The White Ghost (15 page)

“It was a Melanesian and a Chinese who were murdered,” Vouza said. “Maybe neither was the killer's people.”

He was right. Jack had mentioned sex and money as potential motives. Hatred ran a close third. Was this a white man's crime, committed by someone who saw himself above the law? I didn't like the direction that line of thought was taking.

“Anything else unusual either of you can remember about that day?” I asked.

“No, I don't think so,” Sexton said, closing his eyes as if to see the scene in his memory. “Wait, Daniel spoke to Deanna before he left. A quick, whispered conversation on the verandah. No idea what they talked about.”

“Did anyone overhear them?” I asked.

“I doubt it,” Sexton said. “Daniel was close to her, his voice too low to hear. I could see them from inside, we all could, through the open windows and doorway.”

“Did it look like an argument?” I asked.

“No, I don't think so,” Sexton said. “I really didn't pay much attention.”

“Deanna was from Vella Lavella,” I said, “just like Sam Chang.”

“Where is the girl now?” Vouza asked.

“With Jack Kennedy,” I answered, and ran to my jeep.

Chapter Seventeen

I blasted the
horn as I sped along the rutted lanes that passed for roads on Tulagi, sending natives, sailors, and the occasional goat scurrying into the bush or stumbling into the drainage ditch lining the roadway. Deanna was from Vella Lavella, and had been sought out by Daniel Tamana, as had Sam Chang, who lived on the same island. I didn't know the reason why, but in my gut I knew she was in danger. If I was wrong, then she and I could share a laugh over it.

Jack had said they were going to Chinatown to eat somewhere along the docks. I drove over the crest of the hill behind the hospital, negotiating a couple of switchbacks way too fast, braking and skidding my way onto the coast road before reaching the outskirts of Chinatown. I scanned the vehicles parked by the water, watching for Jack and Deanna.

Nothing.

I parked along the waterfront and jumped from the jeep, following a clutch of navy officers who hopefully were headed for the best restaurant in town. A wharf jutted out from the dock area, bearing a jumble of weathered wooden buildings on stilts, the waves crashing onto the shore beneath. Fishing craft bobbed on the incoming tide. Sea birds flocked overhead, scouting the leavings from the boats and the rickety stalls shaded with palm fronds, selling the catch of the day. The aroma of fish, saltwater, and spices filled the air, reminding me of another Chinatown half a world away. Some Boston streets I knew smelled a lot like this, especially in the stifling August heat.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve and walked the dock, getting the lay of the land and keeping my eyes peeled for Deanna. I walked by a few open-air markets and a fried fish stand where the cook offered his dishes served on a taro leaf. Across the street, stores sold rice, vegetables, and a few scrawny chicken carcasses. None of them the sort of place Jack described.

As I neared the water, I spotted Jack leaning against a railing on the wharf, next to rows of tables and chairs set out under a thatched canopy. Spicy aromas drifted out from the kitchen, along with the clatter of pans and the chatter of the cooks. A normal day, doing a land-office business with officers searching out a change from mess hall rations.

But it wasn't a normal day. I could tell by the look on Jack's face, before he spotted me. He was irritated. A glance at his watch. A frown.

Deanna hadn't shown.

“Jack,” I said, as I worked my way through along the crowded wharf, packed with khaki, calico
lap-laps
, navy blue dungarees, colorful silk dresses, and pale linens. He saw the worry in my eyes.

“What's wrong, Billy?”

“Have you seen Deanna?” I glanced around, hoping to see her at any moment, trying not to think of the worst.

“No,” he said. “We were supposed to meet here a half hour ago. Are you looking for her?”

“You said you were
taking
her to lunch, Jack, not
meeting
her,” I said. “Where is she?”

“I don't know,” Jack said, backing up a step in the face of my barely contained anger. “She said she had to do something first, and we arranged to meet here.”

“Do what first?”

“I told her it was crazy,” Jack said. “But she insisted on talking to one of the Chang sisters.”

“What do you mean, crazy?”

“She said either Rui or Jai-li would do, but I figured she was going to have it out with Rui. I told her to relax, that it was no big deal.”

“Jesus, Jack,” I said as I slammed my fist on the railing. “This wasn't about you catting around. Is that why you didn't bring her yourself? So you could avoid what you thought would be an uncomfortable scene?”

