Chapter Thirty-One

 

Behind him, Damon heard the crunch of loose gravel, but before he could dodge and whirl something hard came down on his head. With the blow came intense pain, exploding stars, then blackness.

****

A flash of pain shot through Malia’s skull and settled between her eyes. As if the pain were a premonition of present danger to Damon, she glanced around desperate to catch a glimpse of him. The cop in her, trained to deal with cold facts, didn’t give strong credence to signs or omens, but it was difficult to push away the spine-tingling urge to run around like a chicken with its head off looking for him. She had to stay cool and professional. Her job right now was to focus on the killer. He’d murdered at least three more people. The body count was mounting, and if she didn’t stop him, more would die.

After systematically striding through the crowd, looking for the perp, she located Ku and got his report. “We’ve covered every inch of the hotel and grounds,” he said, “and the killer’s not here.”

Ku would have told her if he’d seen Damon, so she held back an urge to ask. “The perp has to be here. How could he escape with the perimeter blocked off?”

The question hung in the smoky air unanswered, and as the afternoon wore on, she was forced to concede that the killer had indeed somehow slipped through their human blockade and escaped. His latest disguise, like all the others, had rendered him invisible. She remembered how classmates had taunted Al Lee, and called him ghost. If the killer was Al Lee, maybe the cruel nickname had become a reality. He’d learned to make himself invisible.

Was Damon invisible, too? She still hadn’t seen him. She’d run into Wilcox, and he hadn’t seen him either. Maybe when Damon ran into road blockades, he had turned around and gone back to Kopa’a’s place. She had Wilcox stand by while she checked with Kopa’a.

The phone rang and rang. Why wasn’t the recorder coming on? Kopa’a and Toby kept it on even when they were home. Since they were another of the non-cell-phone generation, Malia knew the only way to find out what was going on was to stop by and check on them before heading back to the office. But first she had to cover all the bases here. “Take a team,” she told Wilcox, “and check all parking garages, lots and street parking within a six-block radius.”

Her stomach knotted as she watched him walk away. Would this be another futile wild goose chase? She should stay and find out, but the search could take hours. Maybe a better use of her time would be to check on Kopa’a, who might actually know where Damon was. Torn, Malia flipped a coin. Heads she stayed; tails she left. She glared down at the buffalo head shining up at her. Dammit. Since when had she let a flip of a coin decide things for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Malia skidded to a stop in Kopa’a’s driveway and rushed to the door, not sure why she had this urgent uneasy feeling. At the door she heard only the tinkling of the wind chimes, no TV, no radio, no voices. The front slider window was open several inches. There was no sound inside, no whirring fans, nothing but stillness.

She tapped on the door and listened for footsteps. Silence. She knocked harder and heard only the hollow thump echo back at her. She headed around to the rear of the house. Wind gusted around her ankles and rustled the bougainvillea bushes. Standing on her tiptoes, Malia looked through one of the windows that lined the upper part of the garage door. The family car was inside. Her heart pounded. Something didn’t feel right.

She crossed the yard and entered the picket-fenced flower garden. After bending down on one knee, she located the key hidden inside the rotund statue of the God of Protection. The key was a bit rusty, but to her relief, it still unlocked the back door. She eased it open.

“Kopa’a,” she called. Toby? Anyone home?”

Inside, the kitchen looked neat as usual. She continued on to the living room which was tidy as well. Only the area around Toby’s favorite leather recliner was littered with an open newspaper, two out-of-kilter magazines, and a half a mug of coffee. The mug felt cold.

With the hardwood floors creaking beneath her steps, Malia roamed the house feeling like an intruder. Why? This had always been her home away from home, a place that had rung with laughter and the buzz of activity. Now, it was as silent as a scary scene in sci-fi horror movie where everyone had been abducted by aliens. She stiffened at her next off-the-wall thought. What if the killer had kidnapped them? That was overreaching a bit, but still the thought sent a chill down her spine.

She checked the message pads by the phones and found nothing, not even a scribble. Toby often had asthma attacks. She called 911 to see if an ambulance had been dispatched to this address. It hadn’t.

