The Phone Call (A Psychological Mystery Short)

by R. Barri Flowers

  Ricky looked at him. "You mean on a private investigator's salary?"

  "Something like that."

  "Well, truthfully, I never asked. I know he sometimes gambled and made money that way. And he was always pretty good at investing what he had in the stock market and getting a good return on it. Also, from what I understand, some of his clients could be pretty generous."

  "I only wish such generosity had rubbed off on me," Naku said, half-joking.

  Ricky smiled. "Maybe it will someday."

  Naku had no reason to dismiss out of hand the notion that Iwamoto had found a way to afford living in a luxury condominium. At least not yet.

  They got off the elevator and proceeded to the condo.

  It had two bedrooms and was split level with hardwood flooring and wicker furnishings. Naku tried to picture Frank in the condo. One day he was living there, the next he wasn't. Not anymore. Could someone have been in there when he fell to his death? Or was that merely the detective part of him pondering?

  "Is there anything in particular you want to see?" Ricky asked.

  "Actually, there is..."

  Naku headed for the lanai and opened the screen door. He stepped out and walked over to the railing, which was the only thing standing in one's way from going over. It was about four feet high. Not super high, but enough to keep most people from accidentally falling off. Naku looked down. It gave him chills to think of his friend's treacherous descent. Could he have really wanted to kill himself that way?

  Naku noted what appeared to be a scratch on the top of the railing. It could have been there a while for any number of reasons. Or perhaps it occurred when Iwamoto reached for it to hold on for dear life after being pushed over.

  "So what do you think?" Ricky asked.

  Naku took another look down to the spot where Iwamoto landed. "I think it's a long way down."

  "Do you think someone could have pushed him off the lanai?"

  "It's hard to say at this point," Naku told him. "I'll do some digging and get back to you on that."

  Ricky nodded. "Fair enough. Do you want to see the rest of the place?"

  "Yeah," Naku said, wondering if it would yield any clues following the police investigation of the scene of a possible crime.

  By the time they left the condo, Naku had not found anything that indicated foul play. If Iwamoto really had moved quickly through relationships or been a jilted lover, it didn't appear that much of the action took place at his residence. Or had it simply been made to look that way in the process of covering up other evidence?

  "I'll take the stairs down," Naku told Ricky. "I could use the exercise."

  "Suit yourself. If you need anything else, you have my number."

  Naku nodded and watched as he headed toward the elevator.

  After going to the open and curving stairwell with landings, Naku looked down as far as he could. He actually spotted someone several stories below. It occurred to him that if someone had been in the condo on the day Frank died or was responsible for his death, the person would likely have used the stairs as an escape route instead of the elevator.

  Naku walked down thoughtfully, seeing no litter or anything that might have been left behind by a killer. When he got back to the parking garage, Ricky's car was gone.

  Getting in his own car, Naku phoned Vanna to see what she could tell him about the cases Frank Iwamoto had been working on at the time of his death.

  * * *

  Naku listened as his secretary rolled through Iwamoto's cases over the last year, working in reverse order. Most were run of the mill surveillance cases with clients suspecting targets of the usual misdeeds: infidelity, theft, keeping secrets, etc. None seemed to rise to the level of wanting him dead. But anything was possible in the business, as Naku knew all too well.

  "Apparently, Frank Iwamoto was actively working on two cases before he died," Vanna said. "One was for a tech company called The Canter Research Group. He was hired by the CEO named Steven Satoshige who suspected an employee named Aaron Michelson of corporate espionage."

  "Hmm...that sounds like a real doozy," Naku remarked, and thought: If it's true, it could have been bad news for Iwamoto.

  Vanna echoed this. "If it's anything like the industrial espionage I read about in novels, it could spell trouble for the guy trying to stop it."

  Naku chuckled humorlessly. "Well, this isn't fiction, but it is definitely worth checking out. What's the other case?"

  "Iwamoto was hired by Douglas Winslow, who suspected his wife Fallon was cheating," Vanna told him.

