Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (18 page)

Pelekai didn't even flinch. "Yeah, I heard
about his death. What does it have to do with me?"

Ridge replied: "Mind if we come in?"

Pelekai looked at him distrustfully. "Yes, I
mind. Do you have a warrant?"

We didn't, but I wasn't about to let that
deter us. "Why, do you have something to hide, Pelekai?" I asked.
"We just want to ask you a few questions, that's all."

He shifted his eyes from me to Ridge and
back. Displaying a slight grin, he said: "All right. Come in—"

We guardedly followed him into the house
that looked even larger on the inside. Two very big muscular
bodyguards greeted him and glared at us.

"It's fine," he told them. "They want to ask
me some questions about Carter Delaney—"

Pelekai's associates remained tense, but did
not speak or appear as if they were ready to present a problem
without Pelekai's say so. We were led across a hardwood floor past
the traditionally furnished living room to a formal dining room,
where a long wooden table was loaded with a variety of traditional
Hawaiian foods. At the far end sat a thirty-something, attractive
Asian woman with shoulder length dark hair.

"This is my wife, Shizue," Pelekai said,
introducing her as if we were the new neighbors. To her, he said:
"We've got some visitors. Detective Larsen and—" He looked me in
the eye.

"Skye Delaney," I told him. The name seemed
to draw everyone's attention.

"Would you like something to eat?" Shizue
asked politely.

Before I could decline, Ridge said: "We
didn't come here for dinner."

Pelekai kept his cool. "Okay, then let's go
to my study to talk." He looked at his wife and said: "Start
eating. I won't be long."

She looked disappointed, but complied.

Pelekai raised his hand to halt his
bodyguards. "I'll do this alone," he told them. "Sit and eat."

They did as he asked and we followed Pelekai
down a curving hallway and past several well-appointed rooms, until
he pulled open double doors leading to the study.

Once we were inside, he leveled his eyes at
me. "Let's get this over with. Ask your questions..."

He was clearly a confident man who was no
stranger in talking to the police, and probably private
investigators as well. Ridge and I looked at each other and
realized that since this visit was not part of the official police
investigation, Kazuo Pelekai was within his rights to talk or not.
Obviously, he had made up his mind to say something, but we weren't
holding our breaths that it would be an outright confession.

"Okay," I said, "did you have anything to do
with Carter Delaney's murder?"

"You his wife?" he asked curiously.

"Ex, which is beside the point," I told
him.

Pelekai seemed to let that sink in before
saying: "Like I already told the other cops, I don't know anything
about Delaney's death, other than what I heard on the news—"

"Cut the crap, Pelekai," Ridge said with an
edge to his voice. "We both know you've had it in for Delaney since
his prosecutor days. It was just a matter of time before you and
your crime syndicate cronies were on your way to the state pen,
thanks to some of his efforts that continued to put the squeeze on
your operations. So maybe you started feeling the heat and figured
you would be better off just getting rid of the man who was giving
you nightmares, once and for all."

Pelekai's nostrils flared. "You come into
my
house and make such wild accusations, while offering no
proof? If you expected some type of confession to a made up story,
you've wasted your time and mine. I had no part whatsoever in
Carter Delaney's murder and don't know who did!"

He showed no sign of buckling under
pressure, which was still far from making him an innocent man. I
decided to come at him from a different angle.

"There are rumors flying all around town,
Pelekai, that you
did
play a role in Carter's murder," I
told him. "I would think that kind of negative publicity of killing
a former prosecutor would be very bad for business. Is that what
you really want?"

He glared at me. "Ms. Delaney, rumors mean
nothing without solid evidence to back them up. I'll be honest when
I say I'm not shedding any tears over Carter Delaney's death. But
that doesn't mean I had anything to do with killing him. No
respectable businessman, which I am, would take out Delaney in this
city. As you say, it would be very bad for business..."

