Stolen in Paradise (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) by Neal Toby

Author:Neal, Toby [Neal, Toby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, Crime fiction, Hawaii
ISBN: 9780989148900
Publisher: Toby Neal
Published: 2013-04-09T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Marcella and Rogers stood at Fernandez’s door at what Rogers liked to call the “ass-crack of dawn.” Marcella had updated him on the blogs on the way, impressing him with the urgency of this interview—they might even be able to make an arrest.

The doctoral candidate lived in an off-campus apartment at the University of Hawaii Manoa, in an older low-rise building, and rosy morning-lit clouds filled the sky. Marcella’s third cup of coffee still hadn’t started working, and she’d paid for her long night on the office floor with various aches and pains that reminded her she was closing in on thirty way too quickly.

Marcella put some of her bad mood into pounding on the door. “Open up! FBI!”

She stepped back when the door opened. Fernandez stood there in a drooping pair of boxers. “What do you want?”

“We need to ask you some questions.” She pushed past him into a dim interior, ripe with the smell of fetid human and leftover pizza. She went into the living room, piled with laundry and empty takeout boxes, and swept some of the debris onto the floor. Sat. Set the camera phone on a cleared edge of the coffee table.

“Please, make yourself at home.” Fernandez let some attitude creep into his voice. “I hope you don’t mind if I put on some pants.”

“That would probably be best,” Rogers said as the intern went into his bedroom. “My, aren’t we grumpy,” he said, eying Marcella. “Is that yesterday’s shirt I see?”

“Guy’s got some explaining to do,” Marcella said. She ignored the question about her shirt.

“How can I help the FBI this morning?” Fernandez walked past her, clad in a T-shirt and sweatpants. He went into the kitchen, turned on the light. “I’m making coffee. Want some?”

“She does,” Rogers answered for Marcella.

“Did you hear about your colleague, Cindy Moku?” Marcella carried the phone with her as she went to the kitchen door.

“I did. I’m…very sad and disturbed that she would take her own life.” Fernandez busied himself with the coffeepot, keeping his face turned away, a belching sound emerging from his throat. “I apologize. I have trouble with tics, and they get worse when I’m upset.”

“Who told you she took her own life?” Marcella asked.

“Dr. Truman called me. He told me. I’ve been too upset to go out. I took a pill and went to bed yesterday.”

Marcella stalked into the kitchen, stood next to him. Tried to get eye contact. “Cindy didn’t kill herself. She was murdered—strangled and hung to look like suicide.”

Jarod Fernandez became very still, the water flowing into the coffeepot, filling it, overflowing. Marcella reached out, turned him by the shoulder. He kept his head turned away, long hair flopping over his pale face. Another belch ripped from his throat.

“Look at me. She was apparently your girlfriend. What do you have to say about that?”

“Nothing. I can’t—I can’t imagine that. Not Cindy. No.”

“Is that why you didn’t answer the door when the officer came by the other day?” Rogers asked. “We held interviews down at the Bureau offices, and everyone else showed up but you.

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