“Yes. When she arrived from Bayport, in response to the first cablegram that I’d been injured, she didn’t even know about the…true nature of what had happened to me. She was outraged, indignant, vowed to do whatever it took to help.”
“How did that help manifest itself, dear?”
“Well, at first, she took over the household duties—Tommie had been acting as both housekeeper and my nurse, in addition to his normal naval duties.”
“But that wasn’t all she did, was it?”
“No. Mother was relentless in urging both Admiral Stirling and the local civil authorities to see that my attackers were brought to trial, and punished.”
“She wasn’t living with you,” I said, “when…”
“No,” she interrupted. “No. When I got up and around, and was feeling better, this little house was just too small for all of us. My younger sister, Helene, was with her…Helene’s since gone back to Long Island, to be with my father, who was too ill to travel here…and Mother rented a place of her own.”
Leisure spoke, for the first time since the interrogation had begun. “Did you have any part in the abduction of Joseph Kahahawai, Mrs. Massie?”
Thalia looked at him sharply. “None! The first I knew anything of it was when Seaman Jones came to my door, the morning of the incident.”
“Before or after the killing?” I asked.
“After! He rushed in and handed me a gun and said, ‘Here, take this—Kahahawai has been killed.’ And I said, ‘Where’s Tommie?’ And he said he’d sent Tommie off with Mother to…to dispose of the body.”
And she just sat there impassively, with no more expression on her face than a bisque baby’s.
“Then what did this seaman do?” Darrow asked.
“He asked me to make him a drink, a highball. And I did.”
“A man had been killed, Mrs. Massie,” I said. “By your husband and your mother.”
“I’m sorry the man was shot,” she said, and shrugged. “But it was no more than he deserved.”
Then she apologized for her “earlier rudeness” and asked if we’d like anything to drink. Her maid had made a pitcher of iced tea, if anyone was interested.
“Beatrice!” she called.
And the pretty, efficient little maid came in with a pitcher of tea with floating lemons and a tray of glasses.
“You know,” Thalia said, “I sometimes wonder why they didn’t just kill me—it would have been so much easier for all concerned, in the long run…. I hope you like your tea sweetened, in the Southern style.”
5
Isabel needed some fresh air, so we stepped outside while Darrow chatted with Thalia Massie—nothing directly to do with the case, just small talk about naval life at Pearl and her experiences taking courses at the University of Hawaii, even garnering recommendations from her about restaurants in Honolulu. Darrow liked to make his clients feel comfortable with him, think of him as a friend.
And while Thalia wasn’t exactly a client, her role in this case was crucial. Darrow was turning on his charm, his warmth, on this apparently cold-blooded girl.
“How’s Thalo doing?” Pop Olds asked. The lieutenant was sitting on the steps of the front stoop, several ground-out cigarette butts on the sidewalk nearby.
“All right I think,” I said. “Hard to tell—she’s a very self-contained young woman.”
Olds got to his feet, shook his head. “Hard on her, out here. She gets pretty lonely.”
“Isn’t she spending any time with her husband?” I asked. “I understand he and the others are in custody of the Navy, not the local coppers. Can’t she get access to him?”
“Oh, yes,” Olds said. “That part of it’s fine, anyway. Tommie and Mrs. Fortescue and the two sailors are on the U.S.S. Alton.”
I frowned. “What, out at sea?”
He chuckled. “No. It’s an old warship stuck in the mud in the harbor. It’s used as temporary living quarters for transient personnel.”
“I don’t think this is healthy,” I said, “her being stuck out here in seclusion. She puts up a hell of a front, but…”
Isabel hugged my arm. “Maybe she’ll be better with me around.”
“Maybe. The last thing we need is our chief witness committing suicide.”
Isabel drew in a fast breath. “Suicide…”
“I’ve had some experience in that area,” I said. “She needs some company. Some companionship.”
“Well,” Olds said thoughtfully, “the ammunition depot’s located on a little island in the middle of the harbor, and that’s where my quarters are. My wife and I have one of the few houses on base.”
“Do you have room for Thalia?” I asked.
“Certainly. I’m not sure we could accommodate Miss Bell, here, as well….”
I patted Isabel’s hand. “I think Mr. Darrow could arrange housing for Miss Bell at the Royal Hawaiian.”
Isabel kept her face troubled, but she was hugging my arm enthusiastically now. “Well,” she said, trying to sound disappointed, “I really would like to be at Thalo’s side, through this…”
“You’d be welcome at Pearl, anytime,” Olds said. “You could spend every day with your cousin, if you like. You’d just have to find someplace else to sleep.”
“We can manage that,” I said with a straight face. “I’ll run this idea past Mr. Darrow, and let you know before we leave.”
Darrow was delighted by the suggestion, and Thalia liked the idea, too. Pop Olds said he’d put the plan in motion—Admiral Stirling was sure to give his okay—but for the time being, Isabel would stay behind with Thalia. This was where Isabel’s belongings were being delivered.
She walked me to the limo, where the Navy driver was helping Darrow back in. The breeze was wafting her lovely haze of blond hair. Her arm in mine, she pulled me down, leaned in, her lips almost touching my ear.
“I can’t decide whether you’re wonderful or terrible,” she whispered.
“No one can,” I whispered back. “That’s my charm.”
In the limousine, I said, “Where to now, C.D.?”
“Pearl Harbor,” he said, “to meet our clients.”
“Might I make a suggestion?”
Darrow looked toward Leisure, who was sitting beside me in the roomy back of the limo. “You’ve probably noticed, George, this boy is not shy about making his thoughts known.”
Leisure gave me a sideways smile. “I’ve noticed that. And I respect it. We three have a considerable challenge ahead, and I don’t believe we should hold anything back.”
“Agreed,” Darrow said. “What’s your suggestion, Nate?”
“Let’s make a slight detour. Mrs. Fortescue’s rented bungalow is only a few blocks from here. We probably won’t be able to get in, but let’s at least have a look at the outside of it.”
Less than three blocks away, just one house off the East Manoa Road intersection, on Kolowalu Street, was a nondescript, even dingy little white frame number, a charmless cottage set back amid some scroungy trees with untended hedges along the side. With its intersecting pitched roofs, it was like a parody of the Massies’ little dream house. The yard was slightly overgrown, making it a mild eyesore in this modestly residential section.
No question about it: if you had to pick a house on this street where a murder might have happened, this was the place.
The Navy driver parked the limo across the way, and we got out, crossed the quiet street, and had a look around.
Darrow, hands on hips, was studying the bungalow like a doctor looks at an X-ray. He stood ankle-deep in the gently riffling grass, like an oversize lawn ornament.
“Wonder if it’s been rented out yet,” Leisure said.
“Sure doesn’t look like it,” I said. “Unless Bela Lugosi moved in…. But I’ll find a neighbor to ask.”
The haole housewife next door stopped her vacuuming to come to the door. She was an attractive brunette in a blue housedress, hair pinned up under an island-print kerchief; she thought I was cute, too. She wiped some perspiration from her upper lip and answered my questions.