Trevor Baldwin lived in a cottage three blocks from Akiko's apartment complex. While Liam knocked on the door, I kept a hand in my purse in case I needed to go for my gun in self-defense.
It never came to that. Either Baldwin wasn't answering or he wasn't home.
"My guess is that he's onto us and has fled to parts unknown," Liam said, leaning against my car.
I wasn't so sure about that, but kept it to myself. "Well, at least we know who we're after."
"Yeah, Baldwin can run, but he can't hide," Liam said, "as cliché as it sounds."
I nodded while still trying to process the connection between Carter, Trevor Baldwin, Edwin Axelrod, and Antonio Ramirez.
Liam's cell phone rang. "It's my editor," he said. "I need to get this."
"Don't let me stop you," I told him and glanced up at Trevor Baldwin's house.
Liam was off the phone in a minute. "I've gotta go," he said, frowning as if we were in the middle of a date. "My editor wants me back now. He wants a story with everything I've got so far, which is plenty."
"Wouldn't it be better if you waited till Baldwin was under lock and key?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Maybe. But since neither of us knows how long that will take, the news can't wait."
I was inclined to agree to some extent. Maybe writing about Trevor Baldwin as a murder suspect would help flush him out in the open.
Liam and I went our separate ways with a promise to keep in touch on this recent turn of events and maybe even work together again in the future, should our paths cross. I had gained a whole new respect for the man, but was happy to keep it on a professional friendship level at this point, though he seemed to want more. I wasn't ready to give up the good thing I had going with Ridge anytime soon.
* * *
In my car, I phoned Ridge and gave him the run down on what we'd learned. I hated to break it to him that the case he thought was solved might not be after all.
"You and Liam have been busy," Ridge said unkindly, "doing police work."
"It's what we do, more or less," I told him. "Besides, I couldn't exactly come to you until I had something to go on."
"I'm not sure you do," he said. "It may be a bit of a stretch to think that Baldwin was the puppeteer for this string of murders, especially when the solid and circumstantial evidence points toward Antonio Ramirez."
"It fits," I said tersely. "I was never totally comfortable with Ramirez's suicide note or some of the other aspects of this case. I think Trevor Baldwin can fill in the blanks, assuming we find him."
Ridge sighed loudly into the phone. "If he really is responsible for killing Delaney and others, why don't you leave it to the police to handle from this point on," Ridge said firmly.
I was sure he already knew the answer, but told him anyway. "Because it's something I need to see through to the end."
Ridge didn't try to pull rank on me as a police detective or boyfriend. Nor did he back away from something that could reopen his case and tie up loose ends.
For my part and for Carter's sake, I hoped that having the man I believed to be a killer—Trevor Baldwin—in custody could give us both a little more peace and a resolution to the case that went beyond Antonio Ramirez.
* * *
"I've seen Trevor Baldwin before," I told Ridge while looking at the suspect's mug shot.
"Where?" he asked, peering at me as we stood by his desk.
"He was at my house the day Carter was killed, posing as a journalist," I said. "The bastard asked me what happened, as though he didn't have a clue. I never gave him much thought at the time, because I had other issues on my mind." Suddenly my mouth became a perfect O, as another memory surfaced. "I also saw him at the Whaler's Club when I had lunch with Liam Pratt. I thought then that he was kind of creepy, staring at me from the bar. But I ignored it, focusing instead on getting whatever info I could from Liam..."
"Damn," Ridge muttered, shaking his head. "The asshole's been stalking you as part of his sick game."
Kawakami approached us and said: "That's all interesting, Skye, but I still think it's pointless to try to tie him to our multiple murders." Kawakami frowned as he looked at Ridge and then me before continuing. "There's nothing that positively places Baldwin at your house at the time of Delaney's or Ramirez's deaths. No DNA, no fingerprints, no living witnesses. For all we know, everything else you dug up or think you did on Baldwin is purely coincidence."
