The White Ghost (24 page)

“Thanks,” I said. “Hugh, please keep us posted on Porter and Kari. We're going up to Rendova but should be back in a few days.”

“Do you think John Kari is the killer?” Sexton asked.

“No,” I said. “It's not certain. But I'd like to talk with him some more. I can understand him keeping his sticky fingers a secret, but I have to wonder what else he may be hiding. Lying gets to be a habit after a while, and he may have information we need.”

“Kari has saved many lives,” Sexton said, leaning over the map table. “Consider that before you accuse him of these murders or even suggest he was involved. He may have stolen from Lever, but he's acted bravely since. I can't see any reason why he'd turn on his own people.”

“I don't think we'd pursue charges, not at this late date,” Luckman said. “Sounds like he's done his bit and more.”

“I just want to talk to him,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I agree that petty pilferage is best forgotten after all he's been through. Thanks for your help.”

We shook hands all around, wished each other good luck, and left with distrust hanging thickly in the air.

“They do not like the idea of one of their own as a killer,” Kaz said once we were on the road. “Sexton can't imagine a Coastwatcher being a murderer, and Luckman wouldn't want Lever associated with one.”

“What do you think?” I said as I accelerated up a winding, hilly road. It began to rain, a light mist that was refreshing, breaking the morning heat.

“You've taught me the three cardinal virtues of a crime,” Kaz said as he wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. “Means, motive, and opportunity. John Kari had the means in all three cases. We've seen him kill. He slit the throat of that Japanese sentry on Malaita quite efficiently.”

“So he could have easily brained Daniel on the beach,” I said. “And overpowered Deanna before he knifed her. But what about Sam Chang? He was strangled. Kari isn't that big of a guy. The doctor said the killer had strong hands.”

“First, he was unconscious,” Kaz said. “Secondly, the killer knew he had to act quickly. His adrenaline would have kicked in, the fear of being discovered giving him the strength he needed.”

“Okay, I can work with that,” I said. “What's next?” It was beginning to rain harder, the dirt road turning muddy along the tire tracks.

“Motive,” Kaz answered. “Daniel Tamana threatened to tell what he knew about the thefts, so he had to be eliminated. Sam Chang obviously knew, and when he showed up alive, he had to be taken care of. But why Deanna?”

“Because he'd seen Daniel speak to her privately. He had to kill her in case Daniel had confided his suspicions to her,” I said, without a lot of conviction.

“But she wasn't killed right away,” Kaz said. “Why the delay?”

“Let's move on,” I suggested, having no answer to that.

“Opportunity,” Kaz said. “He lured Daniel to the beach, saying he could explain things, perhaps appealing to their bonds as natives and fellow Coastwatchers. As for Chang, anyone could have walked into that hospital at night and gained access to the room where the Chinese patients were kept. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that he saw Deanna alone in Chinatown. An opportunity for him to silence her in case she knew his secret. And we know Kari was driving through around the time of Deanna's murder, a stiletto on his belt.”

“It fits,” I said. “But the motive is weak. Why murder three people over a theft from more than a year ago? The whole world has changed since the Japs swept through here. Everything's been turned upside down for the Solomon Islanders. It doesn't feel like his thievery would be that important in the long run.”

“His life could still change for the better or the worse,” Kaz said as we drove along the harbor in Chinatown. I avoided looking at the desolate alley where Deanna had met her end. I slowed for a pair of sailors stumbling out onto the street, bottles of beer clutched in their hands. They looked up, seemingly shocked at the rain soaking their denims. Then the rain stopped suddenly, and they laughed as if it had been a joke staged for their benefit. Leaving them behind, I envied their carefree joyfulness while steam rose from the earth, clouds parted, and shafts of sunlight beat down on us, turning the cool downpour into stifling humidity. “He could be killed. Or return home a hero to his people.”

“So why risk murdering three people? What would he have to gain?”

“Not enough,” Kaz said. “Unless he were a madman.”

“Gwai lo,”
I said.

“The white ghost,” Kaz said. “An elusive being.”

We drove on, the misty greyness dissolving the boundaries between the jungle and the road, the treetops and the sky, the water and the islands beyond. Ghosts were all around us, white ghosts floating above the earth, writhing among the palms and tiger grass. Elusive? They were everywhere.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sesapi harbor was
busy, PT boats coming and going, and destroyers steaming out toward the Slot. Native workers unloaded truckloads of supplies, and sailors stripped to the waist carried them from the docks to their waiting craft. The action had a frantic air to it, the rush to complete each task mingled with nervous laughter and foolish grins among the newer men, while the old hands ignored them, stacking ammo like split wood against freshening winter winds. Something was up, another big push up the Solomon chain in the offing, and we were being drawn along in its wake.

