Chapter 3

Prominent Restaurant Owner Found Murdered

Charles Russell Boyle IV, former army Colonel and owner of the Pequod Bar & Grille as well as other establishments, was found dead at his home in Hawaii Kai. Charlie, as he was known to friends and acquaintances, was a well respected and highly successful businessman, continuing and improving on his family's old real estate fortune begun by his great grandfather here in Honolulu over 100 years ago. His servant, Juan Magrille found the body early yesterday morning when Mr. Magrille was bringing him his usual breakfast. Nancy Guinn Boyle, Charlie's 4^th wife was quickly informed and called the police. According to Lieutenant Sam Kamalua of the Honolulu police, giving the press the coroner's report, Mr. Boyle had been brutally slashed by a sharp blade across his throat nearly decapitating him. Lieutenant Kamalua told the press that the murder weapon has not been found.

In a statement made to this reporter, Mr. Magrille said that Micah Poole, 22, from Waikiki was the last known visitor to Mr. Boyle's house. Micah, about 6' 4", thin, with black hair and with what Mr. Magrille called "a pretty face and dark, haunted eyes," has a history of mental illness and violence. When asked, Lieutenant Kamalua agreed that Micah Poole was a suspect and was wanted for questioning. At this time, the whereabouts of Mr. Poole are unknown. "Any information on the location of Mr. Poole would be greatly appreciated," said Kamalua. "But do not confront this young man. He may be armed and dangerous."

It was George's birthday, and I found myself in the haunted house again with my two best childhood friends. We weren't celebrating. When I arrived at noon, I found Micah draped across George's lap like a pieta, not dead though he closely resembled a corpse. He breathed shallowly and his face, even in the dim light of the hurricane lantern, looked pasty. A couple feet in front of them lay the long blade of a chef's knife still bloody from its last slice. A noose dangled from the wall enclosing the second story, near the stairs to go up.

"Can you get that thing down?" asked George quietly. After a couple of hard pulls which chafed my hands, I finally loosened the rope and tore the threads off the nail. "I couldn't reach the damn thing," she said while I pulled it down. "When I drove to the telephone booth a couple miles away, I was so scared he'd have the time to kill himself." George's voice remained steady. I knew she shook inside but put up a stoic front. I couldn't even talk. My fear for my old friends had my heart in my throat.

When George had called me just a half hour before, I had been naked fucking Diana, my new found Amazonian lover doggy style while she and Sandy licked each other's pussies. It had been a crazy fuck. I had read about Charlie's murder and it freaked me out. Both Sandy and Diana comforted me. Maybe the complexity of emotions I felt: fear for my friend; my ambiguous feelings for that fat, disgusting but charming man I had known all my life and whether I felt happy or sad about his death. Charlie had actually always been nice to me and had taught me a lot. But I knew he was a monster. Out of the confusion, my libido arose. At first we made gentle ménage á trois love, but it escalated into a mad, pummeling fuck. Diana enjoyed the hell out of it, cumming several times. I released my sperm into her, shaking with the intensity of the orgasm when the phone rang. Sandy crawled out from underneath us and answered with a tired, "Hello."

"It's George," Sandy informed me. My cock still in its last pulses of orgasm, I slid the semi- hard flesh from its wet sheathe. Cum still dripped from it when I grabbed the phone. Diana crumpled to the bed, glowing red from her pleasure. Sandy sat on the bed beside her. Two sets of loving eyes stared at me with concern.

"I found Micah. You know where," said George quickly and breathlessly.

"I'll be right there," I said.

"Bring a spiral bound notebook and a pen," she said and hung up.

Sitting in the dusty living room of the haunted house illuminated by a gas lantern, the rope, the hammer that had nailed in the rope and the bloody knife laid out between me and my two old friends like an arrangement of exhibits at a trial, I waited for George, the smartest and most level headed of our little clique, to speak.

"He didn't do it," she said.

"I'd love to believe that," I replied.

"He didn't do it," she repeated angrily. "He said he did, and then I got him normal. Micah was out of his head when I got here. He had the noose ready and stared at it babbling about slaying the dragon and saving us. I asked him why if he had been victorious would he kill himself. He said he couldn't remove the head to prove it. I laughed. I don't know why I laughed, but when I did, he looked confused. I decided to use that. I got him back. Like we did four years ago, I talked him back to being the sweet, sensitive, brilliant man he is. He told me the butler did it. I laughed at the cliché. He laughed too. But he insisted. Then he relaxed and fell asleep. That's when I called."

