by Kirk Russell
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 and 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.’
Raveneau had the book in his hand when he stepped outside. He heard movement but before he could turn, ‘Freeze. If you move at all, I’ll shoot you.’
THIRTY-THREE
‘I’m a San Francisco homicide inspector.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘My inspector’s star is in my back pocket. I left a card at the front of the main house. Did you find it?’
‘Cops don’t trespass and break into houses.’
‘I didn’t break in and I’m investigating a cold case, the murder of an Alan Krueger in San Francisco in 1989. He knew Jim Frank. I’m looking for Frank or people who knew him.’
‘Don’t say he killed somebody.’
That sounded very much like a warning and Raveneau didn’t show any reaction.
‘I don’t know what his role was.’
‘Keep holding the book. Hold it with both hands and above your head, we’re going to walk. My uncle will call the police and you can explain to them.’
‘That’s fine, but I knocked on the front door of the ranch house when I got here. I checked the barn. I checked the lanai and then I drove around looking for somebody to ask. I’ve been working from a photo. This is the house in the photo and when I looked through the windows I realized no one had lived here in a long time. The sliding door was loose so I thought I’d take a walk through and then drive back to the ranch house.’
Raveneau lowered the book. He waited a moment to see if the man was going to order him to raise his arm again. When that didn’t happen he held the book out. ‘There’s an acknowledgement in here of Captain Jim Frank by the author.’
‘Turn so your back is facing me, hold the book with your arm straight out, and then put your other hand on the pocket with your badge.’
‘You’re watching too many movies. Look, I’m unarmed. I’m working a cold case like I said.’
Raveneau didn’t do what the young man ordered, but he did turn so he could see him reach for his homicide star. As he pulled his star, the man pulled the trigger twice and Raveneau stumbled backwards. He fell into the building and scrambled to his feet. One of the bullets had passed close enough for him to hear the buzz and he was both furious and unsure what would happen next. He quickly crossed the house and went out another sliding door. Behind him, he heard the man ordering him to stop.
But Raveneau didn’t stop. He went straight off the steep slope down through the grass toward the trees. He wasn’t trying to make it to the car but thought he could make it to one of the bigger trees before the man located him. When he reached the trees he wasn’t sure. He lay flat on his belly behind one of the bigger trees. He found his cell.
And then quietly and suddenly the kid was there. He’d made the assumption Raveneau would run to his car and now he was looking around. They weren’t far apart.
‘I’m goin
g to count to ten and if you’re not out here I’m going to start hunting for you and I’m going to assume you aren’t who you said you were.’
Raveneau saw him moving around the car looking inside.
‘One, two,’ and as he turned Raveneau moved in closer, kneeling near a tree and picking up a couple pieces of the lava rock. He heard another vehicle engine and the young man probably heard it as well.
‘Three, four, five, six.’
Raveneau threw the rock behind the man and beyond the car. He watched him react, watched him adjust and hold the barrel steady. Looked like he knew how to handle a gun. Now he wheeled and turned to face Raveneau.
‘You don’t want to shoot me. It’s not as much fun as you might think it is.’ He held out his phone and used the one name he’d been given before he flew here. ‘I just sent a text to an FBI agent named Mike Kawena. He knows I’m here. He’s calling the local police so they’ll probably show up soon. If anything happens to me he’ll come for you.’
‘You broke in.’
‘You don’t shoot people for walking into an abandoned building. You don’t have license to do that just because I’m on the property.’
Raveneau heard the other vehicle getting closer but moving very slowly. He saw the man shift, hesitate, and then lower the gun.
‘We’ve had trouble here before.’
Raveneau held up his homicide star and walked with his arm out so he could read more easily.
‘My wallet is in the glove compartment.’
Raveneau laid his homicide star on the roof of the car. As he reached in his pocket for his keys the gun rose slightly.
‘Either keep that down or put it down. If you don’t think that star is real get out your phone and call the San Francisco Police Department or the FBI field office in Honolulu.’
Raveneau took a much harder look at him and asked, ‘How close were you trying to get to me with those shots up there?’
The look he got back only made him wonder more. He watched the younger man smile.
‘Get your wallet out of the glove compartment.’
Raveneau moved around the car but slowly. The man was older than he had thought, at least thirty-two or three, a mix of Asian and Caucasian, dark-haired, dark-eyed, a light gold tint to his skin. Raveneau reached in the glove box and when he turned the man was four or five steps back and with the gun up again.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Lay your wallet on top of the car.’
Raveneau rested his wallet on the car roof. He stepped away as ordered. He heard the other vehicle which had stopped, start crawling forward again.
‘What’s in the trunk?’
‘My briefcase.’
‘Open the trunk.’
Raveneau hit the button and the lid lifted. He put the briefcase on the ground and watched him go through the contents including the copies of the case files for the Krueger murder. He paused on the crime scene photos but didn’t seem to be reading. He put everything back carefully and zipped the leather bag shut. He returned it to the trunk.
‘I’m going to check inside your car. I want you to move away while I do it.’
‘You’ve already seen enough.’
‘Move over to the trees.’
‘I’m done moving around for you. If you want to search the car, go ahead.’
He searched and then abruptly seemed satisfied. He pulled the clip from the gun, removed the chambered bullet, and grasped something under his shirt that turned out to be a microphone.
‘We’re good. He is who he says he is.’
