The White Ghost (28 page)

“Kari, you say?” Coburn said, rubbing his beard. “No, doesn't ring a bell.”

“Have you been on Pavau much?” I asked, trying to jog his memory.

“Now and then,” Coburn said, raising his eyebrows and giving a slight shrug, inviting me to explain the question.

“That's where Daniel ended up. This John Kari worked there as well, for Lever,” I said. It might have been the jolt from the strong coffee, but everything began to converge on the island of Pavau, like the phosphorescent wake of a PT boat. “Sam Chang was looking to expand his operations there as well.”

“Right, right,” Coburn said, snapping his fingers. “Young fellow, worked down at the harbor, keeping accounts for Lever or something.”

“You know a lot of people,” I said. “You must get around the islands a fair bit.”

“Used to,” he said. “Before the war I had my own little cutter, sailed between here, Bougainville, and all points in between. We islanders pay a lot of social calls, helps to ease the monotony. A native can be a good friend, but there's nothing like the sound of your own language spoken by one of your own.” He gazed out to the sea, shaking his head slowly, perhaps at the memories of friends lost. He sat again, silent.

“You were almost captured on Bougainville,” I said, hoping to shake him out of his reverie.

“Nearly ran out of luck that time,” Coburn said, taking a drink and smacking his lips. “I've got another plantation up there, and I wanted to get my people out when it looked like the Japs were about to descend. Some of my workers are from Bougainville, but the rest are all from Malaita, and I'd planned on arranging transport for them.”

“Daniel was from Malaita,” Kaz said. “Were there any kinsmen of his working here?”

“No,” Coburn said. “My workers were mainly from New Georgia and right here on Rendova.”

“Why did you bring others all the way from Malaita to Bougainville?” Kaz asked.

“Malaitamen are good workers,” Coburn said. “And tough. I was clearing out a new section of bush for planting and I knew I could count on them for hard labor and no complaints. Some say there's still headhunters up in the hills there. I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Did you happen to see Sam Chang on Bougainville?” I asked. “He went into hiding when the Japs invaded.”

“No, I didn't. I docked my cutter at Arawa and was looking for a vehicle when the Japs began bombing. They blew my sailboat to pieces and strafed the harbor. That's when I knew I'd waited too long.”

“You never made it to your plantation?” Kaz asked.

“No. I went south, along the coast road, hitching a ride with some Australian troops who'd been ordered to withdraw to the island of Balalae, where there's a dirt airstrip. We were bombed again and two of them were killed. I decided that the Japs were likely to attack and capture any airstrip within miles, so I left their company. Ended up in a coastal village within sight of Oema Island, beyond which is Choiseul. I gave a native what cash I had and took off in his canoe. This leg's no good anymore, but there's nothing wrong with my arms, I'll tell you that.”

“That's a long way,” I said, remembering the maps I'd seen. “And close to Pavau, too. Did you stop there?”

“No, by God! It doesn't look far on a map, but I had no time for visits, not on that trip. I rested on Oema and then paddled all night to get to Choiseul. Nearly did me in.” Coburn rubbed his eyes, weary at the recollection of his voyage.

“Daniel also escaped to Choiseul,” Kaz said. “From Pavau.”

“He did. I met him there, along with a boatful of nuns he'd gotten out. I told you he was brave. That was a risky run he made. Two ships left Pavau harbor that day. One was an old island ferry, crammed with refugees. It capsized under the weight and the Japs machine-gunned those who weren't drowned straight off, or so the story went from the few who made it out after that. The currents brought the bodies straight back to Pavau, washed them up for days. Daniel was smart, he only took what his small boat could hold. A half dozen nuns, a wounded flier, and three other Malaitamen.”

“Is it possible Daniel turned anyone away, and they held a grudge?” I asked.

“Well, I suppose anything's possible,” Coburn granted. “But likely is another story. The nuns on Bougainville were well thought of. I doubt anyone would contest their need to escape the bloody Japs.”

“No, I don't suppose so,” I said. I watched the workers hacking away at the jungle growth as I finished the coffee in my cup. Even though it had gone cold, it was good enough to keep the wheels turning in my mind. “You said a minute ago that you didn't have time to stop at Pavau during that trip. But you had previously? When?”

“I did, a few days before I went on to Bougainville.”

“Did you meet Daniel? Or see John Kari?”

“No, I went around to the north side, to stop in at Silas Porter's place. He's somewhat of a recluse, lives on a remote part of the island. I wanted to let him know what was coming. He didn't have a radio, so I knew he'd be out of touch. Which is the way he wants it, but there are times to intrude on a man's privacy.”