At the sound of a car pulling into the driveway next door, Malia rushed to the window. Kopa’a was helping Toby out of the front passenger seat of the neighbor’s old Cressida. Toby looked pale, and Kopa’a’s face was flushed, her eyes worried.

Malia hurried outside to greet them. She wanted to hug them, but their distraught demeanor made her hesitate. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

A silver-haired neighbor came around the car, a tentative smile on her face. “I gave them a ride to the ER. Toby couldn’t catch his breath. But the on-duty doc fixed him right up.” Her smiled widened briefly, then she glanced regretfully at Kopa’a. “I gotta skedaddle and feed my kitties now.” With that she turned and disappeared inside her house.

“Why didn’t someone call 911?” Malia knew why they hadn’t taken the family car. Kopa’a hadn’t driven for six months since fractures to her spine had made driving too painful and rendered her left leg unreliable.

Kopa’a let out an exasperated harrumph. “You know Toby. He’d have to be unconscious to get him into an ambulance.”

“You have to be firm with him, Auntie. One of these days a ride with the EMTs might save his life.” Auntie gave Toby an I-told-you-so look, and Malia knew she wasn’t saying anything that he hadn’t heard before, probably, many times. She took Toby’s arm gently and helped Kopa’a get him into the house and settled into his favorite recliner.

“Why wasn’t your recorder on?” Malia asked.

“Well,” Kopa’a said, “I must have accidentally turned it off.” She turned it back on. “I don’t want to miss any calls, especially with all the trouble that’s been brewing since Kiki’s murder.” A deep sadness pinched her expression. “Have you caught her killer, yet?”

Malia took a deep, bracing breath. “I’m sorry, not yet. When we do, you’ll be one of the first to know.” Before Kopa’a could push for more information, Malia asked the question she feared she already knew the answer to. “Have you seen or heard from Damon?”

Kopa’a shook her head. “Officer Wilcox told me Damon went chasing after you. Then after your call, the officer tore out of here with hardly a goodbye.” Without taking a breath, Kopa’a asked, “Do you have a message for Damon if he comes by?”

“Yes. Tell him to call me – and to stay put.”

Auntie Kopa’a wrinkled her forehead, and her eyes darkened. “What’s going on? Your tone worries me.”

“No time to explain things now. I have to get back to work. Don’t fret. You know me. I’m a worrier.” Malia hugged Kopa’a and Toby. “That’s one of the things that HPD pays me to do. I worry so you and the public won’t have to.”

She headed for her car, glad her auntie and uncle hadn’t pointed out that worrying was getting her nowhere. Still, the tug at her heart told her that she could do her job better if she knew Damon was safe.

****

In a coffin-of-darkness, zigzagging flashes of light stabbed at the back of Damon’s eyeballs. He closed his eyes against the lightning bolts of excruciating pain that jabbed at his skull. He tried to move; restraints dug into his skin and held him immobile. Sweat rolled down his face, soaking his body. His rapid heartbeat thudded against his chest. The gag in his mouth allowed only low guttural sounds to escape. He couldn’t get his mind to function. Stay calm, he told himself. Think back to the last thing you remember. But he remembered nothing. The darkness and restraints shouted that he was in serious danger.

Some niggling notion at the back of his mind that he couldn’t drag forward told him he’d been in danger before, had escaped before. He felt vibrations, heard the hum of an engine, the whir of tires against pavement. He was in the trunk of a car! Headed where? Why? Who was behind the wheel? He forced himself to ignore the excruciating pain, the roasting heat that sent sweat gushing from every pore of his body, and concentrate only on getting out. Placing his feet against the trunk wall, he rotated his body and walked his fingers, feeling for anything sharp. Heat and dizziness threatened to claim him again. Please, God, let me stay conscious. He felt the car come to a stop and footsteps outside coming in his direction.

