Blood Orchids Read online

  “Go on.”

  “I know I just said it didn’t interfere with the job but sometimes I think it does. Like today. And the thing that made me have to come in for counseling.”

  She took a deep breath and told Dr. Wilson about the stalker, how she thought the murder investigation and the stalker were connected somehow, though she hadn’t yet found the link. She finished with how she’d gone after the stalker with her gun and dog.

  “If I had been thinking clearly I wouldn’t have done that.”

  “I don’t know.” Dr. Wilson shrugged. “If it had worked, it would have been awesome.”

  “Yeah. It would have.” Lei broke into a grin. This was the first time anyone had said anything positive about her action. “I’ll get him next time. Only, the guys are hovering around, taking turns keeping an eye on me. Detective Stevens has been sleeping over to guard me.”

  “One.” Dr. Wilson held up her hand, folding down her fingers as she made her points. “The guys think the stalker is a real threat and you’re in danger. Ergo, you should take it seriously too. Two: Stevens may have more than helping in mind when he stays over. Three: maybe these cases are connected and you could bust the stalker and find the murderer at the same time.Tell me again what makes you think they’re connected?”

  “I don’t really know.” Lei rubbed her hands up and down her slacks. “I just have a feeling. I’m also freaked out about Mary.” She filled the psychologist in on her budding friendship with Mary, and the other woman’s disappearance.

  “It doesn’t seem all that farfetched that this is all connected somehow,” Dr. Wilson said. A tiny line had appeared between her smooth sandy brows. “How often do we have a case of unknown stalking, drowning, and disappearance in Hilo? I wouldn’t be surprised if more comes out when Mary is found.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Well, your time’s up. Let’s get together next week, same time.”

  “Okay,” Lei stood up, headed for the door, and then turned back. “This wasn’t so bad. Thanks.”

  “Oh, music to my ears,” Dr. Wilson said, laughing. “You did all the work and I get the credit. That’s why I love my job.”

  Lei went straight to her desk. She knew she should go back to help with the search, but she hadn’t had time to do anything about Mary. She sat down and called the Puna Police Department.

  “I might have a lead on Mary Gomes,” Lei said when she was transferred to the investigator on the case, Lono Smith. “I got delivered a piece of long black hair from someone who’s been stalking me. I thought it might be Mary’s. It was dropped off at my house with a threatening note.”

  “Do you have it logged in to evidence?” Lono asked. She could hear the clicking of his keyboard.

  “Yes. If you want to compare Mary’s hair and what the stalker left, it’s here at South Hilo Station.”

  “On my way,” Lono said. “We move fast for our own.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Lei felt her throat close. She cleared it, blinking. “The hair has no follicles though—it will have to be a visual comparison.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll keep in touch.” He rang off.

  Lei sat back in her squeaking orange chair, did a few spins to discharge stress as she called Stevens.

  “Still need me?” she asked when he picked up.

  “Nope. We cleared out just ahead of Reynolds and his lawyer,” he said. “I have the computer with me. We’re going to do a more thorough search at the station. You can call it a day—I’ll be by later.”

  She sat silently, thinking of what Dr. Wilson had said.

  “Okay.”

  “What, you feeling all right? No arguing?”

  “I’ve decided to rely on my senior officer’s estimation of the situation.”

  He laughed. “Oh that’s just great. Now I’m a senior. Just don’t forget that futon.” He clicked off.

  She smiled, shutting down her workstation and feeling the triangle of Stevens’ note as she left the building. She headed out to Wal-Mart and bought a set of twin sheets, a new pillow, and a futon. Who knows, I might need it for guests, she told herself, stowing it in the truck.

  She remembered the package slip from the other night. She still had time to swing by the post office and pick it up, so she pulled into the crowded parking lot and redeemed the package—a thick bubble-padded manila envelope.

  Her name and address were printed on it in block letters. There appeared to be a small box inside. There was no return address, and it was postmarked Hilo. She set it on the passenger seat.

