Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (29 page)

Kawakami, who looked as if a load had been
taken off his shoulders, interrupted us. "I'd say the asshole did
us a favor by killing himself," he said. "Saved the taxpayers the
cost of a trial." He eyed me. "Ramirez won't be breaking into your
house anymore and you don't have to be burdened by Carter Delaney's
death anymore either."

I agreed that the weight had been lifted
somewhat. But something about the entire equation still bothered
me.

"Doesn't this all seem a just a bit too
pat?" I said, standing between the two detectives. They both rolled
their eyes simultaneously at the mere suggestion. "First Ramirez
tries to run me down, then he comes to my house to kill himself?
Oh, yes, but not before making sure he had
typed
a
confession to several murders that would possibly let someone else
off the hook. And can any of us really believe that Ramirez managed
to break into my house a second time, shut off the alarm, and tame
Ollie all by himself?"

I knew I was going out on a limb, but it
needed to be said by someone who had a nose for something that
stunk to high heaven.

Kawakami used a dirty handkerchief to wipe
his nose, and frowned at me. "Will you listen to what the hell
you're saying? This psycho murdered Delaney and threw in a couple
of others just for effect. When the screws began to tighten,
Ramirez put a rope around his neck and hung from it." He stuffed
the handkerchief into his back pocket, and said condescendingly:
"Now do yourself a favor, Skye, and don't try to be a cop anymore
when you aren't one."

I'd forgotten what an ass Kawakami could be.
Now I remembered why I never saw fit to date the man a second time.
I glared up at him and said brusquely: "Lay off, Henry. Who says I
want to be a cop again? I don't, thank you very much. But that
doesn't mean I left my brains behind with the badge. I want
Carter's killer just as much as you do or anyone else. I'm just not
sure we have him. So don't patronize me—especially in my own
house!"

Ridge intervened. "Okay, okay, let's all
calm down for a minute," he said. "We're the good guys here.
Remember? Why don't we wait until the autopsy report comes in
before we start pointing fingers and saying things we'll
regret."

Kawakami grinned sheepishly at me. "Sorry,
Skye. I didn't mean to take it out on you. This isn't personal. I
just want to see this damned thing over and done with so we can all
move on. As far as I'm concerned, all the pieces of the puzzle seem
to fit solidly. Ramirez is our man—"

"I hope you're right, detective," I said.
"If he is our man, I'd be interested in knowing how and why Antonio
Ramirez chose to single out Edwin Axelrod and Kalolo Nawahi as part
of this intricate plot to murder Carter. I really don't see the
connection there unless their deaths were part of some larger
conspiracy..."

Both Ridge and Kawakami seemed stumped by
that one. I certainly didn't claim to have the answers. I theorized
that perhaps Antonio Ramirez had somehow found out about Darlene's
affair and drug use—and put that together with his hatred for
Carter. Axelrod's and Nawahi's murders could have simply been
thrown into the mix just to keep me and the police off balance. Or
was it simply made to look that way?

* * *

Ramirez's vehicle was found in a ditch about
a mile from my house. Police speculated he ran off the road,
couldn't get back on it, and decided to walk the rest of the way.
After all, he wouldn't need the car anymore after killing
himself.

I was leaning more toward the theory that
someone else could have strategically left the car there, leaving
nothing to chance in confirming Antonio Ramirez's guilt. Proving
this suspicion would be much more difficult, particularly if no
corroborating evidence surfaced.

Still shaken by the most recent death to
occur under my roof, Ollie and I spent the night at Ridge's. It
seemed like we were becoming regular overnight guests at his place
lately. Not that Ridge was complaining. On the contrary, he liked
the idea. Maybe too much. That's what scared me. I felt as safe and
secure with Ridge as I had with anyone, but still wasn't ready or
willing to give up my independence anytime soon.

That didn't mean Ridge's companionship was
not a blessing in disguise, especially during times like these when
a good friend meant more to me than a good lover.

"And I thought being cooped up in a hospital
room was bad," I muttered in his bed as two more painkillers began
to work their way to my head.

