follow the news too much, but he did recall seeing something about the father of a young girl being shot to death. The news report had suggested it was a drug deal gone bad.
"Yeah, I heard," he told him.
The man took a deep breath and said: "Well, that was me—I shot him..."
Kimiko's heart skipped a beat. Since the man was clearly intoxicated, he wasn't sure if he was on the level or not. "You killed that man?" he asked warily.
"Yeah—I was paid to take him out. Wish I could have a do-over, but what's done is done."
Kimiko was alarmed. Was he really talking to a killer? If so, why was he telling him this?
"Maybe you should go to the police...turn yourself in," he suggested.
The man's brows knitted. "I can't do that. With my history, they'd never let me out." He downed the rest of his drink and peered at Kimiko. "Forget what I just said!"
On that note, he got to his feet and staggered toward the door and out.
Shaken at what he'd just heard, whether true or not, Kimiko didn't hesitate to do what he needed to as a concerned citizen for what seemed to be a growing problem with crimes of violence on the island. He took out his cell phone and called the police.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In the morning, Leila went for her usual run, feeling the wind at her back as she picked up the pace a bit. She couldn't help but think about Joyce Yashiro, who had attempted to do the same thing before someone made sure she never finished her run on Kaanapali Beach. Leila desperately wanted to find Joyce's killer. She felt she owed her that as a fellow runner. Having two prime suspects was a big step in the right direction. But the pieces still needed to be tied together before any arrests could be made, which was frustrating, as she wanted to see justice served swiftly.
Yet she knew that justice often came slowly. All she and the other member of the homicide team could do was go through the motions and stay focused till the tide began to turn. Only then—when arrests were made—could she exhale and know she'd done her job.
Leila headed back home as her thoughts shifted to Maxwell Kishimoto. She wanted to get to know him and see if they clicked. Had she waited too long to contact him? Was he still interested in her?
Maybe I'll give him a call today and invite him to lunch, she told herself. If he said yes, they could go from there. If not, then she had to believe they weren't meant to start dating.
When she got to work, Leila was informed that their Crime Stoppers Program had received a call that could be a break in the Parker Breslin murder case—and by extension, potentially help with the Joyce Yashiro investigation. Given the many such calls that led nowhere, Leila was skeptical. However, she knew all such calls had to be taken seriously, just in case they panned out.
So what made this one different?
"He's here, waiting in the interview room," Rachel told her. "The caller, Kimiko Keomaka, was not only willing to identify himself, but he came in to tell his story."
"And what story is that?" Leila asked.
"According to Mr. Keomaka, he was minding his own business last night, having a drink at the Westside Tavern in Lahaina on Honoapiilani Highway, when the guy next to him confessed to shooting Parker Breslin to death. The man, who had been drinking heavily, then told Keomaka to forget what he'd just heard and left. Apparently, Keomaka was so shaken up that he didn't hesitate to phone it in to the hotline. He left his number so we could contact him."
Leila met her eyes. "Have you spoken to him?"
"Yes, and I have to say his statement was very convincing," Rachel said. "Ferguson thought so too. Of course, it could all turn out to be a false lead. But in the meantime, we have to find this man who may have murdered Parker Breslin."
"Do you want me to do a composite sketch of him?" She assumed that was where this was leading.
Rachel nodded. "The witness got a pretty good look at him, but no name. If we can identify him, it might be the break we've been looking for."
Leila could hardly argue the point. Right now, they could use all the help they could get. "Okay, let's see what type of description your witness can provide."
* * *
Entering the room, Leila gave a tiny smile to the grim-faced man, who was in his mid-sixties with thinning white hair. After identifying herself, she said: "Thanks for coming down, Mr. Keomaka."
"It was my civic duty," he responded.
She sat beside him with her sketchpad. "I'm going to do a composite sketch of the man you saw and spoke to. I'll need you to describe him as closely as you can remember."
He nodded. "I'll do the best I can."
Leila regarded the witness pensively. "But first, I'd like to go over the conversation you had with him—"
He went through the brief exchange he had with the suspect. His memory seemed razor sharp and Leila had no reason to doubt him.
"And he said he was paid to murder this man?" she reiterated.
"Yeah," Keomaka maintained.
"Did he say who it was?"
"No."
"Did he mention the name of the man he was hired to kill?" Leila asked, realizing it would be easier if the suspect had dropped some of these details.
"I'm afraid not," Keomaka muttered. "But he made it clear that he was talking about the man who was gunned down outside his home in Kihei."
That might have to do, she thought. And considering that Parker Breslin was the only one who fit the bill in recent memory, the suspect must have been referring to him. One question remained that had y
et to be answered. Was the person Keomaka talked to speaking from personal knowledge or just repeating what he heard from the media?
She opened up her sketchpad and asked some general questions. "Was the man slender? Medium-sized? Heavy?"
"He was slender, but not really thin."
"How tall was he?"
"About six feet or so."
"What was he wearing?"
"Jeans and a print shirt, along with work shoes."
Blue collar worker maybe, Leila thought. Possibly outdoor work. Construction came to mind. Or maybe landscaping, which was Parker Breslin's field. Could this person have worked for him?
She eyed the witness. "Can you describe the shape of his face?"
"It was square and he had a long forehead."
Leila sketched this and asked: "What about his eyes?"
"Blue."
"Were they close set? Or wider?"
"Wider."
She sketched this and turned the pad toward him. "Like that?"
"Yeah," he said.
Leila asked about the nose, mouth, ears, and chin before moving to the suspect's hair. "What color?"
"He was bald," Keomaka responded. "It looked freshly shaven."
Perhaps to circumvent justice, she thought. It did help make her a job a little easier.
"Were there any distinguishing marks on his face or elsewhere that you noticed?"
"Yeah, he had a small mole on his left cheek. And he had a lion tattoo covering half his right arm."
"Interesting," Leila mused out loud. She used everything he said to form an image in her mind and put the finishing touches on the sketch before revealing it. "Does the man you saw look like this?"
"Yeah, that's him!" Keomaka stated excitedly.
"You're sure?"
"Yep, that's definitely the man who told me he killed someone..."
Leila glanced at the one-way mirror, knowing Rachel, Seymour, Chung, and Ferguson were all watching on the other side. She nodded at them, indicating they had what they needed as a definite person of interest.
* * *
Back at her desk, Leila could only hope that they could quickly identify the man in the composite sketch and one thing would lead to another in solving one case, or perhaps two, in one fell swoop.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 17