"You believe him?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Okay."

"I'm hiring you. I'll pay you. I insist. Find the killer. Convince the police. Save Micah."

I nodded my head. In our dynamic, George was always the boss.

"I don't know about your situation over at the Rogers, but I need you to get on this. And I need you to be back here at 8 tonight. I have to get to work. I got to pay you, you know."

"Of course. I ain't cheap," I said.

"Get us some food first."

"Be right back." I ran off to a local greasy fish sandwich place, a local favorite that we used to frequent. When I returned, Micah returned to consciousness. He seemed dazed, but his smile pierced the clouds in his head.

"Good to see you, Joe," he said quietly. "I'm starved."

After chowing down, I got up, kissed George on her forehead, gave Micah the most confidant smile I could and said, "I love you guys."

"Me too," said Micah. We shared sad smiles. I split.

Returning to the surveillance, I relieved Diana of her replacement duties. Sandy slept in Diana's sister's bed. Diana wanted to talk, so I put in a fresh tape and we headed down to the kitchen.

Earlier, when her efforts to calm me down had resulted in a mind blowing fuck, I had been vague about my relationship to the Charlie situation. As we shared a coffee and she ate her sandwich, I gave her specifics. By the time my narrative finished, she knew all about the monster and my friendship with Micah and George.

"It sure sounds like he did it, and who could blame him?" said Diana, obviously amazed that such a monster could walk the earth so long.

"I know, but somehow I have to find out if he didn't who did. And the thing is, the three of us had been so close we could see inside each other. I don't know if that's true anymore. We haven't been close for awhile. But Micah and George still are. If she says he's innocent, it's not to protect him. She truly believes him. But if he had been so psychotic that some other person invaded in his head, Saint George or something, he may think as Micah that it was someone else. But he specified the murderer, a real person."

Diana nodded her head. "So do you want me to watch Mel for awhile?" she asked.

"Not now," I said. "It'll give me time to think."

"I got some studying to do. But if you need me, let me know."

I kissed her, hugging her thick, muscled body as she squeezed me against her. I appreciated the calming moment.

Once Sandy relieved me, I had much to do for the two hours before relieving George of the suicide watch. First I went back to the haunted house, bringing dinner to my hungry friends. Micah still looked pale and his speech sounded listless.

"I hate doing this, but I need to know specific things. Can we talk about the fucker?" I said to Micah, glancing at George, who looked tense.

"Okay," said Micah. "But I don't remember much about what happened. I just know who did it. I mean it happened, and then the butler exited the room and I entered. I don't remember much. I think the guy said something. Then I found myself here with George."

"No, I need to know how it worked. I mean as a kid with the fucker. I realize what I'm asking. Maybe George can tell me. But you know best. You know better than anyone the worst of it."

"Joe!" said George. "Is this really necessary?"

"If I'm right, I need to get into the fucker's house as soon as possible and examine the rooms he used for his..."

"Sex," said Micah tightly. "Yes."

Micah methodically drew two floor plans, one for the main room and one for the basement on the paper I had brought earlier. He labeled the latter "the dungeon." The farthest room down a hall he labeled the sex room. He crosshatched this with long remarkably straight lines.

I grabbed the paper. "I'll be back by eight," I said. It approaced seven. I had a meeting with Detective Nakamoto at seven. Luckily headquarters and the coffee shop nearby would take only a few minutes to get to. As I exited the haunted house, I noticed Micah writing.

"Sam's a bit tight fisted on this," said Nakamoto, sitting across the booth in the coffee shop.

"Yeah, I suppose he would be, Charlie being an old friend, and carrying so much baggage that could only get heavier with his murder."

"And you being an old friend of the main suspect isn't helping Sam's mood. You better not know his location and not tell us."

"What I need from you, Donald," I said, abruptly changing the subject causing Nakamoto's subtle squirming, "is to contact the FBI and find out about any child porno stings. I need a name, a local buyer. Try to keep Sam out of the loop."

"You put me in the shit on this, I'm going to go after your license, and maybe your balls," grumbled Nakamoto.

I finished the last drop of coffee. "Have I steered you wrong before?" I said, exiting the booth. His head looked heavy as it shook back and forth.

I returned to the haunted house. "I should be back by 11," said George as she rushed out.

Micah had several pages, both front and back filled with his careful writing. When I asked to see it, he paused his composing to tear out finished sheets.

