Aloha Means Goodbye Read online

  I was questioned briefly by a detective, but I really couldn’t offer much. They let me go after I gave the detective my business card with my cell phone number on it.

  I finally got around to calling a cab to take me to Foxx’s place. How was I going to break the news to him? I knew he’d feel horrible, especially after fighting with her.

  Foxx and Lauren lived in Ka’anapali in a stunning house on the ocean. I rang the doorbell and didn’t get an answer. That was odd. Where the hell had Foxx gone to? The door was locked, so I decided to walk around back. Hopefully, this being an exclusive and safe neighborhood and all, I might get lucky and find the back door unlocked.

  There were several small lights lining the curving sidewalk that made navigating the unfamiliar yard easy. I went through the gate and came around to the back of the house. The first thing I noticed was the magnificent view. A small, rock jetty extended from their property, and the ocean waves gently rolled into it. I’ve always found the sound of waves comforting. In fact, I have one of those sound machines, set to the sounds of ocean waves, in my bedroom. A large, lagoon-shaped swimming pool dominated the backyard. An inviting jacuzzi tub was attached to the pool. Clearly, Lauren was an extremely successful artist.

  The back wall of the house was basically a giant window, allowing Foxx and Lauren to enjoy views of the Pacific from any room. I tried the sliding glass door and did indeed find it unlocked. I entered the house and switched on the lights. The wall in front of me was completely covered by Lauren’s paintings.

  Then I heard it. A man crying — sobbing, actually. I followed the noise to the master bedroom. Remember when I said earlier that I had seen the shock of my life? Well, this one just took claim for the new world record.

  There, sitting on the edge of the bed, was my best friend Foxx. His hands smeared with blood. I didn’t know what to do. To say I was stunned would be a gross understatement. Foxx looked up at me, then down to his hands.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down a few feet from Foxx.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked.

  “I went outside looking for Lauren. She wasn’t out front, so I walked around to the back of the building. I figured she went out for a smoke. She does that when she gets upset. When I got around back I saw her lying on the ground. I ran up to her and tried to get her to come to.”

  At this point Foxx began crying again. Now I must admit, for the sake of background information, that in all the time I’ve known Foxx I’ve never seen him cry. He even managed to stay dry-eyed during the final scene in Field of Dreams, where Kevin Costner asks his estranged father if he wants to play a game of catch. But here was Foxx sobbing. You know how awkward guys can get when they see someone crying. You don’t know whether to hug them, pat them on the back, or just leave them the hell alone. I was just sitting there, looking and feeling like a complete idiot. I felt so much pain for him, and I would do anything to help him. But I just didn’t know what to do or say that would make a bit of difference. So I sat there and said nothing.

  “I kept shaking her, but she wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Is that how you got blood on your hands?” I asked.

  Foxx looked up at me with pleading eyes.

  “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”

  I didn’t want to hesitate, but I did.

  “Take off your pants,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Look at them, Foxx.”

  Foxx glanced down at his pants. He had consciously or subconsciously wiped the blood onto his pants. I didn’t understand how Foxx could have gotten so much blood on himself if all he had actually done was to check if Lauren was still alive.

  “Maybe if we throw these in the washing machine now we can get the blood out,” I suggested.

  “Shouldn’t we burn them? If the police find those blood stains, I’m done for.”

  “Foxx, if you’re innocent than you have nothing to worry about.”

  “What do you mean ‘if I’m innocent?’”

  “I wasn’t trying to question your innocence. I was just pointing out that - Hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I do know that it’s only a matter of time before the cops come looking for you. If they see your clothes on fire outside, it’s not going to be good.”

  Maybe Foxx was telling the truth. But here’s what really bothered me about the whole situation: Foxx had yet to express grief that his girlfriend was dead. I found him sobbing, of course, but so far our conversation had been about his possible guilt. Does that sound like something a grieving boyfriend would discuss? If you were the boyfriend, wouldn’t you have stayed at her side and screamed for help? Wouldn’t you be doing everything in your power to help the authorities catch the one responsible for the horrible murder of your loved one? Or would you have fled the scene in fear like Foxx?

  He was my friend, though. I owed him my loyalty - at least I thought I did.

  Would you have done the same for your best friend?

  We just sat there in the laundry room, watching the bloody pants turn round and round in the washing machine. Foxx had changed into a pair of shorts and an old Washington Redskins jersey. I knew he always felt most comfortable on a football field. Ironically enough the gridiron was where he felt the safest.

  Neither of us had said a word in at least twenty minutes. Foxx had finally stopped crying, but now his hands were shaking. I had run out of things to say. All that remained in my mind was questions. Questions that I was afraid to ask. Actually I wasn’t afraid to ask them. I was afraid of what the answers might be. All I knew was that a woman I had met only a few hours ago was now lying stabbed to death behind a building. It made me want to vomit.

  The doorbell rang.