  Naku wondered how far Iwamoto had gotten in the investigation. Rarely did cases of infidelity lead to the investigator being killed to keep quiet. But, then again, anything was possible if the goods were damaging enough.

  "I think I'll pay the tech company a visit first," he told Vanna, "and see if there's anything viable there."

  "So be it," she agreed, and gave him the address of Iwamoto's client.

  * * *

  The Canter Research Group was located on North Holopono Street in Kihei. Naku entered through the automatic double doors and walked up to a pretty, young receptionist.

  "Aloha," she said pleasantly. "How can I help you?"

  "I'd like to see Steven Satoshige."

  She glanced at her computer screen. "Do you have an appointment?"

  "No, but you can tell him I'm an associate of Frank Iwamoto," Naku told her as his ticket inside the tech firm.

  He watched as she phoned someone, waited a moment, and then said, "Mr. Satoshige will see you. It's the office at the end of the hall."

  "Mahalo," Naku said, and headed in that direction.

  When he reached the office, the door opened and a short, fifty-something Asian man wearing glasses and business casual clothing looked up at Naku. "I'm Steven Satoshige."

  "Eddie Naku," he said and quickly flashed his identification. "I'm a private investigator."

  "Katie said you're an associate of Frank Iwamoto."

  "Yes. In case you haven't heard, Frank passed away."

  "I did hear and I'm very sorry about that."

  "I've taken over his case load and, well, this is my first stop."

  "I see." Satoshige touched his glasses uneasily. "Come in please..."

  Naku followed him inside a large corner office with floor to ceiling windows and ergonomic furniture.

  Satoshige faced him and Naku took the initiative by saying, "I understand you hired Frank to investigate a worker named Aaron Michelson who was suspected of corporate espionage."

  "Yes, that's correct, but I'm afraid you've wasted your time," Satoshige stated. "Mr. Iwamoto worked on the case for just over a week and, though the investigation was still ongoing when he died, I decided to release the employee, using my gut instincts that told me he was likely guilty of stealing company secrets."

  Naku found it a bit odd that Aaron Michelson had apparently been fired without clear proof of guilt. Did that leave him with a grudge against Iwamoto?

  "Did you contact the authorities?" Naku asked.

  Satoshige sighed. "With no hard evidence as yet, I thought it best not to involve them."

  Naku suspected that getting the police or feds involved might have opened the company up to more intrusion into their business practices than they cared for. "I'd be happy to dig around some more if you still feel some corporate information changed hands," he told him, largely to keep the possibility alive that the case could have cost Iwamoto his life.

  "That won't be necessary," Satoshige insisted. "I think it's best to simply put this behind the company. I did give Mr. Iwamoto a retainer that should more than cover his work and expenses."

  "Do you know where I can reach Aaron Michelson?" Naku asked.

  Satoshige paused. "Yes, but I don't see why—"

  "I'm investigating Frank Iwamoto's death as a possible homicide," Naku cut in. "Given your suspicions and the fact that you fired Michelson, I think I need to talk to him and make sure he didn't de
cide to let out his frustrations on Frank to get back at him—and you. I'm sure you understand."

  "Of course," Satoshige muttered hastily. "I can only hope that Aaron had nothing to do with Mr. Iwamoto's untimely death. I'll phone Katie at the reception desk and she'll give you anything you need."

  "Thanks," Naku said, and watched as Satoshige nodded in return.

  After he got the address for Aaron Michelson, Naku headed straight out the door to pay him a visit.

  * * *

  Aaron Michelson lived in a ground floor unit at a small condo complex on Hauoli Street in nearby Maalaea, known for its boat harbor and the Maui Ocean Center. Naku knocked on the door and heard a dog barking loudly.

  The door opened and a short, thin man in his thirties with brown hair stood there in a red tee shirt and blue shorts. The dog continued to bark, but was out of sight.

  "What can I do for you?" the man asked tartly.

  "Are you Aaron Michelson?"

  "Who's asking?"

  "Eddie Naku, private investigator."

  "Yeah, so what does a private investigator want with me?"

