He wanted this guy so badly, Seymour could almost taste it. And he had no doubt that Leila wanted him just as much. Glancing at her as she sat beside him, he turned back to the suspect.
"All right, enough games, Diamont. You're not getting out of here—not this time."
"You sure about that?" he said arrogantly. "This will never hold up..."
Seymour was not about to swallow the bait and lose his cool. The last thing he needed was to be accused of police brutality or verbal intimidation, especially now that they were so close to nailing this guy's ass to the wall.
"Oh, it will hold," Seymour promised. He tried a different tack to shake things up. Opening a folder, he took out an autopsy photograph of Marcia Miyashiro and slid it across the table. "Do you remember her? You strangled her last year in Spreckelsville."
Diamont simply stared at the picture.
Seymour sensed that he might be getting to him. He showed him an autopsy picture of Amy Lynn Laseter, his second victim; followed by Ruth Keomaka, the third victim of the Zip Line Killer. Finally, Seymour placed before him an autopsy photograph of his fourth victim, Hisako Takumi from Honolulu, which was sent to him by the Honolulu Police Department.
"Witnesses can place you in Honolulu when Ms. Takumi was murdered, and saw you talking to her just before she went missing," Seymour said, keeping the pressure on. "We're tying all the pieces together in one nice neat package that will come raining down on you. Might as well save the taxpayers money and own up to what you did, considering you'll never get the chance to hurt another woman again for as long as you live—"
"Okay, you got me!" Diamont confessed. "Yeah, I'm the Zip Line Killer. I killed them all and a few others you don't even know about..."
Seymour cocked a brow, though not entirely surprised. After all, most serial killers were likely guilty of more crimes than law enforcement was aware of. Why should this one be any different?
"Why don't you tell us about these other victims," Leila said, leaning toward the prisoner.
"What—you want names, places...?"
"That would be a good start," she responded tartly.
Diamont almost seemed to brag as he named four other women he had strangled over the past two years and kept trophies from, amongst those now placed in evidence. The victims ranged in age from eighteen to thirty-two, with one murdered on Kauai, another in Honolulu, and two others on Maui. The latter victims had been buried and were presumed by their families to have left the island. The two killed on the other islands were strangled with a rope, before Diamont changed his weapon of murder to a zip line cord.
Seymour had no doubt he was telling the truth. Though most serial killers tended to exaggerate the number of victims, many wanted credit where it was due and, once captured, were more than happy to spill the beans.
"Why did you kill all these women?" Leila asked him.
Diamont grinned crookedly. "What can I say—it turned me on to catch most of them completely off guard. I liked the power of ending a life and getting away with it. It became addictive."
Leila frowned. "That's sick—you're a certified psychopath!"
He chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose. To tell you the truth, I was a little pissed when I heard that Joyce Yashiro was killed and that it had been linked to the Zip Line Killer. But that bastard husband of hers beat me to the punch, or she would have been mine sooner or later."
Seymour found it ironic that he had planned to kill Joyce Yashiro. That would have given Verlin Yashiro everything he wanted, with someone else doing the dirty work for him, excluding his role in the murder of Parker Breslin.
In any event, Seymour had heard all he needed or wanted to from this serial killer. He signaled for the guard to come in and take him away.
"Hawaii will be a hell of a lot better off when you're behind bars," Seymour said as a parting shot. "Aloha!"
After Diamont was taken away, Seymour asked Leila: "Are you all right?"
She put on a brave face. "I'm fine. I'm just glad we finally got this monster."
"Yeah, me too."
Leila met his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off walking away from this while I still have my mind intact."
Seymour held her gaze, able to relate. "I think you know the answer to that. If we weren't cut out for this type of work, we both would've known it a long time ago. Take some time off, if you need it, but don't go far. I need my first rate detective here."
She gave him a brief smile. "Mahalo for that. Maybe I'll take you up on the offer to take a little time off. Or maybe not..."