Ridge was holding me. "It could've been
worse," he pointed out. "If Ramirez had his way, you'd be dead
right now—"

At least that was the general consensus. I
only wished Antonio Ramirez was alive to confess to that and his
other alleged crimes, rather than having to rely on a piece of
paper that couldn't be interrogated.

Ridge added: "Who knows how many other
victims there might have been if you hadn't gotten his plate number
before you passed out."

I looked up at him and asked: "Who knows for
sure how many victims did not die by Antonio Ramirez's hand?"

Ridge didn't respond, but he was clearly
pondering the notion.

* * *

Two days later, I was back at my house. I
was having my locks changed and my security system replaced with
what I hoped would be a much more reliable system to keep killers
out and keep me and Ollie safe.

Afterward, I put things back in order as
best as possible with the help of Natsuko. My headache had been
absent for nearly twenty-four hours now—a good sign that I was
definitely on the mend. Rather than tempt fate against doctor's
orders, I resisted the desire to run or swim. Instead, I lifted
weights and tried to keep my mind off the events that had kept me
preoccupied.

As if.

By two o'clock, Antonio Ramirez's autopsy
had been completed.

CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT

The Medical Examiner, Doctor R. Mitsuo
Isagawa, looked exhausted after three postmortems in a row,
including Antonio Ramirez's.

"They seem to be coming in droves," Mitsuo
complained, while leading Ridge, Kawakami, and me into the
examination room where Ramirez's body still lay, partially covered
by a sheet. "Must be something in the air that's driving people to
do crazy things."

Kawakami balked at that suggestion, saying:
"Why the hell do we always make excuses for every bad thing that
happens? Don't blame the air. It's about time homicidal assholes
were held accountable for their own actions."

"That doesn't mean some of them weren't
given a nudge in committing the crimes," I said, leaving open the
possibility that Ramirez could have been working on behalf of
someone else, including his brother, assuming he was actually a
multiple murderer.

Ridge asked Mitsuo what we all wanted to
know: "Did Antonio Ramirez kill himself?"

"The evidence says he did," Mitsuo replied
evenly. "He died from a broken neck, caused no doubt from the
pressure applied around his neck from hanging—"

"Any chance someone else could have killed
him?" I asked. "And made it
look
like suicide?"

Mitsuo slid on his examination gloves and
began to manipulate Ramirez's thick neck as if he were a giant
doll. "There's no reason to believe he was a victim of foul play,"
the medical examiner said. "I find no evidence of fresh abrasions
or bruises on his arms or legs to indicate resistance. And there
were no drugs in his system to suggest this might have played a
role in his death." Mitsuo looked me in the eye. "In my judgment,
the decedent caused his own fate—"

"Thanks, Doc," said an almost gleeful
Kawakami. "That jives with the physical and circumstantial evidence
he left behind."

"Then it's settled," Ridge agreed. "Ramirez
killed himself to avoid prosecution."

"So it looks like Antonio Ramirez was
Delaney's killer," Kawakami surmised.

"It certainly appears that way," Mitsuo
said. "The DNA results will presumably corroborate that."

"I think it's safe to say the whole city of
Honolulu will rest a little easier now," Ridge said, clearly
satisfied that they had their man.

"Wish I could say the same," complained
Mitsuo, removing his gloves. "People on the island somehow seem to
find their way to the morgue too much these days. Why do you think
I haven't had a vacation in almost two years?"

Ridge frowned, Kawakami half-smiled, and I
kept a straight face as my mind was elsewhere. I was still having
trouble with the suicide and killer conclusion, in spite of the
strong indications of such on both fronts.

"I have one more question for you, Mitsuo,"
I said. "How is Ramirez's cause of death different from Carter's?
They both had their necks broken. I'm obviously not a medical
examiner, but how can you be so sure one died of suicide and the
other was a murder victim?" The question made sense, at least to
me.

Mitsuo regarded me with amused eyes. "It's
not really all that difficult, Skye. But then, like you said, you
aren't
trained to be able to detect the differences.
Fortunately, I am."

I could almost read Ridge's and Kawakami's
minds saying:
Leave it alone, Skye
. But I couldn't. At least
not before being able to better understand how two deaths that
seemed remarkably similar were technically distinct.