I wasn't going to backpedal on this one. Not with the stakes so high. "Will you listen to yourself, Kawakami?" I said harshly. "It sounds like you're more interested in keeping this case closed for good than finding out the truth. How the hell much more information do you need in that thick skull of yours before you open up to the very real likelihood that Trevor Baldwin is the man responsible for Carter's death, among others?"
"A confession would be nice," Kawakami said.
"So maybe we can get a confession when we find him," I told him.
"Hold that thought," Ridge broke in. "As far as I'm concerned, there's clearly enough probable cause here to get a search warrant for Baldwin's residence. Hopefully, a judge will agree and we can pay the suspect's house an official visit. Who knows? Maybe we'll even find him there."
Half an hour later, equipped with the search warrant, Ridge, Kawakami, and I headed over to the home where we believed Trevor Baldwin lived.
With the very real possibility that he was armed and dangerous and possibly still on a mission to kill, Ridge requested a police backup unit, which had yet to arrive.
As with my prior visit with Liam, there was no indication anyone was home. I thought about Liam's belief that Baldwin was on the run. My gut instincts told me that he was still in Honolulu and no less a threat.
"I say we check it out," said Kawakami. "Hell, we can take him if he's unlucky enough to be in there. Worse for him if he gets in our way..."
While we sat in the car waiting for backup, Ridge said: "The guys ought to be here any minute. No sense taking chances."
"If I get a say," I offered tentatively, "I agree with Kawakami on this one. Baldwin doesn't even know we're onto him, if Akiko Higashi was smart enough to keep her big mouth shut. As far as he's concerned, everyone believes Antonio Ramirez is the guilty party. Case closed. If we wait much longer, it could cost us the element of surprise, assuming Baldwin is inside destroying evidence. Then who knows what might happen?"
Ridge seemed to contemplate it, and finally said: "What the hell. Let's go for it. Carefully—"
We left the car, not looking for a fight, per se, but ready to do battle if we had to. Kawakami knocked on the door. Ridge and I did not take out our weapons, but kept our hands on them, just in case.
The door opened after several knocks and a Filipino woman in her thirties stood there.
"Yes?" she asked with an accent.
Ridge identified himself, flashing his badge. "We're looking for Trevor Baldwin."
"He isn't here," she said, brushing a few strands of dark hair from her face. "I haven't seen him for two days."
We all exchanged dubious glances.
"What's your name?" Ridge asked.
"Maria," she responded.
"Maria what?"
"Enriquez," she responded.
"Are you his lady, Ms. Enriquez?" Ridge asked.
"No, just a friend," she said. "I look after the place when Trevor's away."
"Is anyone else inside?" Kawakami asked.
"No," she said quickly.
Ridge glanced my way and back. "We've got a warrant to search the premises." He showed it to her.
She fluttered her lashes. "What are you searching for?"
"Evidence in a murder investigation," he said brusquely. "As long as you stay out of the way, you can remain in the house."
She nodded meekly, and looked at me. I gazed back, wondering if she had any idea about her friend and the threat he posed to her.
We all went inside.
Mindful that Baldwin could actually be in the house, we kept our eyes open and instincts sharp. The place was a mess, as though the occupants could care less. Wearing latex gloves, we padded across dingy carpeting looking for anything that would tell us something meaningful and/or be admissible in a court of law.
In a downstairs room, I spotted a laptop computer on a glass table and immediately thought of the suicide notes that Carter and Antonio Ramirez allegedly wrote. There was a printer on a stand nearby.
"Ridge! Kawakami!" I called out.
Kawakami came running in, gun drawn. "What is it?"
Don't worry, it's not the boogie man, I thought, smiling. I nodded at the laptop and printer and said: "A hundred bucks says this computer and printer were used to create Ramirez's supposed suicide letter, not to mention Carter's faked last words—"
Kawakami frowned and put his weapon away. "I'll hold off on that bet for now."
I think he was starting to come around to the real possibility that Trevor Baldwin may have been up to his neck in this case.
We heard Ridge beckon us and followed the sound of his voice to a back room. Entering, we saw Ridge and Maria Enriquez, who he had used as an involuntary tour guide.
"Well, look what we've got here..." hummed Ridge.