“Well, yeah, Billy. Who would want to get in the middle of that? We had a few words about it and then decided to meet up separately. It's not the end of the world, you know.”

“Jack, get it through your thick skull. It wasn't about you, you self-centered bastard!”

“I don't have to listen to this, Billy,” he said, stepping around me.

“Yes you do,” I said, and pushed him back against the railing. He stumbled and barely righted himself, avoiding falling flat on his ass by grabbing the rail and pulling himself up. It had been like pushing against a bag of bones. I grabbed his arm to help him up and was struck by how little muscle there was. Jack was positively gaunt, the extent of his weight loss hidden by baggy khakis. He shook off my hand, his eyes filled with smoldering resentment. “Sorry,” I said. I knew his back was a constant worry, and he didn't need to injure it again in a shoving contest with me.

“Forget it,” he said, leaning on the railing and looking out across the harbor, and not at me. “So what the hell is this about?”

“I just heard that Daniel Tamana spoke to Deanna on the day he was killed. It was at Sexton's place, and they were seen whispering about something out on the verandah.”

“Do you think Daniel told her why he was looking for Sam Chang?” Jack asked.

“No way to know for sure, but there has to be a connection. She came from Vella Lavella, like Sam. Sam gets killed, and maybe Deanna put two and two together. That's why she said either of the Chang sisters would do for her purposes. My guess is she wanted to talk to them about what Daniel said. It probably didn't register as important until she heard Sam Chang had been murdered.”

“Why not tell me, or you, for that matter?”

“She might have told you, Jack, if you hadn't jumped to conclusions. I don't know why she didn't come to me first; maybe she planned to if she found anything out. She's not exactly a wallflower.”

“That's for sure,” Jack said. “Most women get jewelry from their admirers. Deanna got a carbine. Let's look for her, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. He nodded, and with that, our dockside tiff was forgotten. It was easy for Jack. Most things rolled off his shoulders. Easy for me, too, when it was penny-ante stuff. “Do you know how she got here?”

“She said Archer and Gordie were going over to Sesapi, and she'd hitch a ride with them,” Jack said as we strode along the wharf.

“They were both there when she and Daniel spoke,” I said. “Along with Sexton and John Kari. I don't think Porter was around at that point.”

“Any of them could have mentioned it to half a dozen people, as Sexton did to you,” Jack said. “You really think she's in danger, don't you?”

“Let's hope she's having tea and lost track of time,” I said. “Where's Rui's house? We can start there.”

Jack led the way onto the main thoroughfare. Shops and bars ran along the water side, with an array of houses higher up on the hill, overlooking the harbor. Narrow lanes branched off the main road, packed with neat little abodes shaded by palm trees. A pleasant-looking town, at least now that it wasn't under Japanese occupation. We walked past shops and a couple of bars. Most of the signs were in Chinese, but one read
beer,
which said it all to the sailors who drifted in and out. The next bar sported half a dozen Chinese girls in low-cut dresses, which of course attracted even more noisy sailors.

A few ancient trucks puttered down the road, their bodies showing more rust than paint. One was filled with small, squealing pigs, another with a load of coconut logs that threatened to finish off what struts were left. A sailor driving a truck behind them, probably bound for Sesapi, was in no hurry, but a jeep zipped out of line, gunned the engine, and passed them all.

It was John Kari. No reason why he shouldn't be in a hurry, but it still made me nervous.

“Up there,” Jack said. Ahead was a well-kept house with the standard wide verandah, the clapboards painted in a pale blue pastel that almost made you feel a cool breeze. We hurried down the street but stopped short to check on the raised voices not far behind us.

A knot of people had gathered in front of a bar, its corrugated iron walls streaked with rust. There was a lot of excited yelling and a panicked waving of arms. It took a second to realize it was directed at us. Jack and I turned and trotted over, a Chinese guy detaching himself from the group and waving us on.

“A woman dead,” he said. “White lady.” He looked to the alleyway between the bar and the next building, a dilapidated storehouse with crates of fruit and vegetables spilling out onto the sidewalk. Music from an ancient gramophone set up near the open windows echoed a scratchy tune from inside the bar. Sweat chilled my spine and I could feel the fear in my face: hot skin, short breaths, and an empty feeling behind my eyes. The classic symptoms of a cop steeling himself to see what he doesn't want to, but knows he must.

