Counterfeit Road (2 page)

‘Just like these?’

‘Exactly like these, same series, same print run, and though you wouldn’t see many of this style inside the US, there’s a lot of cash floating around the world. The dollar is still the world’s reserve currency and sometimes caches pop up. The banks probably didn’t want the bills, but they have relationships, and their client is a black market weapons dealer who moves a lot of money so they took them in.’ He paused before adding, ‘We were already tracking this particular weapons dealer.’

‘Why?’

‘It has to do with a threat I can’t talk to you about yet. In fact, I’m here to ask for your complete cooperation. We need your murder files on Alan Lansing Krueger. How these counterfeit bills tie in or why Krueger had them, I don’t know the answer to. But as we learn information and as I can, I’ll pass it on to you.’

‘Is that why there are three of you here?’

‘Special Agent Swensen could have come alone, but I don’t want any misunderstanding. We want to work with you.’

‘OK, well, the murder files are on my desk. I’ll go get them and you read through them in here, and then decide what you need.’

‘We’d rather take them with us and get more time to go through them.’

‘Of course you would, but that’s not going to happen.’

‘I’m not bullshitting you when I say this is a very significant threat.’

‘And I’m not stonewalling you. I’ll give you plenty of time to read but I don’t think you’re going to find there is that much in these files.’

La Rosa was at her desk when Raveneau walked back into their office. She took off her reading glasses. She watched as he picked up the Krueger files and the murder logbook for 1989.

‘I’ll be right back.’

In the kitchen he opened the logbook and showed them the entry with Krueger’s murder. He explained the columns with date, time, location, victim’s name, if known, and the inspectors assigned to the case and their summary.

He slid the murder files out to the middle of the table like a plate of sandwiches.

‘Inspectors Goya and Govich didn’t have much to go on. They had a piece of paper with a phone number and the name Captain Frank, but that turned out to be a phone booth at SFO. The Secret Service did their own investigation but they didn’t share what they found with us, so you probably already know a lot more than I do.’

He looked at each of them. ‘I’ll give you fifteen minutes or so to read. Then we can talk.’

When he returned to his desk he slid one of the CD copies of the murder videotape into his coat pocket and asked la Rosa, ‘Want to go across the street to Roma and get a coffee?’

‘Aren’t they still in there?’

‘They’re reading.’

‘That won’t take long.’

When he shrugged, she stood up.

‘All right, I’m ready for coffee anyway.’

Everybody shares the same elevator in the Hall of Justice and you can wait awhile for a ride. When Raveneau and la Rosa returned from across the street there was a wait and the Secret Service agents were a little agitated as they got back upstairs. Also, the kitchen smelled like popcorn, so they probably weren’t alone in here and didn’t get much of a chance to talk. Brooks avoided eye contact now, focusing on the cuff of his shirt as if something there had suddenly drawn his attention. That changed as Raveneau laid the CD on the tablecloth.

‘What do you want me to copy?’ Raveneau asked, and sounded like he was at a baseball game getting a head count before he went for hot dogs and beer.

‘Everything,’ Brooks said. ‘And what’s that in front of you?’

‘A copy of a videotape we received Tuesday.’ He turned to Raff. ‘I’ve never known the Secret Service to look at counterfeit bills and mistake them for real bills. Are you sure it was a mistake?’

‘Inspector, it was before my time, but I’m sure it was a mistake.’

‘Would you mistake them?’

‘No, but now we know what to look for.’

‘And you didn’t know then?’ She looked to Brooks. She wanted his permission and when he didn’t say anything, she said, ‘The bills are very, very good.’

‘What am I starting to remember?’

Raveneau knew la Rosa was starting to remember something as well, something right about that time. He asked Raff, ‘North Korea. Help me here, Michelle. When we called out the North Koreans for counterfeiting our money it was around that time wasn’t it?’

Raff looked to Brooks and Raveneau said, ‘Let her talk.’

She waited until Brooks nodded.

‘The bills you’re referring to were called supernotes. That was because the quality was so good. Before these here on the table the first known supernotes were spotted by a banker in the Philippines in 1989.’

She touched the bills in front of her.

‘That’s what these are now. Alan Krueger’s murder occurred before those in the Philippines were spotted, so now these are the first known supernotes.’

Raveneau took a moment to absorb that.

‘And these are the same as those passed by the weapons dealer to the Cayman Island and Mexican banks?’

Brooks answered. ‘That’s correct.’

Raveneau pulled Brooks’ card from his coat. ‘What’s the best number to call you at?’

‘Hand me that and I’ll write it on the back.’

Raveneau watched him write a number and when he got the card back slid the CD across the table. ‘Watch this and then give us a call. You’ll recognize Krueger. If not, he’s the taller one.’

THREE

R
etired homicide inspector Henry Goya was in his mid-sixties. Not too long ago he had a quadruple bypass surgery that Raveneau knew about only because Cynthia, the Homicide Detail’s secretary, was good friends with Goya’s daughter. Goya’s daughter also got her dad to join Facebook.

On his Facebook page Goya looked like an ageing, slightly crooked art dealer. A photo showed him in a wicker chair on the porch of his house in Petaluma, gray beard cut short and carefully trimmed, left hand resting on the carved knob of a wooden cane. In his right he held a thin cigar. A whiskey sat on the glass-topped table in front of him, a small terrier expectantly at his feet. The photo was probably meant to communicate the wonderful time Goya was having in retirement, but Raveneau had heard the quiet excitement as Goya connected with the Krueger case again.

‘Did you find the Canadians?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Did my old partner ever call you?’

‘No.’ Raveneau had left several messages for Ed Govich, but Govich was yet to call back.

‘Henry, tell me again what you remember about the Canadians other than there was something off about them.’

‘OK, well, they were newly-weds here for a week and staying at the Hyatt, so that put them in the general area where the murder happened. They told us they liked to walk a city when they visited it, and that’s what they were doing, out walking when they decided to cross under the Embarcadero Freeway. They happened upon the body and called 911. Ed and I weren’t far behind the first uniform officers, so we got to the Canadians right away, and they were helpful, especially her.

‘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 cliché 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?’

FOUR

R
aveneau parked on Eleventh Street half a block from Café 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.’