by Kirk Russell
‘I’m not talking any more. I’m done.’
‘Then so are we.’
They left and Drury sat there for forty-five minutes before Coe went in. Coe sat down across from him and said, ‘I’ve got some bad news. The police officer, the woman you took hostage, those aren’t your biggest problems any more. We’re close to charging you with aiding terrorists and we may up the charges from there. If we do that, you may never feel sunlight on your face again. You’ll never hold a woman again. I can promise you that. You’ll never drive again. You’ll never go anywhere ever. You won’t have a life. You’ll have a number and after awhile your name won’t really matter to anyone any more, not even you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The deliveries, the people you’re working with. You can’t believe the shit we’re prepared to charge you with.’
Raveneau saw Drury’s face change.
‘You got him,’ Raveneau said, but there was no one to hear him.
THIRTY
The bar was empty, the lights dimmed for the night when Raveneau and Celeste sat down at a table. In the early evening the wind blew in hard gusts as a storm came in off the ocean. It was raining and outside the street was dark and wet and the sodium street lights threw orange light through sheets of rain on to the oiled wood of the restaurant floor. Raveneau hung his dripping coat on the back of a nearby chair. A bottle of a Rioja sat between them, along with salt cod crostini and a salad of farro, shrimp, and cucumber. She smiled at him and said, ‘This is something we can do now. Are you really OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, and Drury is with the FBI.’
‘He killed an Oakland police officer. He could have killed you.’
‘Yeah, he could have.’
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘Sure.’ Raveneau glanced at her. Of course he was scared. ‘I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I didn’t think he wanted to kill himself or me.’
‘But you seem so normal now.’
‘I’m really not.’
‘I hope not.’
He didn’t answer that. He poured her wine. He poured himself more wine and lifted his glass, touched hers, took a sip, and then drank more. It was hard not to just talk with her, tell her about the bomb casings and all the rest.
‘We had the radio on as we were cleaning up here and they said he was held in connection with the murders at that cabinet shop. How did the FBI get involved?’
‘That’s about a delivery he was part of. He helped the wrong people and doesn’t know where it’s going to lead. He screwed up badly. He’s like a big truck, an eighteen wheeler that’s come over the crest of mountains, started down, and the brakes are fading. He thought he was smart and clever and had control of his life and now it’s so out of control he doesn’t even realize yet his next fifteen years are in prison, and that’s if he gives up what he knows.’
‘Which you can’t tell me about.’
‘That’s right, Celeste, I can’t tell you what I’d like to.’
‘Even though you might have gotten killed today.’
Raveneau picked up one of the little pieces of toast with salt cod on it. He was surprised he had any appetite but he was hungry. He poured more wine and waited.
‘We were busy tonight,’ she said. ‘People are ordering the mixed drinks and that’s good. I can tell already we’re going to be a place where people come for drinks and crostini. Maybe a few salads will catch on like this one.’
‘It’ll catch.’
He scooped some of the farro salad and saw she was staring at him.
‘You were a hostage at gunpoint and now you’re sitting here eating.’
‘I’m sitting with you.’ He took another bite and another swallow of wine and said, ‘We’re trying to get from Drury to people who hired him. We may have pushed him too hard.’
‘I wish you had called me before you went into that house. Did you think of calling me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
OK, so now they were to it. But even knowing it was coming he didn’t have an answer she was going to like.
‘There wasn’t much time and I needed to get in a frame of mind where I was focused on getting the hostage out and then myself. I think you might have worried and wanted to know why I was taking the risk.’
‘I already know why and calling me doesn’t mean you have to explain. It means you want to hear my voice before you take a risk like that. It means something could happen. It means what I don’t want to ever do again is hear on the radio you’re risking your life in a hostage negotiation and not talk to you. I’d rather you called me and said you’ve got to do it. Then I would know.’
‘Next time I’ll call you.’
He tried to say that in a light way, but it fell flat.
‘You didn’t call me for hours after.’
Raveneau nodded. He understood yet it was hard to believe they were having this conversation. Still, it continued a while longer. Then as she got up to get something he brought her chair around the table. He put it alongside his and they sat close to each other. He poured more wine and they watched the rain through the windows and let it be until his phone buzzed.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Coe said. ‘We’re touring with Drury at dawn.’
‘You won’t get much time.’
‘I know, and I’ll call and let you know if we learn anything. What time do you fly tomorrow?’
‘Late morning and I’m back in a couple of days.’
He hung up and felt the fatigue of all the spent adrenaline wash through him, but he didn’t want to leave yet. Being with Celeste was when he felt calmest and happiest. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her. For the first time since they started going out he knew he should be living with her. They locked up the bar and left and the rain pounded on the roof as they walked the boardwalk to the deck and inside his place. Late in the night he woke to Celeste shaking him awake. Her voice was soft.
‘Ben, Ben, you’re having a nightmare.’
Part of it was still with him, but he said, ‘I was trying to find a phone to call you.’
‘You kept saying hurry. I think you said the word President. What were you dreaming about? You were trying to get somewhere. Where were you trying to get to?’
‘I don’t know.’
