Killer Connection (A Hawaii Mystery Novelette) Page 6

  "Don't do this," she pleaded.

  He grinned and chuckled. "They all said the same thing and it didn't do them any good. And it won't do you any good either, bitch!"

  Kravitz pushed her down hard onto the bed. As Kiyoshi tried to think of a way to escape, she saw him remove something from his pocket. It was a black scarf, just like the Aloha Black Scarf Killer—or Sergio—had used to strangle seven women in Honolulu.

  Was Arnold Kravitz a copycat rapist and killer?

  Kravitz flexed the scarf and laughed. "As you've probably figured out by now, your brother died an innocent man. I'm the real Aloha Black Scarf Killer. Setting him up as the fall guy was almost too easy and it got me off the hook from the authorities harassing me about the crimes."

  Kiyoshi was speechless. Sergio was innocent just as she had always believed deep down inside. He had been framed by a psychopath, destroying her brother's good name and ruining her life in the process.

  "Had to lay low for a while, so the cops didn't suspect that your brother wasn't the real killer," Kravitz said smugly. "But seeing you on television trying to defend him was a real turn on. I knew that sooner or later the Aloha Black Scarf Killer would reemerge and I would start again with you."

  Fearing she had no way out of this nightmare, but not wanting to die as a rape victim of a serial killer monster, Kiyoshi tried to get up. He threw her back on the bed.

  "No one's going to save you," he said confidently. "And I'm really going to enjoy this..."

  Just as she let out a piercing scream while imagining the horrors he was about to inflict upon her, Kiyoshi watched in awe as a figure seemed to come out of nowhere, confronting Kravitz. Caught off guard, Kravitz tried to attack him, but the man used martial arts skillfully, battering him with swift hands and feet. A final kick to the temple sent Kravitz crashing to the floor, and he was out like a light.

  Only then did the man face Kiyoshi. She put her hands to her mouth in shock, not believing her eyes. "Sergio..."

  * * *

  Connor tried to call Kiyoshi again as he drove to her condominium complex. He had sized up her situation before he formally met her, so he knew where she lived. The fact that she wasn't answering her phone bothered him. Had Arnold Kravitz gone after her? Had he unwittingly led Kravitz straight to the sister of Sergio Matsuko?

  Connor could only imagine what the career criminal had in mind when he came to Maui. It surely was nothing good.

  If anything happens to Kiyoshi, I'll never forgive myself, Connor thought. Especially now that he had begun to develop feelings for her, in spite of deceiving her as to who he really was.

  All he asked for now was a chance to make things right. He would be damned if the likes of Arnold Kravitz ruined that.

  Pulling up to the condo, Connor raced toward Kiyoshi's unit. He noticed that the door was slightly ajar, causing his heart to skip a beat.

  Cautiously stepping inside, he immediately called out to her. There was no answer.

  He walked toward the bedroom, where he spotted Kravitz on the floor. It looked like he had really been worked over. He was handcuffed and appeared to be alive. A black scarf lay next to his hand.

  Connor wondered if Kiyoshi had singlehandedly brought Kravitz down after he likely tried to assault her.

  Then he looked up and saw her stranding there beside a man who looked very familiar. A man Connor believed was dead. A serial killer.

  Sergio Matsuko.

  "You're alive...?" Connor managed to get the words out.

  "Yeah, I'm alive," Sergio said calmly. "And so is my sister, no thanks to you."

  Connor gazed at Kiyoshi, who looked shaken up but otherwise unharmed. She was glaring at him with contempt, which told Connor that his secret was out of the bag.

  But before he dealt with that, he eyed Matsuko again, recalling that his burned corpse had been identified through DNA and dental records. So how the hell could he be standing right here in front of him?

  "I didn't come back from hell," Sergio said, "if that's what you're thinking. My death was a setup—all designed to flush out a serial killer."

  Connor cocked a brow, a bit confused as he glanced at Kravitz and back. "You're telling me that you faked your own death?"

  "Yes, that's what I'm saying—painful as it was, especially for Kiyoshi."