The epic poem he wrote didn't rhyme, but every line had the same cadence and the same amount of syllables. Titled "The Butler Did It," it resembled an old English legend, with references to lords and saints and a dragon. But he set it in modern times. It was brilliant. It was weird.

The medieval juxtaposed with the modern made it clear that Micah crafted some sort of allegory. Though thick and obscure, it made sense. The tale spoke of vengeance, of doing battle, good against evil, and, most remarkably of love. The love story involved two men. Essentially luring away love using two forces. The dragon and its lair full of gold tempted. The second lure was more difficult to describe, a sort of longing for and creating a place to be absent from everything, to avoid the world of monsters and men and the insanity of life, its emotions and its dangers. But the place of absence wasn't safe. It had echoes of regret and fear and lost love, a maelstrom drawing the hero deeper into darkness and madness. Rather than succumbing, the hero breaks from his self-created tomb to do battle against the evil dragon and free his lover from its temptation.

"You and Juan were lovers?" I asked. Micah nodded, undeterred from continuing to write his epic. "Inside the fucker's house?"

He shook his head. "He replaced me in the dragon's harem. But I never entered there. Not until last night." The poem continued to be written.

"Did he lure you there?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Micah stopped writing. He looked at me with a face twisted in anger. I stiffened, ready to defend myself from a mad man's attack. His face went slack. His eyes closed. He opened them without looking at me and recommenced composing.

By the time George returned three hours later, Micah had stopped writing and slept. I had read the rest of the poem, the vanquishing of the monster resulting in mortal wounds to the hero who died in the arms of his lover at last freed from his greed. I led George to a room away from Micah.

"I think he might have done it," I said.

"Fuck you," said George.

"It was Juan."

"Make up your mind."

"No. I think it was Juan who killed the fucker, but he used Micah's hands."

"What are you... ?" Suddenly we heard a low thump. We ran back into the large room. Micah dangled from the noose. I ran up the stairs and pulled out my jackknife and cut him down. It may have been 5 seconds to cut through the rope, but it seemed like an eternity. George tried her best to catch him, but ended up under his body. Micah still lived. His breath rasped through his constricted throat. I loosened the noose, and then carried him to George's car with all the energy I could muster. Micah may have been thin, but he was tall and he was dead weight.

We raced him to the hospital. I called Nakamoto to let him know where the suspect's location. Before I hung up Nakamoto gave me the name and where to find the porno distributor. I rushed away.

First I went home to change into black clothes. While changing, I listened to the messages on the answering machine. Sandy warned me Lieutenant Sam Kamalua wanted to talk me and sounded angry. Then I heard Sam's voice.

"You better tell me where Micah is. You better turn him in now. Call me, Joe. Anytime. Now!"

George called me from the hospital moments catching me before I left. "He's going to live," she said. "But the police won't let me near him. You got connections, right? He needs me."

"I got some," I said. "I'll call Sandy. She'll make it happen."

"Thanks Joe. This may almost make up for you accusing Micah of murder."

"I swear to you George I hope you're right."

"I am right," she said and hung up.

Sandy told me she'd get it done. I wanted to walk through the phone lines and give her a hug.

"I owe you, boss," I said.

"When this is over, you're going to pay up. All night. Five orgasms at least."

"Gee, I don't think that's any payment, but if it is, I'm going to have to find a way to owe you a lot more."

"Are you going to be up for surveillance tomorrow?"

"Maybe there will be more to owe you."

"Get some rest."

"Can't."

"I know. See you later."

I grabbed my camera and exited my house ready for a long night.

Being familiar with the Boyle mansion and environs, I slipped through any possible observers to the darkest corner of the building, carefully breaking a basement window with barely enough egress to slip into the basement. Once inside, I plotted out my location and the location of the sex room. Careful not to alert anyone, I steered the flashlight in a downward direction. Though familiar with the main floor, Charlie had never had any reason to unlock the door to the basement for me, thank god. So, despite Micah's excellent floor plan, I had to familiarize myself with the dimensions, the length of walls, and the distances between doors. I dropped into a kind of mote of a hallway. No room occupied by a child victim would have access to its escape route.

Once I exited the mote/hallway through its only door, I found myself in the larger main hallway with doors to all the rooms. The door straight in front was the sex room. Before entering it, I decided to explore the dungeon. Luckily, all the doors had been opened. Unluckily, the possibility of having anything like clues still available seemed less likely. But I guess the abundance of stuff in this evil space precluded taking everything away.