The Phone Call (A Psychological Mystery Short)

by R. Barri Flowers

  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 on its south shore. The lavish resort community catered to the well-to-do with its sandy white beaches and world-class golf courses and spas.

  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.

  After parking her car 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 hula dancer out and dumped her in 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 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 palm trees, gentle 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 ahead, 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 did you find?" 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.

  Chapter One

  Officer Natalie Yuen and her partner, Officer Conrad Spinelli, responded to the call that a deceased female had been discovered by a man walking his dog on East Liloa Drive in Kihei. It was located on Maui, Hawaii's southwest shore, the driest and sunniest side of the island. The area comprised District VI of the Maui Police Department patrol districts, to which the officers were assigned.

  Natalie, who was just a year removed from turning thirty, was used to the daily routine. She had been a patrol officer with the Maui PD for six years. Like some others at her level, she longed to move up in the ranks. As an Asian American, she was proud to be in law enforcement and did her part to keep the peace on Maui, as well as protect the locals and tourists whenever the situation called for it.

  Obviously, in the present situation, there was no saving someone who was already dead. She wondered if it was suicide, an accident, or foul play. None of these did much to promote the message of Maui, and the Hawaiian Islands in general, of being the ultimate paradise for life, living, pleasure, fitness, and entertainment.

  Maybe people need to get real and understand that there's no such thing as utopia, even in Hawaii, Natalie mused from the passenger seat.

  "You might as well be the first one I share this with, Nat," Spinelli said from behind the wheel, using his nickname for her.

  "Please don't tell me you've fallen head over heels in love with me," she joked, knowing he was married to a lovely woman from New Zealand. Aside from that, Natalie didn't exactly consider the forty-two-year-old, medium-built officer with thinning gray hair her type. Besides, she already had a boyfriend—a musician named Jotoku—and things were going well at the moment.

  Spinelli chuckled and glanced at her. "'Fraid not."

  "My loss," she said, pretending to be hurt. "So what's the big news?"

  He paused as they approached their destination. "Helene and I are getting a divorce."

  Natalie's small brown eyes grew wide with shock. "What—? Why?"

  He shrugged. "Why does anyone get a divorce? We've drifted apart."

  "Come on, Spinelli. You've gotta do better than that," she scolded him. "What's the real story?" She felt comfortable enough with him to pry into his business, even though she preferred to keep the details of her intimate life private.

  "She says she's bored, homesick, and..." He paused before continuing. "Well, if you must know, I don't think I do it for her anymore..."

  Natalie eyed his profile and asked boldly: "You mean in the bedroom?"

  "Yeah," he said, coloring with embarrassment. "I guess I have become too boring, predictable, tired...you name it."

  "Then maybe you should do something about it, rather than watch your marriage go down the drain."

  "Like what?"

  Natalie hesitated, but realized she might as well say it. "Man up and do whatever you need to do to regain your mojo—and hers. I'll leave it to you to figure out the rest."

  Spinelli nodded. "It's worth a try."

  "Good luck!" She couldn't help but wonder if Helene was seeing someone else. If so, was there anything Spinelli could really do to turn back the hands of time on their romance?

  Natalie was happy there were no su
ch problems for her in the bedroom. Jotoku knew exactly what it took to please a woman. And she, in turn, knew just what he liked after enough practice. Still, she realized it took more than great sex to make a relationship work. So far, she had succeeded in tapping into these things with her current lover, knock on wood. Wherever they were headed, she was happy to go along for the ride.

  They were the first responders to arrive at the scene. Natalie gazed in horror at the dead woman lying atop the yellowish-brown grass. She appeared to be Hawaiian and in her mid-twenties. Any idea of suicide or an accident was quickly erased. She was naked and there was clear evidence of trauma to her neck and body in what appeared to be numerous stab wounds. Someone had definitely gone to town on the victim in what Natalie could only conclude was a rage killing.

  She and Spinelli moved quickly to preserve the crime scene.

