Kelley, twitching a smile, rose. “I think I’ll pass on that morbid pleasure, gentlemen…. Don’t get up, I can see myself out.” He went to Darrow and extended his hand; the two men shook hands as Kelley said, “I won’t stand in your way on this. You can expect my cooperation…as long as you make sure Thalia Massie is off this island as soon as possible.”
Darrow nodded gravely, then lifted a gesturing hand. “Understand, I’ll be making some public statements at odds with our private agreement. I’ll be outraged that my clients have been denied the full pardon they so rightfully deserve…that sort of malarkey.”
Kelley chuckled. “Well, you can expect me to bray like a mule about taking the Ala Moana boys to trial…. Of course some people will suggest that, having prosecuted Joseph Kahahawai’s killers, I in good conscience should step down. You know what I may do? I might suggest to the press that the man to prosecute that case is the man who so eloquently defended the wronged family: Clarence Darrow.”
A smile tickled Darrow’s lips. “You wouldn’t…”
Kelley was at the door. “I may be seized by an uncontrollable impulse.”
And he was gone.
Darrow was chuckling. “I like that Irishman. Hell of a prosecutor.”
Leisure folded his arms and leaned back. “He wasn’t happy, but I believe he will cooperate.”
Darrow began to make a cigarette. “He’s a man of his word. He’ll cooperate. And I don’t believe any of us are happy.” He looked up. “Nate, do you feel gypped out of the glory of nabbing the man who raped Thalia Massie?”
“No,” I said. “I had the pleasure of knocking some of his teeth out, even if I didn’t quite manage to break his goddamn jaw.”
Leisure was laughing softly, shaking his head. “Where’d you find this roughneck, C.D.?”
“On the West Side of Chicago,” Darrow said as his slightly shaking hands did a nice job of dropping tobacco into the curve of cigarette paper. “That’s where America turns out some of its best roughnecks.”
A knock at the door brought Ruby Darrow out of the bedroom; she was straightening her hair, smoothing her matronly gray dress, saying, “Let me get that, dear.”
It was Thalia, of course, and she was accompanied by Isabel. Thalia wore a navy blue frock with white trim, Isabel the blue-and-white-striped crepe de chine from the Ala Wai, both in cloche hats, carrying clutch purses, two stylish, attractive, modern young women; but they also wore a cloak of unhappiness. Thalia seemed jittery, Isabel weary. They stepped inside, Thalia first, digging in her purse.
Darrow, lighting his cigarette, got to his feet, and so did Leisure and I. Thalia was moving toward us, handing a stack of telegrams toward Darrow.
“You simply must see these, Mr. Darrow,” she said. “Such wonderful support from people all over the United States…”
“Thank you, dear.” He took them and said to his wife, “Would you put these with the others, Ruby? Thank you.”
Ruby took the telegrams and Darrow turned to Leisure and said, “George, would you mind accompanying Mrs. Darrow and Miss Bell for some refreshments in the lobby? I recommend the pineapple parfait.”
Leisure frowned. “You don’t want me here when you speak to—”
“Mr. Heller and I have a few details to discuss with Mrs. Massie that I think would be best served by…a limited audience.”
Leisure seemed vaguely hurt, but he knew his place, and his job, and took Ruby by the arm and led her to the door. Isabel looked at me with an expression that mingled curiosity and concern; we never had connected last night.
I threw her a smile and that seemed to console her, and then Leisure and his two charges were gone, and Darrow was gesturing to the sofa for Thalia to sit.
“My dear, there are several things we need to…chat about. Please make yourself comfortable.”
She sat on the sofa, her slightly bulging eyes darting from Darrow to me, as I sat next to her, but not right next to her, giving her plenty of space.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Please don’t tell me you think Tommie and Mother are actually going to have to serve any…prison time.”
“I think we can avoid that,” Darrow said, “with your help.”
Relief softened her expression and she sighed and said, “I’ll do anything. Anything.”
“Good. Does my cigarette bother you, dear?”
She shook her head, no.