  "He didn't kill those women," she said tersely. "The real Aloha Black Scarf Killer is Arnold Kravitz."

  Connor looked down at the fallen man again, and the scarf next to his hand. He faced Kiyoshi, realizing that had her brother not been there, Kravitz might have succeeded in his plan to rape and murder her.

  But even with that logic, Connor was still trying to wrap his mind around the notion that the man he had based his book on as the Aloha Black Scarf Killer was the wrong culprit. How could he have not seen this?

  He looked at Matsuko. "How did you manage to pull this off?"

  "With the help of the Honolulu Police Department," Sergio responded. "We were pretty sure Kravitz was our man, but we didn't have enough evidence to make it stick. That's when I came up with a plan to make myself a target—baiting him to come after me. He did, and actually shot me, but I was wearing a bulletproof vest. I pretended to be dead while he planted evidence and set the place on fire." Sergio paused before continuing.

  "Unfortunately, he managed to get away before we could take him down. So we used a cadaver to fake my death as the Aloha Black Scarf Killer, hoping to draw out the real killer: Arnold Kravitz. I tracked him here to Maui, where I knew Kiyoshi had moved, and kept an eye out on her while waiting for Kravitz to go after her as part of his sick, twisted plan to murder the sister of the man he had framed. His admission to Kiyoshi that he was the real killer was caught on tape, and we also found plenty of solid evidence at his residence. We've also got him for attempting to murder Kiyoshi."

  Connor took this all in and looked at her. "I'm glad you're okay."

  She rolled her eyes. "Save it, Craig Garrett, Connor Jansen, or whatever the hell your name really is."

  "I can explain," he muttered lamely.

  "Don't bother," Kiyoshi said, sneering. The betrayal she felt for being used in the worst way by the true crime writer under false pretenses was overshadowed by her happiness knowing her brother was alive and innocent. "Just leave me alone—and Sergio, too."

  All things considered, Connor knew he was in a really bad place right now where they were concerned. But he was not a quitter. He wanted to do right by Kiyoshi and her brother, even though he would have to practically go back to square one to get the facts straight for his true crime book on the Aloha Black Scarf Killer.

  * * *

  Two months later, Kiyoshi was sitting in her Honolulu office in the One Waterfront Towers, where she had reclaimed her life as a fashion designer. Her brother's career as a homicide detective was back on track. His undercover work and personal sacrifice was applauded by the police department and the media for helping solve the Aloha Black Scarf Killer case, leading to the arrest of serial killer Arnold Kravitz.

  After recovering from his injuries suffered at the hands of Sergio Matsuko, Kravitz was abruptly taken into custody and charged with seven first-degree murders, two attempted murders, and an assortment of other crimes. His trial was set for next year.

  Kiyoshi's phone rang and her assistant told her that Connor Jansen was waiting to come in. She smiled thoughtfully. They had started dating again after the dust settled regarding Connor's breach of trust for lying about his identity in order to gain access to her. He had explained himself as best as possible, insisting that his feelings for her were genuine.

  Wanting to believe him, and knowing her feelings toward him were real, Kiyoshi decided to let Connor back into her life on the condition they take it one day at a time. Both she and Sergio had even agreed to be interviewed for his book, wanting to make sure that the true story came out, which included how she was targeted and pursued by Arnold Kravitz, nearly costing Kiyoshi her life.

  She s
ucked in a breath and told her assistant to send Connor in. She stood to greet him.

  He entered, holding a bouquet of roses. "For you," he said with a boyish smile.

  Kiyoshi beamed and put them to her nose, inhaling. "Thanks! They're lovely."

  Connor grinned. "No lovelier than you."

  He kissed her on the cheek, welcoming the opportunity to be given a second chance to show her who he really was. Relocating to Honolulu was the first step to demonstrate how serious he was about making things work between them. The publication of his true crime book on the Aloha Black Scarf Killer had been pushed back a year, giving him time to rewrite much of the story and ending, including Arnold Kravitz's trial and certain conviction. It also gave Connor more time to romance Kiyoshi and earn back the respect he had nearly thrown away.

