Daphne sipped the wine. “Nelson was a jerk,” she snapped. “And I was a fool for ever believing a word he said. End of story.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Kenneth didn’t want to push it any further for what was obviously a sore point for her. Still, again he wondered why Holloway would blow his chance with Daphne, something Kenneth could never imagine doing were they together.

  “And what about you?” she asked curiously. “Why aren’t you with someone?”

  He considered the question before responding, “The short answer is I haven’t met anyone I’ve clicked with to be in a steady relationship.”

  “What about the long answer?” she pressed.

  Kenneth knew she expected nothing less than the truth. And he wanted to give it to her if there was to be any chance that something could develop between them. “I was once involved with someone. We started out as friends and seemed to be heading in the right direction toward something more serious. But then tragedy struck.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Cynthia, that friend, was killed and everything we hoped to have together died with her.”

  Daphne gazed at him. “She’s the person you mentioned who was a victim of a serial killer in Honolulu?”

  Kenneth nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Cynthia ended up being the last of ten victims Trevor Henshall murdered,” he said resentfully. “Though I tried, there was nothing I could do to save her.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Daphne put a hand on his arm. “Nothing quite prepares you for that type of loss.”

  “You’re right. It sucks, but it’s just something you have to deal with.”

  “I know.”

  He held her gaze and understood that, in losing her parents to violence, she too had been put through the ringer and was also doing her best to live in the present while never forgetting what was unforgettable. “Anyway, that’s my story. Doesn’t mean I’m giving up on finding love that can last a lifetime, marriage, children, the whole bit.”

  “Neither am I,” she told him, a softness in her inflection. “I want those things too someday.”

  Without judging whether or not this was something either could see in the other as a future partner, they found themselves sharing a tender kiss. Kenneth did not try to stop it, welcoming the taste of her soft lips on his, even while having no expectations. Nor did he pursue it further when Daphne pulled away and, just like that, it was over.

  Chapter Five

  “We’ve positively ID’d the suspect in the murder of Irene Ishibashi,” Vanessa Ringwald said excitedly at the PD. “Name’s Ben Hoffman, age thirty-six. Hoffman was one of Ishibashi’s ex-boyfriends. He’s currently unemployed.”

  Kenneth was not quite ready to pop open the champagne bottle just yet this morning. But he was certainly open to any news that indicated they could be closing in on a killer. “So the digital sketch did the trick in lining up with his real mug?”

  “Yep, that and his fingerprints,” she answered. “Dead giveaway.”

  Kenneth cocked a brow. “Explain?”

  “I can do that,” Tad Newsome pitched in. “Forensics was able to pull a print off the plastic bag over the victim’s head, as well as another matching one from a sliding glass door at Ishibashi’s house. They ran them through the system and came up with a hit for Hoffman. Obviously, he slipped up in his hurry to get in or out. Turns out, he’s been arrested and served time for domestic violence and a DUI.”

  “Looks like we’ve caught a needed break,” Kenneth said, not wanting to let this slide through their fingers.

  “The sketch of the suspect was spot on.” Vanessa pointed at her laptop screen. “Check this out. Here’s Hoffman’s mug shot and the digital sketch. Pretty much a dead ringer.”

  Kenneth was inclined to agree, crediting Mary Cabanilla for having a sharp eye in describing the man she saw leaving the scene of the crime. As well as Patricia Boudreau, their forensic sketch artist, for masterfully interpreting the description. “Let’s get an arrest warrant and bring Hoffman in—the sooner the better,” he stated, knowing that time was of the essence in capturing what could be the Maui Suffocation Killer.

  “We’re on it,” Vanessa said, getting on her cell phone to get the ball rolling.

  An hour later, Hoffman’s black Volkswagen Tiguan was spotted on Halia Nakoa Street in Keopuolani Regional Park, with the driver matching the suspect’s description. When police tried to pull the car over, Hoffman bolted. He led them on a high-speed chase to a residence on Kaikoo Place, where the suspect lived and was now barricading himself inside.

  Wearing a ballistic vest and armed with a .40 caliber Glock 23 pistol, Kenneth sped to the scene, feeling they had a serial killer cornered and there was no way out for him, other than to surrender. Or be killed. His choice. The man had obviously decided against allowing the initial police he encountered to bring him in. Kenneth could only hope they could flush him out peacefully and interrogate him for some answers.

  His mind drifted to the kiss between him and Daphne, which Kenneth could still feel on his lips. He had no idea what it meant, only that she had managed to stir something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time and he wanted to pursue it further. Assuming she was of the same mind. When he reached the location on Kaikoo Place, it was already flooded with cop cars and the Special Response Tactical Team was in place, awaiting further instructions.

  Presenting his ID, Kenneth stepped inside the perimeter that had been set up around the two-story modern-style house, where neighbors had been evacuated as a safety precaution. Rendezvousing with other detectives and FBI agents behind a police van, Kenneth asked about the suspect, “Has Hoffman said anything?”

  “Only that he won’t come out,” Newsome stated. “If you ask me, I think he’s just posturing, hoping against hope that we’ll back off.”

