“They arrested someone or not?” Barb said, clutching his hand.
“A 'person of interest' is a suspect. But they don't have enough on him, or they'd be saying he was in custody.” Levon cranked up the volume a little more.
A reporter asked, “Lieutenant, we understand you're talking to Doug Cahill.”
“No comment. That's all I have for you. Thank you.”
Jackson turned away and the reporters went nuts, and then Tracy Baker was back on the screen, saying “Doug Cahill, linebacker for the Chicago Bears, has been seen on Maui, and informed sources say he was Kim McDaniels's lover.” A picture came on the screen of Doug in his uniform, helmet under his arm, huge grin, cropped blond hair, mid-western good looks.
“I could see him pestering her,” Barb said, chewing on her lower lip, snatching the remote out of Levon's hand, dialing the volume down. “But hurt her? I do not believe that.”
And then the phone rang. Levon grabbed it off the hook.
“Mr. McDaniels, this is Lieutenant Jackson.”
“Are you arresting Doug Cahill? If you are, it's a mistake.”
“A witness came forward an hour ago, a local who said he'd seen Cahill harassing Kim after the photo shoot.”
“Didn't Doug tell you he hadn't seen Kim?” Levon asked. “Right. So maybe he lied to us and so we're talking to him now. He's still denying any involvement.”
“There's someone else you should know about,” Levon said, and he told Jackson about Hawkins's recent phone call concerning a tip about an international businessman named Nils Bjorn.
“We know who Bjorn is,” Jackson said. “There's no link between Bjorn and Kim. No witnesses. Nothing on the surveillance tapes.”
“You talked with him?”
“Bjorn had checked out before anyone knew Kim was missing. McDaniels, I know you don't buy it, but Cahill is our guy. We just need time enough to break him.”
Chapter 36
Henri, in his Charlie Rollins gear, was having lunch at the Sand Bar, the hotel's exquisite beachside restaurant. Yellow market umbrellas glowed overhead, and teenagers ran up the steps from the beach, their tanned bodies glistening with water. Henri didn't know who was more beautiful, the boys or the girls.
Henri's waitress brought him liquid sugar for his iced tea and a basket of cheesy breadsticks and said his salad would be coming shortly. He nodded pleasantly, said he was enjoying the view and had no place he'd rather be than here.
A waiter pulled out a chair at the next table, and a pretty, young woman sat down. She wore her black hair in a short, boyish style, was dressed in a white bikini top and yellow shorts.
Henri knew who she was behind her Maui Jim shades.
When she put down her menu, he said, “Julia. Julia Winkler.”
She looked up, said, “Sorry. Do I know you?”
“I know you,” he said, held up his camera to say, I'm in the business. “Are you on a job?”
“I was,” she said. “The shoot wrapped yesterday. I'm going back to L.A. tomorrow.”
“Oh. The Sporting Life job?”
She nodded, her face getting sad. “I've been waiting around, hoping? I was rooming with Kim McDaniels.”
“She'll be back,” Henri said kindly.
“You think? Why?”
“I have a feeling she's taking a holiday. It happens.”
“If you're so psychic, where is she?”
“She's out of my vibrational reach, but I can read you loud and clear.”
“Sure. So what am I thinking?”
“That you're feeling sad and a little lonely and you wish you were having lunch with someone who would make you smile.”
Julia laughed, and Henri signaled to the waiter, asked him to set Ms. Winkler up at his table, and the beautiful girl sat down next to him so that they were both looking out at the view.
“Charlie,” he said, putting out his hand. “Rollins.”
“Hi, Charlie Rollins. What am I having for lunch?”
“Grilled chicken salad and a Diet Coke. And here's what else. You're thinking you'd like to stay over another day because a neighbor is taking care of your cat and it's so nice here, so what's the rush to go home?”
Julia laughed again. “Bruno. He's a Rottweiler.”
“I knew that,” Henri said, sitting back as the waitress brought his salad and asked Julia for her order, grilled chicken and a mai tai.
“Even if I were to stay over another night, I never date photographers,” she said, eyeing the camera resting on the table facing her.
“Have I asked you out?”
“You will.”
Their grins turned into laughter, and then Rollins said, “All right, I'll ask you out. And I'm taking your picture so the guys in Loxahatchee won't think I made this up.”
“Okay, but take off your sunglasses, Charlie. I want to see your eyes.”
“Show me yours, I'll show you mine.”
Chapter 37
WHOOOOOOO,” Julia screamed as the chopper yawed into the coral-gold sky. The little island of Lanai grew huge, and then they were dropping softly to the tiny private heliport at the edge of the vast Island Breezes Hotel's greener-than-green golf course.
Charlie got out first and helped Julia to the ground as she held the collar of her windbreaker closed, her curly hair parting, her cheeks flushed. They ducked under the rotor blades and ran to a waiting car.
“You've got a great expense account, buddy,” she said breathlessly.
“Our dream date's on me, Julia.”
“Really?”
“What kind of person would expense a date with you?”
“Awww.”
The driver opened the doors, and then the car rolled slowly over the carriage road to the hotel, Julia gasping as she entered the lobby, all velvety teal and gold and burgundy, dense Chinese carpets and ancient statuary. The sunset streamed through the open-air space, almost stealing the show.
Julia and Charlie had their twin massages in a bamboo hut open to the ocean's rhythmic pounding on the shore. The masseurs quartered the plumeria-scented sheets that covered them as their strong hands massaged in cocoa butter before proceeding to the long strokes of the traditional lomi lomi massage.
Julia, lying on her stomach, smiled lazily at the man she'd just met, saying, “This is too good. I don't want it to ever stop.”
“It only gets better from here.”
Dinner came hours later at the restaurant on the main floor. Pillars and soft lighting were the backdrop for their feast of shrimp and Kurubuta pork chops with mango chutney and an excellent French wine. And Julia was happy to let Charlie lead her in conversation about herself. She opened up to him, talking about her upbringing on an army base in Beirut, her move to Los Angeles, her lucky break.
Charlie ordered a dessert wine and the entire dessert menu: zuccotto, pralines and milk, chocolate mousse, Lanai bananas caramelized by the waiter at the table. The delicious fragrance of burnt sugar made him hungry all over again. He looked at the girl, and she was a girl now, sweet and vulnerable and available to him.
Four thousand dollars had been well spent, even if he stopped right now.
But he didn't.
They changed into their swimsuits in a cabana by the pool and took a long walk on the beach. Moonlight bathed the sand, turning the ocean into a magical meeting of rushing sound and frothing foam.
And then Julia laughed, and said, “Last one in the water is an old poop, and that will be you, Charlie.”
She ran, screamed as the water lapped her thighs, and Charlie snapped off some quick shots before putting his camera back inside his duffel bag and setting it down.
“Let's see who's an old poop.”