“We know he’s dead. We—no, I—thought it was the guy who does the maintenance on Shapiro’s plane. He ran down Shapiro, then used the plane for some illicit activity. But now he’s missing, too. Maybe dead.”
Meyer pushed the baseball cap up on his forehead, then pursed his lips. “Don’t make no sense. Who would want to kill both Bob Shapiro and his maintenance man?”
That was true. Who would want, or need, to kill both men? And why? If Shapiro’s and Lau’s deaths were related somehow, I had to get to the bottom of it. It was the only way I’d get Harris her money; it was the only way I’d redeem myself in Alexander’s eyes. And the only way to get to the bottom of it all was through Meyer Herschel. I needed those boxes.
Chapter 17
Meyer stood next to the stack of boxes and drummed his fingers. “Yup, I started going through these records, but my eyesight ain’t so good and I just ain’t got enough time, what with my duties around this place.”
I stroked my chin, not because I had to wipe off the drool that might be dribbling out of the corner of my mouth, but because the answers to all my problems—the Shapiro problems, anyway—might be right here. All I’d have to do is go through those boxes, assemble some information, then file the final report with CrimeStoppers. It was my old job all over again, and it would put me solidly back in Alexander’s good graces. It might even get me that home run with Harris. Now that made my palms sweat.
Having decided I needed what Meyer had, I figured the best thing would be to give him the full story so that he’d understand my rationale—except for the Harris part, of course. That would be too much information. I ran through the entire story of Harris’s photo safari, being sure to leave out the hugs and her friendly manner. Meyer seemed particularly interested by the Darwin Awards, saying that he could think of several people he’d like to nominate. I reminded him that the nominee had to be dead, to which he just nodded and shrugged. Best not to get on this guy’s bad side, I thought.
Finally, with the entire detailed story on the table, he set his cap on top of one of the boxes. His thin hair revealed a sunspot that reminded me of the state of Florida tattooed on his scalp. He said, “You’re a helluva story teller, but I still think you’re full of horse pucky.”
I’d been told that I was full of many things before, but horse pucky had never been one of them. At least, not that I could remember. BS, yeah. Plain old S, sure. “What, you can’t say shit?”
“Where I come from, we don’t say that unless we really don’t like someone. Me? I kind of like you. You seem down-to-earth. So, I think you’re full of horse pucky.”
“Shit. You think I’m full of horse shit?”
“Call it what you want. I ain’t the one asking for favors. You want to see what’s in those boxes?”
I nodded.
“Then get smart.”
“So now I’m stupid? Jesus.”
“That’s it, you’re out of here. Don’t let the screen door hit your skinny ASS on the way out!”
Good job, McKenna, you’ve destroyed another bridge. I was better at tearing down than building up. “I, uh, apologize.” The last thing I needed was to have Meyer Herschel kick me out of his apartment.
“Good, glad we got the power structure figured out. Now, just because you were so obstinate, you gotta say it.”
“Say what?”
Meyer’s eyes twinkled. “I’m full of—”
“Bullshit! You’d better watch out, or I’ll have my friend come in here and knock you on your scrawny ass!” He took a step sideways and, for the first time, I noticed a small wooden case with a glass front sitting on his desk. I pointed at the case, “What’s that?”
“Something I got in the war.”
The door handle behind us jiggled. Alexander yelled, “Hey, open up!”
I peered closer at the case. “That’s a Medal of Honor. Is that yours?”
Alexander yelled, “What’s going on in there?”
I caught and held Meyer’s gaze. “What’d you have to do to get it?”
He closed his eyes and took a shallow breath. “Stay alive.” When he opened his eyes, they were moist. Crinkled lines radiated across his forehead and temples, each a reminder of an event he preferred to leave in his past. I cleared my throat. “Pretty slick, locking the door on the way in. I didn’t catch that.”
“I figured I could always handle you. Besides, I’ve got a secret weapon.”
“What, that hoe you were carrying?”
He gave me a crooked-toothed smile as he extracted a small canister from his left pocket. He gripped the container tightly in his hand and pointed it in my direction. “Pepper spray. It’ll stop you or your friend dead in your tracks.”
I’d come to the realization that, like the “simple country lawyer,” Meyer was far more cagey than he appeared. The door rattled again, and we both turned at the sound of a loud thud. Alexander was trying to break it down.
I said, “Look, I think we both want to know what happened to Shapiro. Why don’t we declare a truce?”
“McKenna! You okay?” Another thud, this one louder. Then, Alexander was at the window. He appeared to be searching for something to use to break the glass.
“Is he going to break in?”
I shrugged. “He might.”
“You’ll have to pay for damages.”
“He thinks my well-being is in jeopardy.”
“Negotiation skills under fire. I like that.”
I yelled, “I’m okay, Alexander.” I turned to Meyer. “Can I let him in before he breaks something, like maybe his shoulder?”
Meyer chuckled, then motioned towards the door with his head. He turned suddenly serious, “Your story seems pretty farfetched to me, but I think you’re on the level about wanting to learn what happened to Bob. So what do you want to know?” He stuck the container back in his pocket.