She lay back down then rested a cool hand on his forehead.
‘You’re very hot. You sounded very worried.’
His heart was still pounding but he couldn’t remember the dream any more.
THIRTY-ONE
Two days later Raveneau stood along a guard rail on the Kohala Mountain Road on the Big Island and took in the coastline below and the warm sun and the wind with the smell of lava rock and ocean. Beyond the guard rail the grassy slope fell steeply to a highway. Dark lava outcrops dotted the slope as did stands of trees. He used binoculars working his way across the slope, holding the photo in his left hand.
After scanning all of the ranches, and there weren’t many, he returned to one and then to a narrow dirt track rising from a stand of trees to a house. He could see the roof of the house but the roof was all that showed in the photo. In the photo with the handwritten note, ‘The house, Big Island,’ the photograph was taken from closer in. Someone had walked up the steep slope behind the house, he guessed. But still, it looked like the same roofline and the same metal roof.
He lifted the binoculars from the house and studied the coastline, the long sweep south with its narrow white band of sand. He looked at the coastline in the photo again and now he was almost certain it was the right house. He lowered the binoculars. The blue corrugated metal roof of the house below had faded and rusted. He checked the photo again and though there was no one there to hear him, said, ‘That’s got to be it.’
Raveneau had already checked for record of a mortgage or deed of trust. There was no record of a Jim Frank owning a house on the Big Island, but maybe Frank had rented or leased
. He looked down at the highway and then called up the Big Island map on his phone again. He needed to get to the highway below to get to the house. After studying the map he walked back to the car and was getting ready to pull out when he saw he had missed a call from Coe. He called Coe before pulling away.
‘How did the drive go with Drury? I thought I’d have a message from you when I landed.’
‘It’s why I’m calling. Things strung out through the day, but he showed us a machine shop and a building where he delivered the unit of plywood and then picked it up a week later. The tenant moved out last week and we’re looking for him. Tools are gone but it looks like he had what he needed to make the bomb casings. We’ve got metal filings to compare so we’ll know more soon. We’ve got a description of two men and their vehicles. We’ll find them.’
Coe made it sound as if they were following a trail, but to Raveneau it sounded as if they got there too late.
‘Any movement with Khan?’
‘No, it’s ghostly quiet in there. There’s a family of rats we see every night but that’s it. I’ve got one more thing for you. I heard back on the Hawaii photos and some confirming information on Jim Frank. He was Navy during the Vietnam War and flew off a carrier, but I don’t have the aircraft carrier name in front of me. I’ll call or text it to you later. He flew off a carrier and then from one of the forward bases. He had a reputation for taking chances. He got medaled but you probably already have all this.’
He did. His file on Frank doubled every day in the last week, but it was like everything with this case, it still didn’t amount to anything.
‘What’s interesting and why I wanted to catch you this morning is that your expert was right. Two or three of those landscape photos were taken with a very high resolution camera. It either belonged to the US government or a movie maker, a film company. When are you coming back?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Well, have a drink on me somewhere on the island later this afternoon. Thanks again for your help with Drury.’ He sounded cautiously upbeat, adding, ‘We’re farther along than we were a day ago.’
Raveneau got back out of the car after hanging up with Coe. He double-checked the big rock across the highway below he was going to use as a landmark. He checked the house again. It sat on a notch cut into the long-falling slope. Someone must have driven a bulldozer up there and cut a flat pad to build the house on. He wouldn’t see much of the roof from the highway below. He would see the trees where the dirt track came up from and figured there were other ranch buildings down there also. He glanced at the coastline once more. None of the resorts in the distance to the south were in the photo.
Now he drove north toward Hawi. When he got there he picked up a text from Celeste, ‘Remember the Kona.’ She wanted him to pick up samples of a Kona coffee she couldn’t find in the Bay Area. Raveneau didn’t know when he was going to do that or how before flying out tomorrow.
He texted back after going into a little shop to get a coffee to-go. ‘Drinking Kona right now.’
He left Hawi and the road was one lane in either direction and then widened to two. The morning was warming and he could feel the change as he followed an old pickup in the slow lane. He studied the long upslope on his left and as he spotted the landmark rock ahead he slowed even more. Then he was past and knew he’d gone too far. After turning around he pulled over next to a local cop waiting for speeders. Raveneau showed his San Francisco homicide star and explained what he was looking for.
‘Look for aluminum gates,’ the officer said. ‘They open out. You have to close them for cattle and you need to go to the ranch house first. They don’t like people they don’t know on their property.’
‘I’ll introduce myself.’
Five minutes later he found the gates.
THIRTY-TWO
The gates were double-latched, but not locked, the No Trespassing signs impossible to miss. The gates swung across a cattle grate and against a barbed wire fence. Raveneau drove through then closed them again. The road climbed very steeply and he went left at the first fork. It continued the same steep rise before leveling and starting north across the slope and then rising over a lip to an unexpected flat area with a big ranch house and barn set back among a stand of trees.