  "So are you ready for lunch?" he asked her.

  She flashed her teeth and responded, "Yes, most definitely."

  # # #

  The following are bonus excerpts from the medical thriller/police procedural

  MURDER IN MAUI: A Leila Kahana Mystery

  By R. Barri Flowers

  Prologue

  The handgun was loaded methodically. Time for payback. Now they would know what it felt like to be humiliated. And only then could some peace of mind come.

  And just maybe a life again.

  First things first. There was a job to do and the doer was determined to exact some vengeance against those deserving.

  Stuffing the gun in a pocket, the soon-to-be-killer downed the rest of a glass of liquor before heading for the door.

  It was a relatively quiet evening by Maui standards, what with the constant throng of tourists practically taking over the island. This was a good omen. No need to draw undue attention or have to take out someone who didn't deserve to die.

  The doer got into a vehicle and began the drive down Mokulele Highway toward the South Shore.

  Arriving in Wailea, the car was parked not far from the Crest Creek Condominiums.

  Then came the wait, certain they would show up. After all, their routines had been studied and memorized.

  Ten minutes later both arrived in separate BMWs. The tall, handsome man left his car first and casually looked around as if lost before heading toward a condo.

  The woman waited an appropriate amount of time before stepping out of her car. She was attractive and leggy with long blonde hair.

  She joined the man in the condo.

  It didn't take much to imagine what they might be doing inside, having already witnessed it firsthand.

  She was the loud type; while her lover was more focused on rough actions speaking for him.

  Glancing at a watch, the doer decided it was time to get this over with.

  Moving quickly toward the condo, the doer resisted the temptation to look around in the dim light, knowing this small impulse alone might cause someone to hone in on a passing stranger.

  Pausing at the unit and listening carefully for any sounds within, there was nothing perceptible due to the thick walls, which would work well for the purpose in mind.

  The gloved hand turned the doorknob, slowly opening the door.

  Inside two goblets of wine sat on a table in the living room. Clothes were strewn about the hardwood floor as if they couldn't get them off soon enough. Muffled sounds could be heard upstairs.

  The doer climbed the steps, moving steadily. The master bedroom was just down the hall. Laughter and moaning grew louder, along with the frenetic movement of bodies.

  The two were on the bed naked having sex. She was on top, galloping like a stallion, while he had one hand clamped firmly on her breast and the other gripping a buttock.

  Removing the gun, a few brisk steps toward the pair followed. Before they were even aware of another presence in the room, it was too late. Bullets were systematically pumped into the pair until the killer was satisfied there was no life left in the room other than one.

  Chapter One

  Leila Kahana had been with the Maui County Police Department for seven years, working in the Criminal Investigative Division as a detective and composite sketch artist. She'd joined the homicide squad three years ago and had seen her share of murder victims in various types of positions, ranging from fetal to awkward to dangling. But none made her olive skin flush like the present victims. A Hawaiian man and white woman, both in their thirties, were naked and locked in coitus; the woman slumped astride the man.

  Identified through their driver licenses as Doctors Larry Nagasaka and Elizabeth Racine, both had been shot at point blank range in the head and the woman had bullet wounds in her back. The two were literally lying in a pool of their own blood.

  The call had come in this Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. with a report of gunfire at the Crest Creek Condominiums, one of the new and expensive developments in the exclusive Wailea Resort. Neither victim lived at the residence that, according to records, was owned by the Medical Association of Maui.

  "Looks like they went out with a bang, no pun intended," her partner, Detective Sergeant Blake Seymour, said as a police photographer took pictures of the decedents.

  Leila winced, hoping Seymour didn't notice how uncomfortable she felt seeing the victims locked in the sex act. Not that she had anything against sex, other than being without for the past six months. It just seemed like some things should remain private and not exposed for everyone to see. Or at least not a bunch of gawking law enforcement personnel.

  But then Leila didn't imagine the pair knew they would be murdered at the worst possible time. Or best, depending on how you looked at it.

