The White Ghost (17 page)

“But he needed money, I understand.”

“Yes. When the Japanese came, he lost all his goods and had to flee into the jungle. Since he was a kind man, many of the planters owed him money. Who knows when they would have paid? After the war? Or might they simply walk away from their losses? Shan was not in a good position, financially.”

“The bamboo plant your sister gave Jack Kennedy to deliver—that was not simply a gift, was it?”

“No, I am afraid not,” Jai-li said. “Rui is a better businesswoman than I. Ruthless, some say. She wanted to remind Shan of his obligation to us, and his foolishness in striking out on his own. I hope you do not need to speak further of this. It does not reflect well upon our family.”

“I will have to speak to Rui,” I said.

“That will not be possible for a few days,” she said. “My sister has sailed for New Caledonia. A business trip to meet with our French colleagues there. Necessary, even with Shan's death.”

“Thank you for being honest with me, Miss Chang,” I said. “It helps us narrow the investigation.”

“Please, call me Jai-li, Billy.” she said. “The baron spoke so much about you, I feel we are already friends.” I was surprised but pleased that she allowed this informality, so I decided to press my luck.

“Then let me take a little more of your time, Jai-li. I assume you've heard of the killing today. Deanna Pendleton was stabbed not far from here.”

“Yes, of course. I was very sad to hear of it. We met at Captain Sexton's and I was impressed by her bravery.”

“Do your people have any idea who could have done it?” I asked.

“Only that it would not have been anyone from Chinatown. We frown on violence here. We do not wish to be declared off limits by your shore patrol. It is important that the servicemen who come here feel safe. Safe enough to freely spend and contribute to the community.”

“When you say you frown upon violence, what do you mean exactly?” I understood the part about contributions. Every merchant in town paid a percentage to the Changs, so it was in everyone's interest to keep crime down. The gritty street type of crime at least.

“That it would make Zhou extremely unhappy, which would not be good for the parties involved. Or their families. Is that clear enough?”

“I expect that approach works quite well,” I said. “So no reports of suspicious strangers or a sighting of someone with Deanna?”

“Billy, to most of the people here, all
gwai lo
look alike.”

“White ghost,” I said. “Or is it white devil?” I'd heard the term plenty back in Boston's Chinatown, never uttered in a kindly tone.

“It does mean white ghost, from the color of your skin,” she said. “Is there a connection between Shan's death and the others?”

“I think so,” I said, suspecting I could trust Jai-li, at least as long as I didn't borrow money from her. “I believe Daniel Tamana, your brother, and Deanna all knew something that got them killed. Shan may not have been aware of what he knew, or the implications of it. Daniel knew for sure, and Deanna must have figured it out for herself.”

“And all three are dead, with no trace of the killer,” Jai-li said. “It is indeed a white ghost you are seeking.”

Chapter Nineteen

As I was
leaving, Jai-li told me to please ask for any assistance I might need to find her brother's killer. She told me to ask for Zhou. Jai-li said goodbye and left me with Zhou in the hallway, waiting for my automatic to be returned. In a few minutes a servant delivered the .45 and my jackknife on a platter. Classy.

“They've been cleaned,” I said, feeling a slight oily sheen on the knife.

“In this climate, rust is the enemy of any metal,” Zhou said. “I hope you don't mind that we took the liberty.”

“Not at all,” I said, holstering the pistol, wondering if a pressed uniform and well-oiled pistol were specialties of the house. “I'll be in touch.”

“Ask anyone in Chinatown for Zhou,” he said. “They will bring you right to me.”

“What if I ask for Jai-li?”

“They will bring you to me even faster.” I think he almost smiled.

It didn't take
long to drive to the PT base at Sesapi, where Kaz and I had first stepped foot on Tulagi. By now, if luck were on his side, he would have seen Dickie Miller. Considering his choice of Chang sisters, luck was definitely running Kaz's way. Or had Jai-li chosen Kaz? Still, it was good luck any way it shook out.

I hoped for some of that luck to rub off when I talked to John Kari. I had him at the scene of the crime, but that was it. I needed something else, any kind of clue to support his involvement. I remembered that the signals unit was housed in an old police station, and hoped I'd have need of a cell there before long, at least for one of the murders.

I parked the jeep near the wharf, where a line of ten PTs were moored. Sesapi was hardly the garden spot of Tulagi. On the steep bank opposite the wharf, tents and jury-rigged lean-tos held everything from crew's quarters to machine shops. Palm fronds and coconut logs were the mainstay of these structures, which gave shade and looked like they might keep out the rain if it held to light showers. This was a working PT base, miles from the kind of navy Captain Ritchie was so fond of.

Well-trodden paths led in every direction, some of them to winding steps set into the embankment. I took them through a beehive of activity as sailors rolled steel drums of aviation gas to be stacked up under crudely painted signs.

Flammable. No Smoking.

