The White Ghost (12 page)

“So it must have been a white man,” I said. “Or at least someone not from Daniel's clan on Malaita.”

“Thanks for not leaving me out,” Kari said, and everyone laughed. But I had deliberately amended my statement to include him, or any other potential Melanesian suspect.

“I don't know anyone who had a fight or a problem with Daniel,” Deanna said.

“It could have been something he saw or heard,” I said. I didn't reveal that the wound on Daniel's skull suggested he knew his attacker, at least well enough to turn his back on him. “He might not even have comprehended the reason.”

“That makes it tough to figure who did it, right?” Porter said.

“Yep, it does. We need to talk to Dickie Miller, Daniel's Coastwatcher partner,” I said. “They were together constantly; maybe he could shed some light on this.”

“You'll have to go to Brisbane. They took him there to the Royal Navy base hospital,” Deanna said.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Archer said. I followed his eyes to a group of American naval officers. They were tanned and dressed in wrinkled, bleached-out khakis. They had the look of privileged pirates. PT boat skippers, most of them Ivy League, I'd bet.

“What trouble?” I asked.

“Lieutenant Phil Cotter and his pals,” Deanna said. “Jack's not happy with Cotter. His boat was on patrol in Blackett Strait with Jack when PT-109 was rammed.”

“Word is,” Porter said, leaning in to whisper, “Cotter reported back that he'd searched the area after seeing Jack's boat run down by the destroyer. But he didn't, at least not so any of the 109's crew saw him.”

“Now that's a motive for murder,” I said. I watched as Kaz made his way over to us. Jack was deep in conversation with one of the Chinese ladies, and hadn't yet noticed Cotter. I edged closer, interested in how Jack would react when he did.

“Phil Cotter,” Jack said, finally catching a glimpse of Cotter at the drinks table. “I'm surprised you found the place.”

The room went silent. Apparently everyone knew about Cotter's claim to have searched for survivors. There was a sudden ripple of nervous laughter at Jack's barb, then the room filled with silence again. Cotter faced Jack, a drink in his hand.

“Don't be an ass, Jack,” Cotter said.

“I mean, after all,” Jack said, ignoring the comment, “you searched for PT-109 and couldn't find it, even with flames shooting a hundred feet in the air. So how'd you make it here in the pitch black?”

“Go to hell,” Cotter said, turning his back on Jack.

“Ah, there's the side of you I know better,” Jack said with a grin. With that, he extended his arm to the woman he'd been talking to, and they left the room, heads touching, lost in a whispered intimacy.

Cotter's face was red, but he kept mum. A good idea with Jack, who excelled at sarcasm and managed it in a way that left you defenseless and usually looking the fool.

Deanna rolled her eyes as Jack walked past her without a word. Good for her. She'd gotten his number quickly enough. Our little group broke up as people wandered off for fresh drinks or food.

“Interesting,” Kaz said, watching the couple depart. “It seems your friend Jack harbors a grudge.”

“He's not my friend,” I said. “I'm not sure he knows the meaning of the word. I'm bushed, Kaz, how about you?”

“I think I will stay and talk with Jai-li a while longer,” Kaz said, looking faintly embarrassed. “Since Rui left with Jack, she is unaccompanied. I will offer to drive her home, if you can find your own way back to the house?”

“First-name basis, huh? You've been busy.”

“She is quite fascinating. You never know what dope I might pick up,” Kaz said, the American jargon he loved so much sounding odd with his Continental accent.

“Go ahead, I'll hitch a ride or walk back,” I said. “We'll figure out our next steps in the morning.”

I wished Kaz luck and walked outside, breathing in the cool night air, so welcome after a day of heat and sweat.

“I see our friend Jack has dropped Deanna,” Fred Archer said as he appeared by my side with two bottles of beer, handing me one. “Maybe I'll take another run at her. Charming lass.”

“You tried before?” I asked.

