Photo Finish

by Terry Ambrose

  The text on this page seemed like it had been written by someone who was, perhaps, human.

  Mr. Kanakua was an original violin created by a Japanese Violin Master in 1998. The original violin was sold for over $10,000 to a West Coast dot-com executive whose kid had been accepted at Juilliard School of Music. The kid took lessons from me whenever he was on-island, which was several months each year from 1997-2001.

  The original Mr. Kanakua’s front face was made from spruce, the neck from ebony, and the back from spruce. It took the creator nearly six months to build Mr. Kanakua, which he named after his maternal grandfather, a master violin maker in his own right.

  Harris said, “Looks like he thinks more of his damn violin than he does of people.”

  Meyer crossed his arms over his chest. His facial expression became stern. “Watch it, violins shouldn’t be blamed for people problems.”

  Harris rolled her eyes, “Whatever.”

  Harris and I read the next section together. Meyer went off to sulk.

  Our copies of Mr. Kanakua are nearly exact replicas. I obtained the specifications for Mr. Kanakua from the creator of the original in exchange for successfully handling an embarrassing situation in which he was caught in a Honolulu brothel by HPD on the eve of his wedding to a wealthy Japanese woman. By intervening with the arresting officers as they were pulling the creator of the original Mr. Kanakua from the bed of his hooker, he and his bride were spared much embarrassment. In fact, had the bride known about the hooker, she would have canceled the wedding. Of course, had the creator of the original Mr. Kanakua known that the arresting officers were really construction workers in rented costume-shop uniforms, he probably wouldn’t have been too happy either.

  Construction workers? Meyer had said that he recognized one of the workers at Willows Construction. So Stone liked to play games, too.

  We have hundreds of Mr. Kanakua replicas in circulation around the islands. Most of the violins have fabulous sound, just like the original. However, there are some that need a slight modification before their sound is at its peak. These, of course, are the expensive violins and you’ll know if you’ve got one. Click here to learn how to make the modifications to Mr. Kanakua.

  I copied the text and pasted it into a new document, which I titled, Mr. Kanakua. I was curious as to what modifications would be needed on a violin to improve the sound, so when I was done, I clicked the link.

  Modifications to improve the sound of the special Mr. Kanakua violin.

  First, using a sharp, thin-bladed knife, slice completely around the violin between the front face and the sidewall.

  Second, remove the top of the violin by sliding out the face plate.

  Third, remove the plastic baggies that have been taped inside the violin body.

  Fourth, using the small tube of glue from one of the plastic baggies, put a bead of glue around the top of the violin sidewall.

  Fifth, slide the faceplate back in place and let sit until set.

  I stared at my computer screen. Harris kissed me on the cheek and gave me a very close hug. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about getting laid at a time like this, but I was.

  “You have hit the mother lode, McKenna,” she said.

  That’s not all I was hoping to hit. “You’re right, we have more than enough to get the cops to investigate at least Stone and possibly, by association, Frank Willows. So many things are making sense, the safe-deposit box envelope, Shapiro’s death. It doesn’t say that he did kill him, but he sure implies that if someone stole one of his violins and Stone discovered it, he would.”

  “Maybe Shapiro tried to sell the drugs?” said Harris.

  I shook my head, “They wouldn’t be nice and safe in the bank. They’d be out on the streets. Maybe Shapiro tried to blackmail Stone?”

  Harris’s eyes lit up. “Wait. You actually have the drugs?”

  “Not here, no.”

  She turned away and muttered, “Damn.”

  I called across the room to Meyer, “You know those drugs in the bank?”

  He moved his head back a smidge, and his eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

  “They came from one of Stone’s violins.”

  “Very funny, McKenna. Just because I played as a kid.” He moved closer.

  “No, it’s true. It’s right here.”

  “What would drugs be doing in a violin, for crying out loud?”

  “It was Stone’s transportation method. Look, here’s complete instructions on how to take that violin apart and put it back together.” I read the instructions.

