Outside the room, the detectives conferred with their partners and Lieutenant Seymour, who said: "Good job. A warrant has been issued for the arrest of Verlin Yashiro, with another to search his condo. I'm guessing the arrogant son of a bitch probably still has the zip line he used to murder his wife."
Leila nodded hopefully to that effect and, after looking at Chung, said with satisfaction: "Let's go pick up Mr. Yashiro."
"You won't have to tell me twice," he responded eagerly.
And so she didn't.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Leila and Chung went to the Aloha Architectural Group place of business and were stopped by Kalena Kimbrough, the manager.
"Aloha. Can I help you?"
Leila showed her ID. "Detective Sergeant Kahana and Detective Chung. We're here to see Verlin Yashiro."
"I'm afraid he's in a meeting," she said.
"That's too bad," Chung told her. "Where is he?"
Kalena swallowed. "Right this way—"
Leila and Chung followed closely behind her, until they rounded a corner and entered a conference room. A number of people were sitting around a large table, with Yashiro at the head, speaking.
Even as they neared him, he kept talking, as if to get in his last words before all hell broke loose in the world he had established.
At the last moment, Yashiro eyed Leila sharply and asked: "What is this?"
She held his gaze and responded succinctly: "Verlin Yashiro, you're under arrest for the murder of your wife, Joyce Yashiro, and conspiracy to commit murder in the death of Parker Breslin."
"What—?" His face contorted with exaggerated disbelief. "There must be some mistake."
"Yeah and you made it," Chung barked while cuffing him. "And now you're going to pay for your crimes."
"You have the right to remain silent," Leila told him as the others in the room looked on with incredulity. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
Once she had finished, they led the shell-shocked double murder suspect out of the room and past his former colleagues.
* * *
Armed with a search warrant, Leila, Rachel, and Ferguson, along with two officers, went to Verlin Yashiro's condominium.
His son, Ayato, opened the door. He looked surprised to see them.
"What's going on...?"
To Leila, it looked like he was back on meth. Or maybe he never stopped, apart from when he was in custody. "We have a warrant to search the place."
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Any evidence to support your father's arrest for the murder of your mother."
Ayato reacted with denial. "That's impossible!"
"I only wish that were true," Leila told him. "He did it, and more." She slapped the warrant in his hands. "Now stay out of the way while we do our job!"
While an officer kept him from tampering with potential evidence, they put on latex gloves and began to look around.
The place was spacious and immaculate with art deco furniture and Hawaiian tropical plants. Leila imagined Yashiro spending time there with his lover, Willa Takeyama, while they went over their stories and made definitive plans to kill their spouses or exes.
She followed Rachel into the master suite, where both searched through drawers, cabinets, and the closet.
"This guy had a good thing going," remarked Rachel, "and threw it all away for what—a few rolls in the hay and an ill-fated attempt to get away with murder?"
"Isn't that how it usually works?" Leila responded. "In Yashiro's case, I believe it was less about the sex and more about the value of his wife's death—such as insurance, her house, and anything else that could help him overcome financial difficulties."
"See where that gets him now," hissed Rachel.
Leila opened up a trunk that was in the walk-in closet and found what she was looking for. "Well, what do we have here...?"
She opened up a zip line kit and carefully removed the roll of nylon coated steel tape. It had clearly been cut, and Leila had no reason to believe it was for anything other than cold-blooded murder.
"I'd say we have Verlin Yashiro dead to rights," Rachel said gleefully.
Leila smiled in complete agreement.
* * *
"Your alibi has been shot to hell, Yashiro," Seymour told the handcuffed suspect as he sat mute in the interrogation room. "That's right; we know you lied about being with Willa Takeyama while your wife was being murdered on the beach. Takeyama threw you under the bus in order to save her own ass—"
Leila watched her boss and former partner in action and couldn't help but wonder if he missed the daily grind and challenges of detective work.
Yashiro's eyes batted disdainfully behind his glasses. "Whatever Willa is saying now, she's lying."
"I don't think so," Seymour argued. "The proof is in the pudding, as they say. That includes your role in orchestrating the execution of Parker Breslin—your lover's ex-husband and the father of her seven-year-old daughter."
"That's preposterous!" Yashiro exclaimed defiantly. "I had nothing to do with Breslin's death!"
"We both know that's not true," Leila voiced intently, taking her turn at bat in attacking the suspect. "The $10,000 Willa gave to Howard McCloskey to murder Parker Breslin was traced back to guess who—you!" She watched his reaction go from she said, he said confidence to seeming surrender to the facts that were indefensible. "That's what you call conspiracy to commit murder! As if that wasn't enough, we also have solid evidence in the murder of your wife—the zip line kit from which you used a piece of the wire to strangle her, while pretending to be the serial killer known as the Zip Line Killer. The problem is Joyce actually died from suffocation when you forced her face into the sand—meaning your attempt to lay blame on another killer failed miserably. So you see we aren't just blowing smoke to get your attention. You did this, Yashiro, along with Willa Takeyama, and there's no more running from it."
Yashiro sneered at her. "I think I'd like to see my lawyer now."