  She glanced over at it again and again as she drove home, torn between getting the suspense over with and opening it at home with Stevens or Pono. The sun dropped long red rays to the west ahead of her. She speed-dialed Mary’s phone and it went to voicemail again. Time could be running out for her friend.

  “Mary, where are you?” she cried into the phone and snapped it shut. She hit the steering wheel, but it didn’t help—nothing did. Her friend was gone.

  Chapter 21

  He brushed the ferns aside, making his way to the campsite in the dimming light of sunset. It was a good distance from where he hid the truck, and he’d had to use a wheelbarrow to carry her out there. The faint track of the barrow wheel showed in the dirt, and he dragged a branch behind him, roughing up the ground to erase it.

  Just outside the scrim of trees that hid the shelter, he pulled on the ski mask.

  He approached cautiously. It never paid to underestimate the prey. But Mary lay still beside the ice chest, the drugged water bottle empty beside her. Her cuffed hands were in front and she had taken off the gag.

  He slipped off the backpack he’d brought with the essentials for tonight’s activities.

  He walked around her, making sure Mary was unconscious. Her breath had a noisy asthmatic rattle to it that couldn’t be faked. Her skin was pale beneath her tan, greenish in the waning light as if she were underwater. Bruises braceleted her wrists from the cuffs and dappled her arms and face. She’d covered herself in the sheet he brought her in.

  The tender bloom of bruising aroused him. He got his camera out and took his first picture. He knelt beside her, gently brushing black hair out of her face, and rolled her onto her side. He took his ruler and surgical scissors out of the backpack and snipped a swatch of that long shining hair from the spot two inches above the notch of her skull, and slipped it into a Ziploc.

  She was limp, her eyelids fluttering. Reverently he folded the sheet down, his hand caressing down her breast, the smooth dip of her stomach. He set the camera on black and white to capture the contrast of her skin, hair, and bruises.

  This was the way a woman should be. Soft and waiting, receptive. A memory from work crossed his mind—the woman strident, confrontational. I would love to have that bitch in front of me like this, he thought, bending over to tongue Mary’s pale brown nipple. It peaked obligingly, and he smiled down at her.

  “So beautiful,” he said. “I’m going to treat you the way you deserve.”

  Much later, pleasantly exhausted, he opened a plastic box of baby wipes and tenderly rubbed her down with them. He cleaned her thoroughly, and then himself, discarding the used condoms and soiled baby wipes in a Ziploc bag to be disposed of later. Mary slept on, her eyelids fluttering, each breath the sound of cloth shredding.

  She won’t drink the water next time, he thought. It’s going to get harder to deal with her. He settled beside her, covering them both with the sheet, spooned around her in a parody of love. He’d never taken off the ski mask—it was beginning to feel comfortable.

  * * *

  The package sat on the table, mocking Lei as she started dinner. Her cell rang, and she grabbed it, hoping it was Mary.

  “Do you have food? Need me to bring anything?” Stevens. Her heart picked up. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the package alone.

  “Some beer,” she said. “I forgot to restock. You’ll be happy to know I got the futon, so
you can stop whining. Also—I think the stalker sent me something. I picked up a package today. No return address.”

  “Wait until I get there,” he said, and hung up. Lei closed her phone. Somehow the brief exchange lifted her spirits. Her eyes fell on one of her favorite quotes, taped above the kitchen sink:

  Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live. —Dorothy Thompson.

  In spite of everything—or maybe because of it—she was finally starting to live. Really feeling her feelings for the first time in years, all the range from rage to revulsion, joy to lust. It was exciting, terrifying, and entirely out of her control.

  She was ready to stop being afraid for herself, if not for Mary.

  She opened several cans of chili and heated them on the stove. It wasn’t long before the doorbell rang. She checked the peephole and Stevens stood there, a duffel and grocery bag in his arms.

  “Hey,” she said, standing back to let him in. “Come have dinner. I’ve got chili and rice.”

