Chapter Two: The Price of Art

By all appearances, the hotel was the very definition of opulence. From the smartly dressed doorman who opened glass doors with gilded gold handles to marble floors, every inch of the Diamond Resort screamed wealth and luxury. No wonder Larson's rival artists had complained. The young man clearly had means. Police work had taken Steve into the upper echelons of high society before, but the extravagance of the very rich never ceased to amaze him.

"I wonder what one night's stay costs here," Danny whispered.

"More than we make in one day, I'm sure," Steve said.

"Combined."

Wanting to avoid the main desk, Steve noticed a hallway off to the left that looked like it led to the administrative offices and gestured that they should head in that direction. Soon they spotted a series of offices with a secretary seated by the entrance. Approaching the man, Steve said, "I need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Larson. It's an emergency."

The man smiled, but his eyes held an unmistakable gleam that said 'go away'. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Larson is in an important meeting. Perhaps you would like to make an appointment."

"McGarrett, Five-O." Steve flashed his badge. "This concerns his son."

The fake smile disappeared. "Do you have a warrant?"

A warrant! Steve exchanged a quick look with Danny. Something was going on here. He would have to check with HPD and see if the Larson family was under investigation. "I don't need a warrant. I have news concerning his son."

"Philip Larson is here so how could there be an emergency?"

Steve forced himself to remain calm. The man was doing his job as gatekeeper; he doubted that the secretary had any idea about the news they brought. "This concerns Gabriel. Now inform the Larsons that I am here or I will inform them myself."

After staring at the detectives for a few tense moments, the man acquiesced and led them to a board room where a meeting was taking place.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Larson, but these detectives insisted on seeing you and your wife. They say it is an emergency."

The oldest man in the room gestured and most of the men left, leaving the couple seated with only one young man, standing behind them. From his features, Steve figured that this was Philip as he looked remarkably like his brother.

"If I am under investigation, I refuse to speak without my lawyer present."

"I assure you that will not be necessary. My name is McGarrett and this is Mr. Williams. I have news concerning you son, Gabriel."

A hint of panic crept into the woman's voice as she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"I regret to inform you that your son was murdered early this morning."

The reactions of the three Larsons couldn't have been more different. The mother gasped and trembled in her seat as she fought to hold back tears. The father froze in shock as if he couldn't believe the words he had just heard. Meanwhile, Philip stormed toward them, his fists clenched in anger.

Danny moved quickly to grab the young man by the shoulders and hold him back . The distraut brother screamed, "You're lying! My brother can't be dead! He can't be."

Steve looked the young man in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry. Your brother was strangled to death. I saw his body."

"Oh, God!" Philip sunk into a chair, sobbing. "Why? Who?"

This was always the hardest part of his job. Steve knew many families wanted privacy to process their grief, but privacy would have to wait as he needed answers that only the family could give. "We don't know who did this. But if you're willing to answer a few questions, it could help."

"Of course," the elder Larson said, his voice hoarse and subdued as he wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. "Anything we can do to help."

"Who knew that your son would be at the botanical gardens this morning?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Mr. Larson answered, "We all knew. Gabriel was proud of the residency. He told anyone - all his friends - that he would be working there this summer."

"My brother was very good. People paid decent money for his paintings. Anyone connected to the artist community would have known."

Danny drew out his notebook. "Did Gabriel have any enemies? An ex-girlfriend? Anyone he had arguments with recently?"

Philip shook his head. "No girlfriends. I joked that he was married to his art. Some of the artists were upset that he got the residency, but no one that would kill over it."

"What about enemies connected to your business?"

"Gabriel didn't have anything to do with the business," Mrs. Larson said quickly, too quickly. "Everyone knows that Philip will inherit. He has the gifts for it. Gabriel didn't."

"You and your employees were convinced that we were here to investigate you. Why?" Steve pressed. There was something here. He was sure of it.

The father sighed. "I have enemies. My rival has made insinuations - false, of course - that we are involved in some illegal dealings. But Miller threatened to go the cops, not go after my family."

