Chapter 3

We could have brought Lieutenant Nakamoto into it. Far more resources from the Honolulu police to capture a fugitive murderer. Except he wasn’t a murderer. Both Sandy and I were nearly certain of that. I needed to be more certain. Nakamoto would have been pissed if he knew.

But he actually did know, as did the FBI. They both knew Julio had flown to Honolulu. They just didn’t know what we knew. Or that we believed he wasn’t a murderer.

Except Special Agent Drew Jones. We had asked him to fax pictures from the San Francisco Airport. Sandy pleaded with him to keep our involvement discreet. A lot of favors went into that, but also a lot of trust. He’d learned to trust our gut instincts. At least somewhat.

He called us as we headed to the house we had caught Julio, Sandy driving the old reliable Buick, no longer an ugly brown. That one had been retired years ago. But a most inconspicuous silver.

“Are you sure he didn’t do it?” Drew asked Sandy. I drove. “He sounds like a pathological liar. A con artist of the highest level, especially with the ladies.”

“I know,” Sandy chuckled. “He managed to work his charm on me.”

“Exactly.”

“Neither Joe nor I believe he’s a murderer. It’s just not in his nature.”

“Anyone is capable if cornered,” Drew said.

“Maybe,” I said, since Sandy had put the call on speakerphone. “But I can’t imagine ... Kyle to allow himself to be cornered. He’s too clever for that. Too slippery.” I almost revealed Julio’s real name, but the hesitation had been heard by one of the best officers of the law I have ever met.

“You caught him,” said Drew.

“Catch and release,” I sighed. “Julio’s a slippery fish.”

I heard Drew sigh as well. “Julio?”

“No last name,” Sandy reported. “He said he’s never had one, or one that stuck.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“We didn’t get there before he escaped,” Sandy admitted.

Another sigh. “Where did you get?”

“He may be a brilliant liar, a brilliant conman, but he’s neither pathological nor is he psychotic. He’s too emotional. I think it’s his empathy that makes him so successful at seducing women. It gave him tells when I guessed right about him.”

“What did you guess?”

“I don’t think he was completely honest, but like the best conman, which of course he is, he kept enough truth in it to make it convincing. And he was never specific, nor gave us any last names.”

“Go on.”

“He was born in a brothel somewhere around or in Mexico City. He has a girlfriend there, still a whore, possibly a madam, who has two children by him whom he visits when he can. Her and them. He’s quite fond of the woman.”

“And?”

“He ran away when he was probably fifteen or sixteen, maybe older. He was helped by a woman he called Violet, though her name may be Rose or Pansy or something. Some flower. She’s a runaway from San Diego or LA who became a whore at the whorehouse. She returned to take over her father’s somewhat successful company.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Worth checking. A young and pretty CEO or president with a mysterious past taking over a company in the last two years or so would be noticed. She would be married to a lawyer expert at anything to do with heirs: probate or wills. Probably adopting an older boy.”

“Julio.”

“Yes. She’s supposedly brilliant at business, and taught him, which he brought to Whiteman and convinced him of his worth until, of course, the man’s son killed his daughter-in-law and pinned it on Julio.”

“Jealousy or envy?”

“Maybe. The father treats his son like crap. Even if he deserves it, I wouldn’t call it a healthy relationship. But if we are talking about psychopaths...”

“You think that son’s that bad?”

“Probably not, but I think he’s a serial abuser, maybe even a rapist, and he also has his charm despite himself.”

“And murderer.”

“Yes. An escalation of abuse I think.”

“Or its happened in the past, and the father is protecting him again.”

“With Julio as scapegoat.”

“Worth looking into it.”

“I suppose.”

Drew laughed. “Kenneth?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll look into it anyway,” Drew chuckled.

“I haven’t actually told him about our new discoveries yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’m expecting his call on the other things any minute.”

“Then I better free up your phone.”

“Thanks Drew.”

“Out on a limb again, but so far it hasn’t ended my career,” Drew said before hanging up, still sounding amused. I could imagine him shaking his head.

Only a minute or so later, the phone rang. Kenneth. Since it coincided with our approach to the Hawaii Kai house, I decided to park a couple houses down.

Sandy put the call on speakerphone, saying, “Hey Horndog, how’s it hanging?”

“Bent slightly to the left, as you know,” he returned.

“It’s been a while. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Not my fault.”

“True, but you’ve done okay for yourself.”

“True.”

“How’s your wife?”

“Amazing.”

“She there?”

“Some of us have to work for a living.”

They chuckled. I heard the affection, especially Kenneth towards my partner who had introduced him to sex and to the way to a woman’s pleasure.