Seymour watched her get up and leave the room, and he followed suit, knowing he needed to put this case behind him, no matter how difficult, with other unsettling homicide investigations to follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Leila joined Jan, Rachel, Patricia, and Skye Delaney for a girls' night out after wrapping up several homicide cases in practically one fell swoop. They met up at a club on Kaanapali Beach and were listening to a live band singing torch songs with a Hawaiian twist.
"They're good," Skye remarked. "Better than some of the ones I've heard in Honolulu."
Leila laughed while sipping a Blue Hawaiian. "Clearly you need to get out more, Skye. This band is only average at best."
"Hey, I don't care how good or bad the band is, I'm just glad to take a break from cutting up dead bodies," Patricia told them as she sipped her daiquiri.
"Well, at least they're already dead," quipped Jan, holding a Mai Tai.
Everyone laughed.
Rachel said somberly: "Meanwhile many of the creeps who killed them get to live and spend their days behind bars playing cards and comparing notes on their murderous exploits."
"Yeah, it's definitely a bummer," Leila conceded. It still pained her to think that murder victims like Joyce Yashiro and Parker Breslin were silenced for good by those they once loved and believed would protect them from harm, to the extent possible. Instead, greed, hatred, and ill-advised deadly schemes deprived them of their future. Still Leila refused to let this bring her down. After all, they weren't equipped to stop homicides before they occurred. At the end of the day, detectives could only do their job in solving crimes to the best of their ability. "But not tonight," she told her friends. "Tonight is all about putting our daily lives of chasing criminals, excluding Jan and her wonderful artistry, on pause and letting our hair down, so to speak, but not too much, and having a good time."
"I'm all for that!" Skye declared, sipping her Piña Colada. "I'm glad I came to Maui and got to meet a great group of gals while solving a case, but we won't talk about that."
Jan chuckled. "Mahalo for the praise, Leila, and thanks for inviting me to hang out with you guys."
"We should do it more often," Patricia added, and tossed some chocolate covered macadamia nuts in her mouth.
"Yeah," Rachel agreed, sipping her nonalcoholic drink. "Sisterhood is what I need to get me through the times when I miss my late husband like crazy."
"Then we'll make it happen," declared Leila. "Oh, and you're invited too, Skye, whenever you're on Maui."
Skye smiled. "The same goes for all of you, if you're ever on Oahu!"
"Then it looks like we're all on the same page," Rachel said.
"Or canvas," quipped Jan.
"Aloha!" Leila said as the five women clinked glasses in a toast of friendship.
* * *
After leaving the club, Leila showed up at Maxwell's door. He opened it after one ring.
"Sorry I'm late," she told him. "The girls kept me talking and laughing longer than expected."
"No problem," he said with a smile. "It just gave me a little extra time to work on this dish I cooked up that I hope to add to the menu at the restaurant."
"Really?" She met his eyes. "What is it?"
"It's a chicken and mushroom salad with fresh green leaf lettuce, marinated chicken breasts, sautéed Japanese mushrooms, cucumbers, red peppers and what else...oh yes, a splash of soy dressing."
Maxwell chuckled. "I was hoping you would. Follow me."
In the gourmet kitchen, Leila saw the dish on the countertop. She watched with anticipation as he forked some of the salad and put it in her mouth.
"What do you think...?"
She swallowed and said truthfully: "It's incredible. Can I have some more?"
He laughed and pulled her close to his body. "You can have anything you want."
Leila gazed into his eyes longingly. "Anything...?"
"Name it."
She thought about the generous proposition and then the incredibly sexy man himself who she had been spending time with. She whispered something in his ear.
Maxwell's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Now...?"
"Why not," she challenged him. "We can even bring the salad and feed each other."
"You're on," he said smoothly.
Ten minutes later, they were in his hot tub, eating chicken and mushroom salad, sipping white wine, and kissing. For Leila, this was the perfect way to end the day, while looking forward to what would follow into the wee hours of the morning.