  * * *

  Detective Sergeant Leila Kahana had just spent the night with her handsome boyfriend, restaurateur Maxwell Kishimoto, at his sprawling ranch in the West Maui Mountains. Lately, she had been staying over more and more, both for the comfort of his warm embrace and the opportunity to step away from her own inherited small cottage. She also felt free to be herself when she was around him instead of a member of the Maui Police Department's Homicide Unit and a composite sketch artist.

  At thirty-three and a half, she had been on the force going on nine years now. In the process, she had followed in the footsteps of her Native Hawaiian grandfather, Ekewaka Kahana, the onetime police chief of Maui County, and her father, Katsumi Kahana, who worked for Internal Affairs. She hadn't exactly been pressured to join the Maui PD by her family, as police work was considered more male oriented. Her mother, still old fashioned in many ways where it concerned the woman's role in society, was especially put off by her decision to join the force.

  But Leila had always been too stubborn for her own good, as her mother often reminded her, and pushed forward with her career plans. She had proven time and time again that she belonged, solving many high profile and low profile homicide cases, impressing her colleagues and superiors. Most of all, she wanted their respect and the opportunity to do her job to the best of her ability. Leila had accomplished this and never took it for granted.

  Not even on her day off.

  Sliding out of bed beneath a twirling ceiling fan, Leila stood at five feet, four inches tall on a slender frame. She had let her straight brown hair with blonde highlights grow past her shoulders and had received lots of compliments on it. These included from her partner, Jonny Chung, their boss, Lieutenant Blake Seymour, and Maxwell, whose opinion counted most.

  Her brown eyes gazed at Maxwell who was still asleep, no doubt worn down by their hours of passion. Of Japanese descent, he was dark-haired, tall, slender, and hot—especially in the nude. She blushed at her carnal thoughts, having become more comfortable with her sexuality over time.

  She slipped into one of his oversized shirts and went downstairs, padding barefoot across the wooden floor to the gourmet kitchen. There, she made herself a cup of coffee and stepped out on the lanai, admiring the view. There were palm and kiawe trees on the property, along with open land for riding horses. Beyond that was the ocean, with the Hawaiian Islands of Lanai and Molokai visible in the distance.

  Leila sipped her coffee. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was starting to look beyond a career in law enforcement. She wondered if she could actually make a go of it as an artist, much like her friend Jan.

  Or did she need to stay put and not look for ways to derail what she had worked so hard to accomplish?

  "There you are," Maxwell said, joining her on the lanai.

  "Yep, here I am," Leila said, smiling up at him.

  "For a moment there, I thought you had left."

  "Nope, I think you're stuck with me," she said, half-joking.

  He grinned and kissed her on the mouth. "I can live with that."

  "Good comeback." Leila wondered if she could say the same. Was living together the next step for them? Or was he even thinking that far ahead? Was she?

  * * *

  Leila's day off was cancelled when she was called to duty for an apparent homicide investigation. She got dressed quickly, wearing a yellow blouse, black pants, and flats. She had been instructed to meet Chung at the crime scene, where a young woman was found dead.

  Leila drove down Honoapiilani Highway east toward Kihei. Without having ever laid eyes on the victim, she anguished at the thought of her passing and those who might be affected by it. Unfortunately, in her line of work, Leila knew she had to be thick-skinned at the same time. This was all too clear in the last case she worked on. A twelve-year-old girl was murdered by a fifteen-year-old neighbor who had become fixated on her. When she rejected his unwanted advances, he became despondent, stole his father's handgun, and shot her to death. The case rocked the island of Maui and put the spotlight on gun accessibility, juvenile crime, and mental illness.

  It was something no parent should ever have to go through, whether their child was the victim or offender. Leila wasn't sure if there were children in her future, but the thought of them not being given the opportunity to grow up was gut-wrenching.

  She pushed the thought back as she pulled up to the curb behind Chung's vehicle on East Liloa Drive. Also present was a police cruiser.

  "Sorry to pull you away from your lover boy on your day off," Chung said, clearly getting some sort of satisfaction out of it, as if to say misery loved company when it came to his own dating woes, which he made no bones about.