The room had an arsenal of semiautomatic and automatic weapons, along with enough ammo to fuel a small army.
"Wonder how many of these he has a license for?" Kawakami asked jokingly.
"Obviously, he was prepared for any situation," I said uneasily. I recalled that Liam had mentioned Baldwin was a Gulf War vet. I wondered if he'd lost it somewhere between then and now.
Ridge looked at his reluctant host and asked: "Do you have any idea what Baldwin planned to use these for?"
"I never talked to him about this stuff," she said nervously. "He never offered to tell me why he kept so many weapons, except to say they were for protection."
"Protection, my ass," growled Kawakami. "He's the one that people need to be protected from."
"What's in there?" Ridge asked Maria, pointing at a closed door in the back of the room.
"I-I don't know," she stammered. "Trevor always keeps it locked."
"Well, maybe we should see what's behind door number one," Kawakami said humorlessly.
"Yeah, I agree," Ridge said.
It took a crowbar and some determination to pry the door open. We went into what appeared to be a darkroom and cut on the light. There were several black and white pictures and color enlargements clipped to a line. The first one I honed in on was a close-up photograph of Darlene and Edwin Axelrod kissing passionately. I had to admit that it was a much better picture than my own photos of the two former lovers. The second photograph was also of the adulterers in an even more steamy display of lust and loins.
Then my eyes rested on a picture that Ridge saw at the same time, prompting him to say: "What the hell..."
It was a photo of Ridge and me in living color on a day where we got wild and crazy and decided on the spur of the moment to get naked and intimate at Ridge's house.
"This sick bastard has really found some wicked ways to get his kicks," Kawakami said.
I think I was more embarrassed than Ridge. And I think Kawakami was more embarrassed than Ridge or me.
"Try not to stare too hard at it, Kawakami," I teased.
Ridge ripped the picture down. "He was in my house?"
"I think I can relate all too well," I told him sympathetically. I looked at the picture again. From the angle, I realized it could have been taken through an opening in the blinds from the outside, without either of us being the wiser.
"Just who and what are we dealing with here?" Ridge asked angrily.
"I'd say we've got a peeping Tom who murders people on the side," I suggested, suspecting it went even further than that.
My eyes scanned the other photos on display. Most were of me alone, with Ollie, more with Ridge, and even one of me with Carter in the doorway of my office.
"I'll look around some more out there," Kawakami said tactfully. "See what other interesting stuff the asshole's got lying around."
We watched him leave before Ridge asked me: "Why you—why us? What the hell's going on here, Skye?"
I decided to tell him what I couldn't bring myself to do before now, as I put two and two together. "I think Carter hired him to spy on me..."
Ridge knitted his brows. "What the hell for?"
I hunched a shoulder. "Who knows?"
"Why don't you take a guess," he pressed.
Well it had to come out sooner or later, I thought. After sucking in a deep breath, I said: "I think Carter developed an obsession for me that somehow got out of hand. He must have paid Baldwin to take pictures, only Baldwin kept some for his private stash—"
I saw no need to tell him about the journal at this point. As far as I was concerned, it should have been buried with Carter.
Ridge set his jaw, looking confused. "So you're telling me that Delaney and Baldwin were in this together?"
I responded: "Only to a point, I think. Carter certainly had nothing to do with what happened after his death. But Baldwin worked for him, apparently doing whatever little jobs Carter had in mind—till he caught Baldwin stealing and fired him. I think that he may have killed Carter out of revenge and killed the others to cover his tracks—"
Ridge ran both hands across the top of his head and said: "This whole thing is crazy."
I agreed. "I'm sorry, Ridge," I said sadly. More than he knew.
"Yeah," he snorted. "We'll talk about it later—"
The forensic investigation team took over and more evidence was discovered linking Trevor Baldwin to Antonio Ramirez, including a first aid kit and a sterile gauze roll with possible DNA from Ramirez, as well as circumstantial evidence connecting Baldwin to the death of Edwin Axelrod and Kalolo Nawahi. But it was the association between Baldwin and Carter involving me that was most unsettling. I wondered if Carter even had a clue as to what he was getting himself into by intruding into my life and Ridge's for reasons that made little sense, eventually costing him his life.