# # #
Following is a bonus excerpt from the upcoming third book in the acclaimed
Leila Kahana mysteries series
MURDER OF THE HULA DANCERS: A Leila Kahana Mystery
By R. Barri Flowers
Prologue
Yoshie Akiyama had been a professional hula dancer on Maui for two years, performing at many different occasions, including anniversaries, award presentations, birthdays, celebrations, events, graduations, luaus, weddings, and more. She loved what she did and knew she did it well. It brought in enough money for her to own her own home and stash away a bit for a rainy day, even if those seemed to be few and far in between on the Hawaiian Islands.
Employed by the Aloha Hula Dance Company, Yoshie also performed at private clubs, homes, and for individuals who wished to watch a sexy dancer gyrate and shake her hips and ass for their pleasure. Though some other hula dancers she knew took it a step further—actually a few steps—selling their bodies for extra pay or to get drugs, Yoshie stayed away from that. Yes, she'd had a drug problem once, but she was clean today and just wanted to do whatever she needed to have a bright future.
Tonight she would be doing her thing at a bachelor party. It was being held in a private room at a posh restaurant in Wailea, one of the more affluent parts of Maui.
Wary of horny men who expected more than she was willing to give, as always, Yoshie had made it clear in advance that there would be no hanky panky or extras thrown into the mix. She was strictly professional and wanted that to be respected in the spirit of aloha and her Hawaiian ancestry.
Upon parking her Subaru Crosstrek in the parking lot, Yoshie checked the mirror to make sure her long raven hair and makeup were just right. She wore a plumeria lei headband and orchid lei over her traditional costume that consisted of a pa'u, or wrapped skirt, along with a matching bikini top. The high heels she wore were her own choice. After applying more lip gloss, she stepped out of the car, bringing with her an iPod loaded with a blend of Hawaiian, Samoan, and Tahitian songs.
Once inside, the attractive host said sweetly, "Aloha. Let me show you to the bachelor party."
"Mahalo," Yoshie said. She followed him while trying to suppress the butterflies in her stomach for yet another performance in which she must win over her audience, especially the man of the hour before he made his way into matrimony—something she hoped would come her way one day.
Once inside the room, Yoshie calmed down as she was greeted warmly by those gathered. She fully expected it to be a night to remember for the bachelor, his friends, and her.
* * *
He used a cloth to wipe the bright red blood from his long blade. It would dry completely soon enough and be ready to use again whenever it suited his fancy. Putting the knife back in his duffel bag, he dragged the naked, bloody corpse to his car, tossing it onto the tarpaulin on the back seat. He then climbed in the front, started the engine, and began to drive.
Turning on some music—Ke Kali Nei Au—the Hawaiian wedding song, he sang along, enjoying the adrenalin rush from the fresh kill. He replayed in his mind how he had caught her off guard, then wasted little time going to work on her as he plunged the knife deep within her soft flesh time and time again, until he finished her off by slitting her throat.
She had to die. Just as they all did. It was the only way to punish them properly for stepping over the line. Dancing for an unworthy audience could not be tolerated. He would see to it that they paid the ultimate price for their sins and the sins of those they corrupted.
He sang more of the song and then played it again, which brought great joy to him.
Once he reached the desired destination, he stopped the car and got out. Under the cover of darkness, he pulled the dead dancer out and dumped her onto the field. He doubted she would rest in peace, but that wasn't his problem. Not any longer.
Getting back in the car, he drove off, already turning his thoughts toward the next one who needed to feel the sting of his blade.
* * *
Lloyd Shaughnessy and his wife, Adrianna, had retired to Maui three years ago. After visiting the island many times, they had decided to take the plunge and make it their home. And not a day had gone by that they regretted leaving Portland, Oregon behind. After all, their children were adults now and spread out across the Mainland. Now they and the grandkids had a place to come and visit whenever they wanted.