“So?” I asked.

“Interesting,” he replied, always a good word.

“In what way?”

“Baltimore.”

“You tracked down May’s family?”

“Yes. May is impressive. A partial scholarship to Friends school there, and she had an impressive GPA.”

“Her family couldn’t afford it?”

“You don’t have to be poor to not afford a private school.”

“True.”

“Her father’s middle management. Got laid off. Found another middle management position. Probably why he hasn’t advanced higher. Comfortably middle class I’d say. They own the house they live in, so that helps. An old townhouse in downtown Baltimore. What’s interesting is its location in relationship to where Jeanne Whiteman starts her pre-med.”

“Johns Hopkins,” I guessed.

“Yep.”

“Interesting.”

“Told you. And May got accepted to Maryland.”

“Hunh. What about the asshole brother?”

“Got busted in high school for selling drugs. At least the local paper reported it. Nothing on record.”

“Completely expunged?”

“Looks like it.”

“That must have taken some dough.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. It gets weird. A couple months after the bust, the head cheerleader gets found beaten to shit.”

“Rape?”

“Nope. She had her boyfriend’s semen inside her, but it had been consensual. He was actually beside her when they found her, completely wasted. Drunk and stoned. Passed out.”

“She wasted too?”

“Not as much, but yeah. The weird thing is, they arrested the father of the boy for it.”

“What?”

“I know. Supposedly he caught her fucking his passed out son, and went ballistic. Accused her of being a whore and getting his son drugs.”

“How the fuck...”

“She had his skin underneath her fingernails. He had scrapes on his face and some mild bruising.”

“Who called it in?”

“Anonymous.”

“Testimony?”

“All hers. She’s from the other side of the tracks so to speak, and her family had a windfall.”

“Of course. And the dad’s association with William Whiteman?”

“Competition. And Tacoma’s basically a small town. And his cousin set up the sting probably, the one that didn’t happen. He was county sheriff.”

“No longer.”

“DWI. Ran into a tree.”

“At least Whiteman didn’t have him kill someone.”

“There is that.”

“And college?”

“UW. Poor student, but still got his degree. Chemistry.”

We had to laugh.

“And?” I asked.

“We’re talking a large campus full of beautiful young women. Unfortunately rape isn’t unusual.”

“I suppose.”

“So I decided to broaden out and cross-reference. Three women over the time he matriculated, all pretty and petite and Freshmen or Sophomores went to the same clinic for injuries. Not the University clinic, which would have been free. No rape kits. All of them quit school afterwards. All families got a significant windfall.”

“Whiteman owns the clinic.”

“Yep. And the same doctor and nurse attended.”

“What clued you in?” Sandy asked. “Did they put down student as occupation?”

“No actually, but one, the sophomore, listed her residence at a sorority. That got my attention. The other two had out of state residences. With their age, a list of matriculating women at UW, and the clinic and the doctor, it revealed the pattern.”

“Sorority,” I murmured.

“I thought you’d grasp that,” Kenneth commented. “I emailed a list of the sisters at the time and cc’d Dotty.”

“And the students at Reed?”

“Yep. Those who shared majors with Kyle, Emily and Jeanne.”

“Dorm mates?”

“The three lived off campus together. At least while he was there. But things get worse at UW. A petite sophomore disappeared during his senior year.”

“Never found?”

“Nope. From what I could glean from the police report, she was a bit wild. Promiscuous Favored jocks.”

“And the dope peddler who fed them.”

“Probably. Her reputation made the cops less attentive to her being found. Figured she ran off somewhere. The family disagreed.”

“Did they at least interview Jason?”

“He’s never mentioned. A low profile and the jocks would be reticent to mention their dealer.”

“True,” I muttered. I gave him the information Julio gave to me.

“On it, boss,” he said before disconnecting.

Sandy and I got out of the car. I pocketed my cell phone which Sandy handed to me, and we walked past a couple of large old houses before reaching the one where Julio hid. I rang the bell. An older, blonde version of Julie answered wearing a pink terry-cloth robe and as far as I could tell nothing else. She smiled at me and frowned at Sandy. “No,” she said. “Just him. Unlike my daughter, I don’t swing that way.”

My partner and I looked at each other, confused. “We just came to talk,” Sandy explained.

“I figured, but my daughter told me about the long preamble. I’d like some of that. So get lost, Babe.”

Despite the rude ending, it had been said with enough of an amused smile to lessen the sting. Sandy and I shrugged at each other. Before we could ask, the woman suggested, “He can call you when he’s done, which won’t be for a while, if my daughter’s right about his stamina, which she has no reason not to be. Better yet, I’ll drop him off.”

