Chapter Six

 

Damon was struck by the eerie predawn silence as he and the detectives paused outside his apartment door. Probably finding a dead body just hours ago and sleep deprivation had something to do with his dark slant. Even the hallway lights seemed dimmer. It was for the best. Bright lights would be torture right now. His eyes felt gritty, and he could hardly keep them open. If lucky, once he gave the detectives the taped calls they would leave quickly. The last two days had been hell, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sack out, probably all day.

Ku un-handcuffed him, and Damon unlocked the door. Shadowed by Malia and the big Hawaiian, he confidently stepped inside and flipped on the lights. He gasped at the chaos – overturned furniture, drawers dumped. His confidence shriveled. He knew before checking the tape of the call would be gone.

“Either you’ve had company,” Ku said gruffly, “or you’re the biggest slob on O’ahu.”

Damon didn’t need a building to fall on him to know that the big Hawaiian didn’t like him.

“Or,” Ku said with sarcasm in his tone, “maybe you tore the place up yourself to make us believe your wild-assed story.”

Malia glanced at Ku with a masked expression. “Get CSU over here,” she said. “I presume you read Mr. Shaw his rights.”

“In my best radio announcer voice,” Ku said, without cracking a smile.

Damon’s heart pounded. He was caught in a nightmare with two comedian detectives with grim faces, albeit one was very beautiful, who wanted to slam him in jail and weld the doors closed.

“Okay, Mr. Shaw,” Malia said. “Until morning, you’ll be the guest of the HPD.” She made a circular motion for him to turn around.

“I want my attorney.”

“You can call him – or her, from downtown.” Malia’s smoky voice wrapped around him like vog from Volcano Kiluea, making him dizzy, off balance.

When she came close to slap on the handcuffs, he smelled her shower-fresh scent and something musky like she’d just crawled out of bed. The combination was sexy as hell. How could he think of sex with his freedom on the line? “Is this how you treat people who try to do the right thing? I could’ve left and you would’ve never known I was at Ainsley’s place. Think, Detective. What could my motive be for killing a woman I’d never heard of

before tonight?”

Malia paced, moving with a tired grace. Then she stopped and turned to Ku. “Run Ainsley Knowles’s name – see if her maiden name was Carpenter.”

Damon didn’t know what was brewing in Malia’s mind, but strangely enough he trusted her to get to the truth. She was as dedicated as any cop he’d ever seen, and her intensity and stamina impressed the hell out of him. “Why aren’t you checking out Gabriel Rosado?” he asked.

Malia shot him a sharp look. “We’re working on it. He hasn’t been home.”

“Maybe because he’s out murdering people.”

Malia studied him, looking truly troubled. “For now I’m concentrating on you. I think you’re holding something back. I’ve felt it from the start.”

Damon’s heart pounded. This was his chance to get everything out in the open. But his attorney had said to keep his mouth shut until they met.

“Yeah,” Ku said, “spill your guts, and clear your conscience.”

Even if Damon was willing to ignore his attorney’s advice, which he wasn’t, the nasty tone in Ku’s voice would have squelched any desire to come clean. “Pick up Rosado, and you’ll solve this case quickly and get big, fat promotions,” Damon growled.

“You, of all people, should know this isn’t about promotions,” Malia said, her voice tired.

He knew that. His remark wasn’t meant for Malia. He could see that she was running on adrenaline. He longed to brush the wisps of hair from her face. Being a homicide detective couldn’t be easy. Especially when one of the victims was her best friend. What was wrong with him, worrying about Malia? He was the one in trouble. And to make sure he couldn’t dig himself out, someone had invaded his closely-held private world and destroyed the proof that might’ve gotten him off the hook. Who was setting him up? And why? He looked past the mess into the den. His computer seemed to be upright. “Before we leave, I’d like to check out the other rooms.”

Malia walked with him, the rhythm of her long-legged stride fluid, like a runner. “Interesting,” she said. “Whoever did this didn’t touch your computer, or work area.”

