Free Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker by Robert G. Barrett Page A

he managed to finish his first delicious. He got up and made another. While he was up, Les got a large clasp knife from his bag, openedit and, holding it as if it was a bayonet, stood in front of the mirror. He then made a lunge at his heart and sternum, trying to stab his reflection, the same as Mick had done back at the police station. All the stab wounds were a perfect, horizontal cut. To do that the killer would have to twist his wrist around. And also to smash the girls’ bones and inflict that much bruising you’d almost break your wrist. Unless, as Les had surmised, the murderer was a monster. Maybe doing it backfist style would give you more force? Les slashed the knife across backwards. There was more power, but it was also more difficult to make a horizontal cut. And besides that, all the bruises appeared to be in the shape of a man’s fist. Les tried holding the knife through his fist. That didn’t seem to work either. He lunged at his reflection from another angle. But that way would go close to breaking your thumb. Les took a pull on his drink and had a look at the bruising on the girls’jaws. If the killer was as big and strong as everyone thought, he’d more than likely break their jaws or at least tear the flesh. These were almost like they’d been tapped in. Les shook his head and finished his drink. There were a lot of ifs and buts with Mr Walker. Like, what was a boofhead marine doing back at an apartment with a high-class hooker? The black scrubber maybe, but high-class ones? Les made himself another drink, folded up his knife, then sat back down. And talking about high-class hookers, he turned to the photocopies of Andriana Hazlewood.
    So you’re the notorious madam to the stars, are you, sweetie? Norton raised his drink to the photo of the well-dressed blonde with the smartarse smile. Despitethe sunglasses there was something there besides some unknown Aussie sheila running brothels in Hawaii. He checked what Mick had on her — just her address and the number to an answering service and not much else. Despite this, a smile crept across Norton’s craggy face. There wasn’t much, but what there was was enough. The photo would do.
    Les stood up, moved across to the window and stared out at where the inky blue of the ocean was splashed with silver from the moon and stars. The lights of several cruise ships twinkled in the distance and it was that clear now Les could see the popping of flashbulbs coming from along the decks. This was all definitely none of his business, and any normal person would have stuck to themselves on a free trip to Hawaii, seen the sights and copped it all sweet. But? Norton raised his glass towards the dark silhouette of the mountain in the distance. Tomorrow, after he’d hired a car, Les was taking a drive out to Diamond Head and calling in on the mysterious Andriana Hazlewood for a cup of coffee. More than likely he’d get told to piss off. But if he didn’t, the cup of coffee could be a hoot. So here’s looking up your old address, Andriana. Or your new one. Les downed his drink and smacked his lips. Now, what to do tonight?
    Norton didn’t particularly want to have a late one, but a few beers in that second bar from last night wouldn’t hurt and the band was good. Those two jarheads more than likely wouldn’t be there and if they were they probably wouldn’t recognise him. Stiff shit for them if they did. The bouncer on the door? Les couldn’t see any drama there. And if there was, he’d just go somewhere else.Les put the photocopies back in the mailer, poured himself another delicious and listened to the radio for a little while, then headed out for a couple of beers.
    The weather had cleared up and Kalakau Avenue was pretty much the same as the night before: swarming tourists, mainly Japanese, noisy, would-be studs on the make, hustlers, stalls selling cheap T-shirts, cops — either on foot