We dropped our gear off at Cotter's boat and kept going, down to the end of the pier by the PT tender. I'd told Jack I'd see him on his new command. We had an hour or so before we left, or hauled anchor, or whatever the navy types called shoving off, so Kaz and I decided to check out the new boat.

“Impressive,” Kaz said as we took in the big forty-millimeter guns fore and aft. PT-59 bristled with armament and activity. Two turrets amidships sported twin fifty-caliber machine guns, and where the torpedo tubes had formerly been, more machine guns were being installed behind armored shields. An arc welder spit out white-hot sparks as a crewman worked on one of the mounts.

“That's a lot of firepower,” I said to Jack, who waved us aboard.

“How do you like her?” Jack was all grin, shirtless in the heat, grease on his hands, and spoiling for a fight.

“A lethal vessel,” Kaz said admiringly.

“Exactly, Baron,” Jack said. “Now we've got the firepower to take on the Jap barges and shore installations. They won't know what hit them.” He was positively gleeful, but I was more interested in how he looked as opposed to his boat. I could count his ribs, and though his skin was tanned nearly bronze, it had an odd tone to it, a shade of dark yellow that didn't look healthy. His knuckles were a dark brown, even deeper than the rest of him. He caught me looking, and grabbed for a faded khaki shirt, pulling it on but not bothering to button it.

“I'm taking her out, Billy, as soon as I fill out the crew.” It was a challenge, a dare to even question his fitness.

“I'm sure you'll do fine, Jack,” I said. It wasn't my fight. If the navy saw fit to give him this gunboat, then that was the navy's business. I hoped he didn't get his men killed as he sought his revenge for PT-109.

“All set, Skipper,” a sailor said from behind us, flipping up his arc welder's helmet. “That's the last mount in place.”

“Well done, Chappy,” Jack said, stepping by us to inspect the welding job. The steel shields gave the gunners decent protection, at least from small-arms fire. Jack settled in behind one of the fifty-calibers, testing the rotation and angle of fire. “How'd you get the swivel to move like that? It was tight as a tick this morning.”

“Oil, elbow grease, and the right tools, Skipper,” came the answer as he removed the helmet.

“Hey, aren't you the gunner's mate from Al Cluster's boat?” I asked, remembering the trip from Guadalcanal and the downed Jap flyer.

“Yes sir,” he said. “Commander Cluster thought Lieutenant Kennedy might need an experienced hand getting these new guns installed.”

“And I'm not giving Chappy back,” Jack said. “I still need to fill out my crew, and a gunner's mate is a good start. Consider yourself shanghaied, sailor.”

“Fine with me, Skipper. I was hoping you'd say that. This boat is a gunner's dream come true.” Chappy left, clutching his tool kit along with an oilcan.

“I'll probably see you two on Rendova,” Jack said. “We're headed up there as soon as everything's ready and I have enough men.”

“It looks like you've got reinforcements,” Kaz said. A group of five sailors approached from the dock, seabags carried on their shoulders.

“Oh my God,” Jack said, a look of surprise on his face as he watched the men come on board. “What are you all doing here?”

“What kind of guy are you?” the lead sailor answered. “You got a boat and didn't come get us?” It seemed like an odd exchange between a swabbie and an officer, but smiles had broken out among the group as Jack waded in amongst them, shaking hands.

“Kowal, Mauer, Drewitch,” he said, pausing a moment before each man. “Maguire, Drawdy. You guys sure you want to come along? I can't guarantee this is going to be easy.”

“Hell, Skip, we wouldn't ship out with anyone else,” one of them said, a radioman second class by his two stripes and lightning-bolt insignia. Jack stood among them for a minute, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head downcast like a shy schoolboy. Then he turned away, heading to the bow of the gunboat, his arm draped around the barrel of the forty-millimeter cannon.

“Who are you guys?” I asked the radioman.

“We're all from the 109,” he said. “Maguire, sir. Me and Mauer were on the 109 when she went down. The other guys had been wounded a few weeks ago and just got out of the hospital. We heard the skipper got a new assignment, so here we are. Don't tell me they got the army on this boat, too?”

“No, we're just visiting,” I said. “You feel okay about shipping out with Jack after what happened?”

“He got me back alive,” Maguire said. “He never gave up. I'd trust him with my life.”