Yeah, no kidding. I reminded myself to take a different route back, not that it would matter much if one of these fifty-five gallon cans went up. I was after PT-157, Lieutenant Liebenow commanding. Sexton had told me I could hitch a ride to Rendova with them, since they were taking Porter and Kari in that direction. I found it by spotting Silas Porter sitting on a crate dockside, a pile of radio gear beside him. Next to him was John Kari, cleaning an M1 carbine. They wore identical sheath knives.

“Hello, Billy,” Kari said, looking up from his work.

“Hear you're coming along for the ride to Rendova,” Porter said.

“I am. I got held up in Chinatown, but then I heard you wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow.” I watched their faces. Both gave weary nods, the sad acceptance of death in wartime.

“Poor Deanna,” Porter said. “Hard to believe after all she endured.”

“Any idea who did it?” Kari asked, wiping his hands and wrapping the carbine in heavy waxed paper before taking a Thompson submachine gun and rubbing a greasy brown substance all over it.

“No, but I have a couple of clues,” I said, taking a seat on one of the wooden crates. “What is that stuff?” I asked innocently as I ran my fingers along the stock of the Thompson, and the Cosmoline came away brown, the color of the stain on Deanna's collar.

“Cosmoline,” Kari answered. “It's to preserve the weapons. We're going to stash a couple of crates in the jungle, for use by the Zeleboes on Choiseul.”

“They're a tribe who are quite anti-Japanese,” Porter explained. “They lost a lot of men when the Japs invaded. Plantation workers, that sort of thing. When we retake Choiseul, these will come in handy. We'll hit the Japs from behind while your lot take the beaches.”

“But until then, the metal would rust and the wood rot without lots of Cosmoline,” Kari said. “It's easy to put on but the devil's own work to clean off.” He started to disassemble the Thompson and work the greasy mixture into the weapon.

“Looks like you've been at it all day,” I said, trying to sound impressed with his work ethic.

“Silas is the one with the hard job,” Kari said, nodding in the direction of the radio parts. “When he tested everything this morning, he found a bad output coil in our transmitter.”

“We had a spare, but it wouldn't do to start off using it right away,” Porter said. “John fetched one from the communications section back at the base. So we were glad enough of the delay. Can't nip off for spare parts once you're out in the bush.”

“Right,” I said. “John, I think I saw you on the road when I was in Chinatown. Driving pretty fast, if I recall.”

“Yes, on my way back here. I saw the ambulance but had no idea it was for Deanna. It's so hard to believe, even now.” He shook his head sadly, and I thought Porter shot a glance in my direction. Protective, or did he have his own suspicions? John Kari was a hard read; with his dark skin, bushy hair, shell necklace, and precise English accent, he was a walking contradiction. Not like anyone I'd ever met before. I was having a tough time deciding if he was a practiced liar or expressing genuine grief and surprise.

“John always drives fast,” Porter explained. “He'd never driven a vehicle before he was nineteen. Not many in the islands. Not many roads, for that matter.”

“I do like speed, I must admit,” Kari said with a gentle laugh. I watched him work, his small, delicate hands caressing the weaponry as he spread the Cosmoline everywhere. Were those the hands of a killer? I looked at their knives again. He and Porter wore identical sheaths, the narrow grip of a dagger visible.

“What kind of knives are those?” I asked. “They don't look like regular army issue.”

“They're not,” Porter said, drawing his out and handing it to me. “They're Marine Raider stilettos. A Raider battalion came through here a few weeks ago and we traded for them.”

“They feel deadly,” I said, hefting the cold cross-hatched grip in my palm, the weight of it heavy, making it well suited for a sudden thrust.

“That's all they're made for,” Kari said. “Killing.”

“The Marine Raiders were getting a new knife issued,” Porter explained. “It's called the Ka-Bar, and it's a combination fighting-and-utility knife. This stiletto is too thin and pointy to be of any practical use, like opening a can of rations or prying open a crate. But for a quick kill, it's perfect. It's designed to be lethal and good for little else.”

“It sounds like you've used it,” I said.

“Not this Marine model, no,” Porter said. “I had an Australian commando stiletto, and used it on a number of occasions. But it was lost on the way here, so when I saw the Raiders were trading theirs, I snapped them up. Gave them to Hugh, Fred, Gordie, John, and a few others.”

“See how the pommel has a small, hard knob?” Kari said. “Good for bashing heads if the blade doesn't do the job.” There was an edge of steel at the end of the grip, and my first thought was of Daniel Tamana being hit from behind. But the knob was too small. It would definitely crack bone if the strike were forceful enough, but it wouldn't make the kind of depression fracture we saw on Daniel's skull.

“If you had to use it, I guess it would mean you were in a tight spot,” I said, handing it back to Porter.