  Naku had to play this carefully, not wanting to tip his hand or make false assumptions. "I understand you were let go by The Canter Research Group..."

  Michelson frowned. "Who told you that?"

  "Steven Satoshige."

  "Did he tell you why?"

  Naku lowered his chin. "He suspected you were passing company secrets and hired Frank Iwamoto, another private eye, to prove it. Maybe that's why you took him out, as payback for ruining your life..."

  Michelson stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Iwamoto took a dive from his eighth floor condo," Naku said, watching his reaction carefully. "Some people think he was pushed—or murdered—"

  "I had nothing to do with any murder of this Iwamoto guy or anyone else," Michelson insisted.

  Naku peered at him. "And I suppose you're also claiming innocence of corporate espionage?"

  "Damn right I am," he spat. "For eight years, I put my heart and soul into that damn company and to be falsely accused of something like that and then canned was sick."

  "Satoshige seemed convinced," Naku told him, closely watching Michelson's body language.

  "Satoshige was only covering his own ass by making me the scapegoat. If someone was stealing secrets from the company, it wasn't me. And I sure as hell wouldn't kill someone I've never even heard of to get back at Satoshige. That would only get me a prison cell."

  "So would corporate espionage, which is a federal crime," Naku pointed out.

  "You think I don't know that?" Michelson said, glaring at him. "You're barking up the wrong tree on both counts. You go back to Satoshige and tell him to look elsewhere for the culprit, assuming the whole thing wasn't just a figment of his imagination."

  "The death of Frank Iwamoto was very real," Naku said. He gave Michelson his card in case he had more to offer later.

  Back in his car, Naku couldn't help but believe Aaron Michelson was telling the truth about being railroaded. Did that mean someone else in the company was doing the dirty deed of passing trade secrets? Possibly even Steven Satoshige himself.

  Either way, it seemed to have nothing to do with Iwamoto's death. This meant Naku had to look in another direction, while keeping in mind that Frank Iwamoto could have been responsible for his own demise whether his son wanted to believe it or not.

  * * *

  Read the entire Dead in Kihei, available in print, eBook, and audio.

  # # #

  The following is a bonus excerpt from R. Barri Flowers' bestselling psychological thriller

  KILLER IN THE WOODS

  Chapter One

  He hadn't planned to kill this one. But then she caught his eye. Or more like his ear. A man would have to be deaf not to have overheard the pretty, young Latina yapping away on her cell phone in the booth across from his like she owned the place.

  "Can you believe I have to work tonight?" She batted obvious fake eyelashes, as if dumbstruck at the notion. "I'm gonna be there all by my lonesome just staring at the four walls, girl. What a drag! Oh well, if I get too bored, I'll just call Andres and he can keep me company...or at least his sexy voice will."

  He pretended to be oblivious to her conversation while eating. Out of his periphery, he watched as she headed for the cashier.

  He waited a bit before following.

  After paying for his meal in cash, he stepped outside and breathed in the distinct smell of late summer in the Pacific Northwest. It was just past seven-thirty and the sun was beginning to set for the day, but it wouldn't get dark for a while.

  He spotted the object of his attention just as she was about to get into her car. Without drawing attention to himself, he moseyed over to his vehicle and followed her from a safe distance.

  The press had dubbed him "The Woods Strangler." He would've preferred "The Man With A Serious Axe To Grind," or better yet, "A Cold, Calculating Killer!"

  Grinning, he looked in the rearview mirror at his dark eyes staring back, before seeing the woman pull into an office building's parking lot. For a moment, he considered it might be too dangerous to go after this one. He hated the thought of allowing his inner demons to rise above common sense and survival instincts. But the adrenalin rush, dark impulses, temptation, and opportunistic nature of the prey attracting the predator got the better of him.

  He caught the door to the building just before it closed, but too late to catch the elevator—and her. He glanced about inconspicuously, seeing no one and trying not to be seen. Looking up at the numbers, he saw that the elevator had stopped on the third floor. Scanning the small entryway, he spotted the stairwell and headed toward it.

