Honolulu Blues: T. J. O'Sullivan Series, #2

By Larry Darter

New Zealand ex-pat and Honolulu PI T. J. O'Sullivan, follows the trail of a con man to Hong Kong hoping to recover her client's half a million dollars' worth of stolen jewelry. But she never expected the case would catapult her into a deadly clash with an international crime syndicate that erupts in such danger and violence it threatens not only her life but the lives of everyone she loves.

Madison Edwards, a wealthy but lonely widow from Los Angeles, thought she'd found her soulmate on an online dating site. She fell so hard for the handsome, seemingly cultured Bernard Clemens, Ph.D. that she jumps at the chance when he invites her to Hawaii for a first face-to-face meeting. But when she awakens the morning after she and Clemens were intimate for the first time, Clemens was missing from her bed along with a quarter-million dollars worth of her jewelry taken from the hotel room safe. A Los Angeles private eye who had done work for Madison's late husband, Ben Malone, refers her to T. J. O'Sullivan for help.

While not hopeful of recovering her client's jewelry, O' Sullivan thinks finding and confronting Clemens, a self-proclaimed professor of comparative literature at a local university, will be easy enough...until she starts to learn more about the man. Bernard Clemens isn't even his real name, and he isn't a professor at all. Instead "Bernie Clements" is a career thief, an ex-con who preys on the lovelorn, divorced or widowed middle-aged wealthy women, by catfishing and fleecing them. Madison Edwards is just his latest victim.

Clements disappears to Hong Kong, leaving behind not only a string of jilted lovers but a very angry bunch of former criminal associates in a Chinese organized crime syndicate called the Triads, bent on revenge after Bernie conned them too.

Between trying to track down Clements in a foreign city, and trying to steer clear of the Chinese gangsters, O'Sullivan's case grows more complicated by the day. As T. J., her friend Jackie, and Tsang Chun-wah, a local Hong Kong private detective that T. J. hires to help with the case, search for Clements and try to recover the jewelry, things really start to spiral out of control when Jackie Fitzgerald is abducted by the gangsters. Honolulu Blues is the second novel in a female private investigator crime and suspense thriller series that features breathtaking action, chilling suspense, laugh-out-loud humor, and a hint of romance.

Fans of Patricia Cornwell, Sara Gran, Leslie Wolfe, Diane Capri, and Janet Evanovich will be engrossed in this spellbinding thriller and suspense novel that will keep you turning the pages until the very end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fedora Press
• Release date: Dec 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985056587

Larry Darter

Larry Darter is an American author best known for his crime fiction novels written about the fictional private detective Malone. He is a former U.S. Army infantry officer, and a retired law enforcement officer. He lives with his family in Oklahoma.

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Larry Darter

Honolulu Blues

A T. J. O’Sullivan Novel Book 2

First published by Fedora Press 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Larry Darter

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Larry Darter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Second edition

ISBN: 979-8-9850565-8-7

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For Jessica—

You have just enough madness to make you quite invaluable as a companion, and irreplaceable as a friend.

Acknowledgement

I would like to express my gratitude to those wonderful people who provided support, talked things over, offered suggestions, and assisted in the editing, proofreading and design of this book.

I’d like to thank Matthew Fulton of The Book Editor in Auckland New Zealand for introducing me to best editor I could have ever have hoped for.

Special thanks to my amazing editor Sarah Milstead for all the tireless hours of hard work you put into helping make this book something people might find enjoyable and entertaining to read. Your expertise, proficiency, and suggestions were invaluable and made this book far better than it would have been otherwise.

A big thank you to Matt Stone and all the good folks at 100 Covers for designing a cover for this book I fell in love with the moment I saw it.

As always, I owe a great debt of gratitude to my Kiwi mate Jessica, who first introduced me to and helped me fall in love with the delightful way the people of New Zealand speak their own language with colorful Kiwi slang and their love for shortened words. Good on you, Jess.

ONE

Beach Bar is an oceanfront pub at the Moana Surfrider Resort on Kalakaua Avenue. Shaded by a majestic Indian Banyan tree planted in 1885, and only steps away from the sands of Waikiki Beach, Beach Bar is an ideal setting for people-watching. If you are up for it, you can enjoy the Waikiki scenery with your favorite tropical beverage and watch tourists from Japan, Europe, the mainland, tourists from almost anywhere in the world enjoying the Honolulu sand, sun, and surf.

As a native of New Zealand I was an island girl myself which went a good way toward explaining why I was happy living in Hawaii. I’d moved to Honolulu six months before from Los Angeles. I had met my late American husband David when he worked at the U.S. Diplomatic Mission to New Zealand in Auckland. After we married, I immigrated to the United States when the State Department transferred him to Los Angeles.

