Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (20 page)

The mood had definitely been broken.

Next time, Skye Delaney, there may not be
an easy out
, he thought. He tossed the book he'd been holding
on a table, and left.

* * *

By morning, he was back to his old confident
self again. He followed Skye as she ran from her house to the
beach, all by her lonesome. Must have been too early for that
damned dog of hers to come along.

He took some pictures of her. And more
pictures, enjoying each and every image she conveyed so
gracefully.

Skye never failed to get a rise out of him.
He could see everything that Carter Delaney saw in her, and
probably more.

You hear that, Delaney?
a voice in
his head shouted.
Your ass is six feet under and your ex old
lady is very much alive and ripe for the taking, even with that
damned Detective Ridge
Larsen
in her life. Think
about it, while you rot in hell
.

He ran out of film at about the same time
Skye got tired of running.

Time to go develop these
, he thought
eagerly. He slipped away, and Skye Delaney never even knew he was
there.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

Ridge studied the sketch of the suspect from
the passenger seat of the car as Kawakami drove. They'd just come
from the clinic, where Doctor Andrew Zeller had described a man who
had been treated for a dog bite around the same time Carter Delaney
was murdered.

"What's your take on him?" Kawakami
asked.

The man in the sketch was white,
approximately thirty-five to forty years of age, with close dark
eyes, straggly blonde hair, medium build, and about six feet
tall.

Before Ridge could respond, Kawakami said:
"He could be our man."

Ridge looked at the sketch again. "I don't
think so," he said confidently, wishing to hell he felt otherwise.
Especially since it was Skye's legwork that had sent them to the
clinic in search of a killer.

Kawakami glanced his way. "Why not? We can
place him in the vicinity of the crime when it was committed and he
was bitten in the shoulder by a dog, but didn't hang around long
enough to answer any questions... Seems to fit—"

Ridge frowned. "Anything's possible, but I'm
just not feeling it. I'd hate to put too much focus on the sketch
of a man Zeller admitted he couldn't even be sure was an accurate
depiction. We've got no DNA, fingerprints, or anyone to back up the
doctor's statement. My guess is this patient was bitten by a dog
other than Ollie and had his own reasons for leaving in a
hurry."

"So you're saying we should eliminate him as
a suspect before we even track him down?" Kawakami asked.

"I'm saying I think there are others who
make much stronger suspects, as far as I'm concerned," Ridge said,
trying not to step on any toes. "Could be Zeller was mistaken in
his description of the man, if not lying altogether, for whatever
reason. Or Delaney's killer may not have needed treatment by a
doctor. We just need to keep all possibilities on the table."

After a moment or two, Kawakami asked Ridge:
"What were you doing when Delaney was killed?"

Ridge cocked a brow in surprise. "Am I a
suspect now?"

"You tell me," Kawakami replied brusquely.
"You're involved with Skye Delaney and the deceased happened to be
her ex who may have been gone from her life, but was definitely not
forgotten. Maybe that mile long jealous streak in you snapped like
a twig and you went after Delaney so you'd have Skye
all
to
yourself."

Ridge resented the insinuation. As far as he
knew, he did have Skye all to himself, when she gave in to romance.
Even if part of Skye had still pined for Delaney, Ridge felt
Delaney had his hands full with enough other women that he didn't
need to try and win her back too.
I would never have killed
Carter Delaney or anyone else to eliminate the competition,
Ridge thought angrily.

Then he sucked in a deep breath and realized
that Kawakami was just being Kawakami, trying to push his buttons
for the hell of it. Still, Ridge felt obliged to defend himself. "I
was on a hostage stakeout/homicide investigation on the other side
of town
all
afternoon until I got a call that Carter Delaney
was found dead at Skye's house. At least a dozen other cops were on
the scene at the time. You want their names
and
badge
numbers?"

