‘On the Big Island and a very nice beach, a famous beach. Who is the woman with the man in the uniform?’
‘Allyson Candel. His name is or was Jim Frank. He was a pilot for United. I’m trying to locate him and hoping he’s still alive.’
‘You are, so maybe he is too.’
Raveneau smiled and let it be.
‘She was a stewardess and her son told me that photo was taken in the mid 1980s.’
‘Mid eighties is about right, I think.’
‘How do you tell?’
‘The type of paper.’
Lim turned the photo on edge and ticked his thumb along it. He flipped it over and showed Raveneau spots where the paper was yellowing. He flipped it back over, laid it down gently. In this shot Jim Frank had his arm around her. It looked as if they both had just gotten out of the water. Frank was dripping wet but wearing dry sunglasses and Allyson Candel was quietly beautiful.
‘What about the one you set aside?’ Raveneau asked, but you couldn’t rush Lim. No one could rush Lim. The chief of police wouldn’t get anywhere pushing him. Lim took the photo with him and came back a few minutes later.
‘Ben, come back here,’ he said, and then picked up the shot of Frank and Allyson Candel on the beach. A different photo was under a lens and magnified. Lim slid it out, replaced it with the beach shot. Now the beads of water on Frank’s face were more visible as was the unevenness of how he’d shaved that day. But the photo also became grainy. The look Raveneau caught in Allyson Candel’s eye was less resolved, became blotchy.
‘OK, now look here.’
Lim slipped the other photo, the landscape shot back under the lens. His voice was quieter as he asked, ‘What differences do you see?’
On the back of the photo written in pencil were the words, ‘the house.’ But the photo caught much more than a house built in a notch on a steep grassy slope. The day was quite clear and the line of the Kohala coast swept south with a white line of breakers. The corrugated roof of the house and the stand of trees below and the two-lane highway well below stood out sharply.
‘It’s nowhere near as grainy. The quality of detail is at a whole other level.’
‘Many levels up,’ Lim said. ‘This kind of resolution at that time was uncommon. This is very high quality. It could be a professional photographer who shoots this, someone who photographs landscapes for art or books. This is better than you would use then for magazines. Some military and government agencies were at this level, so maybe this Frank is a spy. Maybe he worked for the CIA.’ He smiled at Raveneau and added, ‘If I took your picture with this camera, even you would look good.’
‘Thanks, Howard.’
‘No problem, I’m here for you.’
He was chuckling as Raveneau shut the door.
SEVEN
Raveneau met with the captain and lieutenant before Goya showed up. He made his pitch for bringing Goya on for this case and the captain’s only response was to clear his throat. When Goya arrived Raveneau walked him around the office and showed him some of the changes, and then took him back to the Cold Case office and his desk. Goya lowered himself into the chair and Raveneau slid the CD in.
‘This is the digitized version. They do this down the hall now.’
And just like that Goya shifted from lunch to the case. He went quiet. He asked how it got here and what Raveneau had learned about it as Raveneau showed him how to freeze the action if he wanted. He hoped the video would trigger some memory in Goya. He played it four times before Goya was satisfied, Goya murmuring quietly to himself each time the shooting started. On the fourth run he figured out the freeze function and stopped the action.
‘This is not how the body was lying.’
‘What’s different?’
‘He was on his back and his left leg wasn’t crossed over.’
In the video he was on his side. In the video there was also an editing gap where whoever filmed it stopped some distance back and started again close to the body. He knew Goya was thinking about that as well, but they’d get to it later. It surprised Raveneau that Goya still remembered the body position, but he was correct. In the crime scene photos Krueger lay on his back, legs apart. Someone moved the body between the filming of the video and the crime scene photos.
‘Did you move him before you photographed him?’
‘No, but we checked his pockets. Remember, we didn’t have DNA in those days.’
He turned in the darkness toward Raveneau and asked for the files. As Goya compared the crime scene photos to the screen Raveneau said, ‘Maybe the Canadians moved him. Maybe they rolled him back to get at his wallet. You said they were honeymooning on the cheap. Could be they called the police but also stole money from his wallet?’
‘Could be,’ Goya said, and then asked, ‘Where was the person who made the video if the Canadians got there so fast?’
‘I’ve been wondering.’
‘With a mob hit no one hangs around to make a movie. They take a photo if they need proof.’
‘I don’t have an answer for you, Henry. I want answers from you. I want to know what you see and remember, though I do have one other piece of information you didn’t have. The one hundred dollar bills in his coat were counterfeit. I found that out yesterday.’
‘They weren’t counterfeit in 1989, but now they are?’
‘That’s right, and that’s kind of how I read it too. So what changed with the Secret Service between now and then and why do you think the bills in his coat were left behind and the wallet cleaned out?’
Goya had found the wallet with ALK in tiny red letters stitched into it. Goya picked it up and handled it and no fingerprints were recovered as a result, an unanswered mistake.
‘Are you wondering if the wallet had money in it when I picked it up?’
‘No, I’m asking about the Secret Service. Could Krueger have been at a meet, a buy of some sort with this shooter and the Secret Service was filming from a distance? Then someone pulled his wallet to make it look like a robbery so whatever operation was underway kept going. Let’s say the undercover operation was deemed so important there was a cover-up.’
‘The Secret Service agents I knew never would have taken part in something like that. They were all good people, some of the best, and, Jesus, he was one of theirs for years. They were Feds so they were stiff, but they were still good people.’
‘Who did you deal with?’
‘I can’t remember his name. It started with a P; you can find it out easily enough.’
‘Tell me about finding the wallet.’
‘Did you bring me in to interview me or have lunch?’
‘I need your help, Henry.’
‘Well, we didn’t find one on him and we figured if robbery was the motive then the shooter might have stripped the money out and tossed the wallet. And sure enough, there it was and trash around it, you know, paper and crap that had blown up against the concrete pylon.’
‘Was the afternoon that windy that it could get covered that fast?’
‘Are you asking now if we were stupid? Sure it was windy and I wasn’t even sure it was a wallet.’
Goya frowned and stroked his beard then let his hand drop. He slowly stood up and as Raveneau popped the CD out he moved to the door and then out into the hallway ahead of Raveneau.
When Raveneau caught up to him at the elevator, Goya said, ‘You think Ed and I made mistakes.’
