Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (10 page)

I wondered why she was so sure he had taken
his own life. Granted, the tide seemed to be leaning in that
direction, but it was almost as if Darlene knew more than she had
apparently let on to the police.

I sipped my wine. "The exact cause of
Carter's death is still under investigation."

She gave me a doubtful gaze. "Something
tells me you don't believe he killed himself."

"It doesn't really matter what I believe," I
told her warily. "What makes you think he killed himself, other
than what you've read? Was Carter suicidal?"

Darlene hesitated. "He was a little
depressed, but I didn't think it would come to this."

"It
has
come to this!" I argued.
"Carter was your husband. Why the hell don't you tell me why he's
dead now, Darlene?"

She sighed and looked away from me. "Sure,
I'll tell you—" After drinking some wine, she turned back to face
me. "If you really want to know, I think Carter killed himself in
your
house to punish and humiliate me."

I nearly choked as though I had a chicken
bone lodged in my throat. "You've got to be kidding. Why in the
hell would Carter come into my house and drown himself because he
wanted to punish and humiliate you? Excuse me, but you didn't find
him. I hardly think—"

Darlene didn't flinch. "If you knew Carter
the way I did, you'd understand why. He's never been happy with me
or his daughter, who he never wanted brought into this world. I was
never good enough for him, no matter what I did or tried to do. He
wanted to make me pay for taking him away from his precious Skye,
who could do no wrong—"

I was shocked by her assertions. The Carter
I was married to never held me in such high esteem. He certainly
found enough faults to go elsewhere for his sexual needs...and his
desire to father a child.

I viewed his widow's words with a healthy
dose of skepticism.

"With Carter, everything had to be
dramatic," Darlene continued bitterly. "And what better way to kill
himself than somewhere where
you
would be sure to find him,
knowing that I would have to live with it for the rest of my life."
She sighed. "That no good bastard!"

In that moment, I couldn't help but
sympathize with her to some degree, having been on the receiving
end of Carter's deep betrayal. Was Carter really so unhappy with
his life that he would end it at a time when he was searching for
answers?

Answers that I could have provided for him
had he kept our appointment.

Could the man I had once loved actually have
been so spiteful as to commit such a violent act in order to hurt
his wife and daughter? Did that make me—the one who literally
mopped up his remains—any less a victim?

Whatever else was going on with Darlene, I
couldn't help but think that she too must have loved Carter in some
way, shape, or form, in spite of her transgressions.

"I'm sorry about Carter," I told her
sincerely. "At this point, I don't know why he died at my house,
but the last thing either of us needs is to blame ourselves or each
other."

Now was not the time to play on my
suspicions, not to mention facts, surrounding her.

"You're right, of course," Darlene said, and
offered me a tearful smile. "You, if anyone, should know what I'm
going through—" I wasn't sure if I needed to read between the
lines. She put the glass to her lips, sipped, and then said: "I
guess I'd better be going. I still have to make the funeral
arrangements. And I haven't found the courage yet to tell my
daughter that her dad is dead..."

I didn't envy Darlene in that sense. Carter
had truly loved his daughter. Now the girl was fatherless, and
would probably suffer as a result.

I couldn't really offer the widow any
advice, since I had never walked in her shoes. However, I did say a
silent prayer for Darlene in the hope that her own actions wouldn't
result in more grief for her daughter.

I watched through the blinds as Darlene
Delaney screeched away in her red BMW and couldn't help but wonder
how much of her ordeal was self-inflicted. Another side of me
wondered if in some strange way I was just as culpable.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

He watched from the cluster of palm trees as
the housekeeper left the residence, got in a car, and drove off
quickly, as if she had somewhere more important to be. She never
even bothered to look in his direction. Not that she would have
seen him behind the cover the trees provided around Skye Delaney's
property. That was just the way he wanted it. There was no reason
to draw suspicion at this point.