If nothing else, Pelekai impressed me with
his poise and façade of innocence. But was it reverse psychology?
Or was it an indication that he truly was the wrong person to point
the finger at for Carter's murder? Even if that were that the case,
it didn't mean someone from his inner circle hadn't done the dirty
deed, with or without Pelekai's knowledge, having just as much to
lose if he went down.

In spite of his attempt to distance himself
from Carter's death, something told me that Pelekai knew more than
he was letting on. So, grasping at straws, I asked: "If you had
nothing to do with Carter's death, then who did? Give us a
name—"

He chuckled. "I'm not a psychic, Ms.
Delaney. Sorry, but I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?" I tossed back at him. Then
I threw in another angle that was worth a try, even if out of my
control: "Giving us something to work with now might give the
P.A.'s office a good excuse to find someone else to go after—"

Pelekai seemed to ponder the notion, but
refused to budge from his position.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Ridge told
me. "We're not getting anywhere with him." He issued a warning to
Pelekai: "Next time you see me, it won't be a voluntary
chitchat—"

Pelekai clasped his hands together. "I'm
always willing to cooperate with the authorities," he said, "as
long as it doesn't become harassment."

It was hard to argue the point, so I didn't.
I decided it was best to save that for another day when we were
better equipped to back up our suspicions that Kazuo Pelekai was a
key part of the puzzle that resulted in Carter's premature
death.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

After we left Pelekai's place, Ridge asked
me: "So, other than being a well positioned drug dealer, illegal
firearms dealer, pimp, and all around son of a bitch thought to be
involved in organized crime throughout the islands and on the
mainland, what was your take on Pelekai?"

As if those things weren't bad enough, I
answered bluntly: "He knows something about Carter's murder. Don't
ask me what. Call it women's intuition."

"Maybe," Ridge said, sounding less than
convinced. "Try taking that to court."

"I didn't say he killed Carter," I told
Ridge. "I'm pretty sure Pelekai wouldn't do the dirty work himself,
but that doesn't mean one of his bodyguards or other associates
couldn't have done the deed."

"Yeah, I agree," Ridge said. "We've had our
eyes on the so-called bodyguards for some time now. Alfonso
Takemoto and Masakazu Miyoshi. A couple of scumbags who are
suspected of drug dealing and assault, among other things. They're
also suspects in a drive-by shooting that killed a snitch named
Frankie Pokipala."

I wondered what Ridge meant about the cops
having their eyes on the bodyguards. Either they believed Kazuo
Pelekai and his comrades were involved in Carter's death or they
didn't, apart from their other alleged criminal activity. I
steadied the car over a bumpy stretch of road, then inquired
innocuously: "Does the P.A.'s office, or your office for that
matter, really think it has a case against Pelekai in Carter's
death? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?"

Ridge ran a hand across his head, which also
seemed to give him time to consider the question carefully. "Sure
would wrap things up in a nice, neat little package if we could
arrest Pelekai and his cronies for Carter's murder," he admitted.
"And, to be quite honest about it, it would make our job in the
department a hell of a lot easier if they were all locked
away—"

I flashed him a look of skepticism. "Does
easier
mean looking for a scapegoat instead of finding the
real
murderer?" I had to ask, though I already knew the
answer.

"We're doing the best we can," Ridge said
defensively. "Carter Delaney, like him or not, left his mark on
this city and many of the people in it. No one in the department
wants to pin his death on the wrong person or persons. If Pelekai
had nothing to do with it—and I'm not sure I buy that—he'll be
dropped from our list of suspects and we'll go on from there."

"Sorry," I told him sincerely. "Guess it's
easier being a cop when you're not one anymore." This seemed
especially true when it happened to be your ex-husband's murder
that was being investigated.

"Hey, there's nothing in the rule books that
says a cop who retired ahead of schedule can't rejoin the force,"
Ridge hinted. "I think it would be fun working with you officially
for a change."

