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I'D LIVED IN LOS ANGELES for more than three years but still had to focus on keeping to the right while driving. Somehow the American rules of the road seemed easier while riding my motorbike back in LA. Negotiating the Hawaiian motorways in an unfamiliar car was more of a challenge.
About halfway to Haleiwa, the hospitality site app alerted me that I had a message. I pulled to the side of the road to check it. It was a message from the owner of the beachfront suite confirming it was available. I entered my credit card details for a three-day stay.
I didn't know if I'd be able to sort everything in three days. But, I reckoned if it took longer I'd be better off moving to a new place to stay. Staying at one place too long would make it easier for the police to find me. I had no way of knowing whether the police were looking for me or not, but it was the safe bet they were.
After I entered my details into the app, I received another message. The owner of the flat had provided the directions and instructions on where to pick up the key. I updated the GPS with the new address, put the car in gear, and drove back onto the road.
It was almost dark by the time I arrived at the owner's house where I was meant to pick up the key. A cheerful Hawaiian lady answered the door. She told me that the flat was a little way down the road and offered to walk over with me to show me the amenities. I thanked her but told her I was sure I could manage. Key in hand, I got back in the car. It had been a long day and tiring. I was also starving since I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Before going to the flat, I drove back into town to a fast food restaurant I'd passed on the way in. It was an island-themed chain whose menu featured traditional Hawaiian plate lunches. I could be a raving foodie, but after the day I'd had I wasn't feeling particular, only hungry so I went inside.
I ordered the shrimp curry plate. It came with a scoop of rice and a scoop of macaroni salad. It seemed every plate came with that. I reckoned that must be what made it “traditional Hawaiian” food. It wasn't bad, spicy but not too spicy, a mean feed. The macaroni salad was actually quite good. After finishing my dinner, I walked over to a petrol station next door. I bought a bottle of wine to take back to the flat. Then I got in the car and drove back there.
After letting myself in the flat, I took a hot shower and put on the sarong from my beach bag. All the clothes I'd brought on the trip were still at the hotel in Honolulu with my luggage. I'd have to pick up some new clothes tomorrow. I didn't fancy following the example of that Reacher bloke in the Lee Child novels. The guy only owned one suit of clothes at a time. The thought of wearing the same pair of undies for days on end was not attractive. No bloody way. I poured a glass of wine and sat down in front of the television. I switched it on and found a local news channel. Bugger. I had made the news.
A female reporter was standing in front of what I guessed was a police station. A photo of me appeared in the corner of the picture. It wasn't a great photo. I reckoned the police had pulled it from a security camera somewhere. Still, it was recognizable. The reporter began the story by reporting the death of Douglas Shaw. She characterized Shaw as a successful Honolulu businessman. The reporter said that HPD had found Shaw deceased in a Honolulu hotel room. She added that the police suspected foul play. The reporter didn't identify the hotel by name. I reckoned the Honolulu authorities withheld that sort of information. Honolulu's economy was dependent on tourism. No point in harming the tourism business of a popular Waikiki hotel by naming it. The hotel had simply suffered the misfortune of having a murder committed in one of its rooms. The reporter then turned her attention to me, and my photo was enlarged to take up most of the screen.
"HPD is looking for this woman, Tazzi J. O'Sullivan," the reporter said. "She is wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Douglas Shaw.” For fuck's sake, she announced my given name on television. She then gave my physical description.
The reporter continued. “A police spokesperson characterized O'Sullivan as a person of interest in the investigation. O'Sullivan was the registered guest staying in the room where police discovered Douglas Shaw's body. Police also told us that O'Sullivan had been observed entering the hotel shortly before police discovered the body. HPD had responded to the location to investigate a reported disturbance.” I switched off the television. Bloody hell.
It was official then, the police were looking for me. Besides clothes, I'd have to pick up some things tomorrow to alter my appearance. I hadn't killed Shaw and expected that if I went to the cops, at some point, they would realize I hadn't. But who knew how long that would take? And they might keep me in custody until they did. In police custody, I wouldn't be able to do anything to clear myself or find out what was going on with my case.
If they hadn't one already, I knew the police would get a warrant to pull my mobile phone and credit card records. The police could use the records to suss out my whereabouts. I'd used my credit card to rent the flat. I couldn't risk spending more than the one night here. I reached over and picked up my mobile off the coffee table. I switched it off. I took it into the kitchen.
Using a small knife I found in a drawer, I removed the two screws located near the dock connector. Then, pushing the rear panel of the phone towards the top, it moved up. Opening the phone, I removed the screw that secured the battery connector. I then removed the battery. I wouldn't use my credit cards again. And now there was no way the police could retrieve any further information from my mobile. I'd have to also buy a disposable mobile tomorrow. At least refraining from using the credit cards wouldn't pose a problem. I had one million dollars, the ransom money, in the boot of the car. I'd use that instead until this mess was over. That reminded me that I needed to get the money out of the car. It wouldn't be wise to leave it in the car overnight.
Putting on my jandals, I unlocked and opened the front door and stepped outside. A man stepped out from the shadows. He had a large semiautomatic pistol in his hand. Guns always look as large as a cannon when they pointed at you.