The house was two-story, deep and long with a porch running down the front and a tall steep roof facing the ocean. A large screened lanai was on the far end and at the north end was the barn. Two vehicles, a yellow jeep open to the air and a brown late model Toyota pickup sat in front of the house. So somebody was home. He parked near the cars then went up the steps to the long porch and knocked on the front door.
After a minute he tried again, and when no one answered walked down the porch to the lanai. Presumptuous maybe, but this was Hawaii, and the people did seem more laidback. He figured it was warm enough that someone might be inside the screened room. But he didn’t see anyone.
He crossed to the barn. He opened a door and it was cool and dark inside. When he called hello no one answered and he returned to the house and slid one of his cards in between the front door and jamb. Then he figured he could justify driving the ranch roads looking for the owner so when he got back down to the last fork, instead of continuing down he turned on to a narrow broken asphalt road barely wider than his rental.
It was potholed. It wasn’t used much. Grass and plants grew from cracks. It doubled back in a hair pin turn, climbed steeply, and it struck Raveneau that he was yet to see a place to turn the car around. He reached a stand of trees and another fork, one that was a continuation of the road he was on, and the other just a faint track moving into the trees. He studied both and then got out the photo again. This looked like the right spot.
Follow this dirt track up, he thought. He climbed slowly up through the pines and after the car bottomed-out a couple of times he decided to walk from here. The dirt track was steep. He drew deep breaths but was even more confident when he saw the dirt track emerging in a straight line up from the trees. He climbed thinking the only way up here was in a four-wheel drive. Halfway up the last steep pitch he saw the blue rusted roof of the house.
When he reached the flat he caught his breath, and then looked across the ocean at Maui and understood why they built it here. He pulled his phone and took photos of the house and the site. On this end of the house was a palm tree and what had once been a gravel pad big enough for a vehicle to park and turn around. It was hot in the sun along the front of the house and shady as he walked around the back of the house past a palm tree at the corner. A rusted air conditioning unit sat on a concrete pad.
He looked through a dusty window into an empty room, saw sliding doors on the other side, a wood ceiling stained by leaks, flooring warped where water had gotten to it. It was nearly all glass along this face. Light fixtures hung on pendants and the name Eichler came to him, but he couldn’t remember whether Eichler was an architect or a builder or both. But it was that style.
Or it was once that style. No one had lived here in a long time, not Jim Frank, not anyone. He continued walking down the side looking in through the sliding doors anywhere he could. He worked his way around to the sun and the front facing the ocean, and rattled a locked sliding door remembering Ryan Candel tapping the blue-painted metal roof in the photo and saying,
‘This is my dad’s house. I don’t know where it is, but that’s the house my mom said was his and she called it paradise. She said she could live the rest of her life there. When I was little she used to say, we’ll get there someday, and when I got old enough to realize that was never going to happen, I mean, I was probably thirteen by then, but she was that good in making you believe in stuff. When I finally realized it I yelled at her, don’t ever show me that picture again. I can still remember how shocked she was and how she still tried to smile. If I could take something back, it would be that. I don’t even know where it came from in me that night. It just kind of exploded out of me. My mom needed to believe. That’s how she got by a
nd I ruined that for her.’
Raveneau saw furniture. He saw a stack of papers, yellowed and sitting on a kitchen counter. He returned to the back and debated several minutes before putting some muscle into lifting one of the old sliding doors off its track. He picked it up, lifted it out, and set it carefully against the wall as the house exhaled the stale air from inside.
He didn’t step inside yet. He walked back along the side of the house to the parking area and looked down the track to the trees and his car shadowed there. If he discovered a document what was he going to do with it? He didn’t have a search warrant. It was breaking and entering no matter how gently he put the sliding door back on its track when he finished.
But then he wasn’t going to be here tomorrow and the house had clearly been empty for a long time. The house looked abandoned. He walked back and stepped inside. The living room had one piece of furniture, a side table that was empty except for four or five bamboo place mats. The smallest of three bedrooms held no furniture. The next bedroom had a chair and a nightstand, and a headboard but no other part of the bed. The third bedroom had a dresser with drawers that didn’t operate well. Closets were empty. Some pots in the kitchen but no utensils or appliances left other than an oven. He found some papers inside the oven and went through those and learned nothing although he did find a folded yellowed bit of newspaper with the date May 21, 2003.
Still, there was enough here to make a few guesses. If Jim Frank had lived here he was likely the last person to do so. Things were given away but not everything was taken. That’s what he was looking at here. Since the last occupant left no one had cared for the building. He continued his search rechecking the kitchen cabinets and drawers, sifting through the papers in the kitchen again, and double-checking the built-in book shelves because a few books remained.
He flipped the pages of the books looking for loose papers and found a book on aerodynamics and commercial aircraft. Because of the subject matter he looked at that one more closely. He looked for underlined sentences, notes, some proof of ownership, and then his eye caught the word Frank on the Acknowledgements page. ‘Without the help of the legendary Captain James Frank this book would not have been possible. His knowledge, note taking, and generosity in sharing his flying experiences aided in every way. I should also add Frank’s squadron at great risk to themselves saved my life and a number of others during a particularly dangerous battle in the War in Vietnam. We’ve been good friends since.’