  “I brought the beer,” he said, following her into the kitchen. He took a six-pack of Heineken out of the bag. “Got an opener?”

  She pointed to the drawer, taking out a pair of bowls and setting the table. He poured them each a beer into the plastic glasses he found in the cupboard. With a flair, she lit a fat white emergency candle and put it on the table. He smiled, watching her.

  “If I didn’t know better I would say this was Texeira being domestic.”

  She gave him a thwack with the dish towel.

  “As long as the cooking involves a can opener, I’m golden.”

  She put the food on the table and they served it up, neither of them looking at the bulky envelope at the other end of the table.

  “So did you find anything else on the computer?” she asked, sitting back with a sip of beer.

  “Not at first glance. Jeremy’s going to run a recovery program for any deleted files.”

  “How about the rest of the house?”

  “Nothing obvious. Even if we pull prints from Haunani, that’s not conclusive. The girls were friends. She could have gone over to visit. What’s more interesting is that there is so little of Kelly in the house. You’d think at least her mother would want some mementos, but there was hardly anything left. We found one shoebox of photos in the mom’s dresser. That was it. It’s like they’re trying to erase her.” He forked up a mouthful of salad.

  Lei closed her eyes, thinking of the empty hangers, the barren dresser, the tape marks where Kelly’s posters had been.

  “You said people grieve differently,” she said. “Is what they did in the range of normal?”

  “Who knows what’s normal with a family like that?” They ate without speaking, the case casting a pall. With an effort, Stevens looked up, smiled at her.

  “So how was the counseling?”

  “Unexpected,” Lei said. “That counselor is a piece of work.”

  “What do you mean? She has a good reputation.”

  “Not sure she takes me seriously or knows what she’s doing, then I find myself spilling the beans,” Lei said. “So I guess she does know what she’s doing. Actually I felt better for it.”

  “Good thing too, you were . . . well, acting funny. Pretty bitchy.”

  “Fuck you, Stevens. That search was upsetting and I’m not sorry for telling you guys to get your priorities straight.”

  “You notice I listened to you,” Stevens said quietly. “We shut down the computer and took it to the station for the tech guy to hunt through.”

  They finished their food. Stevens leaned back, looked around the kitchen.

  “I could get used to this.”

  “Don’t,” Lei said. She pointed at the package. She didn’t want him imagining them as a couple. The thought terrified her, almost as much as the threat from the stalker sitting there in its anonymous bubble wrap.

  “Yeah,” he said, flatly. “The package. That’s why I’m here.”

  He carried his bowl to the sink and she opened another beer, stroking Keiki’s head since the dog had placed it in her lap, expressive eyes glancing up at Lei. Keiki always knew when she was upset.

  Stevens wiped his hands on a dish towel and reached under the sink for the latex gloves, snapped on a pair. He got her kitchen scissors and came and sat down with some Ziploc bags. He pulled the package over and inspected it.

  “Postmarked Hilo. No return address. Looks like it went out three days ago since it took you a day to go pick it up.” She said nothing. She’d already noticed those things.

  He took the kitchen scissors and snipped off the end of the package with its folded-over adhesive. He held it up to the light.

  “No visible fibers or prints. We’ll process and light it down at the station.” He stuck the flap into one of the bags and reached into the package, pulling out a small square box. There was also a note, folded in thirds like the other three. He held it open so she could read it:

  THINKING OF YOU EVERY DAY. YOU CAN HAVE THESE BACK NOW AND SHOW THEM TO ME ANOTHER TIME.

  Lei found she was stroking Keiki’s head too hard because the dog whimpered. She unclenched her jaw, took a few breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth as he set the note aside and opened the box. Inside was a pair of underwear, wadded in a ball.

  Lei’s face flushed, her scalp prickling as Stevens unfolded them, spreading them carefully on top of a Ziploc bag, his face blank and focused as he inspected them front and back, around the lace at the legs, the little swatch of extra fabric at the crotch.