Ridge confiscated the more explicit photos and negatives of me and us, while Kawakami showed some class by turning his back to the whole thing. Meanwhile, the police had put out an APB on Trevor Baldwin. They believed he was still in town and, based on his impressive collection of weapons, he was described as a loose cannon willing to kill anyone who got near him.
* * *
Trevor Baldwin had been very clever, I thought. My home had been bugged and I assume the same was true for my office.
"This must be how he managed to stay one step ahead of the game," I told Ridge as we sat in my living room sipping wine. Outside, was an officer Ridge had assigned as my twenty-four-hour home and property guard. Inside, he had joined Ollie in protecting me from the man Ridge called a voyeuristic psychopath. "Trevor Baldwin had to have known about my initial meeting with Carter and our last scheduled appointment," I continued. "Then he and Ramirez must have followed him here to my house. But Baldwin couldn't have known at the time about Carter's blood type, which wasn't public info, until he overheard us talking about it at some point. The fact that Antonio Ramirez happened to have the same AB negative blood type was probably purely coincidental, but made him a perfect scapegoat nevertheless to get Baldwin off the hook. Almost—"
Ridge sipped his wine and then asked: "But why didn't Baldwin just blackmail Delaney or Edwin Axelrod? He probably had enough secrets on both men to bury them if he wanted to, figuratively speaking, while still keeping the money coming in."
"Maybe he found a higher bidder for his services," I suggested.
"You mean like Kazuo Pelekai?" Ridge asked.
"Why not?" I argued. "Once Baldwin had damaging information against Darlene and Carter, it wouldn't take much for him to discover someone who stood to gain from it. But Pelekai may have seen Trevor Baldwin as an unstable personality who could be more useful taking out Carter altogether—"
Ridge nodded in agreement and said: "Too bad we may never be able to prove it, unless Baldwin suddenly develops a conscience when we get him in custody—"
"I still haven't quite figured out why Kalolo Nawahi and Edwin Axelrod had to die," I muttered, staring into my wine. "Baldwin obviously knew about their connection to Darlene. He must have used them to throw off the investigation and me—"
"Maybe," said Ridge. "But I wouldn't put it past Kazuo Pelekai to have gotten rid of Axelrod himself since he probably considered him more of a liability than an asset. And maybe he took out Nawahi, too, as a smalltime competitor he could do without."
I couldn't dismiss his logic, even if my instincts told me that Trevor Baldwin probably also had a hand in their deaths.
We didn't go to bed till after midnight. Even then, restless tossing and turning replaced any semblance of a peaceful sleep.
It wasn't until the following morning over breakfast that conversation about the revealing photographs and Carter resumed.
Ridge said with an edge to his voice: "What I'd like to know is what the hell else did Baldwin discover about you and me that he spoon fed to your ex?"
"Whatever he learned," I said thoughtfully, "I'm sure it wasn't very fulfilling for either of them."
A full minute went by before Ridge asked: "What did Delaney hope to gain by spying on you?"
"I doubt it was to win me back," I told him reassuringly, scooping up a spoonful of Shredded Wheat. "Knowing him, though obviously not as well as I thought I did, Carter probably viewed this as his own private game of voyeurism and nostalgia all wrapped in one not so neat package, where he made up the rules as he went along. He probably thought he could control it." I paused to eat some more cereal. "Only he went too far," I continued, "and it started to control him instead—"
"That may be great for a psych class," Ridge said, "but the way I see it, Delaney knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he'd lost a good thing in you and used his money and power to get back whatever part of you he could." Ridge sipped his coffee and continued: "He was a mass of contradictions: a successful attorney and even more successful businessman on the one hand and a jealous, domineering, gambling, obsessive, weak loser on the other. As this damned thing has unfolded, Delaney comes across as something akin to a modern day Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde..."
"I think you're right...and it cost him dearly," I said sadly, still trying to come to terms with it.
Meanwhile Doctor Frankenstein's monster was still very much on the prowl.