  As I read, Meyer walked over and picked up the violin. He examined the area around the faceplate carefully. “That’d make sense. Some moron without any training put this back together. That really irks me. That someone would use one of these as a suitcase.”

  “That’s Mr. Kanakua.”

  “No way, this ain’t Mr. Kanakua. That violin was built by a Japanese craftsman. He—”

  I interrupted, “You know about Mr. Kanakua?”

  “It’s a small world. The violin world.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t know this. The craftsman got caught with his pants down with a Honolulu hooker by HPD. In order to avoid spending time in the Hawaiian poky, he gave the specs to Stone. The craftsman doesn’t know he was set up by Stone. The cops weren’t real. The cops were construction workers.”

  “See, I told you I recognized those morons.”

  Like I said before, I hate I told you so’s, but I had this one coming. “You’re right. Stone got the specs for Mr. Kanakua and he’s been making knockoffs to use as mules for his drug trafficking. Pretty damn smart, if you ask me.”

  “Pisses me off.”

  “Me, too,” said Harris. “I think Shapiro got caught trying to blackmail Stone. Why else would the drugs be in that bank?”

  Meyer countered, “My money’s on the Daniels character.”

  “But he was Shapiro’s friend,” I said.

  “He’s no good, I tell you. No good at all.”

  “You think he figured out Stone’s angle?” I asked.

  Meyer nodded. “Bob was too wrapped up in his business. All he wanted to do was fly. He was too trusting and never would’ve guessed that Stone was smuggling. Never would’ve believed he could get caught up in something like that.”

  “That would explain why Daniels wants the violin so bad. He thinks the drugs are still in it. So Shapiro was hedging his bets by storing the drugs in the bank. That way, Daniels couldn’t get to them either.”

  “Everything points to someone blackmailing Stone,” said Harris. “Maybe it was Shapiro; maybe Daniels. But, we can’t go to the cops yet.”

  “Why not? We’ve got everything we need. It’s all wrapped up nice and neat, it’s time to give the cops a present.”

  She smiled and held my gaze. What little secret was she keeping this time?

  “Come on, Harris, what more could we possibly need?” I said.

  She smiled. “A confession.”

  Chapter 32

  I felt like a feather on a duck in a stiff wind, no longer sure I could hang on. Legs wanted a confession?

  Meyer, who had probably missed her last comment, said, “You gonna call the cops, McKenna?”

  I ignored him and spoke to Harris. “This was never about getting a confession; it was about compiling information. I’m ready. I want to turn this in. What’s that password?”

  Harris shook her head. She was steadfast. “I’m not giving it to you. We need more. A lot more. If we can meet with Stone and get him to confess, think of how much that would be worth.”

  Worth to who?

  “McKenna, what are you gonna do about the cops?”

  I yelled, “Shut up, Meyer!” I turned to Harris. There was something drastically wrong in this picture. I’d seen the signs that Harris was changing the game, but I’d ignored them. I’d been warned by Alexander and Julia about her and I’d ignored that, too. I turned away and stared out at the ocean. I neede
d clarity. I faced Harris and said, “Let’s go down to the beach for a minute.”

  She plucked the flash drive from my shirt pocket. “Let’s look at this first. You’re not going to want to miss what’s on here.”

  Did she already know what was on that drive? It was no more than the size of my finger. On one end was a USB connector, which she inserted into an empty slot on the side of my notebook.

  Windows, my operating system, came alive as it sensed a new member of its little computer world. Only one file popped up on my screen; Harris double-clicked the mouse on the name. The media player started up, said it was loading, then the little hourglass turned into an arrow. Well, I’ll be damned. I was looking at a view of a man facing a camera.

  “This is Robert M. Shapiro, Jr. Today is Saturday, May 7, 2011, and I’m about to have a meeting with James Stone and Frank Willows. As a witness to this meeting, Dadrian Daniels is watching via the internet and is recording this meeting.”

  We heard a knock on Shapiro’s door. He stood, left the picture, then returned, followed by Willows and another man, the one holding the guitar from Stone’s MySpace page. They all sat, Shapiro on the couch, Stone and Willows on chairs next to each other.

