“Unfortunately, Chang Apana is approaching retirement age,” the admiral said, “and his involvement in the Massie case was minimal. But could even his judgment be less than suspect?”
I couldn’t hold back a smile. “You mean, even Charlie Chan can’t be trusted?”
The admiral lifted an eyebrow. “He’s Chinese. His sympathies might well be with the colored defendants. And the vast majority of policemen are Hawaiian, or have Hawaiian blood—there’s a longstanding patronage system giving such individuals an inside track on police jobs.”
If I was supposed to get indignant about police patronage, the admiral was telling the wrong boy: how did he think I got my job on the Chicago PD?
“The Honolulu police department,” the admiral was saying, “is divided against itself in the Massie matter. During the six long weeks it took Mrs. Massie to recover to the point where she could undergo the rigors of a trial, many officers were said to be making reports to the defense attorneys, instead of the DA’s office!”
Darrow gave me a sideways glance that all but said, Where can I find some coppers like that back home?
“And,” continued the admiral, “those hoodlums had the best legal minds in the Territory—William Heen, a Territorial senator and former circuit judge, and William Pittman, brother of U.S. Senator Kay Pittman.”
I asked, “How could a bunch of kid gangsters afford top talent like that?”
The admiral sighed. “Two of the five culprits were of pure Hawaiian blood, so it was no surprise the acknowledged head of their race, Princess Abby Kawananakoa, gave them financial support. After all, her own son is a hoodlum beach boy, in Oahu Prison on a second-degree murder charge.”
“So a defense fund was raised?” Darrow asked.
“Yes. And, keep in mind, both Hawaiian defendants were professional athletes, and local gate-receipt attractions. Managers of sporting contests helped finance the defense as well.”
“Two of the assailants were sports heroes?” I asked. “But you’ve been saying they were hoodlums…”
“They are,” the admiral said crisply, teeth tight around the stem of his pipe. “Ben Ahakuelo is a popular local boxer—he also was convicted with his crony Chang on an attempted rape charge in 1929…. Governor Judd paroled him so he could represent the Territory at the National Amateur Boxing Championship at Madison Square Garden last year. The late Joseph Kahahawai was a football star—and a convicted felon…he did thirty days on a first-degree robbery charge in 1930.”
“What about the other two boys?” Darrow asked.
“They had no criminal records,” the admiral said with a shrug, “but they were known as bad characters by the police, with no visible means of support. And all five were soon out on bail, thanks to Princess Abby and the defense fund. Ahakuelo and Kahahawai continued playing football each Sunday, their names emblazoned in headlines on the sports pages of our Honolulu papers….” He sighed, shook his head. “In spite of the discipline I maintain on this base, I half-expected to find those savages swinging by the neck from trees up Nuuana Valley or at the Pali.”
“And of course,” Darrow said gravely, “one of the defendants was seized and beaten by Navy men….”
The admiral nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes. Horace Ida, severely so, and I believe that the discipline our men were under prevented more drastic action being taken upon him. They were trying to obtain a confession…”
Darrow asked, “Did they succeed?”
“Rumor is, yes…but the duress involved would negate it. By the way, I allowed Ida to be brought around, to have a look at the sailors on liberty that night, and he was able to make no identification.”
Not surprising. You know what they say—all white boys look alike.
The admiral continued, “And this wasn’t the only clash between Navy men and the hoodlum element….”
“How badly did things get out of hand?” Leisure asked.
“Well, to give security to the isolated naval people in Manoa Valley and the other suburbs, I established more foot patrols of sailors, and established Navy radio cars in districts where Navy families lived.”
“Why weren’t the cops doing that?” I asked.
“All I can tell you is that this was done at the request of the mayor and the sheriff. And the pressure I’ve brought to bear has resulted in a major shake-up of the force, finally…a new chief of police, practically the entire department put on a year’s probation.”
“How did you manage that?” I asked, impressed.
The admiral’s smile was tiny but bespoke large smugness. “There is certain…leverage the Navy has been able to apply.”
“What kind of leverage?” Darrow wondered.
The admiral’s eyes damn near twinkled. “We have, from time to time during this unfortunate affair, cancelled shore leave. When the fleet is in, gentlemen, income for many businesses in Honolulu is up. By withholding that from the community, well…you can imagine the results.”
“You obviously tried to exert a positive influence on this case from the beginning,” Darrow said. Even I couldn’t detect the sarcasm.
The admiral’s pouchy eyes tightened. “This degenerate sex criminal Kahahawai would be alive today, if Governor Judd and the attorney general had listened to me.”
Darrow frowned thoughtfully. “How so?”
“After the trial ended in a hung jury, I suggested they keep those rapists locked up, until a second trial could be held. But they insisted it was illegal to raise bail above what an individual could pay. It would violate their civil rights, don’t you know. You see, by accident of birth, these creatures are technically ‘Americans’…. Well—I suppose you gentlemen are anxious to meet with your clients.”
“With your kind permission,” Darrow said, rising. “By the way, Admiral—how did you manage to keep our clients under your benign influence?”
“You mean, why aren’t they in jail?” He allowed himself a broader smile. “Cristy, the trial judge, had no stomach for the responsibility of what might happen to Mrs. Fortescue and the others, what with threats of terrorism and mob violence. I suggested the judge swear one of my officers in as a special officer of the civil court, to supervise their confinement aboard the Alton. And I promised to produce the defendants wherever and whenever the Territory might need them.”
“Nicely handled,” Darrow said, meaning it.
The admiral was standing now, but he stayed back behind his desk. “You know, Mr. Darrow, in the trial against those hoodlum rapists, the jury deliberated for ninety-seven hours…. Deadlocked at seven for not guilty, five for guilty. The exact proportion of yellow and brown to white members of the jury. You will undoubtedly face a polyglot jury in this case, as well….”
“There will be no hung jury in this trial,” Darrow predicted.
“You’re up against Prosecutor John C. Kelley—he’s a young firebrand. He’ll attack ferociously…”
“And I’ll counterattack with an olive branch,” Darrow said. “I’m here to heal the breach that’s opened between the races in these garden islands, sir. Not to gouge open that gaping wound further.”
And we left the admiral to ponder Darrow’s words.
6
Our limo driver remained our chaperon as we were led to that obsolete, decommissioned, rundown old cruiser sitting high and dry on a mudflat in Pearl Harbor, the U.S.S. Alton. The driver turned us over to the two armed Marine sentries at the mouth of the seventy-five-foot gangplank that separated the ship and the shore. One of the sentries escorted us aboard, leading the way as we danced across to the rickety wooden gangplanks tune.