  They were her favorite underwear, black satin with tiny purple orchids on them. Aunty had given her three pairs of them this Christmas from Victoria’s Secret, knowing how she loved orchids. They weren’t particularly high-cut or sexy. The beautiful fabric was what made them special. Overwhelmed with tension, Lei snatched them out of his hand.

  “How did he get these?” she cried.

  “Give them back. They’re evidence now. I don’t see any fluids or anything, but we need to go over them back at the lab.”

  “Seriously, how did he get these?” she said again, reluctantly handing them back. He slid the underwear, along with the box, into the Ziploc bag. “You know how I lock everything up.”

  “Are you sure these are yours?”

  “Yes. I have three pairs of them. In fact—” She jumped up again and ran into her bedroom, yanking open the top drawer of her bureau, digging through the contents in a frenzy.

  Keiki barked in alarm as she flung underwear around looking, finally holding up a handful of black satin.

  “Here they are! Three pairs of black orchid underwear. I guess those aren’t mine after all!”

  The relief was tremendous. He hadn’t been in her house, touching her private things. She ran to Stevens, who had followed her to the doorway, and threw her arms around him.

  “Oh my God! They aren’t mine! He wasn’t in here!”

  He made a show of being knocked backward. She laughed, relief making her giddy, and turned her face up for the kiss she hoped would be there.

  And it was, soft and teasing with a touch of urgency. She didn’t know when she let go of the panties and filled her hands with his shirt, his back, his shoulders, the curling hair on his neck. He lifted her so their faces were at the same height, gave her a little spin, stumbling backward. He sat on the edge of the bed with her in his arms.

  Sensations overwhelmed her: prickling heat in her belly, darkness behind her closed eyes punctuated by light spangles, the hunger of his mouth on hers.

  “Damn, girl,” he finally said, settling her further back down his thighs, brushing the curls back from her face with both hands. “Slow down. Be gentle with me.”

  She laughed. It felt like a triumph. He flopped back and picked up one of the pairs of underwear off the bed, twirled it around his finger.

  “The stalker has good taste. These are hot.”

  She hopped up, putting her hands on her hips.

  “That settles it,” she s
aid. “Men are pigs.” She tried to look mad, and for a moment thought she was succeeding until he put the underwear over her head and gave it a yank. When they were done wrestling, they both had underwear on—Lei’s was now around her neck, elastic sprung beyond redemption, and Stevens sported another pair on his head.

  “I still think they’re hot,” he said plaintively, following her into the kitchen where she cracked open another beer for each of them.

  Lei flopped in her chair, the feeling of menace gone as she looked at the underwear and box in the Ziploc bag. Must have been the kissing and rough-housing that did it, she thought.

  “Okay, so he didn’t get in here and steal it,” she said. “How did he know about the underwear? Where did he find a matching pair? If I knew that I bet I could ID him.”

  “So put on your thinking cap.” Stevens adjusted the panties down around his neck. “I’m not giving these back by the way. I’ll wear them and think of you.”

  “Sicko,” she said, taking a swig of beer. “I can’t remember anything right now. Maybe it will come to me later. Anyway I’ve got to get some reading for class done. I set up your futon and the sheets should be done soon. Are you sure you want to stay over again?”

  “I’m keeping an eye on you until this is resolved. Period. I let a friend down before in this situation by not taking it seriously, and I won’t make that mistake again.”

  She opened her mouth to object and remembered Dr. Wilson’s advice, instead getting up to clear the table. Stevens went to the dryer, got the sheets and made up the futon. He was sitting on it with his back against the couch when she came into the living room.

  “Tell me about your security measures,” he said.

  “Okay.” A little taken aback, she proceeded, sitting down on the corner of the couch. “I have an alarm system with automatic call to security as well as sound. It’s on a movement sensor system. I spent some good money on it so it’s pretty okay for a residential program. I also have locks on all the windows and triple locks on the doors. This is a rental or I would have reinforced glass and reinforced doors too. I also consider Keiki part of my security system.”