“I guess I can work on things at the office,” Sandy decided.

“See where Dotty’s at,” I suggested, handing her the car keys.

“Okay.” She turned and walked away. I didn’t see much of it, because I was pulled inside. I didn’t even have time to mull over the lost chance for Sandy to kid me, even if with a smirk. The woman’s forcefulness had definitely shocked my partner.

Not so much me. It made me hard, even more so watching the demonstrative shifting of her hidden ass as she sashayed in front of me, saying, “Follow me.” The sexy view continued up the stairs to her boudoir where pink proclaimed itself to be her favorite color. No man shared this room...

She turned and dropped her robe, revealing a sexy, sheer pink baby doll nightie. Only her pussy remained invisible beneath it, hidden behind French cut silk panties, pink of course. Her body looked like an expanded version of her daughter. No longer a magnificent medium. Definitely larger and softer, thicker in the middle, though, maybe not to the extreme of her daughter, she obviously worked to keep things firm.

Kneeling in front of me, she smiled up at me stroking my excitement, pleased at her success. She soon had the proof out, wetting it with her tongue, wrapping her hand around it and pulling, and finally, wonderfully, surrounding it with her lips. Her eyes revealed more pleasure when I removed my clothing, helping me with the lower part. When I bent down to caress her weighty breasts, feeling their smooth, resilient flesh, she released the straps on her shoulders and bared them for me.

“God,” I moaned when I found my cock penetrating her throat. She withdrew her mouth entirely after that, standing and stepping out of her nightie.

She lay back, holding my cock to bring me with her. I let it slip from its hold as I grabbed her panties and removed them, placing my mouth where the gusset had been. Her well-groomed vee of pubic hair revealed her true hair color: brunette like her daughter’s. Her wetness amazed me, as if she had been the one being pleasured. She trembled when my tongue slid across her tiny, rigid clit. I paused to saturate my middle finger, plunging it in high and deep, while my lips and tongue did serious work on her cunt lips and clit. I didn’t take long for her to moan her need, “Fuck me, Joe.”

I stayed a little longer, until she wriggled and her back began to arch. I slid over her as smoothly as possible. “Yes,” she murmured before my mouth silenced her. Her hand reached down, and I felt it roll a rubber I hadn’t seen her open or ready, over my glans and down. Afterwards she went back to gripping me, leading me blindly to her center. I pushed, and found myself inside her, discovering a warm, lively, welcoming place. I kept pushing slowly. Her mouth buzzed a continuous moan against my lips. When my cock had become completely immersed, and I felt her cervix at the tip gently being tapped, her head tilted back, ending out kiss. “God!” she groaned. Her body pressed up against mine and seemed to ripple, undulate. Inside, the same thing happened around my cock. Her interior fluttered. I felt my balls dampen. She had cum with just the one stroke.

“Wow,” I said.

“I’m a horny bitch,” she murmured breathlessly, something between a sigh and a giggle.

Figuring she wanted more, and I did too, I began the movements of a slow fuck, pulling out to near exiting before pushing back in, a little faster than that first time. Each stroke increased speed, but gradually. I awaited her need, her demands. But when she no longer seemed inundated by that first intense orgasm, and it took a remarkable amount of time for her to recover, her body followed mine, pacing my pace. She did lead me in some ways. She guided my lips back to hers for a while before pushing my head lower and arching her back, lifting her breasts for presentation. One of my hands joined my efforts there, but again she led the effort she wanted, bringing my other hand to her clit.

I finally reached a steady pace, neither fast nor slow. Her body beneath me and her hand grasping my ass seemed to want me at that speed. Each thrust generated a moan from her, ever changing and slowly gaining in volume, until they became gasps. Her hips lifted stronger against my thrusts, slamming pubic bone against pubic bone. I worried about her cervix. I felt more impact there, But it seemed to add to her pleasure.

“Keep going,” she growled, stiffening and shivering, reaching her second climax, as powerful as her first.

But her reaching it became the final trigger to reach mine, and I no longer kept the fucking steady. I pounded into her, fast and hard, giving me the friction I needed to gain blissful release, only slowing when I got there, my thrusts the manifestation of each spurt I would have sent into her womb if I hadn’t wore latex. Throughout my sudden aggressiveness and its resultant ejaculations, her orgasm stretched, expanded, shifted, until my final spurts became her denouement as well.

Once again she brought my mouth, which had been nearly torturing her taut nipples, to hers for a soft kiss. It broke when she sighed. My cock had become limp and I reached down to extract it from her pussy, making sure I didn’t leak my seed into her.

I rolled us over. Her head rested on my shoulder. I stroked her near white dyed hair.