"That's your prerogative," Seymour said. "However, even Ms. Arakaki won't be able to get you out of this mess. Taking out your wife and your lover's ex-husband is serious business. Hope it was worth it, though I don't see how it could be."
"You don't know a damned thing," Yashiro retorted angrily. "Don't you see? There was no other choice. Joyce was bleeding me dry and being a bitch about it. I needed her out of my life and I needed money to keep my business from going under. As for Willa's husband, that asshole was standing between her and her daughter. He needed to go so she could raise her the right way. We were trying to help each other and enjoy some companionship at the same time. The casualties just went along with the program."
"As will the repercussions," Leila said, glaring at him with astonishment that he would try to justify two acts of cold-blooded murder. "Did you ever consider just once what this might do to your son?"
Yashiro sighed deeply as he stared at the question, before responding colorlessly: "Ayato's a big boy and he understands that sometimes things happen. He can take care of himself."
Leila wasn't so sure about that, given the son's drug habit and poor excuse for a father. But that wasn't her problem to solve. "Whatever plans you and Willa Takeyama may have envisioned for the future have gone up in smoke and flames. Try snuffing that out!"
Seymour signaled for a guard to come in. "Take Mr. Yashiro back to his cell till his attorney arrives."
Leila watched as the broken killer was led away. She wasn't sure how much of his last words—when he outlined the conspiracy to murder their former spouses—would be admissible in a court of law once he had requested his lawyer, but Leila was sure it would come out one way or the other. Killers often did themselves in, not with mere words, but dire actions that could not be denied.
"We've got them!" Seymour said, almost with relief a few minutes later in his office.
Leila smiled. "Yes, I'd say so."
"Yashiro and Takeyama are
some pieces of work."
Leila concurred. "That's one way to put it."
"Guess that sink or swim philosophy fits those two perfectly," he said.
"No swimming will ever bring them back to the surface," Leila said, in keeping up with the water analogies. "But then, that's what separates the good guys from the bad ones. The latter always tend to err on the side of stupidity and miscalculation—till it catches up to them."
Seymour grinned. "I miss the action, and partnering with you."
Leila lifted a brow, surprised at his admission. But she took it the way she assumed it was intended: strictly a professional observation. Nevertheless, she told him, mindful that she had moved on relationship-wise: "I think you're doing just fine as our lieutenant. Keep up the good work, Seymour."
He chuckled. "I will if you do."
"Deal," she told him, and walked away, literally and figuratively, while feeling grateful that Verlin Yashiro and Willa Takeyama were locked away, not likely to hurt anyone else ever again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
On Saturday morning, Leila went horseback riding with Maxwell. She rode a gorgeous American Quarter Horse named Kosho, which was the Japanese word for pepper. They made their way through lush valleys, pineapple fields, and ironwood forests, while taking in panoramic views of Maui and neighboring islands.
Losing herself in the spectacular surroundings that she knew all too well, Leila said: "It's just so beautiful here."
"I agree," Maxwell said atop his Thoroughbred horse named Koa, Hawaiian for warrior. "I love getting away from the day-to-day stuff up here."
"If only everyone was so fortunate to have this magnificent escape," she said dreamily.
"I know. It was my big dream when I moved to Maui and I found a way to make it happen."
"Lucky you."
He faced her. "I am lucky getting to spend time with you."
"I feel the same way," she told him, flattered by his kind words. Being able to relax with a leisurely ride without murder on her mind was just what she needed.
Maxwell grinned. "Good."
They rode for a while longer and eventually stopped for a picnic he had prepared; feeding each other turkey sandwiches and pineapple coleslaw, washing it down with bottled passion fruit juice.
When they returned to his home, Maxwell gave Leila a tour. Built of cedar, stone, and glass, it was oceanfront and full of character, surrounded by fruit trees and cane grass. She was blown away as they went from room to room, each carefully appointed with modern furnishings and bamboo flooring.
Upon entering the master suite, Maxwell said: "And this is where I sleep."
Leila surveyed the room with a king-sized bed surrounded by Japanese and American furniture. Smiling at him, she asked teasingly: "Are you tired?"
He chuckled, placing his hands around her waist, drawing her near. "Not especially. How about you?"
Feeling aroused by his closeness and good looks, she responded boldly: "I'm wide awake, but I wouldn't mind trying that bed out for size."
"Then, by all means," he said huskily, "don't let me stop you."
He kissed her and Leila welcomed the feel of a man's lips upon hers again. It was clear to her that he was just as turned on as she was, so she seized the moment.
She began removing her clothes and watched as he did the same. Then they kissed some more, enjoying each other's taste and tongues.
By the time they got in bed and Maxwell slipped on protection, Leila was ready to be with him. He didn't disappoint, bringing her satisfaction almost immediately. And, again later, when they each rode the crest of exploration and experienced the fire of intimacy before returning back to earth.
Leila had almost forgotten the pleasure and passion of sexual desire and fulfillment. She was thankful to Maxwell for refreshing her memory and making her feel like a desired woman again.