Kawakami grinned and then chuckled. "Lighten
up, Larsen," he said. "I'm just messing with your head, man. No
one's accusing you of offing Delaney. You're not that stupid or
reckless." Kawakami paused. "But Skye is definitely worth fighting
for. I only wish she'd seen in me what she obviously sees in
you."

Ridge forced a grin, though he was not
amused by Kawakami's sense of humor. "Yes, Skye's worth fighting
for, but not murdering for out of jealousy without due cause. As
for what she sees in me and didn't see in you, you'll have to ask
her that." Ridge had a few ideas, but didn't want to mention them
to Kawakami.

That notwithstanding, he couldn't help but
wonder if Skye's interest in him was waning. Things clearly hadn't
been the same between them on the romantic front since Carter
Delaney's death. He wanted to be patient with Skye, but he needed
her to be willing to meet him halfway, even as they pursued
separately and together the culprit for her ex-husband's
murder.

Ridge looked once more at the sketch and
basically dismissed him as the person they were after, believing it
simply didn't add up to be credible enough to pursue. Which meant
that they were essentially back to square one in many respects.
Nice try, Skye,
he thought.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

Leilani Mahaulu walked into my office
clutching my business card in her hand as if it was more precious
than gold. It was early Friday morning and the coffeemaker was
still dripping.

"Hey," I said from my desk chair, masking my
surprise, and hoping to make her feel comfortable at the same
time.

"Aloha," she said in a shaky voice. "I kept
your card and—"

"Please, have a seat..." I told her,
offering a welcome smile.

Unlike the performer I last saw, this
Leilani was much more down to earth in appearance. Her long hair
was in a ponytail and she wore no makeup. Casual attire replaced
the hula dancer outfit.

"I was just about to have some coffee," I
said. "Want some?"

She nodded. "Sure."

I filled two mugs, adding two packets of
sugar to hers.

"Mahalo," Leilani said and put the cup to
her mouth.

I sat back down and did the same. Neither of
us said anything for a moment or two as I waited for Leilani to say
what I suspected weighed heavily on her mind.

Finally, she asked unevenly: "I was
wondering how the investigation into Carter's murder was coming
along?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid," I answered
honestly, insofar as my own investigation. "Few people seem willing
to talk, if they know something..."

I had a feeling that was about to
change.

Leilani put down her mug and admitted: "I
was romantically involved with Carter at the time of his
death—"

Chalk up one for Darlene
, I thought.
We both did more sipping of coffee while I wondered just how many
other Leilanis might be out there waiting to surface.

"It wasn't serious," she claimed. "He didn't
want it to be. Neither did I. Serious relationships usually end in
disaster, especially when one party is married." Leilani's face
suggested there were more serious feelings than she was willing to
admit. "With us it was great sex, laughs, and comfort when one of
us needed it. When I heard Carter was dead, all I wanted to do was
distance myself from him."

"Why?" I asked, even though the answer was
crystal clear.

"Why do you think? I'm a hula dancer," she
said, as if they were dirty words. "He was a powerful, married
businessman who seemed to have everything going for him—well,
almost. I didn't want or need any tabloid type publicity or
trouble—"

"What type of
trouble
?" I asked,
favoring her with wide eyes.

Leilani put the cup to her mouth. "When I
first met Carter at a club, he was with a man he introduced as
Nellie. Later, he told me the guy was his bookie. Carter loved to
gamble..."

She wrinkled her nose as if this should come
as no surprise to someone who had been married to him. The Carter I
knew played the horses on occasion, but never bet anything more
than a few bucks here and there.

"Go on..." I prodded with interest.

"He owed a
lot
of money on lost bets
and was afraid he might not be able to come up with it and what
might happen if he didn't." She rolled her eyes. "Then Carter winds
up dead. What was I supposed to think?"

"Probably just what you've been thinking," I
admitted, though shocked at the notion. I was aware that people had
been known to lose their lives when they were unable to cover
gambling debts in a timely manner. But Carter was supposed to be
worth a bundle, or so I'd read from time to time. Unfortunately, I
had divorced him before he really hit his stride as a millionaire.
Could he have been in such hock that he couldn't raise the money to
pay his debts? I was equally disturbed by the idea that Carter had
been addicted to gambling.