Mitsuo put the gloves back on and began
moving the head and neck of the deceased. "In Carter's case, the
mortal injuries he suffered were consistent with those of a person
strangled and then drowned. With Ramirez, his death had all the
earmarks of a person who died as the result of a broken neck caused
by two hundred and fifty pounds hanging from it." He looked at me
sympathetically. "Satisfied...?"

Not quite, I thought. I looked at Ramirez's
exposed upper body—his arms and shoulders. There were some signs of
injury—like the wound on his shoulder— but no clear evidence that
Ollie had dug a hole, or two, into his flesh recently.

"Does he have any injuries consistent with a
dog bite?" I asked Mitsuo.

He scanned our faces, sniffed, and looked at
the victim, pulling the sheet down. Ramirez's body resembled
something akin to a road map, with discolored scars and contusions
every which way. "You can see for yourself—this man was a walking
disaster. Yes, it's quite possible he's seen a few dog bites in his
day. Probably ran into a few walls, too—"

Is this the man Ollie bit?
I asked
myself, second-guessing what was staring me in the face and not
really sure why. I decided to hold my tongue till the DNA tests on
Ramirez were completed and compared to the DNA that Carter's killer
left behind.

* * *

That afternoon, Sumiyo Ishimoto from the
crime lab phoned me with the results, having already presented them
to Ridge and Kawakami.

"There is a positive match with Antonio
Ramirez's DNA and the blood of the person your dog bit," she said.
"Ramirez was in your house the day Carter died and was bitten,
leaving behind his AB negative blood. Also, the fingerprints on
Ramirez's suicide note belonged to him. Given the circumstantial
evidence, I'd say you have your killer and the case is solved."

I could hardly argue the point, all things
considered. Everything led right to Ramirez as Carter's murderer.
Yet I still couldn't help but wonder if he might not have been a
fall guy for someone else. Or, I wondered, was I just reaching for
something when the evidence clearly indicated otherwise?

I brought it up to Sumiyo, who responded:
"Yes, it's always possible that Ramirez had an accomplice, but
there's no DNA evidence to support it. I'd say he was a lone
ranger, looking for some payback and finding it."

"Ramirez went through a lot of trouble to do
this," I said musingly, "and got little for it. It doesn't seem
like it was worth it if his brother is still left to languish in
prison."

"Who's to say what extreme measures a person
is willing to go through to make a lethal point?" Sumiyo said.
"Carter is dead and maybe for Ramirez any collateral damage,
including to himself, was more than worth it."

"Maybe you're right," I told her waveringly.
"Either that or we're still missing something...or someone."

"Don't torture yourself over this, Skye" she
said in a concerned voice. "We've all done our jobs to the best of
our abilities, with help from Antonio Ramirez. Carter couldn't ask
any more of us than that. Neither should you—"

Knowing that Ridge and Kawakami felt the
forensic evidence cemented their case against Ramirez, I resigned
myself to the conclusion that he was responsible for the murders of
Carter, Kalolo Nawahi, and Edwin Axelrod. Even Kazuo Pelekai, whose
murder was still under investigation, may have been the unfortunate
victim of Ramirez's twisted vengeance, though he didn't take credit
for that one.

There were still some unanswered questions
in my mind. But my objectivity in this case was very much in doubt.
I had let it become too personal.

The time had come to call it quits and get
back to being a private investigator without a personal agenda.

Later that evening, Ridge took me out to
dinner for what was billed by him as us starting all over again. He
seemed determined to help me put Carter out of my mind and life
once and for all. It seemed like an uphill battle, but I was
willing to at least put forth the effort.

CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE

Carter's will was going to be read at his
attorney's office. Now that the official police investigation into
his death had been closed and the expected chief beneficiary
cleared of all suspicions, the will could now be read.

I was surprised that I was invited, the
presumption being that Carter had left me something. I wanted
nothing from him that I didn't already have, which included good
memories. But curiosity caused me to show up, much to the chagrin
of his widow, who seemed to think I was going to somehow walk away
with everything she believed was rightfully hers.