“That’s helpful,” I said. “Thanks. See you later.”
I ambled off to find PT-169. I was sure that Deanna had been killed with a dagger or stiletto. Her wound was small and the external blood loss was minimal. The fact that half a dozen or so Coastwatchers, and whoever else the Marine Raiders traded with, had the right kind of knife for the job didn’t help matters. In any case, I’d wait for Doc Schwartz to confirm my theory when I saw him at the hospital.
Lieutenant Cotter was at the back of my mind as well. Jack had practically called him a coward for leaving the crew of PT-109 in Blackett Strait that night. And a liar for claiming he had searched for them. If the Coastwatcher’s report of seeing a burning hulk from Kolombangara was accurate, I couldn’t see how Cotter missed it in the dark Pacific night. Unless he was headed in the opposite direction.
Did that make him a suspect? It was hard to see how, except for the possibility that he’d tried to frame Jack to get back at him and discredit his accusations. One killing was worth considering. With each additional death, it made less and less sense. He could have followed Jack into the hospital, watched him deliver the plant to Sam Chang, and then strangled him, hoping that frame would fit.
But Deanna? Could he kill a woman in cold blood? No, not even my fevered imagination could work that one out.
The 169 had a lived-in look. A canvas tarp was hung across the deck to provide partial shade for the crew busy cleaning the twin fifty-caliber machine guns and the twenty-millimeter cannon mounted aft. Skivvies and sun-bleached khakis were draped over lines, drying in the sun. Fred and Gordie were on the dock, under a canvas lean-to doing the same Cosmoline job that John Kari had been working on.
“What ho, Billy!” Gordie said in greeting, holding up a brown, grease-covered hand. “What brings you here?” Fred gave me a curt nod, then returned to slathering Cosmoline over a carbine.
“I’m going up to Rendova with Silas and John,” I said by way of an answer. I pulled a crate into the shade of the lean-to and joined them. “You’ve heard about Deanna, I suppose.”
“God-awful,” Gordie spat. Sweat dripped from his bald head and he wiped it away with a shirtsleeve.
“Is it related to the other deaths?” Archer asked, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, glancing at their web belts. Each wore a knife identical to the one Porter showed me.
“Well, seems odd, doesn’t it? I mean, we’ve seen plenty of death in this war, but I always thought murder might take a holiday, you know? Now all of a sudden, we’ve got three bodies.”
“Yeah, it’s strange,” I said, as if the thought hadn’t yet occurred to me. “I understand you fellows gave Deanna a ride into Chinatown. Is that right?”
“That we did,” Gordie offered. “She seemed awfully keen on getting there in advance of her luncheon with the Kennedy boy. We left Hugh’s place, made a stop at the signals section, picked up these weapons and a case of Cosmoline from the quartermaster, then made the stop in Chinatown.”
“Did she seem upset or worried?” I asked.
“Not that I saw,” Gordie said. “Fred?”
“She was her usual self,” Fred said. “Friendly and warm. Who’d want to hurt her, that’s what I’d like to know.” His voice caught on those last words, and his emotion seemed sincere. When people lie about an emotion, it’s easier to tell. Most times they oversell it. But Fred was working at keeping it bottled up, and that’s harder to fake.
“Did you see anyone approach Deanna after you dropped her off?”
“No,” Gordie said, giving it a bit of thought. “Not at all. She asked us if we knew where either of the Chang sisters lived, but we hadn’t a clue. Did you see anything, Fred?”
“I watched her for a minute,” Fred said, “to make sure she was alright, you know. But she disappeared into the crowd on the sidewalk. No sign of her after that.”
“I went into a couple of stores,” Gordie said. “Never laid eyes on her again.”
“Were you with him, Fred?”
“No,” Archer said. “Gordie likes those hot dried peppers the Chinese grocers sell. He went off in search of a supply of those. I stayed with the jeep.”
“They don’t agree with Fred’s stomach,” Gordie said. “But I like a bit of spice out in the bush. Helps when you have nothing but taro or rice to eat.”
“I bet,” I said, wondering how long Fred had while Gordie was gone. “I might get some myself. Which shop?”
“Fei Long’s place, near the south end of the wharf. I wanted one of those long strings, not loose peppers. Took a while to find.”
“I’ll check it out,” I said. “Good luck with the Cosmoline. Nasty stuff.”
“But worth it,” Fred said. “When we have to retrieve these carbines, they’ll be as good as new. And the quartermaster chaps did us a favor. They greased a half dozen. Saves a bit of time.” He gestured in the direction of two crates, stenciled with US Carbine, Cal. 30, M1. There were smears of dried Cosmoline on the side of each one.
“Messy,” I said absently, running my finger across the nearest case, feeling the waxy goo.
“That’s what Deanna said, poor thing,” Gordie said.
It was a mess. I left them to their work, wondering what the hell to do next. I had four Coastwatchers, all armed with the kind of knife that could have killed Deanna. Three of them were near the scene of her murder. They’d had plenty of contact with Cosmoline during the time in question. So had Silas Porter, but there was no evidence he’d been in Chinatown. I hadn’t known many hermits in my time, but I’d bet not many got mixed up with enough people to want to murder three of them. At least not after hiding themselves away from the world for so long; no one made enemies that fast. Still, all four had commando knives, and all four had handled Cosmoline. Even so, Deanna could have picked up a smudge on her own at the quartermaster’s.
It looked like I wouldn’t need that jail cell anytime soon, unless I were willing to toss them all in.
Chapter Twenty
I drove back to the hospital, trying to put together what I knew about Deanna’s death.
She’d been at Hugh Sexton’s in the morning. Then Fred and Gordie headed out with her in their jeep, making stops at the signals section and the quartermaster’s, both on the naval base. They took on cases of carbines, two of which were smeared with Cosmoline, which Deanna could have picked up, smudging her collar. Meanwhile, over at the Sesapi PT base, Silas Porter calls the signals people to tell them John Kari is on his way for a new transmitter doohickey. Kari leaves, his hands probably still greasy with Cosmoline. Fred and Gordie stop in Chinatown. Wait-had they and Kari crossed paths? Maybe not. There were a couple of routes to take once past Chinatown, so they may well not have spotted each other.
So Fred and Gordie drop off Deanna. Fred stays in the jeep, watching her walk into the crowded street. Gordie goes off to buy hot peppers. Either one of them could have followed Deanna, pulled her aside, and taken her into that alleyway. A secret to be shared, no one must overhear. She’d trust them, wouldn’t she? Or would she be nervous about Fred pulling her off the street, after his behavior at the party? She’d be more likely to trust Gordie. Cheerful, portly Gordie.
Or, did John Kari stop on his way back from the base? Then jump into his jeep and flee the scene at top speed? But why would he attack Deanna? I had no answer for that. Even Fred Archer’s temper and desire for Deanna didn’t add up to murder, at least not this kind of murder. His kind of guy might go too far late at night, half drunk and in a jealous rage. But in the light of day, while preparing for a mission? I couldn’t see it.
I couldn’t see much at all. Means and opportunity were everywhere. Motive was missing in action. If I caught a glimpse of the motive that drove these murders, all might be revealed. I parked the jeep in front of the hospital, hoping Kaz would be back soon to help me muddle through all this.