Leilani interrupted my thoughts when she
said: "I'm only telling
you
this, because it seemed like
something I should do. But no police! I don't want to spend the
rest of my life having to look over my shoulder—"

I couldn't make her talk to the police. For
that matter, why would I want to? She didn't have to come to me
with what she had. From where I sat, if the police wanted her
statement, they would have to get it on their own.

"No police," I promised, and hoped it was a
promise I didn't have to break anytime soon.

Carter's dirty laundry seemed to be getting
dirtier with each passing day. My only interest was to find out who
killed him and why. It was best left to a higher authority than me
to pass judgment on him or anybody else.

I gazed at Leilani. "Do you happen to know
what Nellie's last name is?"

She shrugged. "Nellie was all he called
him—"

So much for being able to zero in on the
man
, I thought, while believing it shouldn't be that hard with
a little help from a friend. Finding Nellie had suddenly become a
priority.

* * *

"I'm looking for a bookie by the name of
Nellie," I told Kurt at the Coconut Club on Kona Street, where
drinks were on me.

He scratched his pate. "Nellie, huh?"

"You know him?'" I asked over the rim of my
beer mug. "This could be important—"

"Yeah, I know him." Kurt downed a swig of
beer and licked his lips. "His name is Nelson Lewinski. He's got a
place on Auahi Street. Smalltime bookie with big connections."

I took the information down. "Thanks," I
said.

"You lookin' to bet or borrow some money?"
Kurt asked.

"No," I assured him. "I only gamble on sure
things with my own money. I need to see Lewinski for a case." I
left it at that and he didn't ask for more. I saw no need to make
Carter's gambling issues public knowledge, while assuming they
already were to some extent. My mouth dove into more suds, then I
asked: "Did you come up with anything on who may have had it in for
Carter?"

Kurt's brows united. "There's all kinds of
rumors goin' around, but nobody to point a finger at and still have
it attached to your hand."

I barely suppressed a giggle, but got the
drift. "You mean the finger is pointed at someone in particular,
like Kazuo Pelekai?" I asked.

Kurt hedged and looked around the bar
cautiously. "Now don't go puttin' words in my mouth," he said,
gulping beer. "Let's just say not everybody is as torn up over your
ex's death as you. Having him out of the way is good for business
for some people, if not bad news for Carter Delaney. But being the
one to put him out of commission is something else..." Kurt's eyes
fixed me carefully. "I'll be sure to let you know if I hear 'bout
anything that ain't gonna get either of us killed—"

"And I thought tough ex-boxers weren't
afraid of anything," I said.

"Who said anything 'bout being afraid?" he
scoffed. "It's a matter of survival, girl. I wanna be around to see
my nephews and nieces graduate from high school. College, too."

I could relate, even though I didn't have
any nephews or nieces. Finishing off the beer, I told Kurt: "You
know where to find me when and if you need to."

He nodded and said: "Yeah, I do."

I thought about the potentially perilous
road that may lie ahead for both of us.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

I found Nelson Lewinski just where Kurt said
I would. He practiced his trade on the second floor of a building
that also housed a loan shark and massage parlor. I definitely
found some symmetry there for people who made their living in the
underbelly of society. The sign on the door said simply Business
Services. I opened it and entered the cramped office. Sitting at an
L-shaped wooden desk was a fifty-something man of medium build with
a receding reddish hairline. He had a cell phone to his ear and was
shouting profanities to some poor sucker on the other end of the
line.

I glanced at an overflowing wastebasket and
a ceiling fan that was struggling to operate in the stuffy office.
I looked again at the man. He was staring at me while telling
someone to call him before nine if he valued his life, and then he
ended the conversation.

He looked at me lasciviously and said: "What
can I do for you, sweet lady?"