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 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