“I did, but she was besotted with the Kennedy boy. She's a nurse, and he's a rich, good-looking lad who needed tending. It came naturally to her, I guess, even though he's a bit of an ass.”

“Is that jealousy talking, Fred?”

“Well, he's likable enough at a party, I'll give him that. Not a stupid chap by a long run, but as a PT skipper he leaves a lot to be desired. First one I ever heard of who got his boat run over by a destroyer. And have you heard his nickname? Crash.”

“I did hear him called that,” I said. “What's the story?”

“He was racing another PT boat into base after a mission,” Fred said, relating the tale with obvious relish. “You see, they have to refuel as soon as they get in, and it has to be done one boat at a time. So every skipper wants to be first, which gives his crew more time to rest up before the next patrol. Well, Kennedy pulls ahead, but as he gets close, something goes wrong with the engines, and he can't stop or even slow down. He crashes into the refueling dock and destroys it. Hence the nickname.”

“I'll bet he doesn't like that much,” I said.

“I don't think he minds,” Archer said. “He's not that sort. Kind of a glamorous name, and as time goes by, fewer people will remember the real story behind it. Like I said, he's not stupid.”

I had to agree with Fred's assessment. We clinked bottles and he went back to the verandah to speak with Deanna. I watched the conversation and it went well for a while, the two of them chatting amicably. But then Deanna shook her head back and forth, and put her hand on Fred's arm. The way you do when you give someone bad news. Kind of pitying. He didn't take it well and spun around, heading directly for the drinks table, probably looking for something stronger than Victoria Bitter.

Too bad for Fred, but when there's one girl per thousand guys on the island—not counting the natives living in grass huts straight out of
National Geographic
—he had to understand Deanna was well practiced at saying no.

I was ready to leave, so I sought out Hugh Sexton, pulling him out of a conversation about rugby that was as heated as it was incomprehensible.

“Will you be here in the morning, Hugh?” I said. “I want to talk to you more about Daniel.”

“At your service, Billy,” he said. “Good work today on Malaita, by the way. Was the trip useful?”

“Yeah, we learned a lot,” I said, although doubtful that I'd ever need to know how to stuff a skull again. “Say, do you know anything about this feud between Kennedy and Cotter?”

“The whole island knows about it,” he said. “Cotter came back from that patrol claiming he'd searched for survivors after Kennedy's boat was hit. Kennedy said he didn't.”

“Who do you believe?”

“Kennedy. We had a report from Reg Evans on Kolombangara that he saw the flames from the explosion. He didn't know what it was at the time, but in the morning he sighted the overturned hull of PT-109 drifting on the current. If he saw the flames, then Cotter should have had an easy time searching if he stayed in Blackett Strait.”

“But he didn't,” I said.

“Pretty sure not,” Sexton said. “He fired off his torpedoes at the destroyers coming through the strait, but then headed home. He reported all hands lost on the 109. The base even held a memorial service for them. The story went that Kennedy was incensed when he heard about it.”

“Why do you think Cotter came here tonight?” I asked.

“Booze,” Sexton said. “That's why they all came. I only invited my Coastwatchers, but fish on the grill and liquor on the table draws a lot of uninvited guests.”

Not Jack, I thought, as I made my way out. He never was a big drinker. A few beers here and there, but he never touched the hard stuff. He came seeking a new conquest, and Rui Chang was what he found.

As for Kaz, I was glad he showed any interest in a woman. It had been more than a year since he lost the love of his life. Daphne Seaton was the sister of Diana, my own true love. Daphne had been killed during our first investigation. A bomb had ended her life and scarred Kaz's face, leaving him with an aching loss, alone and adrift without family or the woman he cherished by his side. The war had taken everything and given nothing but a jagged scar in return.

Death comes in many ways, I thought. Quick and violent, lengthy
and lingering. Kaz was dying the long death of loneliness and sorrow, and
if an exotic, beautiful woman on this South Pacific island could give him a moment of forgetfulness, then hurrah for the human spirit.