  Foxx and I looked at each other. Then I looked at my watch: 2:14 a.m. It’s never a good thing to be getting a call in the middle of the night, let alone an actual visit — unless, of course, it’s a booty call, and again, I’m sorry to say, I’ve never received a booty call. I’m sorry to bring up the ridiculous subject of a booty call during an emotional moment like this. But I was about to crack and start crying hysterically like Foxx, and my thoughts weren’t exactly under control.

  “Do you think it’s the police?” Foxx asked.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Don’t answer it.”

  I grabbed Foxx by the shoulders.

  “Listen to me, Foxx, you’re innocent. You have nothing to be afraid of. Sooner or later you’re going to have to talk to them. It’s not going to look good if you’re intentionally avoiding them.”

  I proclaimed all of this with much more confidence then I felt. Part of me did want to tell Foxx to hide under the bed until I could get rid of the cops.

  I made for the front door as Foxx headed to the living room. I pulled open the door, and there was my mermaid, now wearing long pants and a white blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It somehow made her features less soft and more determined. She was not smiling. Behind her stood two young police officers dressed in standard uniforms. They looked too young to be anything but rookies.

  She held up a detective’s badge.

  “My name’s Detective Alana Hu. I’m looking for Doug Foxx. Is he here?”

  “Yes. He’s in the living room.”

  Detective Hu and the two police officers followed me into the living room.

  She asked him if he knew Lauren was dead. He said he didn’t. It took all of my power not to groan when he tossed out that lie. The detective asked him when he left the art show. Foxx said he couldn’t remember. I wanted to jump in and help him, but I thought that would make him look worse than he already did. Was that possible? Why was he lying? Did he really kill her? Was I a fool to support him? Suddenly I wished I was back on that damn plane with the baby pooping in his diapers.

  Then I heard it. The beeping sound of the washing machine cycle coming to an end. I couldn’t believe we didn’t turn it of
f, but you can’t expect your brain to be firing on all cylinders at two thirty in the morning. I prayed that the Detective wouldn’t notice it.

  I was wrong.

  “So, Mr. Foxx, may I ask why you’re washing clothes in the middle of the night?”

  “I…don’t know,” he responded.

  “They’re my clothes, detective.” I jumped into the conversation.

  She turned to me. Her eyes bore into me. Was she looking for signs of a lie?

  “And why are you doing clothes so late?” she asked me.

  “I’ve been traveling for the last few days and don’t have any clean clothes for tomorrow. Foxx and I haven’t seen each other in a long time. We’ve been awake all night catching up on old times. I figured why not take advantage of the time and wash some clothes.”

  “You’re fast on your feet,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, but let’s face it. I knew exactly what she meant, and she knew I knew.

  “Do you mind if we take a look?” she asked.

  “Take a look at my dirty clothes? Why would you want to do that?”

  She smiled ever so slightly.

  “Do I need a warrant to look in the washing machine?”

  She followed the question up with the tiniest laugh. Trying to break the tension, I suppose. But I didn’t think that was possible.

  “Listen,” I said. “He’s answered all of your questions. I really think you ought to leave.”

  “Are you his lawyer?” the detective asked.

  “No, I’m his architect.”

  I don’t know why I said that, but I did. It didn’t come out sarcastic, just stupid. Again, I’d like to point out that this conversation took place in the middle of the night.

  Then I noticed one of the rookie cops had left the room. I turned to look for him.

  He emerged from the laundry room carrying a blood-stained pair of wet pants. He held them up for all to see.

  Detective Hu turned to me.

  “Either those aren’t your pants or you’ve lost a substantial amount of weight in the last several hours.”

  She motioned to the other police officer who quickly walked over to Foxx and started to place handcuffs on him.

  “You have a right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?” one of the rookie cops said.

  Foxx didn’t answer. He only stared at me, his expression screaming for me to help him.

  “Do you understand?” the rookie asked.

  “Yes,” he finally said.

  “Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law.

  Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.”

  Foxx was right. I shouldn’t have let them in the house. I had failed him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Behind Bars

  I was somewhat surprised I wasn’t arrested for obstruction of justice. I had clearly lied about the clothes in the washing machine. I suppose the detective considered me a small fish, unworthy of frying. Before she left Foxx’s house, Detective Hu locked eyes with me. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, so I kept my face expressionless, refusing to break eye contact with her. Our bizarre staring contest was broken by one of the rookie cops asking her a question. I didn’t hear what he said. I didn’t really care. My mind was racing a mile a minute.

  You haven’t experienced anything until you’ve spent a few hours in the lobby of a jail. I’m man enough to admit to you that I was somewhat scared - not for being in the presence of criminals. After all, I could leave whenever I wanted to. But Foxx was locked up with them. I knew he was more than capable of defending himself, but just being around these criminals was a constant reminder of how cruel and callous the world can be sometimes. Then it suddenly dawned on me that the police were probably looking at Foxx the same way: a common thug who deserved whatever the judge threw at him. I thought about everything I had witnessed at the art show. Unfortunately, the case against Foxx was substantial:

  1. Over 100 people witnessed Foxx and Lauren arguing at the art gallery.

  2. The murder weapon, a bloody dinner knife, had been found in a nearby garbage dumpster behind the building. They had lifted one clean fingerprint off the knife. Yes, it was Foxx’s.

