“Why is it a waste of time?” I said. “I told you he’s no friend of mine.”
“Because he’s a rich man’s spoiled kid, that’s why. What the hell do you think the navy’s going to do with him, send him home in disgrace?”
“It’s doubtful,” I agreed. Cotter let his hands drop and took half a step back, his anger vented for the moment. “Did you happen to know the fellow who was killed near the hospital? Daniel Tamana?”
“The Coastwatcher? No, but I heard Kennedy was the one who found him. You the guy they got investigating that?”
“Yep, that’s me. You hear anything I should know about?”
“Yeah,” Cotter said, brushing me aside. “I hear Papa Kennedy got a Boston Irish cop to come out here and clear his son. Have I got that right?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he hustled off the dock. I felt half a dozen eyes on me as his crewmen stood on the deck of the PT boat, watching.
“Basically, he does,” I shouted at them. They scattered.
Gordie and Archer were nowhere to be found. Maybe one of them left after rolling a couple of steel drums in my direction. Or both? Anyway, I figured there’d be time tomorrow to talk more with them. I didn’t ask if any of the PT-169 crew knew where they were, figuring they might send me to the wrong end of the island just for my Southie accent, if they agreed with Cotter.
I made my way to the base HQ, such as it was. A stifling hot Quonset hut, the commanding officer nowhere to be found, manned by a single sailor in shorts and a denim shirt with the sleeves torn off. Not exactly recruiting poster stuff, but I couldn’t blame him once I set foot inside. I felt the sweat evaporate off my skin in a heartbeat, and instantly understood why the CO had found business elsewhere. The sailor made a call for me to Yeoman Howe, who had learned Kaz would be on today’s flight from Brisbane. Good news.
He followed me outside and collapsed into a chair set under a canvas tarp strung from the side of the metal hut, gulping water from a canteen.
“Is that big ship at the end of the dock a PT boat tender?” I asked.
“Yes sir,” he said. “That’s an AGP-21, a converted LST.”
“Are there others in the Solomons?”
“No, that’s our one and only. She runs between here and Rendova pretty regular. Guadalcanal, too. That covers all the PT bases in the Solomons.”
“Who’s the XO?” I knew better than to bother the ship’s captain, but his executive officer would want to know what I was doing aboard, so better to start off by being polite and observing the naval courtesies.
“Lieutenant Kelly, sir. He left here about a half hour ago. They’re getting ready to pull out tonight, so he’s probably on board.”
“Thanks. Don’t get heatstroke in there.”
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I only go in when I hear the telephone or see an officer coming. If I’d known you were army, I would have stayed out here.”
“Smart,” I said. “They should promote you.”
“The navy don’t work like that, sir.”
I told him the army wasn’t much better and headed for the tender. Moored hard against it was a PT boat swarming with sailors brandishing wrenches and muscle as they worked to remove the heavy torpedo tubes. I saw that the depth charges were already gone and wondered what was in store for the stripped-down vessel.
I clambered up the tender’s steep gangplank, remembering to stop near the top and salute the colors. The navy liked its traditions and formality, and since I’d basically be wasting the XO’s valuable time prior to departure, I thought it best to play by their rules.
“Permission to come aboard,” I said, saluting the officer of the deck even though he was just an ensign. I asked for the XO and he sent a swabbie to find him, leaving me to gaze out over Sesapi harbor from the deck of the PT tender. I spotted Archer and Gordie stopping to talk with Porter and Kari. I wondered what the conversation was about. Their upcoming assignments? Deanna Pendleton? Or other secrets I wasn’t even aware of? I made a mental note to ask Archer and Gordie what they knew of John Kari’s business on Pavau, to try and get a hint of why he’d lied to me.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” The XO popped out of a hatch, his uniform sweat-soaked, sleeves rolled up, wiping greasy hands on an oil-stained rag. He looked about thirty or so, tall and dark-haired. He reminded me of commercial fishermen I’d known back home. The kind of guy who appeared at ease on a boat of any size.
“Billy Boyle,” I said, extending my hand, thinking Kelly would wave me off, given the condition his were in. He didn’t. But he did toss me the rag with a grin.
“We don’t see the army much,” he said. “You must be that second louie who’s snooping around. Why do we rate a visit?”
“Because people have been murdered,” I said. “Three so far.” I wasn’t surprised he’d heard about the investigation. It was a small island packed with guys who had little else to do other than their duties. A murder inquiry was a prime piece of gossip.
“Okay,” Kelly said, his voice tempered by the mention of three deaths. “Let’s get out of the sun.” He led the way up a ladder to an open, flat area amid ships, flanked by cranes. It was covered with a large tarp hung over a cable, creating a tent under which men worked on several engines and other disassembled equipment-another ingenious method of countering the blazing sun. Kelly leaned against a crate and lit a cigarette, sighing as he exhaled.
“You might not see the army much, but I’m not used to seeing officers with grease under their fingernails,” I said.
“This isn’t exactly an admiral’s flagship,” Kelly said. “We’re a repair and supply vessel, and the PT crews we service are even less spit-and-polish than we are. See those cranes? We can hoist two PT boats up onto this deck for repairs. And half the time we’re close enough to the Japs to keep all the antiaircraft guns manned. As long as our weapons are clean and the engines working, I don’t give a damn about dirty fingernails. But you didn’t come here for a speech about the glamorous life aboard a PT tender, so shoot. What do you need?”
“Do you recall making the trip from Rendova to Guadalcanal, then here, about ten days ago, ferrying some Coastwatchers?”
“Sure,” Kelly said, taking a drag off his Lucky. “Two teams, I think. Four in all, one of them a native. Spoke English like a professor. Don’t remember their names, but I can check the manifest if you want.”
“No need,” I said. “What about another native Coastwatcher, picked up on Guadalcanal?”
“For the trip across to Tulagi?” Kelly asked. “I don’t recall, but it’s a short hop and we’d take anyone over who asked, really. Ironbottom Sound is a rear area now, and things are pretty casual between the two islands.”
“Where would your passengers be?” I asked. “Would they have the run of the ship?”
“Not the bridge or the engine room, but otherwise they could take a look around. We brought a few walking wounded out from Rendova, and they stayed in sick bay. But the others were mostly above decks. On the fantail, mainly. The stern is out of the wind and a good place to enjoy the ride. I had coffee and sandwiches brought out, I remember that much.”
“Anyone else other than the wounded and the Coastwatchers?”
“Yeah, a handful of navy and marine officers, a couple of Australian commandos, and a half dozen PT crew.”
“Does the name Sam Chang ring a bell?”
“No,” Kelly said, giving it some thought as he fieldstripped the Lucky. “Can’t say it does. Sorry, Billy, I wish I was more help. The war is bad enough even on a good day. I can’t understand anyone bumping off some of our own.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s worse than murder back home.” We were silent for a moment, the words hanging in the heat of the day. “Anyway, when you docked at Guadalcanal, did some of the passengers get off?”