Neil Plakcy’s Accidental Contact and Other Mahu Investigations, coming this fall from MLR, is a new collection of mystery stories featuring
openly gay Honolulu homicide
detective Kimo Kanapa’aka. Here’s an
excerpt from the title story.
Accidental Contact and Other Mahu Investigations
ISBN: 978-1-60820-9514 (print)
(MLR)1-02013-0286 (ebook)
Excerpt:
The longer I remained a homicide detective, the harder it
got to contemplate the parade of victims, and surfing was the only way I could
stay sane. Outside the breakers, I focused on watching the waves, choosing the
one that would carry me to shore. I could forget the senseless deaths, the innocent
and guilty victims, the pain of those left behind.
The beach was crowded and it was hard to catch a good wave,
and as the sunset cruises began to leave with their colorful sails unfurled, I
rode one last wave to the shore. I walked up the sand toward home, but like a
homing beacon, I felt the Rod and Reel Club signaling to me.
You’d think I would stay away from the place, after the
trouble I had run into there in the past, but it was the closest gay bar to my
apartment, and the bartender let me run a tab. It was a friendly place, and the
mix of gay and straight patrons made it easier for me as I took my first steps
out of the closet. I’d met other guys there who felt the same way.
Still damp, I pulled up a stool at the bar and ordered a
Longboard Lager. It was the tail end of happy hour, and the patio wasn’t too
crowded. A couple of tourist clusters filled the round tables, and a smattering
of gay men sat at the bar or lounged in small groups under the big kukui tree.
I didn’t see anyone I knew, or anyone I wanted to know, so I finished my beer
and went home.
Wednesday morning I was at my desk at seven. The DA’s office
had prepared the subpoenas and gotten them signed late the day before, and then
faxed them to the appropriate hospitals. Our department fax started ringing
with their responses, and I spent most of the morning looking at Miguel
Bohulano’s personnel records.
At each hospital, male patients had complained of
inappropriate touching, often when they were partially sedated. And in each
case, Bohulano had first been disciplined, then warned, then finally fired. But
because of the confidentiality of personnel records, the next hospital down the
chain knew nothing of his previous problems. At Queen’s, he was already on
probation for two offenses. In one case, his statement read that his mouth had
“accidentally” come in contact with the patient’s penis while Bohulano was
changing a dressing on the man’s leg.
Thinking back on all my sexual experiences, I knew my mouth
had never “accidentally” come in contact with another man’s penis, nor vice
versa. I looked at the employee photos that had been faxed over as part of
Bohulano’s records; he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. A bit skinny and ten years too
old for my taste, but there were certainly enough rice queens—non-Asian men who
preferred Asian male lovers—in Honolulu to keep him busy on a Saturday night.
Or sticky guys—Asian men who liked Asians.
I sat back in my chair to contemplate Miguel Bohulano’s
life. He grew up in Quezon City and
went to nursing school in Manila .
Had he been abused as a boy? How had he come to associate power with sex?
Surely in jerking off male patients under their flimsy gowns, he was asserting
his power over them. A clear abuse of his ethics as a nurse—as well as behavior
that was unlikely to result in the patient asking him out on a date.
There was no way to find out what had happened in his
childhood; the only person who might have a clue was his mother, and he
probably never told her anything about it. He had left the Philippines
ten years before, and I had no doubt that patient abuse had caused his
departure. I didn’t know what privacy laws were like in the Philippines ,
but it was possible he’d been blacklisted for an incident, or else had simply
seen the handwriting on the wall and left for Hawai’i .
In the last ten years he had worked for five different
hospitals, each one passing him on to the next employer without a negative
word. Indeed, the folders were filled with praise—he was skilled, caring, a
patient favorite—except for those complaints.
Because I’m a cop, and I look for patterns, I went back over
the incident reports. Had Miguel Bohulano picked a particular type of guy—by
age, ethnicity, ailment? I couldn’t find one. A couple of the victims
self-identified in their complaint as gay, while several others made a point of
asserting their heterosexuality. Another group made no mention.
Shortly after noon ,
the ME’s report came in. It confirmed everything Doc had told me the morning
before—Bohulano had been on his knees, and the knife blow to his back had come
from above. The wallboard saw was the weapon, but the killer must have used
work gloves, because there were no prints on it.
One fact stood out. Traces of dried semen had been found
around Bohulano’s mouth. I picked up the phone and dialed the morgue. After I
bantered for a few minutes with his merry receptionist, Doc came on the line.
“The position of the victim and the murderer,” I said. “Is that also consistent
with the possibility that Bohulano had just given a blow job?”
“I thought you’d come to that conclusion, detective,” he
said. “That hypothesis is supported by the presence of dried semen at the edge
of the victim’s lip. I put the DNA sample on
ice in case you find someone I can match it to.”
“That’s cold,” I said. “I mean, what kind of a guy has an
orgasm, then immediately plunges a knife into the back of the guy who gave him
the pleasure?”
“That’s what they pay you to find out, isn’t it? Let me know
if you find some semen for me to match.”
To purchase from MLR Press, click http://www.mlrbooks.com/ShowBook.php?book=NPACCCNT
To purchase from Barnes & Noble, click http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/accidental-contact-and-other-mahu-investigations-neil-plakcy/1120184519?ean=2940150537354
To purchase from Amazon,click http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MYFM4FI/?_encoding=UTF8&tag=mp0def-20
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