She suddenly felt tired and rested her head against his chest, falling asleep in his arms, not wanting to be anywhere else.
* * *
For lunch, Renee sat in the café on Alanui Kealii Drive in Kihei with her friend, Sylvia Taniguchi. They were talking about the arrests of Verlin Yashiro and Willa Takeyama.
"Can you believe those two apparently cooked up this scheme and actually thought they would get away with it?" Sylvia asked.
Renee put down her fish burger and responded: "Seems like killers always think they'll get away with it. If they believed they would get caught, most, if not all, might think twice before going down that road. Then again, when it comes to intimate violence, nothing surprises me as to the lengths people will go to get what they want."
"I suppose you're right." Sylvia lifted her fork with coconut shrimp and looked over Renee's shoulder. "Say, isn't that your friend with benefits guy—"
Renee turned to see Franco leaving with an attractive, young Asian woman. Though she wished they didn't have an open relationship, he seemed to be comfortable with it. Meaning she could only grin and bear it at the moment.
"Yeah," she muttered nonchalantly. "So..."
Sylvia shrugged. "Nothing. I just thought you should know."
"It's cool," Renee lied. "He can see who he wants and so can I."
"If you say so."
"I do," Renee insisted, even if she was unsettled at the prospect of sharing Franco.
* * *
Shannon Nguyen always preferred to go to her apartment alone after sex, wanting to cleanse herself of the man and be in her own space. Unless, of course, they were at her place, as was the case this time. So she sent the man away, ignoring his protestations to the contrary.
She was about to take a bath, and then do some studying when the bell rang. Oh hell, is he back for more? she mused, already thinking of how to let him down easily without wounding his male ego too much.
"Just a minute," she said, tightening her robe.
She opened the door and immediately knew it was a big mistake. One that was too late to correct.
Didn't mean she couldn't try.
She attempted to close the door, but he blocked it with his foot and forced his way in.
Even then, she was hopeful that she could somehow reason with him to not do anything stupid. She even told him she had kept her mouth shut about what she saw. He didn't have to know that wasn't really the case.
Before she could contemplate her next move, Shannon saw a gloved fist heading directly toward her face. She tried at the last moment to avert it, but it caught her flush on the jaw. She went down like a boxer's opponent, seeing stars and feeling pain in her face. Her robe had come open, exposing her nakedness.
He was suddenly on top of her, his weight sucking the air from her lungs. Shannon was still pretty much out of it when she noticed the zip line he was flexing. She raised her arms, attempting to somehow block him, but he easily cast them aside. The next thing she knew, he had wrapped the zip line around her neck, twisted it violently, and began to strangle her.
As the wire cut through her neck, causing blood to ooze out, Shannon felt the bile rise to her throat. She was going to die and there wasn't anything she could do about it—other than pray the end came quickly.
It did.
* * *
He applied pressure, tightening the zip line to the point where the veins bulged from her throat and his target's eyes practically popped from their sockets. Her chest heaved and her breath grew labored before her eyes shut and her body went limp.
Wanting to be sure she wouldn't somehow come back to life, he kept the zip line secure around her neck for a while longer till satisfied the end had come.
Only then did he climb off the corpse, leaving the wire carved into her throat. He had to get the hell out of there before anyone spotted him.
But first, there was just one thing he needed...
He went to her bedroom and spotted some jewelry on the dresser. He grabbed a nice pair of pearl earrings as a souvenir.
When the dust settled, he might come back later to gloat over his victor
y as another victim bit the dust.
But, for now, staying ahead of the game was his top priority. He left the same way he came in with no one being the wiser.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The moment they received the call that a dead woman was found in an apartment at 74 Vevau Street in Kahului, Detective Jonny Chung had a bad feeling. He had been to that apartment before. But it was only when he actually saw the decedent lying on the living room hardwood floor—with one side of her face swollen, her breasts and lower extremities exposed through an open robe—that his heart sank.
He looked now at the zip line wrapped severely around her neck—the telltale calling card of the notorious Zip Line Killer. How the hell could this happen? Chung asked himself, knowing he had only recently had sex with the victim in that very apartment.
Now she was dead—murdered by some maniac.
"Her name's Shannon Nguyen," Leila announced, holding the victim's driver's license with a latex glove. "She's twenty-one, and apparently lives here alone."
Chung had expected his partner to say that the victim looked familiar. They had both first seen her at the College of Maui when they were there to interview instructor Glenn Diamont, who was once a suspect in the murder of Joyce Yashiro. But his alibi had held up and the actual killer was the victim's spouse.
Apparently, Leila had not made the connection or detected his interest in the sexy coed, for which he was thankful. Otherwise, he'd have some explaining to do.
The victim had been discovered by her next-door neighbor and fellow coed, Maggie Ellington. In Chung's mind, if she had come a little earlier, she might have become a victim of the serial killer too.
"Since there appears to be no break in," Leila was saying, "I'm guessing she knew her killer."
Chung swallowed thickly. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. We need to find out who she's been hanging out with and if she got on someone's bad side."
Leila looked at him. "You think the Zip Line Killer could be a student?"
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 20