Damon groaned. The good condition of his writing sanctuary struck another point against him. It was no surprise that a smart officer like Malia Reed picked up on it. “That only proves your killer is a setup artist,” he said. Damon needed her to trust him, believe him, yet as long as he held back the truth, she had every reason not to.

From the doorway, Ku said. “Looks like my theory might’ve been right, Shaw. You did this, but couldn’t bring yourself to mess with your writing room.”

The doubt clouding Malia’s face darkened. The evidence of her dwindling faith tightened the knot in Damon’s gut. “Don’t you get it?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “You’re playing right into the hands of the crafty bastard who’s setting me up.”

****

With only the couple hours’ sleep she’d snatched in the women’s lounge at the HPD, she definitely wasn’t at her best to endure what lay ahead. But with determination in her heart and morning sunshine heating her back, she headed for the M.E. pathologist lab in the morgue. In spite of the ribbon of warmth, she was painfully cold, and her inner cold made little sense in the warm tropical air. Why was she putting herself through the torture of Kiki’s autopsy? She could have excused herself, but it would be regarded as a show of weakness; and weakness wasn’t something women cops could afford to let male cops see. She’d always hated watching the exam. She could do it because it was part of her job, but witnessing the impersonal probing-assault of someone she cared for might be asking too much of herself. God, if you just get me through this...

Malia suited up, donning gown, paper shoe covers, gloves and a bouffant paper cap. Walking into the lab was like stepping into a deep freeze. Her skin was so icy it hurt. At least she wouldn’t fall asleep. There were five others in the room, all looking grim. Kwock and Morales nodded to acknowledge her. Dr. Fong’s assistant set up the lights and instruments. Malia smeared Vicks under her nose to help mask the stench that polluted the room. Dr. Lee, the pathologist, stepped into position to gather the evidence slides. Malia felt Kwock’s and Morales’ eyes on her. Rather than watching the autopsy, they were waiting for her to break. They probably even had a bet going. Somehow their certainty that she’d fall apart kept her from turning away. If they spotted any weakness, she’d lose the credibility she’d worked so hard to build. Nausea welled up within her. She needed a distraction. Quickly Damon came to mind. Although hating herself for using a suspect as a mental crutch, she locked in on his clean-cut image.

Miraculously, she got through the autopsy. She asked for a rush on the report, then, as stoically as possible, fled the room. Dr. Lee would do his best. He knew how important this was to her. Their places had been reversed when a gang lord had murdered his nephew. She had moved the case up, given it top priority and secured enough of the evidence to lock the boy’s killer away for life. Thoughts of a past success failed to dull the sickening impact of Kiki’s autopsy. Malia thrust off her sterile paper protective clothing, headed for the restroom, and retched. She scrubbed up, imagining the smell of death still clinging to her. She felt contaminated. And angry. So damned angry. She couldn’t think of Kiki’s murder without seeing her friend’s distorted face.

In the HPD Building, Malia passed Homicide Chief Michael Tonga’s open door. “Reed, hold up a minute,” he said in a voice made huskier by a two-pack a day habit. “We need to talk.”

He looked at her with sad, owlish brown eyes. He was a mixture of Chinese, Caucasian and Samoan. His Samoan genes accounted for his intimidating size, which he used to keep his people in line. He seldom called anyone into his office. When he did, it was never good news.

Damn, she was in no mood for this. “I was just going to type up my report on the Kunia Road murder for you.”

“Sorry about your friend.”

She wondered who’d blabbed. News spread like wildfire in the department. It would have been better if she’d had a chance to tell him herself. “Thank you.”

“Under the circumstances, I think Kwock should handle this case,” Tonga said with finality in his tone.

Her heart pounded. “Don’t do this.” She met his hard look with all the toughness she could muster. “I’m the right officer for this investigation. I’ve already gotten through the hardest part – the autopsy. If at any moment I think I can’t do the job, I’ll step down.”