  “Yeah, right.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  Kenneth frowned. “Is anyone in the house?”

  “It doesn’t appear so,” she answered. “According to one of Hoffman’s neighbors, he lives alone.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true,” Kenneth said. “Last thing we need is a hostage situation.” Nevertheless, he didn’t want to take any chances, ordering that a hostage and crisis negotiator be brought in to try and defuse the situation.

  “I agree,” Agent Noelle Kaniho said. “If Hoffman has anyone in there, he’s desperate enough to try and use them as a shield to save his own neck.”

  “That’s classic fugitive MO,” Agent Kirk Guilfoyle argued. “But if he is alone in there, flushing out the suspect with all the means we have at our disposal shouldn’t be much of a problem. That’s assuming Hoffman wants to come out of this alive.”

  “One can only wonder,” Kenneth said, when suddenly a shot rang out from the house, sending everyone ducking for cover with weapons drawn. Peeking behind the van, Kenneth could see movement from an upstairs window. The suspect apparently had no desire to end things peacefully. Another shot came from the house in Kenneth’s direction, shattering a window in the van while forcing him to stay low to keep from being hit. “Everyone okay?” he asked nervously.

  “Yeah, we’re all still in one piece,” Noelle said.

  “Seems so,” Vanessa concurred. “But barely. He’s clearly out to get us before we can get him.”

  That appeared to be the case as more shots rang out, forcing the Special Response Tactical Team to return fire. There was no indication that the suspect had been hit, as he used the house for cover while peeking out the window but not standing directly in front of it.

  “I’ll try to talk him down,” Kenneth said, not bothering to wait for the crisis negotiator. Or standing pat till the suspect had been shot dead. “I need a bullhorn.” He was handed one and, while still crouching behind the van, spoke directly to the suspect. “Ben Hoffman, I’m Detective Kealoha, Maui PD. We need you to come out with your hands up. No one needs to get hurt. Least of all yourself. So far, none of us have been hit by your gunfire. Let’s not change that. Otherwise, all bets are off.”

  “I’m not going back to jail!” Hoffman shouted. “Irene got what was coming to her. She refused to let me back into her life.”

  “What about the other women you killed?” Kenneth asked. “Did they deserve to die, too?”

  Without giving an answer, a single shot was fired. Only this time it was within the house. Panicked, Kenneth tried talking to the suspect again. No response. There was a sinking feeling amongst them that Hoffman may have turned the gun on himself. But now was not the time to take any risks on their lives. “Let’s give it a few more minutes and then we’ll go in,” Kenneth said, wanting to give them every opportunity to take the suspect into custody. Or lower the chance that he could still pose a threat, should they enter the house.

  The hostage and crisis negotiator, a thirtysomething woman with short reddish-blond hair in an asymmetrical cut, arrived and attempted to pick up where Kenneth left off. “Mr. Hoffman, I’m Aiysha Nixon, a crisis negotiator. If you can hear me, please say something and we can try to negotiate your surrender.”

  When there was still no response, Kenneth could see the writing on the wall. “He’s either seriously injured by a self-inflicted gunshot. Or dead. We need to find out either way.”

  Aiysha tried to speak to the suspect one last time, and when Hoffman did not or could not reply, she acquiesced to Kenneth and gave the go ahead to enter the premises. With the Special Response Tactical Team and armed detectives leading the way, a battering ram was used to force open the suspect’s front door.

  The house was in disarray as Kenneth went inside, equipped with a search warrant along with the arrest warrant. Scaling the carpeted stairs, he reached the second story and kept his firearm in readiness before entering the primary bedroom, where the suspect was unresponsive on the floor, apparently from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Next to him was what looked to be a 9-millimeter Luger semiautomatic handgun. There was no indication that the suspect had been wounded by law enforcement. But Ben Hoffman was still clinging to life.

  Kenneth hoped he would pull through for all the obvious reasons as the suspect was rushed to the Maui Medical Center to try and save his life.

  * * *

  DAPHNE WAS STILL feeling giddy from kissing Kenneth last night. Though it was something she wanted to happen and was happy that it had, the timing seemed off to go much further at that point in time. Still a bit unsettled with the knowledge that a woman he’d been so close to had been the victim of a serial killer, the last thing Daphne wanted was to allow misplaced feelings to cause either of them to do something they might later regret. But if what she was starting to feel for him was real and vice versa, she hoped the opportunity would still be there for them to delve into the possibilities. Whether it was nothing more than a fling in paradise or something that had much more to offer for the long run.

  She reached the Maui Medical Center on Mahalani Street and parked her car in the lot before heading inside. Doctor Francis Hiraga, the lover of Jenny Takahashi, had agreed to speak with her. Daphne was greeted by him in the busy lobby.

  “Aloha,” he said. “I’m Dr. Hiraga. Or you can call me Francis.”

  Daphne debated this as she studied him. In his early forties, he was around six feet and of slender build, with black eyes and short raven hair worn in a bowl cut. He had a three-day stubble beard and wore a white lab coat over scrubs. “Nice to meet you, Francis,” she decided, given the nature of their meeting.

