“We don’t know who killed him, Jack,” Kaz said. “We only know that you found the body. But his death is why we are here. Or specifically, why Billy is here.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Father pulled some strings.” He shook his head as if in disbelief that his father’s control extended so far.
“Not only did he pull them,” I said, “he thinks I’m still attached at the other end. As far as I can figure, if I come up with any evidence of your involvement, he’ll claim I’m biased against you.” Which had a ring of truth to it.
“You won’t,” Jack said. “I didn’t kill Daniel. I wish I knew who did.”
“That would save us all a lot of trouble,” I said. “Has anyone asked you any questions?”
“Not really,” Jack said. “Captain Ritchie came around and said he’d have it investigated. Some of Sexton’s Coastwatchers were district commissioners before the war. They would have been the local authority, but it’s the US Navy in charge around here now.”
“Meaning Ritchie,” I said. I outlined the captain’s connection to ONI and Ambassador Kennedy.
“Ritchie’s an idiot,” Jack said. “Headquarters down here is FUBAR.”
“Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition,” I explained to Kaz, not certain if he’d picked up that bit of Yank slang.
“Do you have any ideas who went after Daniel? Did he have enemies?”
“I didn’t know him well enough to say. I’d met him only the day before, when he came to visit with his native pals, Biuku and Eroni. They were the natives who found us on that island. Daniel was a Coastwatcher. Seemed like a smart kid. Spoke English like he went to Oxford with Kaz. I went over to Sexton’s that same day, and Daniel was there for a while, but left soon after I arrived.”
“Deanna and Jacob both mentioned a big Coastwatchers meeting,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair, the trace of a wince crossing his face. “We’ve moved up the island chain recently. We took Rendova, which freed up a number of Coastwatcher teams. Sexton brought in some of the others for resupply and to make plans for the next offensive. There’s about a dozen of them, which is probably the largest gathering of the war so far.”
“Is Deanna going out again?” I asked.
“No,” Jack said. “Sexton wouldn’t go for it. She did her part, but she’s a civilian. All the Coastwatchers, even the ones who were plantation owners before the war, have been made officers in the British Navy. It’s supposed to give them protection under the Geneva Convention, but the Japs don’t care. If a Coastwatcher is caught, it’s the bayonet for him. Or her. And the closest villagers are killed as well, since the Japs figure they helped them.”
“Did any of them hold a grudge against Daniel? Maybe he slipped up and got some villagers killed?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Jack said. “He comes from Malaita Island. Not too many connections to the tribes in this area. You’re thinking a blood feud?”
“Too soon to tell,” I said. “Can you show us where you found the body?”
“Sure. I’ll take you there. Toss me those shoes, Kaz.” We waited while Jack pulled on the white canvas deck shoes over his gauze-encased feet, the laces tied loosely. I grabbed his cane and handed it to him. It was a handsome dark wood, with artistic carvings at the top.
“What do the carvings mean?” I asked as he limped out of the hut, leading us downhill toward the water.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’ll find all sorts of stuff for sale down by the harbor. Grass skirts, canes, and all sorts of carvings. But it’s meaningless. Literally.”
“What do you mean?” Kaz asked, offering a hand to steady Jack as he took uneven steps on the path. Jack shook it off, an irritated look on his face. A Kennedy didn’t need help. His gait improved as we walked. Maybe he was shaking off the stiffness, or maybe ignoring the pain. Hard to tell with that guy.
“GIs and sailors saw grass skirts in Hawaii when they shipped in,” he said. “So they expected to see them everywhere. When they came through these islands, they wanted souvenirs like they found in Hawaii. The natives were too polite to tell them they never heard of a skirt made out of grass. But they were smart enough to see an opportunity. These canes are another good example. Every sailor around here will tell you they got theirs from a village chief. There aren’t that many villages in the Solomons.”
“The islanders must enjoy the newfound wealth,” Kaz said.
“Yes,” Jack answered, leading us through the bushes on a narrow track. “But remember, the white settlers and plantation people here call themselves islanders. The Melanesians are natives. The English and Australians are touchy about the distinction. Besides, the islanders don’t like all the money the natives are making, whether from souvenirs or working for the navy. They say it’ll be hard to get them back to work on the coconut plantations after the war. Here we are.” We stepped out onto a small stretch of beach, soft sand about twenty feet wide. Crescent-shaped, the beach fronted a small lagoon. Waves lapped against coral-encrusted rocks. Peaceful and quiet. The perfect secluded spot for a bit of mayhem.
“He was over there,” Jack said. “Close to where the trail empties out onto the beach.”
“Show me exactly,” I said. “Where was his head?”
“He was on his stomach,” Jack said. He drew an outline in the sand with his cane. Legs pointing toward the water. “His head was bloody, but it was dried. I don’t know about these things, but it seemed he’d been dead a while.”
“What time did you find him?” Kaz asked.
“A little after seven o’clock,” Jack said. “I’d taken a walk to get some strength back in my legs.”
“With those cuts?” I said. “They must have been pretty bad last week. They’re still healing.”
“A few scratches from the coral,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”
“Still, it must have been hard,” I said. “You did okay today, but you weren’t exactly limber.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t as easy last week,” Jack said bitterly. He wouldn’t have liked being incapacitated then, much less admitting to it now.
“But you had your cane, right? Or did your friend just give it to you?”
“No. He brought it over the first day I was here,” Jack said. “What’s your point?”
“I don’t know,” I said, studying the cane as Kennedy put weight on it. “I guess I wonder why you chose this spot.”
“I like the view,” Jack said impatiently. “Listen, Billy, anyone could have followed Daniel down here and surprised him.”
“Sure,” I said, taking the cane from his hand. “But how many of them came prepared with a blunt object?” I slammed the round end of the cane into the palm of my hand.
It packed a wallop.
Chapter Eleven
Jack grabbed the cane out of my hand, told me to go to hell, and stalked off, waving the cane like a saber at a clump of tall grass, beheading it neatly. I’d half expected him to swing at me, but he was too smart to incriminate himself, so the vegetation suffered in my place.
“Interesting fellow, your friend Jack,” Kaz said as we watched him disappear into the bushes.
“I never claimed he was my pal,” I said, walking along the water’s edge, trying to imagine what had brought Daniel Tamana to this spot. I walked to where Jack had drawn the outline of Daniel’s feet. “It would help to know which side of his head he was hit on.”
“Why?” Kaz asked.
“It might tell us if he was trying to get away, or was taken by surprise,” I said. “He was close to the path, and it seems like he was facing away from the water. Had he started to leave? Run? Or did someone take him by surprise?”
“I see,” Kaz said. “If he were hit from behind, he wasn’t taken by surprise since his assailant would have been in the open, close to the water.”
“Yeah,” I said, kneeling and studying the surface of the beach as if it might yield a clue after all this time. “Not that it matters much; it won’t tell us if he knew his killer. Too bad there wasn’t a real police report or a morgue with the body on ice.”