Murder in Maui Read online

  “Then I suggest we get going,” Ortega said. “You and Seymour continue to take the lead on this one. Ferguson and Lancaster will work with you apart from other cases they’re investigating. Get this killer off the streets!”

  Leila gazed at Seymour, certain he too was already feeling the pressure of closing this case as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  Leila paid a return visit to the scene of the crime—Crest Creek Condominiums—to interview Barbara Holliman, the woman who reported the crime.

  She was in her early forties and lived alone three units away from the condo where two lives were lost.

  “Tell me exactly what you heard, Ms. Holliman.”

  Barbara fidgeted. “About four or five pops. I knew right away it was gunfire. My dad was a hunter, so I know what gunshots sound like.”

  “And that was at approximately eight-thirty?” Leila lifted a cup of tea that had practically been thrust upon her.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Well, first I nearly had a panic attack, wondering who was shooting who and if I should duck or what.” She sighed. “When I calmed down, I called 911.”

  “Did you ever look outside to see if anyone was there?” Leila had noted the shooter would have had to pass by her condo to get to the other one from the street.”

  “Yes, when I got the courage I peeked through the blinds.”

  “Go on.”

  “I saw someone running,” Barbara said. “It was kind of dark so I couldn’t really tell if it was a man or woman. I have no idea if the person I saw was the killer or completely innocent.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No, not till a few minutes later when the police showed up and people started gathering outside. There was a lot of commotion out there.”

  Leila set the teacup on a saucer. “Did you see anyone in the crowd you didn’t recognize?” She suspected the killer had fled the scene, but there was a chance he or she had hung around to watch the aftermath, gaining a vicarious thrill while hiding in plain view.

  Barbara rubbed her nose. “Yeah, maybe. I think everybody was just caught up in the moment and assumed it wasn’t a random act; believing the shooter had already left.”

  Leila wondered if the killer had staked out the condominium complex beforehand, plotting out an escape route, and avoiding detection. That was assuming the person wasn’t a regular visitor.

  “Did you notice anyone hanging around that day or previous days leading up to the shootings?”

  “No, not really.” Barbara flushed. “I’m probably not as observant as I should be.”

  “How about cars?” Leila persisted. “Maybe there was one that caught your eye, seemingly out of place. Or the driver appeared lost. Or a car parked somewhere longer than it should have been.”

  Barbara twisted her mouth to one side. “Cars come and go around here. Mostly BMWs and other high-end cars. I can’t really say that any stood out as not belonging. Sorry.”

  So was Leila. Either the unsub came there on foot or drove an expensive car, meaning they had more in common with the victims than being the last to see them alive.

  Leila made mental notes. Even the most insignificant detail could be important down the line where it concerned murder. Only time would tell. Along with how careful or sloppy the killer was in covering their tracks.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Seymour went to pick up his daughter for pizza. It was the least he could do after being forced to abort the sleepover the previous night.

  His estranged wife, Mele, lived in Kahului, Maui’s largest town. Seymour had purchased the fifteen hundred square foot contemporary home right after they got married. Seemed like a good investment at the time.

  Maybe it still could be.

  Seymour noted Mele’s red Honda in the driveway. He rang the bell. Mele opened the door. She was Filipino with long black hair she usually wore in a braid.

  “Sorry I’m a little late.”

  She frowned. “So what else is new?”

  “I don’t want to fight with you.” Or perhaps that was better than not talking at all.

  “If you say so.”

  “Where’s Akela?”

  “I’ll get her. You wait here.”

  Seymour stood in the living room, feeling like a stranger in his own house. He wished he could take back some things, but he’d just have to deal with it.

  “Makuakane!” Akela said to him spiritedly.

  He watched as she came bounding down the stairs. Tall for her age, Akela had long dark hair that was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

  She ran into his arms and hugged him.

  “Hey, honey!” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I thought you weren’t going to come again.” She looked at him sadly through big brown eyes.

  “Well, you thought wrong!” Seymour sometimes cursed his job. “Are you ready to get stuffed on some pizza?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Mele reappeared. “Don’t keep her out long. She has piano lessons in the morning.”

  He looked at his wife. He was still attracted to her even when she was snippy with him. “You’re welcome to come, if you like.”

  She seemed to consider it. “I’ll pass.”

  Seymour forced a smile, if only for his daughter’s sake.

  * * *

  Leila sipped a glass of red wine while taking a bath. She felt lonely and had for some time now. Even when she was with her last boyfriend, he’d been unable to fill the empty void in her life. She wondered if something was wrong with her in the inability to find someone with whom she could truly relate.

  Had she set the bar too high?

  Or was she simply looking in all the wrong places?

  Her mind drifted to the murder investigation. How close were they to nabbing the killer? Were they planning a repeat performance?

  Leila imagined the victims making love before being shot to death. She wouldn’t pass judgment on their infidelity. It didn’t rise to the level of being murdered.

  She wondered what it would be like to make love to Seymour. Or wasn’t he interested in her that way with a wife still in the picture?