  "I guess we can pretty much rule out murder-suicide," she said, as there was no murder weapon found anywhere near the bodies. Not to mention they were shot multiple times and in difficult positions, making it all but impossible that either victim could have been the shooter.

  "I agree. Not unless one or the other was a glutton for punishment and Houdini at the same time."

  Leila wrinkled her nose. "There was no sign of forced entry either. And it doesn't look like anything was taken. Once you get past their messy remains and clothes scattered around, the place is immaculate. Not exactly evidence of a burglary."

  Seymour flexed his latex gloved hand and lifted a shell casing, dropping it in a plastic bag. "Someone invaded the place all right, and found exactly who they were looking for. The question is, under what circumstances and who got the jump on the lovers?"

  Leila made it a point to never try and get inside a killer's head too soon. The evidence had a way of leading them down the right path, even if less than straight and narrow. She looked again at the victims.

  "No reason to believe they were expecting company. Obviously it didn't deter the killer. Whichever way you slice it, this was definitely personal."

  "Sure looks that way. Whoever did this definitely wanted to make a statement. They didn't have a fighting chance."

  "So we'll fight the fight on their behalf."

  Leila stepped aside as the photographer took pictures of the corpses from a different angle. She believed the killer not only wanted to execute the pair, but humiliate them, too.

  She instructed other CSI members to document the crime scene including identifying, collecting and processing any possible physical evidence.

  Following Seymour downstairs, Leila couldn't help but wonder if anyone ever used the place other than for sex. If only her house were as tidy. Or maybe that would make it seem too artificial rather than a place to live.

  She noted the door key on a cabinet off the foyer. "I'm guessing one of the victims used this to get in. Probably left the door unlocked and that's how the killer got in."

  Seymour looked. "Yeah, you're probably right. Still, you never know. If the killer had a key, he or she might have tossed it aside, no longer needing it once the deed was done." He said to a nearby CSI, "Dust this key for prints."

  "Sure thing."

  Seymour did a quick scan of the area. "Would've helped if they'd had a f
irst rate security system."

  Leila blinked. "Maybe the association didn't feel one was needed."

  "A costly error in judgment, though something tells me the victims were here on their own time taking care of business, so to speak."

  "Yeah, right." She rolled her eyes.

  Seymour managed a weak smile.

  Leila approached Officer Tasia Gould. "Who called this in?"

  "A neighbor." She lifted a notepad. "Barbara Holliman."

  "We'll need to speak with Ms. Holliman."

  "And anyone else in the immediate area who was home when the call came in," Seymour added. "Someone must have seen the shooter."

  Tasia nodded. "That's usually the case, even if they didn't realize it at the time."

  Leila looked up at Seymour, who was nearly a foot taller than her five-four with most of it muscle. "You think this is an isolated incident?"

  He shrugged. "Guess that will depend on why someone wanted the doctors dead while caught in the act."

  Leila refused to speculate on motive beyond the obvious that the killer knew the doctors. Not till they had more to go on regarding the victims.

  And perpetrator.

  * * *

  Leila sat in the passenger seat as Seymour drove. Both were trapped in their own thoughts about the latest case to bring them out into the night. For her part, Leila never considered one investigation to be any less or more important than the next. When dealing with human beings and loss of life through violence, all cases deserved their best efforts.

  She glanced at Seymour's profile. He was nice enough looking, if not the most handsome man she had seen. His salt and pepper hair was cut short and he'd recently grown a mustache, which Leila hadn't decided if she liked. They had been partners for two years and she still didn't know him very well. At times he could be moody, witty, or a million miles away.

  Seymour was currently separated from his wife. Leila suspected he wanted to get back together with her, but tried to pretend otherwise. She wasn't sure what to tell him, having no experience in that department.

  At thirty-two, Leila had never been married. Born in Hawaii to conservative Polynesian parents who believed it was her duty to marry an established Polynesian man, Leila wasn't opposed to marriage as much as being with someone she didn't love. That included her last boyfriend, who had turned out to be a real jerk.