He was much more interested in the meeting
taking place inside between Darlene Delaney and Skye Delaney. He
imagined that Carter would love this. His ex and his widow sharing
bedroom stories and other dirt on the former prosecutor,
businessman, and royal screw up. If either woman only knew the half
of it.

He could almost hear them pointing their
damned fingers at each other threateningly.
"Carter killed
himself because of you,"
he said mimicking Darlene. Then he
responded as Skye:
"The hell he did. He killed himself because
he couldn't bear knowing that his wife was a damned whore and a
drug addict
.
"

A brawl could ensue. He'd put his money
squarely behind Skye, who was definitely fitter and just plain
tougher when push came to shove.

Yes, Skye Delaney was definitely his type of
woman. He was glad he had finally gotten to meet her—kind of. The
problem was she didn't know it as such. And he planned to keep it
that way until it was time for them to meet formally.

Darlene came out the front door. He couldn't
tell if she was pissed or satisfied that she'd covered her ass. She
got into that red car that Carter had given her, started it, and,
just like the housekeeper, zoomed off to a destination unknown.
That didn't mean he couldn't hazard a guess as to where she was
headed. He'd bet it was to see that asshole lawyer she thought was
her
secret
lover boy.

Secrets are made to be exposed
, he
thought.

He pondered that for a moment of glee, and
then noted it was Skye's turn to emerge from the house. He quickly
ducked behind a tree. It wouldn't be smart if she caught him
snooping around. There might be questions.

Then more questions.

And he wasn't about to do any talking. Not
yet anyway.

He waited out of sight until he heard her
car drive off. For a moment, he considered entering the premises
while the lady and her dog were away. Then he decided not to press
his luck.

Not like Carter Delaney had pressed his
luck. Until he ran out of it...

He made his way through more palm trees on
the dead-end street until he arrived at the next street where his
car awaited.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Murder was the Medical Examiner's official
conclusion as the cause of Carter Delaney's death. Ridge stood
there with his mouth agape in the examining room where Carter's
remains lay on a table in front of us. In spite of being repulsed
by the idea that the discolored corpse in front of me was once my
husband, I felt somewhat relieved that he hadn't taken the easy way
out by committing suicide. He had been the victim of foul play, but
it was still a hard pill to swallow.

Dr. R. Mitsuo Isagawa was the Chief Medical
Examiner for the City and County of Honolulu. The rather frail,
black-haired man in his early fifties had personally conducted the
autopsy. Because the decedent happened to be a former lawyer for
the Department of the Prosecuting Attorney and one of the city's
most prominent businessmen, there could be no question as to how he
died or who determined such cause.

Mitsuo had probably seen just about every
type of death there was. He gave me a fatherly look with irregular
furrows lining his brow. As a cop, I had spent more than my share
of time listening with difficulty to the results of autopsies he
had performed. This time would undoubtedly be the hardest.

"Are you sure you want to hear this, Skye?"
Mitsuo asked in a gravelly voice, glancing at the body, "And see
Carter like this—?"

I cleared my throat and said with
determination: "I'm a big girl, Mitsuo. I have to know how Carter
died, no matter how hard it is to listen to."

The three of us exchanged looks before Ridge
eased his fingers between mine, and Mitsuo said: "Carter died from
neck compression..."

"So he didn't drown then?" Ridge asked.

"No," Mitsuo said flatly. "He was already
dead before his head hit the water—" He looked me in the eye and
continued: "Carter's neck was crushed while he was in a horizontal
position—likely on a hardwood floor, judging by the scratches and
dust particles found on his body. I'd say someone who was very
strong used either a knee backed by their full weight on his neck,
or maybe even their bare hands..."

Mitsuo tilted Carter's limp head from side
to side as if to illustrate his point. "Whoever did this probably
knew exactly what they were doing, if the plan was to inflict a
great deal of pain, commit murder, then try to make it look like
suicide by putting his head under water." Mitsuo squinted. "But, by
then, the lethal damage had already been done."

"You okay?" Ridge whispered to me worriedly
as Mitsuo pulled a sheet over Carter's body.