  Maybe it was best if she kept her focus on things more practical. Like solving murders.

  THREE

  Gabe Devane went for a usual morning jog with his dog Sal in Makena State Park. He liked being able to get Sal out of the backyard where he was cooped up most days while Gabe worked.

  He felt the dog yank on the leash, longing to roam freely. “Sorry, boy, no can do. The last thing I need is for you to get into trouble.”

  Sal settled down and seemed to acquiescence to a leisurely, controlled run.

  Gabe sucked in a calculated breath and thought about the nasty breakup with his girlfriend last week. He hadn’t seen it coming. Should he fight to get her back? Or use his newfound freedom to scope out the marketplace with so many hot chicks in Maui?

  Sal’s bark snapped Gabe from his reverie.

  “What is it, boy?” The dog was trying to break free.

  Looking around, Gabe spotted an elderly woman being mugged. He ran in that direction. “Hey, leave her alone!”

  The mugger saw him coming, grabbed the woman’s purse, and knocked her down before bolting in another direction.

  Gabe released the dog. “Get him, Sal!”

  The dog was not vicious by nature. But Sal knew the bad from the good and wasn’t afraid to go after someone who deserved it.

  Gabe reached the old woman. She was lying on the damp grass, half dazed and bleeding from the mouth. She looked about eighty-five or so. It made him even angrier that the asshole mugger would go after someone so old and fragile.

  “Are you all right?” Gabe could see she was anything but okay.

  She moaned something indecipherable and seemed to pick at her thinning white hair as though searching for dandruff.

  “My pur—” she stammered.

/>   “Sal, my dog, went after him. Just stay down there and I’ll get help.”

  Gabe flagged down a passing couple to call 911 and look after the old woman, while he went in search of his dog. And the mugger.

  * * *

  Leila had just poured herself a cup of coffee at work when she was approached by Detective Tony Fujimoto from the Property Crimes and Robbery Unit. He looked as though he’d been up all night. She wondered with whom.

  “You busy?” he asked.

  “I’m sure I will be soon. What’s up?”

  “We had a mugging reported this morning. A jogger got a description of the mugger and we think it’s the same guy who has attacked elderly people several times in the last month. I need you to do a sketch. Maybe we can nip this problem in the bud.”

  “No problem. Is the jogger here now?”

  “Yeah. He’s waiting in room A.”

  Leila gave a weak smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Appreciate it. Let me know when you’re done.”

  So much for a coffee break to begin the day. She went to her desk to get a pad and pencils.

  Seymour was sitting at his desk across from hers. “Are you ready to put this mug on paper?”

  “You wish.” Actually she thought it might be fun to sketch him sometime.

  “Had to try. Someday you may surprise me.”

  “Maybe. Right now I have to do a composite sketch of a mugger.”

  “While you’re putting your artistic talents to work, I’ll pay a visit to the Medical Association of Maui. There’s a good chance someone in the organization has become a liability.”

  Leila didn’t discount that, starting with Elizabeth Racine’s husband, Kenneth. “Let’s see which way the wind blows. Catch you later.”

  She found the witness sitting patiently in the room. “Hi, I’m Detective Kahana.”

  He stood. “Gabe Devane.”

  Leila shook his hand. She speculated he was in his late thirties. “You witnessed a mugging?”

  “Yeah, pretty much saw the whole thing while in the park with my dog. I hope that poor woman will be all right.”

  “We’ll check on her.”

  “So how do we do this?” he asked. “Never described a mugger before.”

  “It’s simple, really.” Leila opened up her pad. “I’ll ask you some questions and you just answer them to the best of your ability.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Did you get a pretty good look at the person?”

  “I think so, though he was about fifteen feet away before I saw his face. Then my dog went after him, but somehow lost the no good bastard.”

  Leila twirled her pencil. “Let’s start with the basics. About how old would you say the mugger was?”

  “Between twenty-five and thirty.”

  “Race or ethnicity?”

  “I think he was a native.”

  “Meaning...?”

  “Hawaiian, I guess.”

  It didn’t insult Leila when people referred to the “natives” as Hawaiians as this was more preferable than locals. As it was, true Native Hawaiians such as herself comprised only around ten percent of those living in Maui County. The majority of residents were classified as white or Asian.

  Leila held the pencil. “How about a general description of the man’s face?” She knew most people had difficulty regarding detailed specifics on a suspect, often rarely studying their features as if for a college exam.

  “Let’s see... His face was narrow, a little tanned, and I think he had a goatee.”

  She sketched this. “Did you get a look at his eyes?”

  “Definitely black or brown.”

  “Were they close set?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Long nose or short?”

  “Short.”

  “Wide or narrow.”

  “More wide than narrow.”

  “What about hairstyle or color?”

  He sat up. “Hair was black and worn in a short ponytail.”

  “That’s good.” Leila believed the way a suspect wore their hair was critical in a composite sketch. Surprisingly, relatively few criminals bothered to change their hairstyle to lower their risk of detection. “Did you happen to notice if he wore any jewelry, like an earring? Or had any distinguishing marks on his face?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Wish I could help you there, but it all happened so fast.”