Raveneau heard a response but couldn’t make out the words. The man looked at him and said, ‘My uncle wants us to come down to the house.’
‘And now that you know who I am, who are you?’
‘Matt Frank. I live here.’
Frank wore a blue T-shirt that read Humphrey Whale Sanctuary. He lifted his shirt in back and tucked the Glock into his jeans. He stared and said, ‘Sorry, we’ve had a problem with people growing dope on the property.’
‘All right, let’s start again. I’m San Francisco homicide inspector Ben Raveneau. I’m here for the reason I told you I am. You found my card at the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that wasn’t enough?’
‘Not for my uncle.’
‘Was that him in the jeep down the road?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t he drive all the way up?’
‘He was waiting for the OK from me.’
‘And you’re miked up? What is this, some sort of paramilitary game?’
‘It’s not a game. We deal with people growing dope on the property and stealing.’
‘Your uncle wanted you to handle it?’
That was right. That was a good guess. Raveneau saw his reaction.
‘Where did you get your accent?’
‘Kentucky.’
‘Your mother was Vietnamese?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I recognize your father in your face.’
‘Did you know my father?’
‘No, but he’s why I’m here.’
‘He was ashamed of us. He divorced my mother. How do you know about us?’
‘You have a half brother in San Francisco. He has a different mother and he has her name, but he’s got a lot of your look. His name is Ryan Candel. What’s your uncle’s name?’
‘Tom Casey.’
Raveneau pointed up the slope to the house. ‘And your dad, Jim Frank, lived up there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Follow me.’
They climbed back up the steep dirt track to the house then out past the north end and off the graded flat on to the grassy slope. There Raveneau saw three good-sized black-brown lava rocks stacked on each other, stacked so they would stay that way. He got it. He understood. He took in the dark roughness of the lava, the contrasting lush green of the steep slope, the soft wind off the water.
‘Is he buried here?’
‘Just his ashes.’
Raveneau stared out at the water for a long moment. Then he said, ‘I understand you holding me at gunpoint, but I don’t understand you putting those shots so close to me. It makes me wonder about you. I want you to know that.’
‘I already know it.’
THIRTY-FOUR
Raveneau bumped back down the broken road in the rental with Matt Frank riding with him. Frank wanted to walk back the way he came but that wasn’t OK with Raveneau.
‘How did you know to go up to the house?’
‘Talk to my uncle about that. He doesn’t like people up at the house.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘After Dad died other people came and wanted to go through his things. It was a problem and my Uncle Casey dealt with it and even if it doesn’t matter any more he doesn’t like people up there.’
‘You didn’t come up the road, did you?’
Frank smiled but didn’t turn his head or say anything.
‘What’s funny about that?’
‘It says you were watching. You knew you were breaking in. There’s a trail from the main house. My dad and Uncle Casey used to call it the Drinking Trail because they would meet every night, either my uncle going up or my dad coming down. When we found your card in the door he said go up the trail with a gun. Like I said we didn’t know if we could trust the card.’
‘You thought someone just printed up a card.’
Now Frank turned but he didn’t say anything and then they were at the main house. Thomas Casey greeted him on the porch and Matt Frank disappeared as if his job was done. Casey shook his hand with an odd enthusiasm. At the same time he looked perplexed.
‘It’s been twenty-two years since AK was killed.’
‘Is that what you called him?’
‘Yes. His initials, Vietnam, and the gun. Jim Frank, Alan Krueger, and I met when we were in our early twenties and flying for th
e Navy. We were in Nam together. Do you have a new lead, Inspector?’
‘We do.’
‘I’d like to hear about it. Was it this new lead that caused you to trespass on my property and break into Jim’s house?’
‘The door was open and I walked in and took a look around.’
‘That’s a good story, open door, natural curiosity, and after all you traveled all this way and you left a card to show you were trying to find the property owner.’
‘And here you are.’
‘But I found you. You didn’t find me and the boy might have shot you.’
‘He doesn’t look like a boy. He must be in his thirties.’
‘He is.’
‘One of those shots passed pretty close to my head.’
‘I bet it did but if you’re working on AK’s murder you’re welcome here for now. I’ve got a problem with what you did and I’ll tell you straight up I may report the trespassing and breaking and entering. But I’ll also try to help you with your investigation.’ Casey smiled and added, ‘I just want to be clear. You look like you’re not that far from retirement anyway. Let’s go back to the lanai and talk.’
In the lanai he pointed at a table.
‘Let’s sit here. After having a couple of shots sent your way you must feel like a drink. What about a beer or do you want something harder? Do you like poke? The fish is always fresh here and the poke is a local staple. It’s ahi and we’ve got crackers to put it on. Let me go back and tell Lani, our cook and housekeeper.’
Lani turned out to be a middle-aged Hawaiian woman with a warm smile and an easy way with her employer. Raveneau guessed she lived here and had for a long time. He got the feeling Casey had money but doubted it came from the grass fed cattle business.
As Raveneau tipped the beer he took a longer look at him, angular face, gray-eyed, sharp gaze, blond-brown hair going silver.
‘Jim died in 2004 of complications from an old war wound. I can’t picture someone else living up there, so I’ve left the house empty. He was one of a kind from a different time where character and personality were more valued. Americans might be more educated now or more sophisticated or what passes for sophistication, but they don’t have the same moxie. Jim knew how to live without being afraid of living. Do you know what I’m saying?’
