Murder in Honolulu: A Skye Delaney Mystery (25 page)

It was Ridge. "I thought you'd like to
know," he said, "that we're looking into two people of interest who
possibly had reason to want Delaney dead."

"I'm listening—" I told him, leaning back in
my chair.

"As a prosecutor, Carter put away Adam
Ramirez for life. He was convicted of murder and armed robbery,"
Ridge said. "His brother, Antonio Ramirez, thirty-six, swore he
would seek revenge against Carter at the time. Allegedly, he's
never gotten that out of his system. Then there's Norman Mitchell,
forty-seven, a former business associate of Delaney's, who accused
him of cheating him out of money and has supposedly wanted payback
ever since."

"Have you spoken to either of these guys
yet?" I asked, believing they were legitimate suspects in the
absence of others who had so far come up flat.

"We're about to go talk to them right now,"
he answered. "You can run with us on this one and, if we're lucky,
help nab Delaney's killer—"

Ridge had made me an offer I couldn't
refuse. I figured that maybe one of these men had AB negative blood
and had gone after Carter. Or, at the very least, could be
eliminated as a suspect.

The bills and catch up work would have to
wait.

* * *

I was in the back seat while Ridge drove and
Kawakami sat in the passenger seat. I couldn't help but notice that
Henry Kawakami's once thick black hair had begun to thin and I
wondered if it had anything to do with this case. Fortunately, with
Ridge regularly shaving his head, I would never know if going after
Carter's killer was causing him to lose hair.

During a pause in the conversation, Kawakami
turned around and winked at me. I wasn't quite sure if it was a
come-on, a stamp of approval of my dating Ridge, or his tacit
support of my accompanying them on official police business. In any
event, I winked back, and left it alone. There were far more
pressing matters to occupy my thoughts, such as Antonio Ramirez and
Norman Mitchell.

"Ramirez is gainfully employed at a
construction site," Kawakami said with a cynical lilt in his voice.
"He's been there for the past month. Lives by himself in an
apartment on Ala Wai Boulevard."

I took mental notes, occasionally looking at
Ridge's profile, and asked: "What's Mitchell's story, apart from
his business connection to Carter?"

"He's continued to fall on hard times,"
Ridge said. "His business recently filed for bankruptcy and he
foreclosed on his home. Mitchell is currently living with a
divorcee named Ignacia Horikami and her daughter."

I wondered if times were hard enough for
Norman Mitchell to resort to murder.

"So maybe his girlfriend and her daughter
weren't enough to cure Mitchell's blues," Kawakami suggested.
"Losing his home and business may have been the last straw and sent
him over the edge straight to Delaney."

I winced at the thought. At this point, I
wasn't ruling out anything or any person, especially someone who
had an axe to grind with Carter.

We drove to a construction site in midtown
Honolulu, where luxury condominiums were being built. The foreman
led us to the skeletal building where Antonio Ramirez was working
on the second story.

"Ramirez!" the foreman screamed. "Some
people here to see you—"

This was normally where a guilty person
either made a run for it or tried to play it cool, only to flee
later. Ramirez did not run, which made sense considering he was
about twenty feet off the ground. After he came down, we quickly
surrounded him like flies on rotted meat. Even then, at around
six-five and of muscular build, he didn't exactly seem intimidated
by us.

Ridge took the honor of identifying each of
us, flashing his badge for effect. "We'd like to talk to you—" he
said.

"About what?" Ramirez asked as he ran a hand
across his bald head. His unblinking dark eyes peered at me.

"Carter Delaney—" I told him.

"Carter who...?" he asked, playing dumb.

"The man who put your brother Adam away for
armed robbery and murder," Ridge reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," Ramirez said with a scowl.
"Delaney, the prosecutor... So what about him?"

Ridge snorted with irritation. "I think you
know damn well what this is about. Delaney was murdered not too
long ago—"

Ramirez cracked a grin. "Awe, that's too
bad. But what's it got to do with me?"

"Don't jerk us around, Ramirez," Kawakami
said with narrowed eyes. "You expect us to believe you've forgotten
the threats you made against Carter Delaney after he sent your
brother to the state pen?"