That wasn't a sentence I ever heard or expected to hear about Jack Kennedy. I mumbled something appropriate and moved away, the men from the 109 mingling with the rest of the crew as they stowed their gear. I worked my way forward, past the bridge, up to where Jack stood. His thin arm was still holding onto the gun barrel, the other shading his eyes as he gazed out over the water. I stepped closer and saw that he wasn't shading his eyes from the light.

He was hiding them. From my vantage point I could see tears coursing down his cheeks, salty drops hitting the steel deck at his feet, vaporizing in the heat.

Jack Kennedy weeping. Another thing I never expected to see in this life.

I stepped back, unwilling to intrude, marveling that this rich, spoiled playboy had inspired so much loyalty. And that a guy who never seemed to care much about anything stood alone, crying at the thought of the trust these men had placed in his hands.

Kaz was chatting with the new crewmen at the stern. The gunner's mate was working on another machine gun setup, this one on the starboard side. I strolled over, watching him work as I waited for Jack to get a hold of himself. I noticed his name, Ellis, stenciled on his denim shirt.

“Why do they call you Chappy?” I asked, leaning against the bulkhead and enjoying a spot of shade.

“That's 'cause of these tools I use,” he said, grabbing a small leather case filled with rachet bits. “My uncle owns a company called Chapman Manufacturing. They make all sorts of hex keys, slotted screwdriver bits, ratchets, that sort of thing. When he heard I was a gunner's mate, he sent me this kit. Whatever the navy throws at me, I can take it apart and put it back together again with these babies. So the guys started calling me Chappy, and it sorta stuck.”

“Doesn't the navy have enough tools to go around?”

“Not out here, Lieutenant. We have to scrounge for most everything. But with this tool kit, I'm a walking machine shop. I can even get some Jap hardware working if it's not too banged up.”

“Lieutenant Kennedy is lucky to have you aboard, Chappy,” I said. “There's plenty of gunnery here to keep you busy.”

“It's a whole lotta firepower to throw at the Japs,” he said. “I get the feeling the skipper is itching to get back at them for what they did to his old boat.”

“Can't blame him,” I said. I wished Chappy luck and climbed up to the bridge, where I found Jack, shirtless again, wearing aviator sunglasses and a fatigue cap pushed back up on his bushy hair. The sun was harsh, but I figured he'd donned the glasses mainly to cover his reddened eyes.

“Take care, Jack,” I said, offering my hand.

“See you in Rendova,” he said, giving me a firm shake. “I hope you find your man.”

“I will,” I said. “I don't have all the answers yet, but we'll find them. There's always a clue. There's always something.”

I clambered down off the boat onto the dock and turned to see Kaz stop to speak with Jack on the bridge. I waited, wishing I had a pair of sunglasses like Jack's as the afternoon sun beat down.

“What was that about?” I asked as we walked back to PT-169.

“I asked Jack about the incident with the automobile,” Kaz said.

“Why the hell did you do that?” I asked, stopping to face Kaz, surprised at my own anger. I didn't need Kaz fighting my battles for me, and I sure as hell didn't want Jack thinking I did.

“Because I was curious about the kind of man he is,” Kaz said. “I am still suspicious of him.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“He has no recollection of the incident. He thought it amusing when I recounted it, but it apparently meant little enough to him at the time.”

“So what does that prove?” I asked, irritated at hearing the answer to a question I knew I shouldn't have asked.

“That he is exceedingly self-centered,” Kaz said. “I believe such a man could kill more easily than not.”

“Yeah, murder is a pretty selfish enterprise,” I said, continuing on down the dock. “Nothing earth-shattering about that.” Why was I defending Jack? Hadn't I thought the same myself not very long ago?

“True,” Kaz said, nodding his head as we walked. “Although the man described by the PT-109 crew is quite a different character. Intrepid, loyal, even inspiring.”

“What does that tell us?”

“That Jack Kennedy is a complex man, capable of pettiness as well as sacrifice,” Kaz answered. “His actions involving you in the automobile accident demonstrate a disregard for others, and perhaps a fear of disappointing his powerful father. After all, who else would care, or be in a position to chastise him? But his resourcefulness here, in keeping his crew together after the sinking of his boat, demonstrates the complete opposite. From all accounts, he went far beyond what could be expected of any captain.”

“That may be why I'm having a hard time understanding him,” I said. “He's not the guy I knew. I think maybe that guy went down with the 109. Did he say he was sorry at all? About the car?”

“No, he did not,” Kaz said.

“Well, maybe not all of him went down with the ship.”

“Boyle!” Cotter yelled from the bridge of PT-169. “Hustle up! We're pulling out. Aircraft headed our way!”