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  “What?”

  “Not what, how. How did you check out this agency? Left on Ala Wai.”

  Chance made the left, merging our red bullet into traffic with only a little extra goose to the gas. “Great acceleration, huh?”

  “How did you verify this agency was legit?”

  Chance shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I called them. Looked them up online. Talked to a few of their references. The usual stuff.”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “Right on McCully, left on Kapi‘olani.

  I felt sorry for Chance. From what I could tell, I was being driven by a spoiled rich kid who didn’t have a clue he was being fleeced by a company offering a nonexistent service. Of course, I’m a cynic from way back. Last Chance, on the other hand, was obviously A Believer.

  The wind ruffled my hair as I admired the stately palms dotting the shores of the Ala Wai Canal. I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble—or the chutzpah to declare him a victim of fraud without at least digging into this Phillip Marlowe Online Detective Agency. No way. I wasn’t going there.

  At Pi‘ikoi, I motioned for Chance to turn left.

  “You okay, McKenna? You got awful quiet all of a sudden.”

  “I’m fine, Chance. Just thinking about the case.” And how I’d already promised him this big murder investigation. How was I going to get out of that? I groaned as Chance parked in a spot directly in front of Meyer’s complex. If Chance was being scammed, that meant he wasn’t really working on his PI license and I hadn’t solved my Benni problem at all. I’d only made it worse by adding a newbie to the mix.

  My troubles were multiplying faster than rabbits in Spring. Now what? Chance was already out of the car and waiting on the sidewalk. I took a deep breath, went and stood next to him. “You’re right, nice car. C’mon, let’s go see Meyer.”

  The grounds at Meyer’s apartment complex hadn’t changed much. The last time I’d been here, the only thing babbling had been the central courtyard koi pond. This time, burbling water had competition from Chance as he went on and on about me being the best friend ever for getting him this opportunity. The kid sure knew how to scratch an open wound.

  The pond lent a feeling of elegance to the complex interior, which, from the outside was much like any other. The earthy smell of freshly laid mulch blended with the profusion of ferns and palms to fill the courtyard with the heavy air of the tropics.

  “Here we are.” I rapped on the door. After a few seconds, I banged harder.

  “Jeez, McKenna, you trying to break it down?”

  “He’s deaf as a post.”

  The door opened and Meyer’s eyes lit up. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  “And ears,” I muttered.

  “What?” Meyer yelled. “You gotta speak up. I got me some new hearing aids and I ain’t quite got ‘em dialed in yet.”

  I gestured at Chance. “I said, this here’s my friend...”

  “Chance Logan, PI.” The way the kid grabbed and shook Meyer’s hand, I thought poor Meyer might vibrate to death.

  Before I could stop him, Chance extracted a card from his pocket and pressed it into Meyer’s hand. He turned on his movie-star smile. “Thanks for the reminder about the cards, McKenna. I’m so nervous I wouldn’t have even remembered this if you hadn’t suggested it.”

  I stole a glance at Meyer. He beamed at me. “I knew I could count on you! A real PI. Well, well. You certainly have the connections, McKenna.”

  Just shoot me. Please. Someone. Anyone. “That’s me,” I grumbled. “Mr. Connected. Meyer, I’m not sure if Chance is going to be the best choice for you. I mean, he’s new at this. He’s not exactly fully licensed yet and...”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure since you brung him along you’re gonna want to work right alongside the boy...you know, elbow-to-elbow, in the trenches together, connected at the hip, even.”

  Meyer’s eyes sparkled. He sounded chipper. Last Chance was grinning from ear-to-ear. And I was having The Day From Hell. “You bet,” I grumbled, then glanced at the kid. “We’re in this together.”

  Before I knew what had happened, Chance pulled me in close and hugged me. “You’re my hero, McKenna! Oh, man, this is going to be totally awesome.”

  I closed my eyes to block out all the happiness hormones circulating through the air. “Totally,” I whispered. To Meyer, I said, “So, I—er—we need to know the story. You’re being accused of murder?”