Ramirez grimaced. "Ain't you ever done
something you wish you could take back, man? I was pretty angry
back then that he railroaded Adam. But I can't change what happened
to him any more than you could what happened to Delaney. I'm just
trying to get on with my life—"

I studied Ramirez's face while trying to
read his mind. Was he toying with us? Had he been in my house and
confronted Carter? I noticed a partially healed wound on his
bulging upper arm that extended to his shoulder. The aftereffects
of a dog bite, I wondered.

"I'm sure you have an unbreakable alibi for
the day and time Carter Delaney was murdered," Ridge said to the
suspect.

Ramirez paused. "What day and time was
that?" he asked.

Ridge told him.

Ramirez suddenly seemed to be relishing the
attention as he hovered over us. "Let me look into it and get back
to you," he said.

"Where the hell were you when Carter Delaney
was killed?" Kawakami demanded, getting into Ramirez's face. "Or do
we haul your ass in right now for suspicion of murder?"

Ramirez did not buckle, staring down at
Kawakami. "Don't waste your time, detective. You got the wrong man.
Actually, I was in church that day—all day—getting closer to Jesus.
And lots of other believers saw me." He looked at me and said:
"Maybe you can come to a service with me someday..."

"Not in this lifetime," I told him.

He grinned lasciviously. "Your loss."

I doubted that seriously. I looked at his
arm and said: "Nasty looking injury you have there. How did you get
it?"

Ramirez flinched. "I was in the wrong place
at the wrong time," he said simply.

I wondered about the time and place. "What's
your blood type?" I asked him, figuring it was worth a shot.

He shrugged. "Got no idea. What's
yours?"

"Never mind," I told him, not interested in
playing games for his amusement.

Ridge asked Ramirez: "Where is this
church?"

"It's on Nehoa Street," Ramirez said, then
added smugly, "Be sure to tell Pastor Owens I said Praise the
Lord!"

"We'll check it out and see if someone at
the church can vouch for his whereabouts," Ridge said as we headed
toward the car.

"If you ask me, I think he's full of it,"
Kawakami said.

"Or he's just another dead end in the
mystery surrounding Carter's death," I grumbled.

CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO

Next, there was Norman Mitchell to contend
with. We drove to his address, which turned out to be an expensive
home on Kolohala Street in the
Waialae section of town.

"Are you sure we have the right address?" I
half-joked, wondering how a man in bankruptcy and foreclosure wound
up in one of Honolulu's most exclusive neighborhoods.

"It's the right place all right," confirmed
Kawakami. "Guess Mitchell picked the right rich lady to shack up
with."

I couldn't help but think that Darlene had
pulled off the same trick when she married Carter. Only she ended
up with more problems than not as a direct result. I wondered if
the same could be said for Norman Mitchell. Had he found someone to
support him in style, including committing murder?

There were no cars visible as we drove onto
the property, but a closed three-car garage suggested someone could
be home.

Ridge rang the bell. A peephole allowed us
to be seen. After a second ring, a woman's voice yelled out: "What
do you want?"

Ridge identified himself as a police
detective, holding his identification up so she could see.

A moment later, the door opened. An
attractive Hawaiian woman in her mid forties with black hair in a
loose chignon stood there.

"Are you Ignacia Horikami?" Ridge asked
politely.

"Yes," she said.

"We'd like to talk to Norman Mitchell," he
told her. "Is he here?"

She eyed each of us suspiciously before
saying in a calm voice: "No. He went to the store and will be back
shortly. May I ask what this is about?"

We looked at each other before Kawakami
said: "I'm afraid it's official police business, Ma'am."

"All the more reason I have a right to know
if Norman is in some kind of trouble," Ignacia said determinedly,
her small brown eyes darting between us. "He's my fiancé. We're
getting married next month—"

Ridge and Kawakami made eye contact, and
then Ridge asked: "May we come in?"

"Please do," she replied.

It was an open, luxurious setting by any
standard with a cathedral ceiling, floor to ceiling windows, and
ivory wall-to-wall carpeting—all accented with fine European
furnishings and expensive collectibles. But we weren't there to
admire the accommodations.