  "I'm sure you are." Leila sneered and gave him the once over. Chinese-American, he was in his thirties, around five-nine, and slender with short black hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in his usual detective attire of a print shirt and light trousers. They had been partners for less than a year, though it somehow seemed much longer. He had come onto her once, but was quickly put in his place. "Bring me up to speed," she said.

  "We've got a murdered Hawaiian female, tentatively identified by a driver's license," Chung said, holding it up with a nitrile-gloved hand, "that was found with some other belongings near the body. Yoshie Akiyama, age twenty-seven. I'll leave it up to the coroner to determine the exact cause of death, but by the looks of it, I'd say she was attacked by someone with a long knife."

  Leila winced at the thought. "Did you find the weapon?"

  Chung shook his head. "As far as I know, there's no sign of it yet. But you can ask Officers Yuen and Spinelli. They were the first responders."

  Leila glanced over at the two officers. They were talking to an elderly man who was holding a dog on a leash. "Who's that?"

  "Lloyd Shaughnessy. He—or should I say his dog—discovered the body during a morning walk."

  "So where is she?" Leila asked.

  "This way—" Chung said, as he headed toward the field of tall, dry grass.

  Leila walked behind him and quickly spotted the victim. She was completely naked, aside from the high heel shoes. Why did the killer not remove those too? Her long, dark hair was like a halo around her pale face. Her hazel eyes were wide open, as if to stare death in the face, while being unable to communicate who killed her to the living. Her legs were pressed together, giving no clue as to whether or not she had been sexually assaulted.

  As though reading Leila's mind, Chung commented: "Bastard probably raped her and then silenced her for good with the knife."

  Leila counted at least a dozen stab or cutting wounds, which indicated that it was personal for whoever killed her and they wanted everyone else to know that too.

  "We'll see what the coroner has to say about rape or other sexual assault, amid this violent killing," she uttered.

  Chung seemed almost disappointed that the victim may not have been raped. He took a few steps to the right, pointed, and said: "The killer dumped her clothes and handbag over here. The bag has her wallet, credit cards, and some money, which means this wasn't a robbery gone bad. It's like the killer wan
ted us to find these things, but not on the victim."

  "Interesting," Leila said thoughtfully as she followed his footsteps, not wanting to taint any more of the area than necessary so the crime scene investigators could do their job properly. The first thing that caught her eye was the clothing. There was a wrap skirt, a bikini top, a lei, and plumeria headband. They were all part of a hula dancer's costume. "She was a hula girl," Leila said matter-of-factly.

  Chung cocked a thick brow. "Really?"

  She nodded confidently, as she had seen numerous hula performances over the years. "Yes, that's what many hula dancers wear when performing."

  "Are you saying someone took a knife to her while she was dancing?"

  Leila frowned. "Think, Chung! She was most likely attacked after her performance. The questions are: did she know her killer, did the killer watch her dance and then lure her somewhere, follow her, or perhaps choose her at random?" She had trouble with that last possibility, considering the dynamics of the other probabilities.

  Chung scratched his cheek. "Guess we need to find out where she did her thing, who she worked for, if anyone, and who may have had it in for her."

  "You took the words right out of my mouth," Leila said dryly. "First, I'd like to see if the witness and his dog saw anyone or anything unusual." Even then, she was pretty sure that the murder occurred last night and the killer was long gone by the time the man and his dog happened upon the scene.

  Lloyd Shaughnessy supported this conclusion. "There was no one else around—just that poor young lady," he muttered sadly.

  His dog barked, as though feeling his pain.

  Leila looked at Officer Spinelli. "Why don't you canvass the area and see if anyone may have seen a car stop around here long enough to discard a body." It occurred to her that the victim could have been on foot when she was accosted. But, judging by the area that seemed a bit too far from homes or businesses to have her walking after performing, it seemed unlikely.

  "No problem. I'll get right on it," he said.

  She turned to Officer Yuen. "We need to find out if there are any surveillance cameras around here that might give us something to go on in terms of suspicious activity during the night—"