  3. The blood on Foxx’s pants matched Lauren’s blood.

  4. Foxx lied to the detective when she questioned his knowledge of Lauren’s death.

  5. Just last week, Lauren had named Foxx in her will as her sole beneficiary.

  Detective Hu appeared in the lobby. She was tired, but she still looked good. Was it insensitive of me to be thinking about that at a time like this? Probably. She told me the judge would probably deny Foxx bail because of the seriousness of the crime. He would also be considered a flight risk. I’m not sure how they would determine that, but they would, she assured me.

  “You’re lucky we didn’t arrest you too back there,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked, immediately regretting the question.

  “Because you stepped on my toes, so I knew your whereabouts around the time the murder occurred.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It was your lucky break.”

  “Will you be handling the investigation?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’d like to help if possible.”

  “You’re a civilian. That would be inappropriate.”

  She wasn’t going to stop me, but I didn’t want to argue with her in the police station.

  “At least I know you’ll be fair,” I said.

  “And why do you say that?”

  “I have good instincts about people.”

  She just stared at me for a few moments. I’m not sure she knew how to take my compliment, but it was sincere.

  “Good day, Mr. Rutherford.”

  Detective Hu walked away. I disagreed with her. It was not going to be a good day, but at least she remembered my name.

  After several more hours of waiting, I was allowed to talk to Foxx. I had never seen him look so desperate. Can you blame him? I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t have deep doubts about Foxx’s innocence. We had been best friends since longer than I could remember, and I didn’t think him capable of murder. Sure, I had seen him make mincemeat out of quarterbacks on the football field. Off the field, though, he was a gentle giant. But could something have pushed him over the edge? What makes someone so crazy that they could actually kill another human being?

  Foxx leaned forward, staring at the table between us.

  “I know how bad this looks, Poe. But you’ve got to believe me. I had nothing to do with Lauren’s death.”

  “If you tell me you didn’t do it, then I believe you.”

  Foxx looked up at me. For a second I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. But then it was gone.

  “Where did you disappear to after your fight with Lauren?” I asked.

  “I went outside for some fresh air. Eventually Lauren came out, and we picked up our fight where we left off.”

  “What were you two fighting about?”

  “She had gotten into an altercation with another artist shortly after arriving at the show. She told me about it, and when I didn’t immediately take her side she went off the deep end.”

  “Why was she fighting with another artist?”

  “Lauren had a lot of enemies in the art community. She was by far the most successful artist on the island, and many people were jealous of that success. Particularly because they felt she hadn’t earned it.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’m no art critic, Poe, but even I could tell that she borrowed other people’s ideas.”

  “Like the painting I saw at the show last night?”

  “Exactly. The artist she was arguing with was the guy that pain
ted the piece we were looking at,” Foxx said.

  “Do you think a spiteful artist may have killed her?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Poe.”

  No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get the image of Foxx‘s bloody hands out of my mind.

  “Foxx, why did you run away?”

  There. I finally asked it.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just panicked.”

  “But why? You didn’t kill her. Why didn’t you call for help?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Foxx started crying again. I didn’t think I should push him for an answer when he obviously wasn’t willing or able to give me one.

  But he continued.

  “I guess I just went into shock, Poe. I don’t know how long I sat there, just staring at her. I had been so angry at her just minutes before. I felt so ashamed for that anger, even disgusted with myself. Then I heard voices getting nearer, so I ran away.”

  You’re much more impartial than I am. Are you buying it? I’m not sure I knew what to believe. The only thing that was certain was that Foxx was going to sit in that jail cell until one of two things happened: they sent him to the gas chamber or the real killer was found.

  I knew I couldn’t rely on the police. As far as they were concerned, they had nabbed the guilty party. It was up to me to rescue Foxx, and I wasn’t all that confident that I could do it.

  It wasn’t until I made it back to Foxx’s house that I realized I hadn’t slept in about forty-eight hours. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep.

  I decided to take a walk on the beach and collect my thoughts. If I assumed Foxx was innocent, then who was the real killer? My only lead was a jealous artist. I knew Lauren had stolen ideas from at least one artist, but how many others had she done that to?

  I thought back to my conversation with Nakia, the documentary producer. She had commented on the competitiveness between the artists. I wondered if she was referring to Lauren and her habit of borrowing creative ideas.

  Maybe the documentary producers had gotten the real scoop on the artists in the show. I knew it was a long shot, and who was to say one of the artists committed the murder anyway? At this point, though, I didn’t have a lot of options.