Steve nodded. That could explain the odd reception upon their arrival and it would be easy enough to check. Then handing over his business card, he said, "Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to contact us."

"Find him, Mr. McGarrett. Find the man who killed my son."

Steve was mulling over the conversation as the detectives walked through the hotel on their way out, when Danny suddenly stopped and grabbed his arm. "Steve, look on the other side of that plant."

Moving towards the wall, Steve noticed that there was water damage hidden behind the pot. The wall was dry, but stained. The damage was not recent. One would think that a place as upscale as this would fix such an issue right away. But they hadn't and now that Steve was looking, he could spot other signs of disrepair hidden in the midst of the opulence. "Danno, there's something strange going on here."

It was now up to them to find out what.


As Chin walked into Gabriel Larson's studio, the first thing he noticed was the smell of paint followed by the feeling that he standing in a sacred place. The quietness of the studio, the natural light coming through the windows made him want to stop, sit and soak in the peacefulness of the room.

Ben walked slowly past the artwork, his eyes taking in every detail. "For a man whose family riches came from buildings, it's interesting that many of these paintings are of nature.

"Or of regular people," Chin agreed as he studied a painting of a fisherman hauling his catch into a battered old boat. The man didn't look well off, but Larson had captured the spirit of the man's pride in his work.

Looking up from a painting of a young Hawaiian lying in the sand next to a sea turtle, Ben said, "He's painting beauty. Beauty as he sees it, not as the world does."

"Or his parents." Chin had not failed to notice the expensive items that filled the Larson residence when the butler had escorted them to the studio.

"There must be several dozen paintings in here."

Discovering several portfolios bursting with sketches, Chin carefully flipped through one. "Hundreds, if you count the drawings. I wonder how much all this is worth?"

"Or who gets the money now that he is dead," Ben stated bluntly.

Ben had a habit of getting straight to the heart of the matter. It was a large part of what made him a good detective. And Chin had to agree with his friend. Larson had been a new face on the Hawaiian art scene; he hadn't had much of a chance to sell his work. But now that he was dead, the work in this room would be the only original Gabriel Larson pieces that anyone would ever be able to own. The prices would shoot up dramatically. If Larson's family hadn't been so rich, he would have suspected them. However, one thing was clear; Gabriel's murderer had deprived the world a very special talent.


Mark Iona shuddered as he paused near the spot were Gabriel Larson had been murdered. It looked normal, too normal. It was as if the violent crime could simply be washed away. The paint, the blood and the body were gone. For the dozens of visitors who passed this spot every day, not one would be able to guess what had occurred there yesterday morning.

But he knew what had happened. He didn't even have to close his eyes to see the body there. To remember. And now he was supposed to return to work as if nothing had happened. There were bushes to prune, weeds to pull, grass to cut. An illusion of paradise to maintain.

His fellow workers walked the gardens in pairs and small groups. There was an element of fear present and they turned to each other for support, for safety. But he walked these paths alone. And even though he was a man who was used to living as an outsider in a hearing world, never had the gulf between him and the rest of humanity felt so wide.

It was a trial to talk with his coworkers, as only a few had bothered to learn a few basic signs and writing everything out was a lot of work. Benjamin was the exception, but his friend was a SODA (sibling of a deaf adult)and had starting signing before he spoke his first words. But even if Benjamin were here, what would Mark say? That was the root of his problem.

He had told the detective that he knew nothing and had seen nothing. But the truth was that he had lied. Lied because he wasn't sure he could trust that a bunch of hearing cops would even bother with the story of a deaf man. Afraid that they would blame him, leaving him with no way tell to his story to people who had no way of understanding his words.

But as Mark fingered the business card the detective had given him, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision. He could visit the Five-O office. He could tell them the truth. He could tell them that he had seen. Seen her. The one the cops were looking for.

But as Mark looked down at the spot where Gabriel died, he knew that he couldn't risk it. He was too scared. Besides, the cops were smart. They would figure it out on their own. If he trusted in something, it would have to be that.