“Fine, then. Here’s what I need to ask of you…”
“Anything.”
“…I need you to leave Hawaii, with the rest of us, once I’ve worked things out with the governor.”
Her eyes tightened. “What do you mean?”
“There will be public pressure, here in Honolulu, and from back home, to retry those boys you accused. I need you to spare yourself the pain of going through this yet again, testifying for a third time; I need you to go back to the mainland and never return to these shores.”
She smiled, but it was a smile of astonishment. “You can’t be saying this. You can’t be saying that I should turn my back on what was done to me. That I let those terrible black creatures get away with what was done to me!”
He was shaking his head somberly, no. “There must not be a second Ala Moana trial, dear.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong…there must be. Otherwise, you’re sentencing me to a lifetime of gossip and humiliation, putting my word, my reputation, in doubt forever.”
Darrow’s expression turned sorrowful. He drew in on his cigarette, and when he exhaled smoke, it was a sigh of smoke, and he nodded, reluctantly, toward me.
I nodded back, and took a manila envelope off the coffee table before us and removed the Oahu Prison mug shots of Daniel Lyman and Lui Kaikapu. I handed her the photos.
Puzzled, she looked at them, shrugged, tossed them back on the table, and said, “Is this supposed to mean something to me? Who are they?”
I glanced at Darrow and he sighed again, nodded again.
I said, “These are two of the three men who abducted you.”
Her puzzlement turned to perplexity, with irritation working at the edges of her mouth and eyes. “Why are you saying this? Kahahawai and Ida and the others, they’re the ones, you know they’re the ones—”
“The ones you accused,” I said. “But those two…” And I indicated the mug shots on the table. “…are the ones who really grabbed you.”
“You’re insane. Insane! Mr. Darrow, must I listen to this insanity?”
Darrow only nodded, poker-faced.
I said, “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and figure you were confused as to how many of them there were in the car…which is only natural, considering that your preeclampsia impairs your eyesight in low-light conditions.”
Her eyes bugged with alarm; the blood drained from her face, turning her Kabuki white.
“Yes, dear,” Darrow said softly, compassionately, “we know about your condition. Did you think our mutual friend Dr. Porter would keep that from me?”
“Oh, how could he?” she asked. Desperation mingled with despair in her voice. “That was privileged communication, between doctor and patient….”
“Sorry, Thalia—this time there’s nothing for you to tear up,” I said. “These are facts you can’t discard.”
She covered her mouth. “I think…I think I’m going to be ill.”
Darrow glared at me; he’d warned me not to be too rough on the girl.
“If you need the bathroom, dear…” he began.
“No.” She removed her hand from her mouth; folded her hands in her lap. Her features drew tight, became a blank mask. “No.”
“We also know there was no pregnancy,” Darrow said. “But that doesn’t make your fear of pregnancy any less real….”
She said nothing. She was almost frozen—almost: her eyes moved from Darrow to me, as we talked.
“Mrs. Massie—Thalia,” I said, “what I’m about to tell you, only Mr. Darrow and myself are privy to.”
She nodded toward Darrow, but said to me: “He’s not my lawyer, he’s Tommie’s lawyer. I don’t want to go any further with this unless this conversation is privileged.”
“Fair enough, dear,” Darrow said. “As my client’s spouse, the privilege of privacy due to him extends to you. This discussion is entirely an extension of Tommie’s case.”
Now she looked at Darrow and nodded toward me. “What about him?”
“He’s my investigator. He’s bound by the same pledge of privacy.”
She thought about that, nodded, said, “Then we can continue.”
“Fine, dear. Let’s allow Mr. Heller to tell us what he’s discovered in his investigating these past several weeks.”
Her cow-eyed gaze fell coldly, contemptuously my way.
I said, “You’d been having an affair with Lt. Bradford, while your husband was away on duty. For whatever reason, it went bust, and, on the rebound, you began having a fling with a music boy named Sammy.”
Her lips were trembling; she had her chin up, though, the way her mother had in court.