He stared at her for a long time. The tension between them was spun so tight, the threads hummed, ready to snap. “This is a bad time. We have fifty officers retiring early, and twenty dignitaries coming in from crucial countries to meet with the president. Security is going to be a bear. And I really need Kwock to handle security. Dammit, we’re never been in a worse predicament or shorter staffed in homicide. You’re an outstanding investigator, but…

“No buts, Sir. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

“Okay, Reed, but only because my back is against the wall. Don’t disappoint me. The mayor wants to know why two realtors are dead. The serial murders are making the real estate community nervous.”

Thanks to the TV media, Malia thought. Several stations had carried the story first thing this morning, linking Kiki and Ainsley by their profession.

“This case is my top priority,” she said, and rushed out the door before he could change his mind. She passed her coworkers with their eyes cast down, no doubt thinking she’d been yanked off the case. Feeling no sense of euphoria at her shaky win, Malia entered her office and slid behind her desk, acutely aware of the case’s ticking clock. She picked up Kiki’s file and concentrated on it, looking for anything she might have missed. Now, in addition to wanting to get justice for Kiki, her job was on the line. She pulled out the still-life crime scene photos from both Kiki’s and Ainsley’s murders and spread them across her desk like a deck of glossy tarot cards, knowing the answers wouldn’t magically appear. She’d have to dig for them. How did Kiki’s killer escape the Kunia fields where the body was found? The police interview teams hadn’t come up with any witnesses. But someone must have seen something. So far all she had to go on were gut feelings.

Damon, with his gentle green eyes, didn’t strike her as a killer. But she could be wrong. She didn’t have any evidence to hold him – or to cross him off her list of suspects.

After thirty minutes of getting nowhere, she stretched. God, she needed a break. She poured water from the carafe on the hot plate into the rainbow-mug that Ku had given to her when she got promoted. He never said much, but his actions spoke for him.

Fighting tiredness from getting only a few hours sleep, Malia drank her English Breakfast tea, nibbled on a chocolate-peanut-butter bar and stared at the files of the victims piling up on her desk. Her feelings about the dead blended together like merging rivers of blood.

Ku stuck his head through the doorway. “Heard you let Shaw go. Not a good idea.”

“His attorney demanded it with good cause. The CSU boys finished up at Damon’s apartment,” she said, resenting that Ku was second guessing her. “They didn’t come up with any prints other than his, but they found deep gouges in the lock plate of the door which supported a possible break-in. Besides, I couldn’t come up with a motive for the second murder.”

“What if the only motive was to confuse and throw blame in another direction?” Ku asked, his unflinching gaze making her uneasy.

She’d thought he was above playing the testing game, unlike some of the other cops. Well, if he was waiting for her to come up short, this was the case that could do it. “If you’re making a point—”

“Hope that chemistry thing I’m sensing between you and Shaw isn’t clouding your judgment.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “The only chemistry between Damon Shaw and me is a DNA test.”

“He gave you a blood sample?” Ku sounded surprised.

Rattling Ku with the unexpected gave Malia a curious sense of pleasure. “Yeah,” she said. “And while we’re waiting for the results, I put a tail on him. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Think you covered all the bases, eh?” Malia detected sarcasm in his tone. He kept his beefy arms folded in front of him, edging closer until he towered over her. His gaze bored into hers. “What if I told you there’s more to Kiki’s murder than jealous rage?”

Malia’s heart skipped a beat. “Is it about the insurance policy?” Her throat tightened, dreading an answer that would ruin her day.

Ku reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Right. Kiki never changed her life insurance. Shaw’s still the beneficiary.”

Malia’s gaze shot up to meet Ku’s.

“Thought that’d get your attention,” he said

Malia held herself rigid, trying to hide the impact the news had on her. She didn’t have to ask how much. When Kiki had hit it big in real estate, she’d taken out a million dollar policy and made her parents the beneficiaries. When she married Damon, she changed it over to him. But when they separated, why hadn’t she changed it back?

Malia grabbed her keys. She had wanted an excuse to see Damon again, but not for something like this. “Let’s go talk to him.”