I opened the door to find Alexander standing there with both hands on his hips in the Superman pose. He was probably trying to summon up his superpowers to bust down the door. I was glad that Meyer and I had come to an understanding before Alexander damaged the building’s construction—or himself. “Come on in,” I said.
Alexander rubbed his sore arm as he glared at us. “What happening in here, McKenna?”
“Meyer and I have agreed that he’s going to help us figure out what happened to Shapiro.” I walked back into the room and announced to Meyer, “I want to see what’s in his records.”
Meyer stationed himself next to the boxes in a defiant pose. “What? Records? Oh, these, not yet.”
“What do you mean? I thought you said it was okay.”
“I asked you what you wanted to know.”
McKenna, I thought, this guy is as stubborn as you, take it slow and you’ll get where you want to be. “Okay, we think Shapiro was murdered. But, we don’t know why, or who did it.”
Meyer said, “Bob only did sightseeing trips and, what’d he call that? Oh yeah, private charters. He never took cargo. He bought that fancy new airplane so he could drop his cargo business. He kept saying that there was a market for people who wanted tours and transportation. He told me he’d already lined up a couple of small-business clients who didn’t have enough money for their own plane, but didn’t like wasting time flying commercial.”
I asked, “Would he ever let the client take luggage or cargo?”
Meyer shrugged, “How would I know?”
I wondered if Meyer was just being cagey again, or if he really wasn’t sure. I suspected it wasn’t the latter. “You know quite a bit, for a landlord.”
Alexander said, “He probably would take cargo, brah. My Cousin Eddie runs a charter service. He lets his regular clients rent him and the plane for a flat fee.”
“So a small business could save money,” I said. “They could avoid the hassles of flying commercial and be with their shipment from point A to point B. That could be of importance to someone who had something valuable to move inter-island.”
Meyer grimaced. “Bob would never do that.”
“That could be why someone had to kill him. When did he buy that new plane?”
“Maybe two months. He teamed up with Roger to buy it. Cost over half a million bucks, you know.”
Alexander and I stared at Meyer. I said, “Are you sure about that?”
“That’s what he told me.”
Alexander muttered, “I better be nicer to Cousin Eddie.”
“I’m not talking about the money,” I said. “I meant, why was Roger proud of it? He was just the maintenance guy.”
“Nah, he was one of Bob’s backers. Bob could only borrow about half of what he needed by himself. Roger’s the one who got the financing for the rest.”
I glanced at Alexander and said, “Well, goddamn.”
He nodded. “What else do you know about Shapiro’s business?”
“Not much. He always paid his rent on time. Didn’t seem to have much trouble making ends meet; maybe cause he drove that old clunker. Didn’t cost him nothing to own it.”
“Where’s the car?” I asked.
“Most of the time it’s in his carport.”
“Yah, yah,” I said, “I’m sure it wasn’t in the carport when he drove it.”
“Yup.”
I said, “So Shapiro drove an old car and had silent business financial backers that helped him buy an expensive airplane. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“We need to find out who the backers are,” I said. Was it something he discovered about one of his partners that got him killed? Or was it one of his clients? And was it Roger Lau who had been thrown from that plane? Or was I completely off base on that presumption, too? We needed more information.
Alexander said, “You know, McKenna, I think we gonna have to go back and talk to Roger’s wife again, yah?”
“I think there’s a few things Mrs. Lau didn’t tell us. But first, we need to know what questions to ask. And that’s where these boxes are going to help.”
“I’m not sure I can let you fellows do that.”
Alexander asked, “Why not? We all want the same thing.”
“They’re not my records. They belong to Mr. Shapiro.”
“Now he’s Mr. Shapiro?” I said. “And, he’s dead. So, who cares?”
“He’s still got a right to his privacy. And his dignity.”
Meyer Herschel was being cagey, yet again. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Why he’d suddenly not want us to look through the boxes he’d been teasing us with already. I asked, “So what are you worried about? Cops? The court?”
He rolled his eyes. “If you two are right, it means there’s someone out there going to want to destroy these records. Now who do you suppose they might be?”
I said, “That’s what we don’t know. We’re looking for a trail.”
“Exactly. And how long do you suppose it’s going to take those fine fellows to figure out they might have left one?”
Alexander said, “That doesn’t make any sense. They don’t know there’s a trail.”
Meyer waved his arms in the air as if he were trying to flag down a passing cab. “Stop being good Samaritans for a few minutes and smell the manure. Think like someone who’s got something to hide. You saw that news report on that wacko kid at nooky nooky high school yesterday, didn’t you’?”
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Nanakuli High School.”
“I saw it,” I said. “So, what’s that got to do with Shapiro?”
“Nothing, except this. That kid didn’t go to such extraordinary measures because he was happy and well adjusted. He did that because he wanted to be noticed.”
I nodded, “And these guys are the opposite. They’ll do whatever they need to do to erase the trail back to Shapiro.”
Alexander said, “But why come looking for you? They don’t know you have the records.”