“You didn’t want to go to the Ala Wai that night,” I continued, “because you knew Bradford would be there and also knew the place was one of Sammy’s favorite hangouts. And being with your husband in the proximity of two lovers, past and present, could be…awkward.”
She made a throaty sound that was almost a laugh. “You’re guessing. These are just more stupid rumors, more silly scurrilous stories…”
“No. You were seen talking with Sammy right before you walked out of the Ala Wai into the night—right after you slapped Lt. Stockdale for calling you a…well, for insulting you. You see, Sammy wasn’t discreet, Thalia. He told friends in his crowd about his affair with you…and he told them what he saw.”
“Nobody saw anything,” she snapped, but her eyes weren’t sure.
“Sammy saw Bradford follow you, and he followed along behind Bradford while you two were arguing. Sammy also saw the carload of cruising kanakas pull along the curb and give you the wolf whistle…saw and heard you egg ’em on, too, probably to make Bradford jealous. Well, Bradford took off, and when Sammy saw who these boys were…” I tapped the photos of Lyman and Kaikapu. “…he knew you were in a jam. These were mean, nasty, low-down criminal boys. Sammy rushed up, tried to help you, got shoved away. That’s part of the story you never mentioned, isn’t it, Thalia? Sammy’s presence. You couldn’t include him, could you? Not without your fling with a colored boy getting out. Couldn’t mention Bradford, either—that very night, when the police had arrested him, you assured him that you wouldn’t involve him, told him not to worry.”
Her mouth and chin trembled; her eyes were shining wetly. “I was abducted. I was beaten. I was raped.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you were raped…”
“Maybe!” She lurched toward me, on the couch, flew at me with her fists raised, ready to pummel me, but I clutched her wrists and her face was inches from mine, emotions passing across her face in waves: rage, shame, despair….
I felt the fight go out of her and released her.
She backed away, and said, almost gasped, “I…I…am going to be sick.”
And she ran to the bathroom and slammed the door. The sound of her retching made Darrow shiver. I was having trouble feeling sorry for her.
“You’re too harsh with her,” he whispered, raising a hand. “Try to remember she’s in hell.”
“Joe Kahahawai’s in the ground,” I reminded him. “And you don’t believe in hell, remember?”
“Oh, I believe in hell, Nate. It’s right here on Earth…and she’s in it. Go easy.”
“There’s a good chance the reason she got her jaw broken,” I said, “was she wouldn’t come across for those guys. Because of things Sammy said to ’em when he tried to intervene, Lyman and Kaikapu probably realized they had hold of a Navy wife, not a hooker or some loose lady. So they roughed her up, snatched her purse, and dumped her ass out.”
“Or they may have raped her.”
“They may have,” I granted.
The sound of the toilet flushing announced Thalia’s imminent return.
“We need her as an ally,” Darrow reminded me.
I nodded and drew in a breath as the bathroom door opened and she walked slowly toward us, head down, shoulders stooped, as if shame were weighing her down.
She took her place on the sofa but sat as far away from me as she could.
“I was raped,” she said quietly, both pride and a tremor in her voice. “By Joe Kahahawai and Horace Ida and those others…” She pointed to the pictures on the table. “…not by them.”
“According to Sammy,” I said, “it was Lyman and Kaikapu who dragged you in the ragtop. There was another boy along, but nobody has a name for him; a Filipino kid.”
“Where…where is Sammy?”
“In Los Angeles.”
“But you talked to him?”
“How I got this information isn’t important.”
“What is,” Darrow interjected, “is that if Nate here could dig it out, so could somebody else. There’s been a reorganization among the police, and a second Ala Moana trial would mean a new, full-scale investigation. The governor is talking about bringing in the FBI.”
She frowned, swallowed.
“Thalia,” I said, “it’s not your fault some incompetent cops put the wrong boys on a platter and served ’em up to you. They practically forced you to ID Ida and the rest.”
Her eyes were narrowed; she was thinking. Darrow was smiling at me—I was finally going easier. But I didn’t want to. I knew there was another strong possible reason for Thalia identifying the wrong boys: Sammy may have told her not to ID Lyman and Kaikapu, because it would put both their lives in danger.