  We seated ourselves at Meyer’s dining table. Chance had no idea what was coming. I, however, fully expected this to be, shall we say, tedious.

  “McKenna, you remember the manager I hired a couple of years ago when I went back to the mainland?”

  I hesitated. Maybe I could deflect this. “Gee, Meyer, I barely remember what I had for breakfast.”

  “There you go, being modest again. You’re just sayin’ that cause my memory ain’t so good. Graham Reynolds. I told you he deserved to have someone believe in him. He was a Vietnam vet.”

  Why make this worse than it was already? “Sure, I remember him.”

  “See, I knew you would. Well, Graham got himself in deep with a slick-talking con man named Victor Durisseau. Got taken for all he had. I been told Graham was broke and had to leave Honolulu. Went back to LA. Damned if he didn’t clean me out before he left.”

  From the look on Chance’s face, I could see he was shocked someone would steal from their employer. Sorry, kid, but it happens all the time. Welcome to the real world. “What’s that got to do with murder?”

  “The cops are saying I offed this Victor Durisseau because he stole money from me.”

  Meyer handed me a business card on heavy stock with embossed, gold lettering. The name of the company was FutureProof Investments for Veterans. “Nice card.” The name on the card was Victor Durisseau, not Graham Reynolds. Victor was listed as the principal. “I thought you said Graham Reynolds stole your money.”

  “He worked for Durisseau. The son-of-a-bitch has an office over on Cah-lock-coo-ah.”

  Ugh. Did Meyer ever have a knack for butchering a language that was short on consonants and long on vowels. The address of Victor’s office, 1888 Kalākaua, was printed in the lower right corner of the card. It even had the correct kahakō usage. Impressive.

  It seemed pointless telling him there was no “lock” in a street name pronounced “kah-lah-cow-ah.” And the accent was on the third syllable, not the second. Neither mattered to Meyer, he couldn’t hear the difference. I simply said, “I can see that.”

  Meyer’s face was growing redder by the second. At 81, with no serious medical issues I knew of, he seemed healthy enough. Still, I worried about this kind of pressure. Would it raise his blood pressure? Bring on a stroke or heart attack?

  “So you were going to fire Graham?” I asked.

  “I didn’t come here to fire him! I came back...to help him. When I found out he left, I went to see the guy who turned him around a couple of years ago. He’s the preacher at Graham’s church. A big mucky-muck here in town. He told me the last time he saw Graham was after a service a couple weeks ago. That’s when Graham told him he was goin’ back to LA. He ain’t seen him since.”

  “This is bogus, Meyer. What could the police possibly have to make them believe a decorated Korean War veteran like you would suddenly turn into a cold-blooded killer?”

  Meyer buried his face in his hands. Chance and I exchanged a glance. There were creases of worry on Chance’s forehead, mine was probably about the same. Nevertheless, we both waited.

  Finally, Meyer crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. He croaked, “The gun. It was my gun that killed Victor Durisseau.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I fumbled for a word. Any word. Meyer’s gun had been used to kill a man? “There has to be a mistake.”

  “Ain’t no mistake, McKenna, it’s my gun they got.”

  Meyer might be a pain in the ass to talk to, but he was not the kind to commit murder. He…he was a
hero. “You nearly gave your life to save your platoon in Korea.”

  “The police found the gun at the scene?” Chance asked.

  Maybe he could accept this possibility, but I wasn’t convinced.

  “They pulled it from a trash can near the body.” Meyer eyed me, then shook his head. “You having trouble with this McKenna?”

  “There has to be something wrong.”

  Chance’s eyes narrowed a bit as he seemed to consider Meyer’s answer to his question. “So they must have run ballistics and checked the registration. Were there prints on it other than yours?”

  “My dumb-ass lawyer says they got an airtight case. He wants me to cop a plea. You two gotta help me. I’m too old to get thrown in the slammer and have them throw away the key.”

  “Calm down, Meyer,” I muttered.

  “What’s that, McKenna? You gotta speak up. I like this boy, he talks nice and loud so’s I can hear. You, you’re always mumbling like nobody else gotta listen to what you’re saying! Why, I’d say you oughta...”