“He's a Coastwatcher now as well,” I said.

“Porter? I wouldn't have thought it of him,” Coburn said, his forehead furrowed. “Not the type.”

“You've been away from the Solomons since your escape, I take it,” Kaz said.

“Yes, as soon as I got off Choiseul, I went down to New Caledonia. Stayed with a friend from the French export firm that handles my beans. Came back up here as soon as I heard Rendova had been taken. All the natives thought I was dead, after not coming back here from Bougainville. Porter? Really?” He was having a hard time believing it.

“Really,” I said. “The Japs massacred his workers and Peter Fraser, his assistant manager. Porter escaped only because he'd gone to get their boat ready.”

“Apparently somebody shot a Japanese soldier when they landed,” Kaz said. “It was a reprisal.”

“Well, I could see how that would get old Silas's blood up,” Coburn said. “I'll have to look him up and let him know I'm alive. He probably thought I'd bought it on Bougainville.”

We chatted some more but it was evident Coburn didn't know much of any consequence about Daniel Tamana. We shook hands, complimenting him on his coffee, and headed back to the jeep.

“Pavau,” I said, stopping to look out over the fields, the plants laid out in neat rows, gracing the curves of the hills. “Why do all roads lead to Pavau, and what does it mean?”

“Perhaps it's simply an island where a number of people have traveled to and from,” Kaz said. “Like many in the Solomons.”

“There's something I can't quite put my finger on, some thread that we haven't yet unraveled. An inconsistency. But what is it?”

“Something about Pavau, then,” Kaz said, leaning against the jeep.

I watched the workers, hauling bushels of pulled weeds out from the cleared rows, dumping them at the edge of the jungle. They walked between plants, crossing rows, holding the baskets high to avoid damaging the plants. I saw the natives on Russell Island again, fading into the bush, disappearing into the dappled shadows.

They moved gracefully, I thought. Those on Russell and these workers in the fields of Rendova. Brought up in the bush, did they learn from childhood how to glide quickly and quietly through the dense greenery? The sense I had on Russell Island was that they had vanished, leaving not a leaf disturbed by their passing.

So what of it?

What was it that bothered me about natives moving through the bush, quietly or otherwise?

What did it have to do with this case?

Pavau. Why did everything come back to Pavau? Daniel Tamana worked there and he was killed, victim number one. Sam Chang went there and spoke to John Kari about expanding his business. Victim number two. Deanna Pendleton hadn't been there, as far as I knew, but she must have known Chang from Bougainville, and she definitely knew Daniel. Victim number three.

“Billy!” Kaz said, in a voice loud enough to tell me it wasn't the first time he'd said it. “Are we going?”

“Where? What's next?”

“You're not giving up, are you?”

“Dammit, Kaz, I'm out of ideas,” I snapped. “This image of natives moving through the bush keeps eating away at me. I don't know what it means, and I don't have much more than that to go on. What about you?”

“I think you are correct about Pavau,” Kaz said, taking a seat in the jeep. “It is at the center of things, but not in a way that sheds any light on the matter. I wonder how many Japanese are on the island right now.”

“You're not serious,” I said, hoisting myself into the driver's seat.

“No,” Kaz said. “Although if there were Coastwatchers there to guide us, I might consider it. A visit could help pull the pieces of this puzzle together.”

“Daniel wanted an assignment there, didn't he?” I said. I felt my mind shifting into gear, images and memories falling into place, and I finally began to see things clearly.

“Yes, that's what Dickie Miller said. Sexton vetoed it because the island was too small to hide in.”

“And what else did Dickie tell you about Pavau and Daniel?” I said.

Kaz rubbed his chin, coaxing out the recollection. “That Daniel knew the island very well,” he said, still unsure of where I was going.

“Every path and hiding place, that's exactly what you said. You were quoting Dickie Miller, right?”

“Yes, those were his exact words,” Kaz said, his face brightening as he sat bolt upright. “And how could he know every path on the island—”

“If he hadn't been to the north coast, where Silas Porter's plantation was. So not only did John Kari lie about knowing Daniel, Porter lied as well.”

“But does that follow?” Kaz said. “Perhaps Daniel simply went overland to visit a friend working at Porter's plantation and never talked with the owner himself.”

“The way Coburn described Daniel, he was more of a loner,” I said. “If John Kari had worked there, I could see Daniel looking him up, since they were so much alike. But no one else.”