****

Damon, where the hell are you? Malia stared into the bedroom mirror, wishing it could provide the answer she desperately needed. The morning sun coming through the open blinds did harsh things to her face, but rather than adjust the slats to soften the effect, she studied the dark circles under her eyes. A few more nights with little sleep, and she’d look her mother’s age, although her mother never had. Mom always looked twenty years younger than any of her friends. Malia smoothed back her hair and twisted it into a cone. Would her mom and dad throw fits when they learned she’d spent the night with Kiki’s parents instead of them? Maybe in light of the fire at her own place and the fire at the hotel, where she’d spent the previous night, they’d be relieved that she kept trouble away from their door. Auntie Kopa’a and Toby didn’t feel that way; they had opened their home and hearts to her. She had to make certain she didn’t bring more disaster into their lives. At first she’d hesitated about staying, but they insisted, saying with Damon missing they would feel better if she stayed with them.

As long as Damon was unaccounted for, nothing would make her feel better. She smeared on some hi-voltage pink lipstick to distract from the dark circles and grabbed her keys from the koa wood night table.

Passing through the living room on her way out, she paused and gave Kopa’a and Toby each a peck on the cheek. With steaming mugs of after-breakfast coffee in their hands, their gazes stayed glued to the local newscast.

“You’re not leaving without breakfast?” Kopa’a asked.

“I’ll pick up something on the way to work.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Kopa’a said. “Grab that white paper bag off the entry table. “It has a pancake sandwich with bacon and egg, a fruit cup and a thermos of tea in it.”

Malia was about to say, “you spoil me,” when their collective gazes locked on the coverage of the hotel fire. She shuddered, thinking of all the lives that could have been lost had the fire not been contained so quickly. The news commentators mentioned the luck aspect several times then speculated about the three murdered people found inside. Malia knew the families of the maintenance man, firefighter and security guard wouldn’t appreciate the luck

viewpoint.

Without taking her gaze from the TV, Kopa’a said, “If you hear from Damon, please give me a call right away.” Her face had gone pale, her expression drawn.

Malia took a big breath, fighting her own fear. “Of course, the minute I hear some good news.” She didn’t want to contemplate what she’d do if the news was bad. She had called Damon’s apartment repeatedly, and Wilcox had checked out Damon’s friend’s timeshare where Damon was supposed to be staying while she stayed in the hotel.

She left Kiki’s parent’s home, her uneasiness growing. She stopped by Damon’s apartment. The stubby Japanese-Hawaiian manager with a gray crop of Brillo-pad hair let her in.

“Hasn’t been around for days,” he said. Malia knew that except for yesterday, last night and this morning, Damon had been with her, or under the watchful eye of Wilcox. “Parking space stayed empty, and his mailbox is full.” He paused and cocked his head. “Kupanaha, very strange. Before, he’s always told me when he’s going to be away so I can bring his mail in for him.” The manager’s bloodshot gaze met Malia’s. “With his wife being murdered, I’m worried about him.”

Even after she arrived at her office, the manager’s words stayed with her. Everyone was worried about Damon. If only he’d call….

She played her messages. In a monotone, Wilcox said, “We found Damon’s truck in a parking garage four blocks east of the hotel fire site.”

Her heart froze and skipped a beat. She felt the blood drain from her face.

Ku chose that moment to lumber into her office. He studied her expression. “Looks like you heard the news.” His forehead furrowed, and wariness glinted in his eyes.

Malia cleared her throat. “About finding Damon’s truck?”

Ku evaded her eyes for several heartbeats, and then his gaze softened and captured hers. Her stomach knotted. Soft looks from Ku was not a good sign. “About the blood discovered in the alley next to the fire site,” he said, grimly.

Her breath caught. Her hand shot to her breast where her heart beat wildly.

Ku continued as though if he stopped he couldn’t get out what he needed to tell her. “Forensics is running DNA on it.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “They’ll cross-match it with Damon’s blood.”

The room tilted, and she grabbed the edge of her desk.

“You okay?” Ku asked.

She forced her chin up. “Of course.” She wasn’t, but it was more important than ever to keep that to herself and hang tough. No way did she want to get pulled off the case now.

Malia waited until Ku left to allow the full impact of his words to hit her. She couldn’t have kept up her tough act much longer. What if the blood turned out to be Damon’s? Dear God, don’t let it be his. Tears misted her eyes. It was probably too late for such a prayer – with no sign of him – and then finding his truck abandoned. He’d been missing since yesterday afternoon. Almost twenty-four hours, she thought, her throat tight. And the killer had him! She knew it. Terrifying images flashed into her mind: Kiki in a fetal position in the trunk of her car, Rosado sprawled on white tile in the Martin Mansion, Ainsley, Nancy – the bloody images of the people who had died at the hands of this killer kept coming, heads bashed in – all dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the scenes of horror. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to stop shaking. Damon, dear Damon. Had she failed again? That had been the problem all of her life. She had never been able to save those she loved.

