Paradise Crime Mysteries Read online

  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.”

  “Screw 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 said. “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.”

  Keiki pricked her ears at the sound of her name. She was sitting next to Stevens on the futon. He rubbed her broad chest and she swiped him with her tongue.

  “She certainly qualifies. I think we need to plan for a bit of a long haul until we catch this guy.” He stopped, took a breath, seeming to steel himself. “I’m your superior officer, at least on the murder investigation, and as such I’m not supposed to be having a relationship with you. I mean, the kind of relationship we seem to be heading toward.”

  Lei pulled her legs in on the couch, wrapped her arms around them.

  “We aren’t dating,” she said.

  “I know. Technically. But it would be wrong for me, as your colleague, to take advantage of you while I am voluntarily providing security. It’s an emotional set-up, they tell us in the training manual.” He smiled at her, but it was forced. “So, no more kissing until this is over.”

  Lei set her chin on her knees, thinking it through.

  “You’re awfully quiet. Are you okay?”

  “It’s complicated,” she said. “I’m kinda relieved on the one hand because in case you haven’t noticed, I have some pretty intense issues. But it’s been fun and ...I’ll miss you.”

  He held his arm out. “Come over here.”

  She got off the couch and sat against him on one side, Keiki on the other. He put his arms over each of them, squeezing them at the same time. She felt that bubble again under her sternum, almost joy but something else. Keiki panted happily, leaning into him.

  “This doesn’t mean we can’t be close,” he said. “I want you to know, I’ll still be here when this is all over and we can kiss all we want.”

  “You don’t know what you’re signing up for.” She laughed, a sniffly chuckle. “I’m pretty messed up. You better deliver on that.”

  “That’s just the kind of thing a guy likes to hear. Sends us dudes with commitment issues running for the hills.”

  “You think you’ve got commitment issues,” she said. “What a pair.”

  “If you can work on trusting me, I can work on waiting.”

  “I guess so,” she said. She and the dog snuggled against Stevens until they fell asleep in a pile on the futon. Lei didn’t remember her reading until the next day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He watched her for the second morning, this time sitting still behind a fern tree. He had that feeling again—anticipation. His favorite part of the hunt. Even though he’d had her already, she didn’t know that. In a few minutes, she would.

  She woke slowly, groggily, turning onto her side, moaning a little from her injuries. She sat up, realizing she was naked, and reached for the now-grubby sheet to cover herself, the handcuffs clinking. She scanned the clearing. He felt sure she would see him behind the scrim of fern, but she didn’t.

  She seemed to be taking inventory of her body, feeling her breasts, and then looking down at them. They were blotched with suck marks, and she gave a little cry of horror. The hair stood up on his neck. She felt lower, her stomach, her thighs, her vagina.

  She closed her eyes. He saw the blood drain from her face, and in the pearly dawn light she collapsed, curling into a fetal ball, weeping. The sight was so arousing he felt himself getting hard, and reached down, unzipping his pants and stroking, his eyes still on her. She cried and moan
ed, hugging herself.

  Suddenly she jumped up, swaying a little but standing, her legs spread wide. “Screw you!” she yelled. Her voice was like a cannon in the forest, silencing the birds, stilling his hand.

  “Screw you, you coward! Come out and fight like a man, you cocksucker! Look me in the eye when you rape me, you bastard!”

  He sat paralyzed, shriveling. She threw back her head and screamed, again and again, roars of rage and pain. She kicked over the ice chest, bashed her cuffed hands against the poles of the shelter until it collapsed. She ran to the edge of the tie out cable, yanking at it, then back to the other end where it was padlocked to the tree, scrabbling at it until her hands were bloody.

  Terror held him still. She’ll kill me if she finds me or die trying, he thought. He waited until she finally sat on the fallen ice chest. He could see her trembling, and the asthma was back, muffling her voice as she cursed him.

  It seemed like forever before she stood up, looking at the sun. She examined the contents of the ice chest, spilled on the ground. He had left a sandwich wrapped in plastic for her, and more water bottles. There was a bag of ice. She put the ice, food and water back in the chest, righted it. He could see her weighing where the drug might have come from, tearing a hole in the ice bag, taking a handful out and sucking it.

  Good. He didn’t want her drugged all the time, she could die too soon.

  She propped the shelter poles back up. Her body was trembling all over now, and the asthma was strangling her. She saw the inhaler where he had left it for her to find, and she pounced on it. Then she paused, considering, her wheezing, constricted breath audible even where he crouched among the ferns.

  She must think it’s a trick, or drugged. He smiled in satisfaction. Gotta keep her guessing.

  Finally she took two puffs of the inhaler and sat down, holding the vapor in her lungs as long as possible, sighing with relief as it took effect.

  He moved away slowly, as one does when stalking something wild, careful not to make any noise. Eventually she would get hungry enough to eat, and the sandwich was fine. All of the water bottles were doctored, and he had a back up plan if she didn’t drink any. Wouldn’t it be funny if she deprived herself for nothing?