  “Not a problem. I think we have enough to go on.” She worked in rapid fashion to complete her interpretation of the suspect’s description before holding up her sketch. “Is this reasonably close to the mugger’s face?”

  Gabe studied it for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say that’s damn close.”

  Leila sucked in a breath of relief. “Great. I’ll get this to the detective on the case. Thanks for your help.”

  “Just doing my civic duty.” He smiled.

  Leila wondered if he was flirting with her. She noted there was no ring on his finger so he might be single. Too bad he wasn’t her type, though Leila wasn’t always sure who was.

  She stood and shook his hand. “We’ll be sure to let you know when we get the mugger.”

  “I hope it’s soon, if only for that old woman’s peace of mind.”

  * * *

  Sometimes Detective Rachel Lancaster hated this job. Now was a perfect example as she stood outside the door, accompanied by two uniformed officers. She understood in a basic way why sixteen-year-old Carrie Poole had kept her pregnancy a secret, not even telling the father. Her parents were overly strict and ultra conservative, making the girl feel shame and fear as to how they would react. After all, Rachel’s own sister had once gone down that same road, ultimately having the child and giving it up for adoption, something she’d regretted ever since.

  In Carrie’s case, she had gone to extreme measures to rid herself of a burden she wished would go away. She’d put her newborn son in a plastic bag and tossed him a dumpster like garbage. An autopsy revealed the partially decomposed baby was full-term.

  It had taken more than a month of investigating till DNA evidence tied Carrie to the infant. She now faced multiple charges, including murder and concealing the birth of a child. Rachel had come to the modest home in Kula, where Carrie lived with her parents, to take her into custody.

  She rang the doorbell, wishing the girl had found someone to talk to before making a bad choice that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  Carrie opened the door and stood there mute.

  Rachel bit her lip. “Carrie Poole, you’re under arrest for the murder of your newborn baby.”

  The girl made no attempt to resist, and actually looked relieved that this day had come.

  In accordance with department policy, Rachel put the handcuffs on her, even as Carrie’s parents appeared and mildly protested.

  “There must be some mistake,” her father insisted.

  Rachel gazed at the teenager. “I wish that were the case, but it isn’t.”

  “Carrie...?” Her mother waited for a firm denial.

  It didn’t come.

  “I did it, Mama,” Carrie cried. “I killed my baby.”

  Rachel led her away.

  Afterwards Rachel did some paperwork at her desk. She stopped to look at the photo of her late husband, Greg. He died two years ago in Iraq when his tank was hit by an improvised explosive device. He’d had less than two months left to serve in the Army before his tour of duty was up.

  Rachel had become a widow at thirty-four. She and Greg had put having children on hold while she got her career going in law enforcement. Now she wished they’d had a child to keep what she and Greg had alive. Instead she’d had to arrest a teenager who took away her child’s chance at life. How fair was that?

  * * *

  Leila found Detective Fujimoto at his desk. “I’ve got a present for you.” He looked up as she held out the composite sketch.

  He took it, studying. “So this is the asshole who’s been att
acking the elderly?”

  “The witness believes it hits the mark. I’ll settle for a reasonably close sketch someone just might recognize.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on. We’ll get this out there and hope for the best.”

  “It’s all we can do,” she said. “If that fails, he’ll probably target someone else.”

  “That’s what bothers me. How long before his aggression turns deadly and moves into your realm?”

  Leila frowned. “Don’t even think it. We have enough on our plates right now, thank you.”

  Fujimoto moved a hand though his raven hair. “I’ll bet. Isn’t killing doctors like the next worst thing to killing clergy?”

  “There’s no ranking for murder in my book,” she said. “No one should have to die before their time.”

  “I agree. Unfortunately that doesn’t stop killers from deciding when it is someone’s time to go.”

  Leila knew that all too well. Didn’t mean she had to like it. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to the grind. Wouldn’t want Seymour to claim he did all the work by himself.”

  Fujimoto grinned. “Isn’t Ferguson working the case, too?”

  She nodded. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh no reason in particular,” he said quickly. “Guess I just wanted to make sure someone had your back in case Seymour was out of shouting distance.”

  Leila swallowed. “We all have each other’s back. Just as I’m sure you do in robbery.”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiled. “Good. Had me worried for a moment there, Fujimoto.”

  FOUR

  The Medical Association of Maui’s main offices were located in West Maui’s Kapalua Resort. Seymour parked in the lot and jammed a stick of gum in his mouth. He had no reason to believe the organization was directly connected to the double homicide at its condominium. But his gut instincts told him the location of the murders was more than pure coincidence.

  Seymour went inside the one story building and was immediately struck by the marble floors, stone pillars, and other indications of overspending. How much of it was blood money? He wondered if greed could be at the core of losing two of their own.

  He had an appointment with CEO Douglas Brennan, believing it was a good idea to start at the top.