I’d enjoyed living in Los Angeles, mostly. But some years after a terrorist bombing killed David while he was on a temporary assignment in Afghanistan, I met a man there who I promptly feel in love with. Nothing ever came of that. The man I fancied, Ben Malone, was already in a committed relationship when we met and worked together in private investigations. Knowing Malone would never be an option for me and finding that quite hard to deal with I moved to Honolulu. I hoped that putting some distance between us would allow me to get over Malone and to get on with my life.

I was nursing a bottle of Corona Extra. Even if I hadn’t been working, noon was a bit early for cocktails. Even for a girl like me who liked her drinks. I was at Beach Bar meeting with Mrs. Madison Edwards of Los Angeles. Madison was a prospective client suffering from a case of the Honolulu blues, that incongruous state of packing a sad while in Honolulu, a place that so many consider a paradise on earth.

Ben Malone believes you might help, Madison said. Mr. Malone worked for my late husband a few times. I phoned him for advice. He recommended you.

Malone is a former colleague — a mentor, you might say, I said. We worked together when I lived in Los Angeles.

Madison nodded. God, I feel like the biggest fool in Honolulu.

No worries about that.

Why do you say that?

It’s quite a choice club, I said. The queue extends all the way from Kalakaua Avenue to North Shore. You’d have to do heaps more than getting taken in by a dodgy guy to gain membership in that club.

I believed I was in love with him.

Did he tell you he loved you?

Of course, she said. That’s why I jumped on a plane to Honolulu without giving it a second thought when he invited me to come here for a visit.

I gave Madison an encouraging smile, letting her know I felt sympathetic. I sipped more beer.

Have you done this kind of work before?

Clients have hired me to do many things, I said. But I have to admit, mending troubled relationships isn’t my specialty.

I don’t need that sort of help, Madison said. I need to know who he really was.

You mean deep down?

I know he’s a phony, a liar, and a backstabbing son of a bitch.

Ow! Bugger.

Madison added more sugar to her coffee. Her hands trembled, and it seemed she got more sugar on the table than into the cup. She was wearing a white sleeveless linen top with navy knee-length shorts, and a pair of tan sandals. Her toenails were manicured — with French tips, no less.

As accurate as that characterization might be….

No, wait, Madison said. There’s more.

Being a well-honed, unstoppable investigative machine, and a sympathetic listener, I waited to hear the more. I felt it could be important. Pleasant sounds of people having fun drifted up from the beach on the gentle trade winds breeze. I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands on my thighs, dressed in a sea green tank top and tan capri pants. Tank tops and board shorts had become my preferred style since moving to Honolulu. The capri pants had been a small nod toward a more professional appearance.

He has two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of my jewelry, she said. He took it from the safe in my hotel room while I was sleeping and then disappeared.

I stifled the urge to say, Aha! The game’s afoot! Instead, I nodded in solemn understanding of the gravity of the circumstances. Having two hundred fifty thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry smacked of being well-to-do. The promise of a hefty fee for my services always made me quite attentive, especially with business as slow as it had been of late.

I don’t even know if Bernard is his real name.

What makes you say that? I said.

When I woke up this morning he was gone. Hours passed. He didn’t return or call. It was only natural that I became worried about him. I phoned his office to see if he had been called into work. I was told that there was no Dr. Bernard Clemens employed there.

He’s a doctor? I said.

Not a medical doctor. He claimed to be Dr. Bernard Clemens, a tenured professor of comparative literature at the University of Hawaii.

And you’re certain Mr. Clemens nicked your jewelry?

Madison let out a long sigh and reached for the coffee with trembling hands. She sipped and then with care returned the cup to the saucer. It’s so awful, she said. It was only our second night together, in person I mean.

Let me guess, I said. He spent the night with you?

Yes, she said. We had such a wonderful evening together, I suggested it. We’ve been talking on the phone and exchanging text messages and emails for months. I thought it was time to take our relationship to the next level.

Sex?

We made love, Madison said, shaking her head. Or that’s what I believed. Her eyes filled with tears. I feel like such a damn fool. I simply believed everything he said.

Like Chaucer said, love is blind, I said.

Madison smiled for the first time since we’d met. She had a lovely smile that showcased a perfect set of large white teeth. You’ve read the classics, too?

I read a fair number of them, back when I attended Uni, I said. What is it you wish me to do?

I want you to investigate his background. I want you to find him, and I want my goddamn jewelry back. It isn’t just the monetary value. Some of the pieces are irreplaceable. They have been in my family for years. I want my daughter to have them after I’m gone.