  I waved my hands and barked. “Let’s not get into my speech patterns right now, okay? What else have they got on you?”

  “Well...not much.”

  “How much is not much?” I demanded.

  Meyer put on the cookie-jar face. Scrunched up cheeks. Eyes cast downward. Just like a little boy with his hand caught in the jar. After a moment, he said, “You two ought to know a couple of other things.” He stood, went to the kitchen counter and returned with a letter-sized piece of paper in his hand. “Take a gander at that.”

  I read while Chance looked over my shoulder. “Holy crap,” I said.

  “I’ll second that,” said Chance. He looked straight at Meyer. “You’re being investigated for VA Benefit fraud, too?”

  “I didn’t do that either. I think it was that slime ball Graham Reynolds. I gave him a job and he screwed me over.”

  “This letter says you were filing false medical claims. Have you seen the evidence against you on either charge?” I asked.

  “My lawyer told me they’re still investigating. Ain’t nothing to share yet.”

  Chance shook his head. “I could do better than that.”

  He might have been a second-year law-school dropout, but I agreed with him. “Well, Meyer, the last time I checked, the legal system frowned on filing charges without this little thing called evidence. They must have something. You’ve got the cops saying you committed murder and the Feds claiming you’re scamming the system. We need to know what kind of proof they have. Is there anything else? Now’s the time to tell me if there is.”

  “That about covers it—unless you wanna take on the parking ticket I got while I was inside Victor Durisseau’s office. Thing is, I’m guilty on that one. Parked in a red zone.” Meyer winked at Chance. “My bad, as you kids say.”

  I groaned. A parking ticket? Nothing like providing concrete proof to confirm the enemy’s theory. “Yeah, definitely your bad, Meyer.” People made light of the strangest things when they were under stress, so I wasn’t about to harangue my friend because his attempt at humor flopped. But, this was beyond bad. This was a disaster. “Ahem, tell me about the gun. When did you know it was missing?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t. When I got out of the pokey, I came home. First thing I did was go to my storage cabinet in the carport. It was empty. Looks like Graham Reynolds cleaned me out there, too.”

  Chance leaned forward in his chair, his brow knit with a question. “So, this Graham Reynolds took your money, took your stuff, including the gun, and disappeared?”

  I snapped my fingers. “He killed Victor Durisseau and framed Meyer! Perfect!”

  Meyer shook his head. “That’s a nice theory, boys, but he threw my stuff out months ago. He left Hawai‘i before the murder was committed.”

  “Mr. Herschel, you really could use a better lawyer. And a little luck.”

  “Something other than the kind that stinks,” I whispered.

  Chance smiled at me, but Meyer barked, “What was that?”

  “I said, that really takes us to the brink.” Meyer appeared satisfied, Chance held his hand over his mouth. I glared at him. He winked. I grumbled. No doubt about it, I really had to learn to think before I shot off my wisecracks. “Who’s your attorney? I want to discuss all of this with him.”

  “I fired him ‘cause he was a moron. He wasn’t gonna get the opportunity to sell me down the river.”

  “Wow, you’ve got a lot of great old expressions, Mr. Herschel.”

  I widened my eyes and made a cutting motion across my throat. “Don’t encourage him!” I hissed.

  “You kids are all too PC these days.” Meyer leaned back as he peered at Chance. “You’re all so oversensitive. Just like my daughter.”

  “Can we please get back to your case?” These two were hitting it off a little too well if you asked me. I needed to get this thing wrapped up and it was not going to happen with Chance taking lessons in old slang from Meyer. “Give me the details about the murder.”

  While Meyer contemplated my question, Chance mouthed “sorry” to me. I shook my head. When he started to speak, I held up a finger and he got the message. Wait.

  A few moments later, Meyer said, “It was last Thursday. Late morning. I got in Monday night and stayed at one of them fancy wacky-wacky hotels.” He paused and grinned. “That’s Waikīkī, for you, Chance. McKenna, he knows how they get down there. Anyway, my daughter told me she got a big discount, but I think she paid full price.”