“Wait here, Jack,” I said, my hand on his shoulder. The music stopped as someone lifted the needle off the record, the dance tune silenced with a harsh scratch.

“It's okay, Billy, I can take it. She could be alive, right?”

“I know you could, Jack,” I said. As for the chances that this was another white woman or that Deanna was still among the living, I didn't say. “But you need to stay here.”

He shook off the hand resting on his bony shoulder. He got it. No reason to allow a suspect near the murder victim. He didn't like it much. I didn't care.

I pushed through the crowd, telling people who likely didn't understand English to leave the scene. The alleyway was narrow and dark, only about three feet wide. The first thing I saw was her feet. The rest of her was buried under a pile of rotten sweet potatoes. Flimsy crates lay broken on the ground, and it made sense to me that the killer forced her into the alley and knocked the crates over, covering most of her corpse. A rush job.

I wasn't in a hurry.

I picked up the sweet potatoes, most of them covered in a dusting of mold that left my fingers covered in a grey, musty mess. I uncovered a blue polka-dot skirt, then a white blouse stained red just below her left breast.

I gently removed the last of the remaining debris from her neck and face. Her throat was bruised. Not heavy bruising like Sam Chang's, but the imprint of a single hand could be seen. Thumb mark on the right side, finger marks on the left. The killer used the knife in his right hand. It was easy to imagine the scene. The two of them walking along, the gentleman on the street side. He sees his chance amidst the frantic hustle and bustle and shoves her
into the alley, his hand on her throat, keeping her from screaming. Then a knife thrust, between the fourth and fifth ribs from the look of it. Not a lot of blood. What bleeding she did was probably internal, until the violated heart stopped beating. It would have taken seconds.

The collar of her blouse was stained. I leaned closer and saw that some of what I'd thought was bruising was really a brown, greasy stain. I rubbed my finger along her collar and the odor of petroleum rose up from it. Cosmoline, I guessed. The greasy stuff they pack guns in to prevent rust.

I wiped my hands on my trousers and sighed. What had Deanna done to deserve this? Her eyes were open, gazing at the sky, seeing nothing. I closed them. I found her wide-brimmed straw hat and placed it over her face. The flies had begun to descend, and I didn't like the idea of them crawling over her. Didn't like the idea of seeing that in my dreams.

It had gone silent in the alley, but it was only my thoughts that crowded out the sounds from the street, the eager onlookers, the debaters, the drunks, and maybe a killer watching the aftermath of his handiwork. I rose, and a wave of noise—combined with a foul stink of alcohol, heat, garbage, and sweat—hit me. I pushed people back and spotted two sailors and a GI in front of the bar, bottles of Ballantine's Beer clutched in their hands. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, you guys,” I said, shouting at them from the entrance to the alley, not wanting to leave Deanna's body unattended. “Is there a telephone around here?”

“Yes sir,” the GI said, indicating the comm wire strung along the street. “There's a harbormaster's office on the dock. They're connected to the base switchboard.”

“Get down there on the double. Call the hospital and tell them we have a body to transport. You two, lose the bottles,” I said to the sailors, beckoning them over to where I stood. “You're on guard duty. No one gets in the alley.”

“Is it true it's a dame, Lieutenant?” asked the freckle-faced sailor who looked like he should be in high school instead of on Tulagi with the two stripes of a petty officer second class gracing his denim shirt.

“Yeah,” I said. “Deanna Pendleton. She was a nurse who came down from Vella Levalla.”

“She was the one everybody thought was Amelia Earhart, right? I heard about her,” he said, his voice a quiet drawl. “What happened?”

“She was murdered, knifed by the looks of it. Did either of you see anybody with her?” I asked. I watched their reactions. A dead body was one thing. It could have been an accident, a fall, heatstroke, any of a number of calamities. But when murder is mentioned, it's always a shocker.

“Jeez,” the young sailor said. “No, we woulda noticed her. Nothing but Chinese girls around here.”

“I think I saw that skirt,” his pal said, leaning in to take a look. “From behind. I didn't see her face 'cause she had that big sun hat on. But I remember the polka dots.”