by James R Benn
“Who was with him?” I asked.
“None of us,” Sexton said. “I’m not sure exactly how Daniel got here from Guadalcanal, but there’s always vessels going back and forth; easy enough to hitch a ride.”
“Turns out it was the same boat that brought us to Tulagi,” Archer said, joining our group. “Me, Porter, Kari, and Brockman. Left Rendova, stopped at Guadalcanal, then docked here. Daniel and I figured it out later when we were chatting. Didn’t know it at the time.”
“How come you all didn’t fly in with Daniel and Dickie?” I asked.
“The others came out sooner,” Sexton explained. “The tender had already left Rendova before we got poor Dickie there. He was sick enough to get priority air transport. Nearly all Coastwatchers come out of the jungle with some sort of illness, but the rest of the bunch only had minor complaints. They were treated onboard the tender. It’s a pretty big ship, with a crew of a hundred or more.”
“So Daniel joined the group when he boarded the tender and sailed for Tulagi?” I asked.
“Sounds like it,” Sexton said, shrugging. “It’s a short trip on a large, crowded vessel. Daniel wouldn’t have known who was on board. They could have run into each other or missed meeting completely.”
“Okay,” I said. “The PT tender docks at Sesapi, here on Tulagi. That’s the harbor out past Chinatown where we landed. So how does he get to your place?”
“Good question. We had a truck waiting to pick up the other four men, since we knew when to expect them,” Sexton said. “I recall Daniel showed up about an hour after they did. It didn’t seem important to ask how he’d gotten here; we were just glad to see him. Besides, there’s always military vehicles traveling to and from Sesapi. He could have hitched a ride easily enough.”
“Jack Kennedy told me he dropped by that day,” I said.
“Right,” Sexton replied. “He was looking for Reg Evans, the Coastwatcher who sent the two native scouts to find him. Reg is still on station, I’m afraid. Tough spot out on Kolombangara.”
“If I recall, Jack said Archer and Gordie were here, Daniel, Deanna, and John Kari. What about Silas Porter?”
“Silas was late, now that I think about it. John said he’d met a mate of his on the tender, another planter who’d been out to Rendova to check on his holdings. They went off for a drink, then Silas showed up here sometime in the afternoon,” Sexton said.
“After Daniel left?” I asked.
“Yes, about a half hour or so, I think. Daniel had asked permission to leave, said that he’d heard an aunt of his was sick,” Sexton said. “I told him to be back in the morning, and that was that.”
“No aunt sick from Malaita,” Vouza said. “Daniel made up story so he could look for Sam Chang without raising suspicion.”
“But suspicion of what?” I asked. “Why keep that a secret?”
“Because Daniel and Sam Chang both knew something,” Vouza said. “You find out what, you find out who killed them.”
“Is Kennedy really a suspect?” Sexton asked.
I glanced at Vouza, whose steady gaze betrayed nothing.
“No one is ruled out,” I said. “It could have been anyone who knew Daniel, who could get him to meet on a deserted stretch of beach. What was his frame of mind? Did he seem distracted?”
“Not that I noticed,” Sexton said. “Although we had a lot of information to go over. Daniel was very professional. His briefing about the situation on Choiseul was concise but in depth. He did seem in a hurry to leave when he finished, but I attributed that to a desire to see his aunt before the situation worsened.”
“But in reality, he wanted to find Sam Chang,” I said. “I need to find out who he talked to in Chinatown, assuming that’s where he went to look for Chang. He may have said something important.”
“Everything a man says on the day he goes to the ancestors is important,” Vouza said. Hard to disagree with that. “What will you do after Chinatown?”
“Looks like I’m going to Rendova,” I said. “I’ll talk to this Coburn fellow and see what he remembers about Daniel. Then snoop around the PT base and see if anyone remembers Daniel and Dickie coming through.”
“If you want, hitch a ride with Porter and Kari,” Sexton said. “They’re leaving later this afternoon for Rendova. The two of them are getting their teleradio gear and supplies sorted right now.”
“On that crate we took to Malaita?” I asked.
“No, your navy is sending them up on a PT boat from Sesapi harbor,” Sexton said with a chuckle. “You’ll make better time. It’s about a hundred and fifty miles, which should take four or five hours, the last few after dark. Or you could go with Archer and Gordie tomorrow, same route.”
“Watch out for the Kawanishi,” Vouza said. “They see you in the daytime and they see your wake at night. Watch when light, listen when dark.”
“If you’re looking up and the stars suddenly disappear, say your prayers,” Sexton said.
“And get ready to greet your ancestors,” Vouza said, and drained his beer.
“I might as well go today,” I said. “That way I can be back when Kaz returns from Australia.”
“You think Dickie will be of any help?” Sexton asked.
“To tell you the truth, I have no idea who can help. I can’t find any sort of motive, except the possibility that Daniel and perhaps Sam Chang knew some secret that endangered the killer.”
“Enough to murder twice?” Vouza said. “That is plenty danger.”
“Yeah, the stakes would have to be significant,” I said. “If the killings are connected, then someone has a great deal to lose. Otherwise, why risk it? But I wonder what would be so valuable out here, with half the Solomons occupied by the Japanese? What’s worth killing your own people for when the Japs are ready to oblige?”
“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 oka
y, 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.