Me, I missed Diana. I worried about her. But stuck on this side of the world, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. What I could do was find out who killed Daniel Tamana. But first, I had to answer that nagging unanswered question:
Why
had someone murdered him? And what, if anything, did Jack have to do with it?

Chapter Fourteen

“Kopi, boss?” Kao
asked, squatting outside the mosquito netting, holding a steaming mug of joe.

“Sure,” I said, blinking the sleep from my eyes as I parted the netting to escape the bed. “Where's Kaz?”

“Verandah, boss,” Kao said, heading back to the kitchen. I shuffled out of the bedroom in my skivvies and T-shirt, grasping the java and taking that first blessed sip. I sat next to Kaz on the wide verandah. His khaki pants were clean and pressed, the crease crisp and sharp. His shirt had been starched as well.

“When did you get in?” I asked, noting he had already shaved.

“An hour ago,” he said, sipping his coffee and avoiding my eyes.

“You had a busy night,” I said. “Getting your pants pressed and all.”

“Jai-li has a number of servants,” Kaz said. “When it became apparent I would be spending the night, they took my uniform and cleaned it. To good effect, I might add.” I swore he blushed as he said it. I'd known Kaz for a while and couldn't remember ever seeing him that shade of red.

“Nothing like getting your uniform cleaned,” I said.

“A gentleman does not discuss such matters,” Kaz said, setting down his cup and saucer with a clatter. Then we both laughed. A short burst of laughter, followed by a smile. But it was enough.

“Did you see Jack?” I asked.

“No, Jai-li and Rui live in separate houses on the same lane. But one of the servants said Lieutenant Kennedy was with Rui for about an hour and then departed.”

“He never was one for long, drawn-out relationships,” I said.

“I did hear something interesting,” Kaz said. “Daniel Tamana had come looking for Sam Chang the day he was killed.”

“Really? Any idea why?”

“No,” he said. “It must have been after he left Dickie Miller at Henderson Field. He came to Chinatown and asked several people if Sam Chang was there.”

“This was after the rescue of the
Helena
crew from Vella Lavella, right?”

“Yes,” Kaz said. “I assume he heard about that after being withdrawn from Choiseul.”

“He and Miller were in radio contact with the other Coastwatchers,” I said, thinking it through. “He must have known about the rescue in general, but probably not the details, such as the Chinese in the group.”

“That makes sense,” Kaz said, standing and leaning on the railing. “So somewhere between Henderson Field and Tulagi, he hears Sam Chang was in the party rescued from Vella Lavella. He looks for him on Tulagi, and then is found dead the next morning.”

“Discovered by Jack Kennedy,” I said. “Who went home last night with Sam Chang's sister.”

“If accompanying one of the Chang sisters makes one a suspect, that would include me,” Kaz said. “Kennedy's presence last night was likely a coincidence, but Daniel's interest in Chang does bear scrutiny.”

“I need to retrace his steps,” I said. “We may learn something from who told him about Chang, and when.”

“It seems Sam Chang must be considered a suspect,” Kaz said.

“Could be,” I said. “It fits in that Daniel was from the general area in which Chang operated. He may have had a beef with him. I'll visit Chang in the hospital before he gets out. At least we know where to find him. But you need to get started; you've got a long trip ahead of you.”

“Where am I going?” Kaz asked.

“Brisbane. To talk to Dickie Miller.”

“Good. I shall sleep the entire way,” Kaz said, stifling a yawn. And a smile.

I cleaned up
enough to be seen in public with Kaz, and after breakfast we drove to base headquarters to ask Captain Ritchie to arrange air transport to Brisbane for Kaz. Yeoman Howe jumped up as if he'd been expecting us.

“Go right on in, sir, Captain Ritchie is expecting you,” he said. I opened the door with an inquisitive glance to Kaz, who simply shrugged.