I shrugged. I can dig into Clemens’ background, and I’m confident I can find him easily enough if he is still in Hawaii. No worries. But, I can’t make any guarantees about the jewelry. He may sell it before I’m able to find him.

But it’s stolen. If you find he has sold it to someone, won’t the law force them to give it back?

It isn’t that simple, I said. Given the value of your jewelry and the circumstances, I doubt that Clemens is an amateur. It isn’t likely he will simply take it to the nearest pawn shop. Expensive jewelry is quite often fenced. People in that business are crims themselves, actually. They couldn’t give a toss that the jewelry is stolen. And likely they will get it off the island as soon as possible.

What are your fees?

Three hundred dollars a day, I said. Plus expenses.

Madison didn’t flinch. She reached into her handbag for a wallet. There was a thick stack of bills between the folds of her shiny, exotic-skin purse. I’d be happy to pay for a week in advance as a retainer.

To be fair, no way to tell how long it will take, I said. And I’m not a police detective so I can’t promise legal action or justice. Although I do know a very competent HPD detective. If you want Clemens arrested, you’ll also need to report the theft to the police.

I understand. Madison counted out twenty-one crisp one hundred-dollar bills. She slid them across the table. I folded the bills and tucked them inside my bra. It was inconvenient to carry a purse when riding a motorbike. Carrying a wallet in a pocket seemed a bit too masculine. Instead, my habit was to carry everything from my mobile to cash inside my bra. Thanks to winning the genetic lottery I had plenty up top to go with my six-foot frame. I didn’t have to worry about losing anything.

Shall I tell you everything I know about Bernard Clemens, or whatever his real name is?

I nodded.

I don’t know very much. Only what he told me, and it was likely all a pack of lies. I guess I asked for it, you know. We met through an Internet dating site. He told me he taught comparative literature at the University of Hawaii. I admit he did seem educated and cultured, so that was quite easy to believe. I should have hired someone like you to check his background before agreeing to meet him in person. But I trusted he was telling me the truth.

Do you have a photo?

Madison reached into her handbag and pulled out a photo of an attractive man in his fifties with wavy and expensively barbered salt and pepper hair. His face was pleasingly square. His jaw was strong, and he had a deep tan. In the photo Clemens wore a brown Harris Tweed jacket over a maroon tee shirt. He certainly looked the part of a professor in every respect. Madison Edwards was seated beside him in the photo. They were both smiling and looked very happy.

That was taken on a dinner cruise my first night in Honolulu, she said. I wanted a tall, educated, interesting man. Someone who liked cultural activities and took the time to enjoy beautiful sunsets. It’s been eight years since my late husband passed, and I’ve been so lonely.

You’re the love that I’ve looked for; write to me and escape? I said.

Madison nodded. I should have also said I wanted an honest man in my profile, she said with unbridled sarcasm. I guess I left the door wide open for the kind of phony I got. But Bernard made me feel attractive and desirable again. I know I’m smart and educated, but I discovered I needed that, too.

Madison gave me her estimate of Clemens’ height and weight, about six foot two inches and under two hundred pounds. She said he had nice abs and seemed very fit for his age. Since Madison had seen him naked, I expected she knew what she was talking about.

We exchanged mobile numbers. Let me see what I can do, I said. I’ll be in touch.

Madison smiled again. Thank you. Am I to call you T.J.?

Yep, I said. That’s what I go by.

But, you do have a first name?

Yep, I do, but I don’t fancy it, or my middle name much either. So I’ve always been T.J., since I was a wee girl.

I see, she said. Please call me Maddie. All my friends do. Madison seems so formal.

Maddie it is, then, I said.

I took the last swallow of beer from the bottle, swept a lock of my ginger-colored hair behind my ear, and stood up. I’ll ring you once I’m onto anything.

That will be fine.

See you soon, I said.

TWO

I rode my motorbike to Manoa, a valley and residential neighborhood about five kilometers east and inland from downtown Honolulu. Manoa is an area of private houses built before the 1960s and more recently developed low-rise condominiums. The neighborhood is also home to the University of Hawaii at Manoa, the flagship campus of the state university system. Madison said she had called and was informed that there was no Dr. Bernard Clemens on the faculty, but, being the thorough type, I wanted to check for myself.

After parking in front of the administration building, I got directions to the College of Languages, Linguistics and Literature. They told me the main office was in Bilger Hall 101, in the center of the campus. It didn’t seem far, according to the map they had handed me, so I walked over. I found a receptionist who looked like a student given her casual dress and the biology textbook she was reading when I walked in. When she looked up and put down the yellow highlighter I asked to speak with the dean. The receptionist made a brief phone call and then escorted