Meyer’s caginess suddenly made perfect sense. He was doing exactly what I might do in his shoes. He’d have emptied the apartment and gotten it ready for a new tenant. He’d store the records until the estate asked for them or until probate was settled and he’d been instructed to destroy them. I said, “They’ve already been here, that’s why.”
Meyer nodded. “Last night, about ten, I noticed a light on in Bob’s old apartment. It wasn’t big, just something small, like a flashlight bouncing around. I called the cops. They were here in two minutes. Since I was the one who reported the problem, they came to me first, then went up to the apartment. The cops had me stay down here while they checked it out, but they didn’t find anything because they had to do half their search in the dark. That apartment’s only got a light in the kitchen and the bathroom, no others.”
I said, “But today, you went back in the daylight—when you could see better.”
“Yup, the lock was fine, probably means they had a key. Nothing was disturbed because I took everything out a couple of days ago. But, it was the carpets that gave them away.”
I laughed, “You cleaned the carpets and now there were footprints.”
“I might not have caught it, otherwise. I warned the cops not to mess anything up. They were real careful, but some son-of-a-bitch left mud on my clean carpet. Now, I’ve got to clean it again.”
I chuckled. “You swore.”
Meyer shrugged. “Time and place for everything. I called the cops back, and they said there was nothing more they could do about a simple break-in.”
Alexander said, “Since the records weren’t in the apartment, these guys will think you’ve got them.”
I added, “And they couldn’t check it out last night because HPD was here.”
Meyer seemed pleased with himself. “I knew you two were smarter than you looked. Now how do I get rid of these damn boxes without getting myself in trouble—or killed?”
Chapter 18
Now that Meyer’s dilemma had been laid out, the three of us stood around staring at the boxes and contemplating the Big Question. I considered how, were I in Meyer’s shoes, I might unload the boxes. Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure.
Meyer broke the mood when he pulled the small canister of pepper spray from his pocket. He pointed the canister at his mouth and pressed the button on top. My jaw dropped, and I started to move in his direction.
I yelled, “No!”
Alexander took hold of my shoulder and held me in place. “McKenna, you gone nuts?”
Meyer swallowed and said, “That’s better.” He shoved the canister in my direction. “Throat spray. Helps clear the passages. Want some?”
My mouth moved, but nothing came out. This cagey old war veteran deserved respect. And maybe he’d just answered the Big Question.
Meyer said, “You look like you could use a little cleaning out. Here.” He laughed so hard that he started coughing. After a few hacks, he regained control and said, “Gotcha. I don’t even know where you’d buy pepper spray. As far as Shapiro’s stuff goes, I donated some of it, threw away a bunch of old junk, and stored the rest. I’m hoping I get approval to get rid of it before the storage costs get to be more than his deposit.”
“Why didn’t you store the records with the rest?”
“Because it seemed to me that storing important records in a damn storage unit that has no humidity control wasn’t a good idea. Besides, I had one of those leak once. What a mess.” He handed me the throat spray. “Try it, really, it helps.”
I said, ”What if you told people you just threw Shapiro’s stuff away?”
“That’d be a lie.”
Alexander was holding his head again. “Why me?”
“I ain’t gonna tell people a lie.”
I said, “You’ve never fibbed just a bit?”
“McKenna, I kine know where this going. Don’t do this.”
“It’s okay, Alexander. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yah, corrupting an honest man. Just cause you think lying is a sport, don
’t mean he does.”
“Pish posh.”
Meyer looked puzzled. “What’s that about goulash? You late for lunch or something?”
Alexander massaged his temples, “You two are giving me a headache—again.”
“You lied to me about the pepper spray!”
Meyer took a step back. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to yell.” He slowly stroked the tops of the boxes. “Bob was a good man. So was his maintenance guy. We all had something in common.”
I caught his brief glance at the Medal of Honor, then sadness washed over him. I said, “War?”
He blushed, then rubbed the back of his neck with a wizened hand. “Not the same one, but we’d all been there. Bob and Roger were in Vietnam. Bob had a Medal of Honor, too. Roger had a Silver Star.” He glanced out the window, then took a deep breath. “I think they’d both appreciate someone taking an interest. I wish I could—”
He looked at the boxes and stepped aside. “I got me some grounds work to do. I hope none of those boxes disappear while I’m off. I don’t know what I’d do if they disappeared while I wasn’t paying attention. It could get me in some serious trouble with the courts if I threw them away, but if they got lost—” He grabbed his baseball cap and put it back on his head, then opened the door, and walked out.
Alexander stood in the corner rubbing his temples. “I don’t believe this. Two of you. Why me?”
“We don’t have time for that, grab a couple of boxes.”
It took us two trips, but we were able to stuff all the boxes into the back seat of Alexander’s truck. Before we left, I jotted a quick thank-you note to Meyer along with my telephone number. Mostly, I wanted to make sure he knew how to reach me, just in case he thought of something new. As we drove away, I saw his reflection in the side mirror waving goodbye. I waved back, hoping that I’d get to see him again.
We schlepped the boxes into my apartment and put them on the floor next to the kitchen table. Alexander’s brow furrowed. I said, “You look like something’s bugging you.”
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