  His daughter? The last time I saw him, he told me his only relative was his brother. Why had he… “You lied to me? You never told me you had a daughter.”

  He gave me the cookie-jar face again. “Not exactly. We wasn’t on speaking terms at the time ‘cause she wanted me to go into an old folk’s home. She’d married some big CEO and had lots of money. Said she was gonna pay for it. I wasn’t taking her charity. We finally worked out our differences when my brother died last year.”

  Great. He was doing to me exactly what I was doing to Benni. Leave out the messy details. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother. You’ll have to tell me about it after we get you out of this mess.”

  “You said your manager left before the murder, Mr. Herschel? You don’t know exactly when he left?”

  “He abandoned the job on Saturday. A check for the utilities bounced and when I called the bank to complain, they told me the account was empty. I called Graham and he didn’t have no good answer, so I told him I was flying out the next day. I guess he left that afternoon. When I got here, I found out what happened to all my stuff. He donated it to charity two months ago.”

  Chance blinked and shook his head. “So, he donated your personal belongings without your permission?”

  For a trainee PI working for a scammer, Chance was actually asking some good questions. On second thought, scratch the “trainee” and the “PI.” He hadn’t had much guidance, so he must have good instincts.

  “That’s about it.” Meyer gave Chance a curt nod.

  A verbal confirmation might be okay for the kid, but not for me. “I need to see some proof.”

  Meyer shrugged, returned to the kitchen, where he picked up a yellow piece of paper. It was a receipt from a local charitable organization. Sure enough, it was dated two months ago. I scanned the list of items. There was no gun, but even if Graham had tried to make that kind of donation, the charity wouldn’t have accepted it.

  “Tell me something, Mr. Herschel. You still seem pretty sharp. How did your manager get access to your accounts?”

  Meyer explained the mechanics in mind-numbing detail. He augmented the story with several observations about society’s morals. At the end of his monologue, he complained how he’d had to give Graham his social security number and date of birth.

  I’d been out of the finance business for many years, but the rules hadn’t changed. If anything, it was more important than ever to keep that information secure. “Why would you
do that?”

  “There was some kind of mixup at the bank. He’d been working for me going on two years. I trusted him, McKenna. Thought I might even, you know, find a way to keep him on after I kicked the bucket. At one point, he did try talking me into working with this Victor to ‘enhance’ my retirement benefits. When I told him no way, he just said it was okay. I thought at the time he was talking to all his old buddies to get them with the program. When I got here I found out what he done. He used my money to enhance his own lifestyle!”

  “You said he got it all?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He cleaned out my apartment account. Near as I can figure, Graham got all his friends into this same scam. Got something to do with a damn investment plan I don’t understand.”

  At times, a life spent chasing deadbeats paid off. Everything about Graham Reynolds and Victor Durisseau smelled fishy. Victor recruited Graham, who recruited his friends. The ones with money probably lost everything in a combination of fees and high-risk investments, which tanked and left no recourse. It would not surprise me one bit if Victor had also masterminded the medical-benefit scam. After all, once you were committing financial benefit fraud, why not go all in?

  “Meyer,” I said, “we’re talking about some serious charges. For crying out loud, fraud at this level is really the big time. Victor must have had a bunch of enemies. It was your bum luck to be here when a vigilante got to him. That puts you in an even worse situation.

  “Where do we start, McKenna?” Chance peered at me with eager eyes.

  Where? It was more like, could we even start? “Nobody’s going to talk to us, Chance. Neither of us have any standing with the cops. We’re screwed on that front.”

  “Okay, we can’t do anything with the official channels.”

  “To make matters worse, Victor Durisseau probably had a long list of enemies.”

  Chance nodded enthusiastically. “So we need to figure out who they are, right?”

  This was going to be harder than I thought. Victor Durisseau made his living defrauding veterans and while the cops and Feds would have wanted to put him out of business, they sure wouldn’t want him dead. Especially at the hands of a murderer.