“Captain Ritchie,” I said, coming to a semblance of attention. Remembering our last encounter, I thought it best to forego the vinegar and try the honey this time. “Thanks for seeing us, sir. I'd like to request immediate air transport for Lieutenant Kazimierz to Brisbane, to follow up on a development.”

“Very well, Lieutenant Boyle,” Ritchie said. “Tell me what you've discovered.”

“We know from examining the skull of the deceased that he was struck from behind. Since he was found on the beach in a manner which suggests he was about to take the trail back, I'd say he knew his attacker. And the weapon used was similar to the wooden canes the natives sell.” I thought that was a nice touch, not mentioning that Jack had one of those canes. There was no need to worry Ritchie and have him bulldog our every move.

“What's the reason for the trip to Brisbane?” asked Ritchie.

“To interview Tamana's Coastwatcher partner, Dickie Miller, sir. He may have known Tamana better than anyone else around here. I have a lead to follow up here while Lieutenant Kazimierz is away.”

“Sounds like you've got a lot of nothing so far,” Ritchie said, tossing down a pencil. “But talking to Miller sounds sensible. Have you looked into the incident at the hospital?”

“No sir,” I said, wondering if something had happened to Jack. “What is it?”

“My God, lieutenant, some detective you are!” Ritchie exclaimed. “That Chinaman Sam Chang was found strangled early this morning in my naval hospital. Half his family has already been in here demanding an explanation. I told them you would look into it, since you're the closest thing we have to a real investigator. One of the head women, May Lee or something like that, said that was satisfactory. It calmed them down and got them the hell out of my office.”

“Jai-li,” Kaz corrected. “Sir.”

“I don't care what her name is, I want peace and quiet on this base so we can get on with the war. These Chinese run most of the businesses around here, so we need to keep things on an even keel. They're our goddamn allies, after all.”

“Captain, this is the first we've heard of his murder. I'll get over to the hospital right away. But we still need that air transport.”

“Very well,” Ritchie said. “You may be late on this Chang affair, but your timing is good on getting to Brisbane. There's a PBY in the harbor that makes a daily run, leaves in thirty minutes. Yeoman Howe will give you the details. Now get out.”

“When did all this happen?” I asked Howe once the door to Ritchie's office closed behind us. “He sounded like we should have known about Chang getting killed.”

“News does travel fast around here, Lieutenant,” Howe said. “As far as I know, he was found dead around dawn. His family was informed and in short order they'd marched in here demanding justice. I guess they thought the captain needed a push in that direction.”

“Why would they think that?” I said.

“Because Captain Ritchie puts the navy first,” Howe said, lowering his voice.

“And justice comes second,” I said. “For Melanesians or Chinese?”

“Your words, Lieutenant, not mine,” Howe said. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, Lieutenant Kazimierz needs to get on that PBY headed to Brisbane, pronto. Ritchie gave his okay.”

“No problem,” Howe said. “You need anything else like that, come see me. No need to bother the captain.” I liked the sound of that. But it was the only thing I liked the sound of this morning.

“This must have happened after I left this morning,” Kaz said. “There was no hint of anything unusual in the household.”

“Hurry back,” I said as we descended the steps outside the office. “I may need you to help run interference with Jai-li. The last thing we need is a second case and a bunch of angry Chinese on our tail. Ritchie seems more worried about them than about Tamana.”

“Perhaps he has lost interest in serving the Kennedy interests, since you demonstrated how obvious his links are to the ambassador. The Chinese can certainly close ranks and make his administration of Tulagi irksome. They are here, and the Kennedy family is far away,” Kaz said.

“Yeah, maybe. The good news is we might stumble upon a link between Daniel and Chang if we can find out why Daniel sought him out,” I said as I started the jeep.

“I'd say there is bad news and good news,” Kaz said. “The bad news is that if there was a link, with both men dead, we may never know what it was.”

“And the good news?”

“The good news is I will not have to suffer another boat ride to Guadalcanal.”