“But why would he have gone?” Kaz asked.

“To better himself,” I said, trying to put myself in Daniel's place. “To see if there was a job available. He would have to have met Porter.”

“Why would Silas Porter lie?” Kaz said. “I am still not convinced.”

“No,” I said, finally understanding the importance of those natives retreating into the bush. “Daniel crossed to the north side. Everyone's been talking about the difficult terrain, but they were looking at it from a European's perspective. Well educated or not, Daniel knew the jungle and its ways. So the question remains, why did Porter lie?”

“We know why John Kari lied,” Kaz said. “Because he'd been a thief.”

“But who could Silas Porter have stolen from?” I said. “He's the independent type. I don't think he'd worry about other people's opinions.”

“Do you see a motive in Porter's actions, whatever the reason?” Kaz asked, not unreasonably. I shook my head, trying to figure that one out.

“If you boys are going to hang about, I might put you to work,” Coburn said, coming out of the house and giving us a wave. He walked to the barn with his rolling gait, his bad leg not seeming to hinder him much.

“He's pretty spry for an older gentleman,” Kaz said.

“It must be the coffee,” I said, and went to start the jeep. Then my hand froze.

“What is it?” Kaz asked.

“Old. He called Porter
old Silas
, didn't he?”

“A figure of speech, old chap,” Kaz said. “What of it?”

“Come on,” I said, jumping out of the jeep and following Coburn into the barn.

“What now?” Coburn barked as he turned, wrench in hand, about to get to work on a tractor engine.

“Describe Silas Porter for me, will you?” I said. “Then no more questions.”

“Silas? Oh, about five foot ten, I'd say, a stocky man. Bald patch on the crown of his head. Black, wiry hair, going grey. Thick beard, last I saw him, almost as long as mine. Why? I thought you knew him.”

“I thought so, too,” I said. “I'm sorry to say he's dead. And if you see Peter Fraser, be careful. Your life is in danger.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“But Peter Fraser
is dead, not Silas Porter,” Kaz said as I drove the jeep down the steep path to the coast road.

“The man we know as Porter is over six feet tall. Brown hair, no bald spot, with a wiry, not stocky, build. I think he's Peter Fraser.”

“Oh dear God,” Kaz said. “That explains everything.”

“It does. Daniel Tamana met the real Silas Porter, and Peter Fraser for that matter.”

“Then the Japanese come, and Peter Fraser finds himself the sole survivor of a massacre,” Kaz said, working it out as he went along. “Hardly anyone knows Silas Porter, so he takes on his identity in order to secure possession of the plantation. He counted on the chaos of war to cover his tracks.”

“Right. And remember, he had good reason to think the three people he had to worry about were dead.”

“Josh Coburn, because he had left for Bougainville and walked right into the Japanese invasion,” Kaz said. “Sam Chang, also on Bougainville. As a Chinese national and a man of military age, he was likely to be killed by the Japanese. And finally Daniel Tamana.”

“Yes,” I said. “The loss of the ferry with all those refugees must have been a well-known fact. Porter—I mean Fraser—may have even seen the bodies when he took the launch and made his escape. It was a calculated risk that Daniel was among them, but a good one.”

“But then Daniel saw him on the boat from Guadalcanal. Or he saw Daniel.”

“Or John Kari,” I said. “Remember, Daniel was on the high deck, and saw the group of them below. He may have heard someone call Fraser by Porter's name. However it went, he bided his time. Once on Tulagi, he went looking for Sam Chang, a man he knew could confirm what he'd seen.”

“Why did he not simply go to the authorities?”

“I don't know. Maybe he thought a native wouldn't be believed. That may be why he went looking for Chang. He'd be cautious in challenging a white man and may have wanted someone to back up his story. Or perhaps he did speak to Fraser.”

“That's possible,” Kaz said, hanging on as I took a sharp turn. “There had been no real crime committed at that point. Perhaps Fraser promised him a job if he kept his mouth shut. Assistant manager, his old post.”

“Or maybe Daniel forced the issue. We know he wanted to move up in the world, and his chances were limited.”

“You mean he blackmailed Fraser?” Kaz said.

“It's a possibility. But it may be more likely that he simply hinted at the potential for exposure, telling him he knew Sam Chang was alive and could identify him.”

“So Fraser concocts an offer, one that Daniel decides to consider,” Kaz said. “An offer of a job or a share of the profits from the plantation.”

I nodded. “They meet at the beach, where no one can see them, so as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Reasonable,” Kaz said, constructing the scenario. “They discuss terms, and Daniel agrees to tell Chang it was all a mistake.”