In between, Lloyd enjoyed the tranquility of a hau'oli lā ho'omaha loa or happy retirement in paradise with its swaying palm trees, ocean breezes, and friendly people. It gave him even greater pleasure to spend time outdoors with his two-year-old Belgian Malinois, named Kolohe, which was Hawaiian for rascal.
Today they were taking their usual morning walk and breathing in the fresh air and scent of fragrant plants from nearby gardens. When Kolohe suddenly tried to break free from his leash, Lloyd wondered what had attracted his attention.
"What is it, boy?"
The dog began to bark and continued to be restless. Seeing nothing but the dry field of tall grass head, Lloyd figured it was nothing more than a gecko lizard. They were common there and Kolohe loved to chase them, but never seemed to catch one.
"All right," Lloyd gave in, "go for it. Just don't go too far."
He released the dog and it quickly made a beeline for a clump of dead grass, where it stopped on a dime and barked repeatedly. It was clear to Lloyd that something other than a gecko had captured his attention.
"What have you found?" he called out.
Lloyd followed him into the field and stopped abruptly when he spotted a human leg. Taking a step closer, he saw the nude body of a young woman lying face up. Her eyes were open but lifeless. Her throat had been cut and, from the looks of the bloody remains, her killer had done plenty of damage elsewhere too.
* * *
Aloha! The entire thrilling third book in the Leila Kahana Mystery series, Murder of the Hula Dancers, will be available soon in print, eBook, and audio. Mahalo!
# # #
The following is a bonus Maui mystery novelette
KAANAPALI BEACH PARADISE
By R. Barri Flowers
The Hawaiian island of Maui could be seen below, surrounded by some of the clearest, bluest water in the Pacific. As the private plane flew over the area known as Hana, the two people on board were treated to a breathtaking view of the island's magnificent northern coastline with its lush bamboo forests, tropical flowers, and slashing waterfalls.
Within moments, another spectacular landmark came into view—the Kaanapali Palms Hotel. The pilot was particularly interested in the hotel as was the co-pilot, though to a lesser degree. And why wouldn't they be? After all, one was the CEO and majority stockholder of the hotel and the other a minor stockholder who was just an inheritance away from claiming that same title.
&nbs
p; "There she is," Ben Crawford said proudly to his daughter, Leigh, beside him as he peered out the window at Maui's newest and, he believed, best luxury hotel.
The Palms, as Ben referred to it, was twelve stories high, and sprawled across thirty acres of lush tropical gardens and waterfalls that tumbled into idyllic pools. It was located within the Kaanapali Beach Resort Area, known for its three-mile long stretch of beautiful white sand beach and clear blue water, and home to Maui's most elegant hotels. The area had become a playground for beautiful, perfect, tanned bodies; tourists from around the globe as well as natives; celebrities and non-celebrities; sexy, sex-seekers; and any combination thereof.
"Oh, Daddy," Leigh gushed, "I love it. Is it really ours?"
"You bet it is, honey." He glanced over at his nineteen-year-old daughter who was too damned pretty for her own good, and his.
She flashed him a devastating smile that left Ben weak in the knees—just as her mother had done before her—and he couldn't help but think what he rarely said out loud to her.
I love you, Leigh. And I love it when I can make you happy. You sure as hell have made me happy. Just like your mother did before she was taken away from us. But now it's just you and me, kid, and I don't want to lose you too. To others, I may be a businessman first, but for you, Leigh, I'm a father first. And what I can't give you, I'll buy you!
At least the hotel was hers to play in whenever she saw fit. It was also a place where he very much wanted his guests to relax and play, hoping it would soon be the "go to" resort on Maui.
* * *
Ben Crawford was fifty-three with slicked back silver hair, intense gray eyes, a cleft that split his chin, and a body that was as sturdy as a tree trunk. His reputation as a ruthless entrepreneur preceded him, passed down the line from his father who had made his own mark as a successful real estate developer in Arizona and Nevada. As a young man, Ben believed nothing was out of reach if you applied yourself.
Murder on Kaanapali Beach Page 23