  Willows spoke first. “Well, Bob, you wanted this meeting. What’s up?”

  “I know what’s been going on, why you two wanted the partnership agreement written the way it was. I was so naive before, but now I realize what you’re using my plane for. I want out.”

  Stone said, “What the hell are you talking about? All we’re getting is some inter-island transportation. My stores do lots of business and we—”

  “That’s bullshit! And you know it. I don’t want to transport any more of your ‘violins’.” Shapiro raised both hands and made quotation marks in the air.

  “Come on, Bob,” said Willows. “You know perfectly well that’s a legal contract. You don’t like it, that’s too bad.” He started to stand and Shapiro held up his hand.

  “Maybe you’re not aware of this, Frank, but Jim is transporting drugs, not just violins.”

  Stone leaped to his feet. “Lying son-of-a-bitch. I’ll sue you for defamation.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be considered defamation when the cops see what’s in your violins,” said Shapiro. “I think that’s called drug trafficking. Maybe you’re both in it.”

  Willows ground his teeth. “You got any proof of this?”

  Shapiro nodded. “All I need.”

  “You’re the one who did that? Why you—”

  “Shut up, Jimmy. Bob’s got you by the short hairs. But he’s missing something. Shapiro, you try going to the cops and you’ll be implicated too. They’ll never believe you didn’t know what cargo you were carrying. Especially after we explain how it was you who approached us for help in the first place. You’re screwed too.”

  Stone added, “You are so goddamned dead.”

  Willows held out his hand and put it on Stone’s shoulder. He turned to Shapiro, “You signed that agreement. You want out, you’ve got to buy us out. You go to the cops, nobody knows what’s going to happen. Nobody wins. You buy us out, everyone wins.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Call Daniels' bitch and pay up your life insurance.”

  Willows grabbed Stone’s shoulder hard. “Goddammit, Jimmy, no more threats.”

  Stone nodded. “I want my violin back for starters.”

  Shapiro shook his head. He moved forward and sat on the edge of the couch. “No way. That’s my insurance. Here’s the deal. I keep the violin safe. You stop using my plane. When I get enough cash together, I’ll buy you out and give your precious violin back. We part company and life goes on.”

  “How the hell did you figure this out?” said Stone.

  “Things didn’t add up.”

  “Bullshit. Someone tipped you off. Was it Daniels?”

  Shapiro tried not to say anything, but it was obvious from the way he glanced away that Stone had hit a nerve. Shapiro would have made a lousy poker player.

  “That shit!”

  “Jimmy. Remember what we talked about?”

  Stone smiled and sat back in his chair. “Fine. Do it your way.”

  Willows turned back to Shapiro and said, “Here’s what we’re prepared to offer. You’ve got 24 hours to turn over the violin. I’m a reasonable guy as long as I’m not pissed off. Unfortunately, you’re treading very close to ground where you don’t want to be.” Willows paused for a moment, then his voice grew in intensity with each word. “If you decide to tell the cops, remember that you’re going down with us.”

  Willows moved quickly from his chair and jammed his knee between Shapiro’s legs. Shapiro buckled forward, but Willows gripped him by the neck and shoved him against the couch until his back was arched and his head pressed against the wall. Tears flowed from Shapiro’s eyes. He launched a feeble swing at Willows, but his body went rigid when Willows jammed his knee into his crotch again. Willows ground out, “Are we clear?”

  Shapiro finally nodded. When he did, Willows let go and stood. “Let’s go Jimmy. I think Mr. Shapiro has a better understanding of our arrangement now.” Shapiro slumped over into the fetal position on the couch.

  Stone smiled. “Yeah, I think he’s got it.” He leaned forward until his face was inches from Shapiro’s. “Don’t screw this up, Bobby-boy. Otherwise, you could become another page on MySpace.” Stone laughed as he stood. He and Willows made their way to the front door. Stone said, “Oh, don’t get up, Bobby, we’ll show ourselves out.”

