Kirk Russell - Counterfeit Road

‘But she was also shaken up or seemed to be. Or she was nervous. Ed thought she was nervous in the way a suspect might be, but I didn’t get that from her. Now the husband was different. He got huffy later when we asked them to come in with us to Homicide, and when they did come in he stopped cooperating. That’s part of why Ed flew up to Calgary to re-interview them.’

Goya sighed.

‘I’m sorry, Ben. I’m not answering what you asked about. They showed us passports, wedding rings, their itinerary, where they had eaten and visited, all the details of their visit, maybe too many details. So many that we checked on a restaurant they said they ate at and there wasn’t any record of them. Ed checked on that. Then a few days later we got an anonymous tip from someone who was farther away than the Canadians said they were and he reported hearing gunshots, but I already told you about that. Are you getting any closer to finding them?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Maybe I ought to look for you.’

This was the second time Goya had suggested this and the department did occasionally hire retired officers in what got called the 9-60 program. In it a retired officer could work twenty hours a week, but no more than nine hundred sixty hours a year. Goya wasn’t particularly coherent in how he framed his memory of the case, but then the murder was twenty-two years ago and what mattered most to Raveneau was that Goya still carried the case with him.

Raveneau had learned the truth in the cliche after he and la Rosa started the Cold Case Unit, that the good inspectors often carried their unsolved cases with them. Anytime a retired inspector phoned he always took the call. He thought of the retired inspectors as a collective consciousness that made the Cold Case Unit larger. They were his network. But Goya was a decade into retirement and getting him into the 9-60 program would be a very, very hard sell.

‘Henry, why don’t you come in tomorrow and we’ll go to lunch and talk the case through.’

‘Are you buying?’

‘I am.’

‘What time?’

‘Eleven thirty.’

‘I’ll see you then.’

Unlike him Goya and Govich didn’t have a videotape to refer to. They had tested different theories including an idea that Krueger was a spy, before settling on robbery because his wallet and the shoulder holster he wore were both empty. They figured Krueger’s gun was stolen too. But that the thief didn’t want to stick his hand in the bloody breast pocket, so the counterfeit bills got missed.

Before leaving for the night Raveneau made a list of what he wanted to go over with Goya tomorrow. AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System was in place in ’89, but barely. California, Alaska, and Tokyo were the first places to use it. Goya and Govich ran his prints through AFIS and as soon as they got a hit the Secret Service stepped in and ID’ed the body. Something was wrong there too and Raveneau was pretty sure the Secret Service ASAC, Nate Brooks, knew the back story.

Overall, Goya and Govich did a lot of things well. They pushed the Secret Service. Govich dogged the Canadians and traced an appendix scar to the hospital where Krueger was operated on. That led to Krueger’s Vietnam War record that the Navy previously couldn’t find. They found the London maker of the shoulder holster and the Hong Kong tailor who made Krueger’s pants and coat. They chased down the stamps on the false passports and they got feedback on the quality of the passports. The quality was so good one expert said he believed them to be real. Krueger’s shoes were handmade in Rome and the shoemaker kept records. The shoemaker had shipped four pairs of shoes to a Hong Kong apartment, but SFPD wouldn’t pay for a trip to Hong Kong in 1989, and they drew a blank with the Hong Kong authorities. Raveneau finished with his notes and questions for Goya just as Cynthia put a call through from the front desk.

‘You’ve got a Captain Frank call, a young man who says his name is Ryan Candel.’

‘Put him through.’

‘OK, and then I’m gone for the day. Hey, when does your girlfriend’s place open?’

‘A week from Friday.’

‘She must be excited?’

‘She is.’

‘I can’t wait to go there.’

Cynthia put the call through. This was the fourth call since they put out the piece last week asking for help from the public. So far the calls were sketchy, but that they got any response at all surprised him. The case was so old he hadn’t expected to hear anything from anybody on this one.

‘Inspector, I’m calling about Captain Frank.’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘I know I was the abortion that didn’t happen.’

‘You were what?’

‘Dude, Captain Frank was my dad. He was poppa. He was the man, but he didn’t want my mom to have me. I’ve got these photos she saved. I’ll give them all to you. Do you want to meet me tonight?’

Raveneau parked on Eleventh Street half a block from Cafe Agricole. He stepped between people waiting in line to hear music at Slim’s, then crossed Agricole’s front deck and went inside. The bar was to his left and it was easy to find Ryan Candel at the far end with a drink and a faded green shoebox on the bar top in front of him. He looked mid to late twenties and dressed like he wasn’t quite sure who he was yet, constructed hip but about a year or two back, dark pants, a leather coat with a Euro feel, styled hair, narrow, long sideburns dropping to his jawbone. It didn’t look comfortable.

Raveneau worked his way through a happy knot of people drinking and blocking the path to the tables and the rest of the bar. As he neared, Candel picked up on him, lifting his drink in a gesture that said you stick out too. Candel was drinking a Tequila Daisy, lemon, grenadine, and hellfire bitters and from the shine in his eyes as they shook hands Raveneau guessed it wasn’t his first drink.

Raveneau ordered rum with ginger and lime. He knew the Agricole from drinking here with Celeste as she debated mixology and what direction she was going with her new place, Toasts, whose concept was basically a bar with small plates, mostly appetizers. Not tapas though, she kept saying it was going to be different than that and mostly crostini. Her plans and the building permit said restaurant but a lot had changed since then.

As Raveneau’s drink arrived, Candel ordered another Tequila Daisy.

‘I’ve got some friends meeting me here so I don’t have a lot of time, but we can pretty much get this done in a few minutes. All the photos are in here.’

He tapped the shoebox with his fingers then rested his drink on top of it and Raveneau watched a dark drink ring form. He had gathered that Candel’s mother was dead, but this box supposedly held photos she cared about so it surprised him.

‘There are some things you should probably know about me.’

‘Did you kill somebody?’

‘No, but pretty close. I got busted a couple of years ago for assaulting the doctor who killed my mom and did ninety days in jail then home confinement and months of picking up trash and crap, the community service trip thing.’

‘Killed your mom?’

‘She died because her doctor blew her off.’

‘When was that?’

‘It was like June a year and a half ago. She was in a car accident and really badly hurt, in the hospital and just hanging on and he went golfing with his pharmaceutical company buddies.’ He glanced at Raveneau and added in a tone that made Raveneau think he’d gone through some court-ordered counseling, ‘But that doesn’t excuse what I did.’

‘And what are you doing now?’

‘For work, you mean?’

‘Yeah, for work or school or whatever.’

‘I’m DJ’ing four nights a week but that’s mostly spinning an iPod. It’s bullshit, I know, and not really work but I get paid a little and I’m trying to get something going in the music. I know a lot of musicians, and I’m trying to get into producing.’