I nodded even though I felt a little
lightheaded. I reached deep within to keep myself from passing out,
not wanting to let this get to me in a way I couldn't control.
Satisfied that I had shaken it off, I asked Mitsuo: "So you're
saying that Carter was
definitely
killed by a man?"

Mitsuo regarded me and Ridge with one
eyebrow cocked. "I don't recall saying that. The only definite
thing about murder is that someone is dead." He sighed. "Yes, the
killer was most likely a man, though an enraged or strong woman
probably could have done the same thing, especially if she used
something like a barbell or some kind of heavy object to assist
her."

Ridge rubbed his chin and asked skeptically:
"Could a woman have also carried Delaney up the stairs after
possibly killing him on the main floor and then put him in the
Jacuzzi?"

Mitsuo pondered the question. So did I.
After a few minutes, he said: "That's one you'll have to figure
out, Detective Larsen." He paused, planted his gaze on my face, and
said: "Of course, no one ever said the killer acted alone..."

One of Carter's arms suddenly dropped from
the table. I gasped as the lifeless, pale limb dangled. Was it a
post-mortem reflex? I wondered. Or was it a cry of help from the
other side?

Instinctively, I lifted the arm and noticed
no sign of Ollie's handiwork. I asked Mitsuo: "Did Carter have any
wounds that could have come from a dog bite?"

His eyes widened. "No." He put the arm back
under the sheet. "Why do you ask?"

I told him about Sumiyo Ishimoto's
speculations regarding the dog bite.

Mitsuo flipped through his autopsy notes.
"There was no indication that Carter was bitten by a dog." He gave
Ridge, then me, a puzzled look. "If your dog bit someone with AB
negative blood, I'm afraid it wasn't Carter. DNA tests should
confirm that."

Then it must have been Carter's
killer
, I told myself. Carter's death had suddenly taken on a
whole new dimension—beginning with the reality that we were no
longer dealing with a suicide, but cold-blooded murder.

"By the way," Mitsuo said to both of us,
"this probably doesn't have any bearing on your investigation, but
I thought you should know that Carter was legally intoxicated at
the time of his death—"

Ridge and I pondered that information.

* * *

"That could explain how Delaney ended up at
your house instead of your office," Ridge said when we were back in
the car.

"And," I suggested, "it could explain how
someone may have been able to murder Carter apparently without much
of a struggle."

Even to the end, Carter looked like he was
in pretty good shape. He had always prided himself on being
mentally and physically prepared for any trouble that dared come
his way. Obviously both had failed him when he needed them
most.

"Sorry I ever doubted your woman's intuition
or whatever the hell it was about Delaney," Ridge said, breaking a
stony silence. "Maybe in his own way the man was trying to tell you
something," he added, changing lanes.

"Maybe in his own way, Carter was," I
agreed. "Only he never got the chance to finish what he
started."

"We'll see if the DNA sample Ollie took from
the presumed killer matches anyone in the
CODIS database,
" Ridge said, referring to the
Combined DNA Index System, a national
DNA databank that can help identify persons involved in criminal
activity
.

"That would certainly simplify things," I
said, "at least in terms of telling us who we're looking for." I
knew that actually finding the suspect would not be as simple.

"Don't get your hopes up," Ridge told me.
"It could go either way."

At this point, I wasn't willing to bet the
house that it would go my way. "Maybe we'll get lucky," I said,
sounding less than optimistic.

"Yeah, maybe," Ridge said. "In the meantime,
I don't suppose I can persuade you to stay out of this, can I?"

My eyelids fluttered at him defiantly. "I
wouldn't even want you to try—"

He sighed. "This is a police matter, Skye.
We're talking about the murder of your ex. You'll only get in the
way if you go around asking questions to the wrong people—and that
includes Delaney's widow."

If only it were as cut and dry as letting
the police do their job
, I thought. Since Carter was my
ex-husband and client, I felt a moral obligation to do my own
investigation into his death. I owed him that much for what we once
had.