No more of this! she told herself. Stay focused, and don’t give in to the fear. She stood and paced in front of the window. Earlier she’d put out an all-points bulletin for him. But she couldn’t count on that. And it would take days, maybe weeks, to search every unoccupied building on the island … every uninhabited acre … and hours was all Damon had, if that.

Malia stopped and stared out the window barely aware of the dark clouds rolling in from the east. This killer thinks he’s infallible. Would he hide Damon under their noses? On a hunch, she sent a team to the pineapple field where Kiki had been found and a couple of men to the Martin Mansion. Think. Think. If the killer were Al, what would he do? He doesn’t like the sun. What dark or shady places had intrigued him? Caves, of course. But there were so many uncharted caverns along the mountain ranges. It would take more than luck to find Damon.

She jumped when her phone rang. She glanced at the unfamiliar caller ID and pushed a button to activate a trace.

“Don’t trace this call,” an electronically altered voice said. “Or I won’t deal.”

Tension pulsed through her. She gripped the receiver tighter. “Deal? What kind of deal?”

“You for Damon,” the voice said.

The killer wanted her to know he had Damon. Fighting to retain control, she buried how much she cared and hardened her voice. “And why would I do something as stupid as that?”

The line went dead.

Dear God, what have I done? He hadn’t stayed on the line long enough to get the trace. And she might have goaded him into doing something rash. Damn, damn, damn. She had an urge to pound the phone into smitthereens with the receiver. She took a deep breath. Okay. He’s playing with me. He’ll call back.

Ten long, agonizing minutes passed. She couldn’t just wait here with the clock ticking on Damon’s life. She transferred her incoming calls to her cell and headed for Ku’s office to brief him on the latest development.

“I was just coming to see you,” Ku said. “Last night one of our 911 operators took a call from a teenager, who refused to identify himself. The kid claimed when he skateboarded past a car in the Aina Haina Shopping Center, he heard noises coming from the trunk. The operator sent a man out right away, but when he didn’t find anything, including the teen, he figured the call might be a prank.” Ku’s eyes didn’t dull. Instead, they glinted with new excitement and his words speeded. “Then a few minutes ago, a woman called. Said it was probably nothing, but last night her little girl claimed to have heard thumps and moans coming from inside a trunk of a car near McDonald’s in the same shopping center. Since the child is prone to have an active imagaination, the harried mother ignored her ramblings. But when the kid kept fretting and talking about the noises even today, she decided to notify us.”

Malia could scarcely breathe. “What was the make of the car?”

“The little girl claimed it was just like her auntie’s car, which her mom said was a blue Nissan Altima.”

The words blue Nissan Altima brought back an indelible memory. It was early in the case shortly after Kiki’s murder. I’d been teed off with my parents, as usual, but because of the hang-up calls I’d been receiving, not too teed off to take in my surroundings. In my rearview mirror, I’d noticed a blue Nissan Altima make a U-turn and follow me. She’d barely digested that vision when a new one flashed in her mind like movie trailer: the fire at her house; the killer running to an Altima. Damon had sped onto the freeway after him, but the Altima had disappeared. It had to be the same car as the one the child saw last night! Was the little girl right? Had Damon been in the trunk? The image of Kiki in a fetal position in the trunk of her car washed over Malia again. Kiki’s head bashed in. Dear God, let Damon still be alive.

Malia breathed in and out slowly like the rhythm of the tides, trying to keep the building panic from her voice. She cleared her dry throat. “The make of the car fits our perp. Order a trunk check on every Altima on this island.” She knew it was an impossible task, but they had to at least try. “Start in Aina Haina and work east. And get a chopper up in the sky to look for blue Altimas in isolated places or near known deserted buildings. “Call my cell if you need me. I’m going to cruise the A.H. Shopping Center myself. Maybe I’ll luck out and spot our killer.”