“Although we don't know if he ever actually talked to Chang,” I said.

“But Fraser doesn't know that. Daniel could have held out the possibility as an inducement, to insure that he was needed.”

“Right, and then Fraser asks who else he's talked to,” I said, the chain of events falling into place.

“He names Deanna, and once that's done, Fraser has all he needs,” Kaz said.

“He kills him, and then Sam Chang,” I said.

“But why wait so long to kill Deanna? She hadn't accused him.”

“He couldn't take a chance that she would. She was probably harder to get alone. He may have heard from Gordie that he was dropping her off in Chinatown; there were calls back and forth from Sesapi and the communications center. So he sent Kari on an errand, drove there, and knifed her, leaving a smear of Cosmoline to implicate his partner.”

“Now all we need is proof,” Kaz said.

“Of murder,” I said. “We know Fraser took over Porter's identity in order to steal his property. Fraud does qualify as a crime, even out in these islands. But I want him for three murders.”

“Yes, I am sure Porter's family would agree, if he has any,” Kaz said as I passed the POW enclosure and turned off the main road, making for the nearest Quonset hut. “Why are we stopping here?”

“To check out a long shot,” I said. “You don't speak Japanese by any chance, do you?”

“Konnichiwa,”
he said. “Which means hello. It is the only word I know.”

“Well, you just might learn a few more,” I said as we approached a sentry in front of the hut. I was about to ask for the commanding officer when shouts rose up from a nearby tent. POWs surged to the edge of the barbed wire, guards raced in from various directions, and two officers burst out of the Quonset hut, shoving us aside as they made for the tent.

“I'll kill that sonuvabitch, get out of my way!” It was a voice filled with rage, the words turning into one long scream. A high-pitched stream of Japanese followed, drowned out by other shouts, furniture being overturned, and bodies thumping to the ground in an embrace of violent struggle.

Two GIs hustled out a frightened Jap POW, each with a firm grip on an arm, practically lifting him into the air. The guy was so scared his legs were pumping, toes barely touching the ground. Guards at the entrance to the wire enclosure motioned with the tips of their bayonets for the POWs inside to back off. They did, and their pal was tossed in quickly, the gate closed and locked behind him.

“Let go of me, goddammit!” came a voice from inside the tent.

“Settle down, Harrison, that's an order!”

We turned back to check on the hubbub. Harrison was a marine sergeant, his face red and his eyes wild. The guy giving the order was an army lieutenant. But that wasn't the only difference between him and Harrison. The officer was Japanese. Japanese-American, I should say.

The tent was a mess. An upended table, chairs knocked over, papers scattered over the wooden plank floor. A couple of GIs held Harrison as he struggled against their grip. Finally he gave up, shaking his head. “I knew those guys, Lieutenant. I knew them.”

“Yeah,” the officer said, motioning for his men to release their grips. “I don't blame you one bit, Sergeant. Go get some coffee, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, shuffling morosely out of the tent. The lieutenant motioned with his head, telling the GIs to go with him, as Harrison continued muttering, “I knew them, I knew them.”

“Who the hell are you?” the lieutenant said, startled as he noticed us.

“Lieutenant Billy Boyle. This is Lieutenant Kazimierz. I see we've come at a bad time.”

“Lieutenant Joe Sakato,” he said, offering us his hand and glancing at Kaz's shoulder patch. “You're a long way from home, Lieutenant Kazimierz. You're the first Polish officer I've run into.”

“And you are the first Japanese officer I have seen. In an American uniform, that is,” Kaz responded.

“Japanese-American,” he corrected Kaz. “I'm a nisei, born in California. My parents emigrated from Japan, but we're a hundred percent American. Not that everyone believes that, but what the hell can I do?”

“Looks like you're doing plenty,” I said. “Interrogation?”

“First you tell me what you're looking for,” Sakato said. “But not here, let's go inside.”

We sat across from Sakato in his small office, which accounted for the rear section of the Quonset hut. The table behind him was covered in Japanese documents, maps, and booklets. His desk was clean except for a pad of paper and a single sheet, covered in Japanese characters. He took out a pack of Luckies, offering them around. We both shook our heads and he lit up, clicking his Zippo shut and tapping it against the wooden desktop. He seemed shook up.

“We're investigating three murders on Tulagi for the navy,” I said, figuring we should establish our credentials before asking what Harrison's threats were all about.

“Why are you two doing the navy's dirty work?” he asked, tossing the lighter aside.