"We just need to ask Mitchell a few
questions," Ridge said, "regarding a homicide."

Her eyes shot wide. "You think Norman killed
someone?" she asked.

"We just want to eliminate him as a
suspect," he told her. "Strictly routine."

Ignacia looked at me and asked, "Who was
murdered?"

"Carter Delaney," I said. After a pause, I
told her what I thought might help: "I'm Skye Delaney. We were once
married."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, "but
Norman had nothing to do with that. You see, the day he was killed,
Norman was right here with me—"

Ridge, Kawakami, and I exchanged looks of
doubt in what seemed just a little too pat.

"And what day was that?" asked Ridge.

She told him as if it were ingrained in her
memory.

"Exactly what
time
of the day was
Mitchell here?" Kawakami asked.

"All day
and
all night," she said
without wavering. "Is that
exact
enough, detective?"

She was clearly a woman who wouldn't back
down for two tough male homicide cops and one equally tough female
private eye. She seemed determined to give Norman Mitchell a solid
alibi whether we wanted him to have one or not.

Ignacia folded her arms. "We were in bed,
making love—the whole time." She glanced at me unabashed, and then
took a longer look at Ridge. "At about ten that night we turned on
the TV and heard that Carter Delaney had been found dead. Norman
recognized the name immediately as a man with whom he had bad
business dealings. But he would never have wanted him dead—"

I watched Ridge and Kawakami give each other
that lascivious conspiratorial look of men who were stricken with
the notion of a superwoman in the bedroom. I resigned myself to the
fact that boys would be boys, even during a murder
investigation.

I brought them back to the real world when I
asked: "How old is your daughter?"

"Twelve," she responded.

"And where was she during this marathon day
in bed?" I asked. It seemed like a reasonable question, all things
considered.

"Spending the day with her father," Ignacia
said coolly. "We have shared custody."

It seemed like the lady had every base
covered, I thought. But that still didn't mean Norman Mitchell was
out of the woods, especially if he had a different story to
tell.

As if on cue, we all turned our heads toward
the door when we heard sounds on the other side of it. Kawakami
instinctively went for his .38 Smith and Wesson revolver that he
kept in a shoulder holster. It wouldn't have been the first time a
murder suspect came in firing.

Opening the door and entering was a short,
thin girl with long, dark hair. She was followed in by a man of
average build with gray hair. He held a paper bag stuffed with
groceries close to his chest.

"Mom..." the girl uttered fearfully as she
looked at the gun pointed in their direction.

"It's all right," Ignacia said, opening her
arms and beckoning her to come forward. The girl obeyed and ran to
her mother. Ignacia announced: "This is my daughter, Elisea."

The man remained standing just inside the
door, as though his feet were stuck in cement.

"You Norman Mitchell?" Ridge asked
tensely.

"Yeah," he said in a non-threatening
manner.

"They're police detectives," Ignacia told
him quickly, "investigating the death of Carter Delaney. I told
them you were here with me—"

"Now we'd like to hear it from you,"
Kawakami said, keeping the gun drawn. "We just need to ask you a
few questions. Why don't you put that bag down?"

"No problem," Mitchell said, frowning. "I've
got nothing to hide..."

Elisea suddenly bolted from her mother
toward Mitchell, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"They won't hurt me," he promised. "Take the
bag."

She obeyed him. Only then did it become
apparent that Mitchell was missing an arm—or three-quarters of it.
His sleeve was wrapped loosely below the shoulder. He looked up
self-consciously. "I was in a car accident six months ago," he said
sullenly. "Lost my arm, but I'm dealing with it. As for Carter
Delaney, we had our differences, but I certainly didn't kill him.
From what I heard, the way he died would be pretty hard to do with
two good arms and it would be damn near impossible with just
one—"

No one in the room could argue with that
logic, I thought. Especially those of us who knew exactly how
Carter had died. Obviously, the investigation into Norman Mitchell
had failed to uncover the fact that he was missing an arm, and
therefore was not the most likely candidate as Carter's killer. I
also saw no reason at this point to believe Mitchell was part of a
larger conspiracy to do Carter in.