“True enough,” Porter said. “I had to take out a Jap sentry once. A small patrol had gone by on a path we were about to cross. We had ten natives with us, carrying the radio to a new location. The patrol halted and left one man to guard a bend in the trail as they took a break about twenty yards away by a stream. We could've waited them out, but the bugger wandered into the bush to relieve himself. Stepped right on one of the native's hands. The lad was well hidden and didn't let out a sound, but I could tell the Jap knew something was wrong. He was still pissing when I grabbed his jaw from behind and stabbed him in the heart. Bastard was dead before he hit the ground. I hope these Yank blades are as good as that Australian one. Pity I lost it.”

“I hear Archer and Gordie are going out soon,” I said. “They taking theirs along?”

“I saw them not half an hour ago,” Kari said. “They had them on, alright. Impresses the PT crew, makes them think we're dangerous.”

“What about you, John? Have you used a knife up close?” I watched his eyes, alert for any telltale nervousness.

“Not the knife, no,” he said. “Rifle and machete, yes. Of course, I wouldn't have had a chance to use
this
knife, since Silas gave it to me only a fortnight ago.” He smiled, forgiving me my error.

“Of course,” I said. “Where are Gordie and Archer, by the way? I need to talk to them about Deanna. I understand they were the ones who dropped her off in Chinatown this morning.”

“End of the dock,” Porter said. “PT-169. That's Phil Cotter's boat. The fellow who left Kennedy and his crew adrift in Blackett Strait.”

“I hadn't heard it was Fred and Gordie who brought Deanna to Chinatown,” Kari said. “Do you think—?” He let the question hang in the air. Porter gave me a studied glance again, then looked away.

“Listen, John,” Porter said before I could answer, “Fred was sweet on Deanna, but he wouldn't hurt her, would he?”

“The man has a temper, there's no denying it,” Kari said.

“I heard he was pretty tough on his workers, but that's not the same thing as murdering a defenseless woman,” I said, watching again for a reaction. “Who would do that?”

“That's what you're supposed to be finding out, isn't it?” Porter said, his tone harsh and demanding.

“Is that true, what I've heard?”

“Yes, it is,” Kari said, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “He's the type of man who enjoys a fight and doesn't mind a few split knuckles along the way. I wouldn't want to work for him, but I wouldn't mind having him on my side in a fight either.”

“That's helpful,” I said. “Thanks. See you later.”

I ambled off to find PT-169. I was sure that Deanna had been killed with a dagger or stiletto. Her wound was small and the external blood loss was minimal. The fact that half a dozen or so Coastwatchers, and whoever else the Marine Raiders traded with, had the right kind of knife for the job didn't help matters. In any case, I'd wait for Doc Schwartz to confirm my theory when I saw him at the hospital.

Lieutenant Cotter was at the back of my mind as well. Jack had practically called him a coward for leaving the crew of PT-109 in Blackett Strait that night. And a liar for claiming he had searched for them. If the Coastwatcher's report of seeing a burning hulk from Kolombangara was accurate, I couldn't see how Cotter missed it in the dark Pacific night. Unless he was headed in the opposite direction.

Did that make him a suspect? It was hard to see how, except for the possibility that he'd tried to frame Jack to get back at him and discredit his accusations. One killing was worth considering. With each additional death, it made less and less sense. He could have followed Jack into the hospital, watched him deliver the plant to Sam Chang, and then strangled him, hoping that frame would fit.

But Deanna? Could he kill a woman in cold blood? No, not even my fevered imagination could work that one out.

The 169 had a lived-in look. A canvas tarp was hung across the deck to provide partial shade for the crew busy cleaning the twin fifty-caliber machine guns and the twenty-millimeter cannon mounted aft. Skivvies and sun-bleached khakis were draped over lines, drying in the sun. Fred and Gordie were on the dock, under a canvas lean-to doing the same Cosmoline job that John Kari had been working on.

“What ho, Billy!” Gordie said in greeting, holding up a brown, grease-covered hand. “What brings you here?” Fred gave me a curt nod, then returned to slathering Cosmoline over a carbine.

“I'm going up to Rendova with Silas and John,” I said by way of an answer. I pulled a crate into the shade of the lean-to and joined them. “You've heard about Deanna, I suppose.”

“God-awful,” Gordie spat. Sweat dripped from his bald head and he wiped it away with a shirtsleeve.

“Is it related to the other deaths?” Archer asked, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, glancing at their web belts. Each wore a knife identical to the one Porter showed me.

“Well, seems odd, doesn't it? I mean, we've seen plenty of death in this war, but I always thought murder might take a holiday, you know? Now all of a sudden, we've got three bodies.”

“Yeah, it's strange,” I said, as if the thought hadn't yet occurred to me. “I understand you fellows gave Deanna a ride into Chinatown. Is that right?”

“That we did,” Gordie offered. “She seemed awfully keen on getting there in advance of her luncheon with the Kennedy boy. We left Hugh's place, made a stop at the signals section, picked up these weapons and a case of Cosmoline from the quartermaster, then made the stop in Chinatown.”