“Fair question, but it's a long story,” I said. “Quick version: you heard of Ambassador Joe Kennedy?” This got a quick nod. “His kid Jack is in PT boats and got too close to one of the victims.”

“So you're sent out with a bucket of whitewash?” Sakato said with a laugh.

“There are those who would not mind the entire affair being swept under the rug,” Kaz said. “But we prefer to find the killer.”

“I assume it's not the Kennedy kid then,” Sakato said. “Otherwise, whoever sent you here would have you on a slow boat to the Aleutians.”

“Last I heard, the Aleutian Islands were still occupied by the Japanese,” I said.

“Exactly,” Sakato said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“Smart guy,” I said.

“You have to stay on your toes out here, especially when you look like the fellow everyone else is trying to kill. Okay, I'll bite. How can I help you?”

“First, you want to tell us what that was all about with Sergeant Harrison?”

“Harrison is our liaison with marine intelligence,” Sakato said. “We're attached to the Thirty-Seventh Division, as part of the Allied Translator and Interpreter Section. There's one other nisei with our section, but he's on New Georgia right now, trying to talk isolated units into surrendering.”

“Much luck with that?” I asked.

“No,” Sakato said, dragging deep on his cigarette. “Especially if there are any officers. They order their men to hold grenades under their chins. Or stage suicide charges. Senseless.”

“It is the Japanese warrior code, is it not, to avoid capture at all costs?” Kaz asked.

“Bushido, yes,” Sakato said. “But Japanese propaganda also tells their soldiers that, if captured, they will face torture at the hands of the American devils. We've found that fear of torture leads many to suicide, even without an officer present.”

“Then how did you get all these POWs?” I asked.

“There are always some who wish to live, in any group. And we've had some success in getting our guys to take prisoners more readily. With all the evidence of atrocities, GIs haven't been going out of their way to accept surrender. Especially since some of the Nips fake surrender, and then pull out a grenade or a knife.”

“Nips?” Kaz asked.

“Nipponese,” Sakato explained. “The Japanese word for Japan is
Nippon
.”

“You don't mind those terms?” I asked. He didn't seem ready to talk about Harrison yet, so I let the conversation move on. “Japs, Nips?”

“Not when it's shorthand for the enemy, no. I doubt a German-American minds it much when German troops are called Jerries or Krauts, do you?”

“No,” I said, thinking his reply was a bit too quick; it sounded like a stock answer he didn't much believe in. Easier that way, I guess. “So, how do you get these guys to give up?”

“Like I said, our men have been bringing more of them in. We've demonstrated how useful information from POWs can be in saving American lives. That helps a lot. And we've begun dropping leaflets behind the lines.” He reached back into the mass of papers on the table and picked out a couple. They were written in English and Japanese, with the phrase
I Cease Resistance
emblazoned across them.

“It does not mention surrender,” Kaz noted.

“Correct,” Sakato said. “We got that idea from some of the first POWs we took. Ceasing to fight is more palatable than surrender. And the note guarantees safe conduct. So far it's paid dividends.”

“Do you get good information from the prisoners?” I asked.

“Quite good. Once a Japanese solider has given up, he feels that ties to his homeland have been severed. He knows his family would
be ashamed and that the military would never acknowledge his capture as anything but traitorous. We are all he has. And once he sees a nisei, he has his eyes opened. Obviously the Americans are not the beasts he
was taught to believe in. Give him food and medical care, often much better than he was receiving from his own people, and he's very willing to talk and tell us what he knows.”

“We have some questions for your POWs,” I said. “But first, if you don't mind my asking, what was going on with Harrison?”

“It's hard to talk about,” Sakato said, looking for a moment like he did mind. Then he pulled a tattered, thin notebook from the pile of papers, leafed through it, and gave a great sigh as he ground out his cigarette. He shook another out of the pack, flipped open the Zippo, and thumbed the wheel. A bright flame bloomed and he lit his cigarette, holding the orange flame near the edge of the notebook, close enough to catch fire.

He snapped the Zippo shut.

“I'd been translating this,” he said, tossing the notebook onto the desk. “It's the diary of a medical orderly we captured a week ago on the outskirts of the Munda airbase. His unit was stationed near Segi Point, which was one of the landing sites for the Marine Raiders. Harrison belonged to that outfit. He'd been wounded on Guadalcanal and sent for liaison duty with us after he recovered.” Sakato took a drag on his cigarette and spent some time watching the glowing embers turn to grey ash.