I drove Kaz to the harbor where he did have to endure a brief journey in a launch out to the waiting PBY. It was seven or eight hours to Brisbane, so depending on when he got to the hospital and saw Dickie Miller, he'd be gone two or three days. I hoped it would be worth the trip.

I proceeded to the hospital, wondering what the death of Sam Chang meant. A blood feud between gangs? There were a number of triad organizations active among the Chinese communities in the South Pacific. Like Mafia families, they often fought with each other. But from the little I'd heard about Sam Chang, he was a straightforward businessman, not a criminal. Maybe he borrowed money and couldn't pay it back. The triad wouldn't like that. Or maybe he loaned money and the borrower paid him back with a tight grip around the neck.

Or, perhaps somebody didn't want us making the connection between Daniel Tamana and Sam Chang. Well, I had one now: both of them murdered on Tulagi.

“Lieutenant Boyle?” asked a sailor as I took the steps up to the hospital entrance. He was dressed in blue dungarees and a white Dixie cup hat and sported an SP armband. Shore patrol.

“If you know my name you know why I'm here,” I said. “Lead the way.”

“The doctors are in a snit waiting for you, sir. They keep saying they have to move the body. The other patients don't like a corpse on their ward, if you know what I mean.”

“Can't blame 'em, sailor,” I said. “But no one's touched the body, right?”

“Yes, sir. My buddy is standing guard.”

He took me to a small ward off the main corridor. A small room, really. No nurses station, just six beds, three along each wall. All the patients were Chinese. In unison they began chattering at me, jabbing fingers at Chang's body, obviously not happy. Neither was Sam Chang, with his broken leg in traction, the bed sheets thrown off, and his open eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Does anyone speak English?” I asked.

“Already tried that, Lieutenant,” the second SP said. “No one even understands the question.”

“You finally made it.” The voice belonged to a harried doctor with disheveled hair, a heavy beard, and a rumpled white coat over his navy khakis. “Captain Ritchie ordered us not to move the body until you looked at it. So look.”

“I'm Lieutenant Boyle. And you are?”

“Captain Schwartz, and I've been on duty for twenty-four hours, so hurry it up, please.”

“Okay, Captain, but first tell me, are these patients civilians? What are they doing here?”

“We expanded the English colonial hospital when we first took the island. Medical facilities had been overwhelmed with natives and other refugees fleeing the Japanese. So we have a few rooms set aside for them. We put the Chinese patients together so they could communicate with each other.”

“That's great, but I'd like to know what they're saying now,” I said over the din of the continuing complaints.

“They wish my brother's body to be treated with respect,” a soft, melodious voice said from behind Captain Schwartz. “And not left in such an undignified position.”

“Miss Rui Chang,” I said, recognizing the woman Jack had left with last night. She wore a white silk dress, buttoned high to the neck. I knew white was the Chinese color for mourning. “We mean no disrespect.”

“Even so, Lieutenant, our beliefs dictate that when a person dies, their body must be treated gently and with kindness. The spirit remains for a time near the body. Unless the spirit can move on in a state of happiness, it may not be reborn for a very long time. And any spirit would be distressed upon seeing my poor brother's body.”

“Of course,” I said, taking in the traction device that held Chang's broken leg up, not to mention the bruised neck and the open, sightless eyes. “I need only a few minutes, and the body can be released.”

She nodded and retreated to the corridor.

“When was he found?” I asked Schwartz as I leaned over the corpse.

“Around five o'clock. Orderlies check the rooms at night every hour. Everything was fine at four. He was found like this at five.”

“Death by manual strangulation, obviously,” I said, turning his head to see the bruises on either side of his neck. Schwartz nodded his agreement. “Was he being treated for anything other than a broken leg?”

“No,” Schwartz said. “Re-broken, to be precise. He sustained a fracture on that island he was evacuated from, and then fell and reinjured it getting off ship in the harbor. We reset it, and he would have been fine.”