  * * *

  Sophia Pesquera opened up the Blossom Dating Service and prepared for her routine of answering the phone, working the computer, and greeting those who showed up at their door for assistance in the competitive dating arena. She and a girlfriend had started the business a year ago, eager to cater to the upscale lonely, desperate, and just plain unlucky men and women in Bluffs Bay where it concerned matters of the heart. It had turned out to be a smart move as single, attractive, and highly motivated people were only too happy to use their agency to try to find love.

  This included Andres Hernandez, an advertising executive, who was incredibly good looking though lacking somewhat in his social skills. Sophia had tried to set him up with someone else, but his attention was solely on her. So what could a woman do who had struck out herself in the love department on more than one occasion?

  She went with the flow. Now Andres was her man and she couldn't be happier about it.

  Sophia sat at her desk and turned on the computer. She decided she couldn't wait a moment longer to talk to Andres.

  "Hey, baby, it's me," she said, immediately perking up at the sound of his voice.

  * * *

  He passed by several businesses, instinctively dismissing them. Then he came to something called the Blossom Dating Service. Though slightly turned blinds obscured his vision, he saw enough to know he had come to the right place.

  He looked around for any unwanted company. Seeing no one, he took a deep breath and, clutching the doorknob with a handkerchief, twisted till it opened. He entered a small office with two desks. Only one was occupied.

  She was on the phone, probably talking to Andres. The nameplate on her desk read: Sophia Pesquera. When she looked up at him, she seemed more irritated that he had apparently interrupted her conversation than afraid. There was no indication that she recognized him from the diner.

  Good. He wanted to keep things simple.

  "Call me back in ten...no, make it fifteen," she said before hanging up.

  Giving him her full attention, Sophia forced a smile and asked, "How can I help you?"

  He thought about it for a moment or two, before removing the silk scarf from his pocket. Flexing it, he responded, "The better questi
on is: how can I help you? I don't think you want to know—"

  When Sophia realized that he wasn't there to find a date, she impulsively sprang out of her chair.

  He quickly came up behind her before she could react, and draped the scarf around her neck, tightening it in a viselike grip. He enjoyed the feel of her struggling to break free.

  But it was not to be.

  A vein bulged in Sophia's temple as she gasped desperately for air, her arms flailing. All she could think of was that Andres would never get to know what might have been between them. If only some crazy man had not chosen her to die...

  He literally lifted Sophia up off her feet, which swung helplessly in the air. Her body grew tense and shook wildly, before turning pliable. Her erratic breathing stopped, and he knew it was over.

  For this one anyway...

  Chapter Two

  "There's no evidence the victims knew each other or the killer," said Homicide Detective Dennis Cramer of the Bluffs Bay Police Department. "All the killings appear to have taken place in The Woods and each time the victim was alone when attacked. The latest victim was attacked in her office. The victims were not sexually assaulted. Given the seemingly random nature of the killings, with the perpetrator picking targets as they become available, the news is not good for law enforcement or the residents of The Woods—"

  Selene Herrera was unnerved by the recent murders. When she and her husband Quinn moved there two months ago, they thought it was a safe, comfortable environment—each having previously experienced violence in their lives.

  But that all changed when the first killing occurred not long after they had purchased their home in The Woods, an affluent community within Bluffs Bay. The relaxed, peaceful atmosphere had been shattered over the summer with the strangulation murders of several local women.

  Selene first heard about the latest victim on the news last night. She had been found lying face down in her office. Like the four previous victims, she had been strangled while apparently putting up little resistance.

  Fearing she might become a potential target of this serial killer, Selene had taken it upon herself to bring the community together to try to fight the monster who had left them all on edge.

  A sense of outrage and panic threatened to boil over inside The Woods Community Center on this warm Saturday afternoon. While there was heated debate over whether the killer lived amongst them or was a stranger who took advantage of easy entry into the gateless subdivision, most residents agreed that the problem was too serious to ignore or leave to the authorities to resolve alone.