"Don't hold your breath," I warned him.
"There's no amount of money or other enticements that could get me
to give up my freedom to return to the grind of the rank and file.
Besides, I'm not sure you could handle dating someone you had to
work side by side with on a daily basis."

He must have agreed, given his sudden loss
of speech.

* * *

Ridge and I went to dinner at a place on Ala
Moana Boulevard called Yoshio's Bar & Grill, where we ordered
smoked salmon and fettuccini.

I took a sip of red wine before asking
Ridge: "So how the hell does someone with Carter's same rare blood
type follow him to my house, strangle him, dump him in the Jacuzzi
tub, lose some flesh and blood to Ollie's fangs, and then manage to
apparently go underground—all without being seen or heard by
anyone? It can't be that easy to hide in Honolulu."

If that was a mouthful, Ridge seemed able to
digest it with one even swallow. "Obviously, the whole thing was
well thought out and executed without a hitch, except for Ollie's
ferocious appetite. And maybe it wasn't so ferocious after all.
Unless he bit a doctor, it couldn't have been much more than a
flesh wound, since there's no indication the person was treated
anywhere on the island."

A thought occurred to me as I tasted more
wine. "Do you remember reading about that clinic
in Manoa on
Punahou Street that was shut down
a few weeks ago due to unsanitary conditions?"

"Yeah, why?" Ridge asked.

"I think I heard they were back in business
while they appealed their case," I told him.

"So?"

"So," I said, "whoever Ollie bit could have
gone there for treatment..."

"That's assuming they knew the clinic
existed, much less reopened," Ridge said skeptically.

"But it makes sense," I said. "The clinic
isn't far from my house, and just about every other medical
facility in the city has already been accounted for. Being under
the radar, it would have been the perfect place to get patched
up."

Ridge dribbled his fingers on the table
pensively. "Seems like a stretch, but I suppose it's worth checking
out."

That told me the cops hadn't checked it out
yet. It was a surprising oversight for a police force that was
supposedly checking every nook and cranny to find Carter's killer.
I didn't blame Ridge, per se. He may have been in charge of the
investigation, but he was only one man dependent on the
professionalism and dedication of his partner and their
subordinates.

Meaning I needed to check out the clinic
myself and see if it led anywhere.

The conversation turned to topics more
suitable for two people who were seeing each other socially, if not
sexually of late. The timing for intimacy hadn't been right, and
the mood had definitely been all wrong ever since Carter's death,
as if he were somehow sabotaging my relationship with Ridge even
from the grave.

This night was no different, as I dropped
Ridge off at his house and went straight to my own, favoring my
company over his. He didn't press it, and I hated putting him in a
position where he had every right to press. I didn't want to lose
him, but was afraid I might do just that if he got tired of waiting
while I sorted out what I needed to.

Sleep was my escape—but it came at a price.
In a dream, Carter came back to haunt me in the image of how I had
last seen him dead in my tub. I awoke in a cold sweat and went to
the kitchen for a glass of water. It seemed like Ollie was also
having a restless sleep. I found him half-draped over a living room
chair, whimpering.

"It's just a bad dream, boy," I said, gently
running my hand across his head. "Maybe water will work for you,
too?" He licked my hand. I took that as a yes and put my glass to
his mouth where he quickly lapped up the rest of the water with his
tongue.

Back in bed, with Ollie on the floor beside
me, I was ready to give sleep another try. When it finally came, I
was spared the nightmare of Carter's death. But I had a feeling
that it was merely waiting for another time and place to strike
again.

CHAPTER
THIRTY

Manoa was less
than a mile from Waikiki and home of the
University of Hawaii at
Manoa. It was also where the Manoa Aloha Clinic had
recently reopened its doors.

It
was
nearly noon when I stepped inside the clinic. The place was crowded
with people waiting to be treated and in various stages of health.
I headed over to the reception counter, where I saw a
thirty-something receptionist with thick dark hair and blonde
highlights.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I need some
information—"