But she had to finger somebody to protect her good name, her honor as the wife of a naval officer, her stature as a member of a prominent family. Maybe she figured the Ala Moana boys would never be convicted; but as rumors began to fly, she desperately needed to sacrifice these innocent boys (just “niggers,” after all) at the altar of her reputation and her marriage.
That’s what I wanted to throw in her face.
Instead, I said, “Protect yourself. Leave the Island. The Navy’ll give Tommie stateside duty, you can bet on that. Put this ugly nonsense behind you.”
Darrow leaned forward and patted her folded hands. “He’s right, dear. It’s time…time to go home.”
She began to nod. Then she let out a huge sigh, stood, smoothed out her dress, and said, “All right. If it’s best for Tommie and Mother.”
He stood, nodding sagely, pressing her hands in his. “It is, dear. Why subject yourself to a needless ordeal? Now, I must warn you, there will no doubt be a summons issued for you to appear as complaining witness in a new Ala Moana trial. Prosecutor Kelley needs to do that to save face….”
“He’s an awful man.”
“He’s cooperating with me, dear, and that’s all that matters. I’ll be saying things for appearance sake, too, but it’ll be bluster and show. Understand? What the public hears, and what’s really going on, are two different affairs.”
I’d have to pass that one on to Chang Apana; anyway, it was a concept Thalia Massie, of all people, ought to grasp.
I was on my feet, too. Forcing a smile for her.
She fixed those bulgy eyes on me. “No one knows what you’ve discovered, Mr. Heller? Just you and Mr. Darrow? Not even Mr. Leisure?”
“No one,” I said.
“You won’t tell Isabel…”
“No.”
“I don’t want Tommie to hear these lies.”
“They aren’t…”
Out of her sight, Darrow was waving at me not to finish.
“…anything anybody’s going to hear but you.”
She smiled, drew in a breath, and said, “Well, then—I think I’ll go down and join Isabel and Mrs. Darrow and Mr. Leisure. I could use some tea to settle my stomach.”
Darr
ow took her arm, showed her to the door, small-talking with her along the way, soothing her, smoothing a wrinkled feather or two, and then she was gone.
Slowly, Darrow turned to me and said, “Thank you, Nate. Now we can do what’s right for our clients.”
“What about doing something for the poor bastards that bitch wrongly accused?”
He came over and settled a hand on my shoulder. “Now, now—don’t judge Thalia too harshly. She was the first victim in this affair, and she’s suffering still.”
“What about the Ala Moana boys?”
He shuffled back to his easy chair, settled back in, putting his feet back up, folding his hands across his ample belly. “We’re going to see to it, with Thalia’s help, that those boys aren’t put through a second trial.”
I sat across from him, where Thalia had been sitting. “Their supporters are demanding complete exoneration. You’ve seen the papers—the colored population here, egged on by Princess What’s-Her-Name, thinks the Ala Moana boys deserve to be freed of this stigma.” I gestured to the pictures of Lyman and Kaikapu. “Sure, the real bad guys are already doing long, hard time, and that’s peachy; but to the public, Horace Ida and his pals’ve been branded rapists.”
“In due time, the case will be officially dropped, over insufficient evidence.” He shrugged. “There’s no way you can undo something like this, not entirely. In the eyes of the white population, both here and at home, yes, the Ala Moana boys will remain forever rapists. To the various ethnic groups on this island, these boys are heroes, tragic heroes perhaps, but heroes nonetheless—and Joseph Kahahawai a martyred hero.”
“I suppose.”
He grunted a humorless laugh. “What do you think, Nate?” He nodded toward the photos of Lyman and Kaikapu. “Your informed opinion—did they rape her? Or just rob her and thrash and throttle her?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “and I don’t care.”
Darrow shook his head, smiled sadly. “Don’t get hardened so soon in life, son. That poor girl went for a moonlight walk and came back damaged for life….”
“Joe Kahahawai went for a morning ride and never came back at all.”
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