  In the background, we heard the sound of the front door opening, the voice of Frank Willows. “You and that goddamn MySpace. You’re a damned addict. You need help.”

  As they walked out, Stone said, “No way, man, it’s my outlet. You got that—” Their voices faded away as the door closed.

  A few minutes later, Shapiro pulled himself up from the couch and approached the webcam. The picture went dead. The following night, Shapiro had met Willows for dinner. He’d probably refused the offer. Then he’d died. At the hands of Stone? Or Willows? Which one had driven the car?

  “Time to call the cops,” I said. “This is everything they’ll need.”

  Meyer said, “These guys have already been to my place a couple of times. I can’t go back until they’re locked up. We all know that. This better do the job.”

  Harris waved her hands. “Hello. This isn’t enough. You two aren’t getting it. We need a confession. What we saw was only a threat. We’ve got to get Stone to admit he killed Shapiro. Then we’ll be in business.”

  I told myself that Harris’s concussion was causing her to make these weird judgments—that’s why she was doing this. Or were my friends right about her? “Let’s take that walk on the beach.”

  She shrugged. “Sure, hon.”

  We crossed over the short grassy area and onto the beach. We both pulled off our sandals as we neared the water. Here, the waves cooled the sand, making it possible to walk barefoot comfortably.

  Harris said, “You don’t like my plan?”

  I hated it. It scared the hell out of me. I lied, “It’s not that. I love it.”

  “I knew you’d like that recording. So what’s wrong?”

  What was wrong? How had she known what was on the drive? I remembered her excuse for leaving shortly after Daniels left, how she’d been pulling away in the last day or so. Had she already met with Daniels? I shrugged. “I just needed a few minutes away from Meyer. He’s getting on my nerves.”

  “Kind of annoying, all that can’t hear stuff.”

  “Yeah, very. He’s not even a baseball fan.”

  “You’re kidding. That’s like, un-American.”

  “I know. It’s America’s game. And we Dodgers fans have to stick together, right?”

  “I love that team, my dad took me and my sister all the time.”

  I nodded. “See, we connect. He’s just—”

  “I know.” She stroked my ar
m.

  “You know what I used to hate?” I said.

  “What? When they lost? The food?”

  I chuckled. “No, the traffic. It’s such a bear there. It’s bad here, but going to a game, jeez. Thank God they have the Metro Rail system. I always took it to the stadium.”

  She smiled and nodded. “That was so convenient. A lot better than fighting the traffic from El Monte.”

  I gave her a hug. “Let me work on Meyer. I’ll get him to come around to your idea.”

  She squeezed me hard. “Thanks, McKenna, you’re a doll.”

  And a liar. There’s no Metro Rail station anywhere near Dodger Stadium.

  Chapter 33

  When I returned to my apartment, I found Meyer sitting on the couch. He probably thought I’d send him packing after the way I’d yelled at him earlier. He had his hands folded in his lap like a kid waiting for discipline and gave me an expectant look as I approached. He seemed surprised when I said, “Tell me what happened in Korea.”

  He glanced away. After a short silence, he said, “Not much to tell.”

  “Try me anyway.”

  He got a faraway look in his eyes and he started to tear up again. “We were assaulted from all sides. We took heavy fire and men were dropping faster than we could count. The enemy had stationed a few of theirs up on a hill with a machine gun. We were sitting ducks. All I did was crawl to the top of the hill. Government said I killed three Koreans up there and a bunch of others before our guys turned the tide. Me, I don’t remember a thing until a week later when I woke up in an army hospital. All’s I know is that our guys didn’t need to die that day.”

  I'd begun to suspect that Meyer had a strength of character that Harris, and even I, lacked. “How many did you save?”

  “Fourteen good men died that day.”

  “But how many didn’t die because of you?”

  “Bob saved some guys in Vietnam. He was like you, kept talking about the ones who lived. He was trying to help me understand before—well, before I check out of this world myself. He was more than a friend; he kept me going.”