  He shook her hand and said, “I only have a few minutes to talk. Let’s go to a room where we can have some privacy.”

  She followed him down a hall and into what looked to be a small lounge with a picture window. He sat in a gray tub chair and invited her to sit in the one beside it, after which Francis furrowed his brow and remarked sadly, “You know, I miss Jenny every single day.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Daphne said sympathetically. “Losing someone like that is every person’s worst nightmare.”

  Francis eyed her. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience?”

  “Good observation.” She told him about her parents’ tragic deaths while getting his permission to tape the conversation.

  “I’m sorry that happened to them,” he said sincerely. “I have to say, though, that I never imagined in a million years that Norman Takahashi would do something so horrible as to take the lives of Jenny and our unborn child, their own daughter, Sarah, Jenny’s mother and Sarah’s boyfriend, Lucas. Then kill himself. It’s just crazy. Why couldn’t he have let Jenny go and moved on with his life?”

  “That’s something we’d all like to know.” Daphne only wished she could get into Takahashi’s head to try and understand why he and others like him felt such rage that a preference for death overcame the normal sanctity of life. “Did Jenny express any concern to you about leaving her husband?”

  Francis scratched his pate. “Of course, it was of concern to her. But only because she didn’t want to hurt him. The truth is she was worried more about how this would affect Sarah. Jenny didn’t want her to be too confused and unsettled about being torn between two parents. But things hadn’t been good between Jenny and Norman for a long time. She tried to ignore it, till she couldn’t any longer.”

  Daphne reacted, remembering how things between her and Nelson had deteriorated over time and no amount of apologizing on his part could repair the damage. She was thankful that things had not escalated into violence between them. “How have you been holding up since the tragedy?” she asked the doctor poignantly.

  “Truthfully, there’s been good days and bad days,” he said pensively. “I keep asking myself if there was something I could have done differently, short of never having fallen in love with Jenny and been given her love in return. I’d never want to take away the brief time we had together. She wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

  “I believe you. I don’t think she would have.” Daphne looked at him and said understandingly, “As for what you could have done differently, we all tend to second-guess ourselves when things like this happen. In most instances, none of us can control what happens when people choose to do unpredictable or deviant things. We just move on with our lives as best as possible.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Francis got to his feet. “Well, I have to get back to work. Never a dull moment around here.”

  “I can only imagine,” she said, shutting off the recorder and standing. They stepped back into the hall. “Thanks for speaking with me. I know how difficult it was to do so.”

  “If you writing about it can bring some sort of closure to the ordeal of the past year, it was well worth it. Good luck with the book.”

  “Mahalo.” Daphne smiled and was about to leave when she heard a commotion. She looked over her shoulder and saw a man being wheeled toward them on a gurney. There was blood coming from a hole at the side of his head, undoubtedly from a bullet, she thought, having seen this before as an investigative journalist.

  “Code blue, Dr. Hiraga,” she heard someone shout. “The patient has a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Ms. Dockery,” he said, his thick brows twitching with concern.

  Daphne stepped aside, watching as he sprang into action, taking charge as the patient was moved hurriedly down the hall in an attempt to save his life. As she headed in the opposite direction, a bit shaken by the incident, Daphne found herself staring up into the face of Kenneth.

  * * *

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” she asked him, trying to read into his eyes.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Kenneth responded evenly, sensing that she wasn’t seeking medical attention. A good thing.

  “I came to talk to Francis Hiraga regarding his relationship with Jenny Takahashi.”

  “Oh, right.” He should have guessed that, knowing that Hiraga was on staff and an important part of the story that ended in murder, mayhem and suicide. “How did it go?”

  “As well as could be expected,” Daphne said. “Losing the love of your life can be hard to overcome.”

  Even as she uttered the words, Kenneth could tell that she regretted saying them in recalling his own love loss. He wasn’t quite ready to call Cynthia the love of his life, though, in spite of her early death. They were never given the opportunity to cross that threshold. Meaning such a love for him had yet to play out. “It’s fine,” he assured her.

  Daphne nodded, then regarded him suspiciously. “You never told me what you were doing here.” She glanced in the direction from which she had come and back. “The man who was just brought in...”

  “His name’s Ben Hoffman,” Kenneth said tonelessly. “We were attempting to arrest him on suspicion for the murder of Irene Ishibashi when he holed himself up inside his house. Before the arrest warrant could be served, he shot himself. But not before trying to take out a few of us along the way. Fortunately, no one else was hurt.”

  “Thank goodness.” Daphne breathed a sigh of relief to that effect and then a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head when she asked, “Are you saying that you think Hoffman is—”

  Kenneth finished for her. “Yes, we have good reason to believe he may be our Maui Suffocation Killer...”

  Before he could mention the DNA evidence and physical evidence indirectly linking Hoffman to the murders, Dr. Hiraga approached them, looking frazzled with fresh blood staining his lab coat. If he was surprised to see Kenneth and Daphne together, he didn’t show it. “Detective Kealoha,” he said with familiarity, no doubt from the investigation into the death of his married lover, Jenny Takahashi.