“Yeah, the Aussies and the marines had air transport out of there. The rest stayed on board and got off right here, at Sesapi.”
“Everyone departed, along with whoever hitched a ride,” I said. Kelly nodded his agreement. “Could you show me where the men were?”
“Sure. Some guys like to sit in the sun, others look for shade. They could have been anywhere,” he said, gesturing around.
“Up here?” I asked, walking toward the stern end of the ship, where the fantail was, considerably lower than this working deck.
“Yes, now that you mention it. We had a PT up here under repairs. A few people did wander up to take a look.”
Steel cables ran along each side of the deck, forming a chest-high fence. Crates of machine parts and oil drums were stacked near the cranes, giving anyone up here a perch from which to observe the activity on the fantail below. I watched two sailors talking, one lighting a cigarette for another. They didn’t look my way, ten feet or so above and behind them. I tried to imagine Daniel Tamana standing at this very spot, suddenly seeing something-no, someone-that surprised him. Then stepping back, completely out of sight.
So what happened next?
“When you docked here at Sesapi,” I asked Kelly, “did you keep track of departing passengers?”
“Billy, we’re not a cruise ship. We don’t bother with all that. We got a manifest with names on it at Rendova, but once we made sure they were all on board, that was the end of it. Tulagi may not be much, but everyone who could leave did, and we didn’t stand in their way.”
“I get it,” I said. “You don’t happen to remember anything else about the native Coastwatcher, the one who got on at Guadalcanal?”
“I have a vague recollection of the guy we took from Rendova, but only because his speech was so surprising. I was expecting Pijin and got the King’s English.”
“Okay, thanks. You’ve been a big help.”
“Wait a minute,” Kelly said, snapping his fingers. “There was a GI up here, dressed in fresh fatigues. A little guy. He was pretty dark-skinned, but I thought it was a tan. He wore a big-billed cap, so it was hard to see his face. Not that I tried. But he could have been a native.”
“Daniel Tamana. He’d been pulled out with his partner, who was sick with dysentery,” I said. “They were flown straight to Henderson Field. His clothes were probably in tatters from living in the jungle. They must have outfitted him on Guadalcanal.”
“Makes sense,” Kelly said, nodding.
It did, but it didn’t answer the important question: What had Daniel seen? I leaned against the rail, wondering if he had done the same thing.
“What’s going on with that PT?” I said, looking to the boat below with its tubes and depth charges removed. I was vaguely curious, and uncertain what to do next. Asking questions came naturally, and seemed easier than admitting I was at a loss.
“That’s PT-59,” Kelly said. “We’re turning her into a gunboat. She’s getting two forty-millimeter guns and extra machine guns, all in armored turrets. The idea is to use her against Jap barges moving men and supplies down the Slot.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said, remembering what Jack had said. “A guy told me the torpedoes are often slower than the destroyers they fire at.”
“True enough,” Kelly said. “And the barges are shallow draft, so the torpedoes run right under them. Ought to be a nasty surprise for our Jap friends. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Billy. Good luck.”
I wished him the same and stood for a minute where Daniel Tamana had stood. I walked along the starboard side of the main deck, keeping an eye on the lower deck where the group from the fantail would have stood as they waited to go ashore. With Daniel watching and listening. Seeing and hearing whatever got him killed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hello gents,” I said to Archer and Gordie as they organized supplies on the dock next to PT-169. Sailors carried crates onboard as the two men checked them off lists flapping in the humid breeze on clipboards marked with grease and rust. Spam, medical supplies, whiskey, ammunition. All the essentials.
“Scuttlebutt is you’re coming with us tomorrow,” Archer said. “Part of your investigation?”
“I heard Daniel Tamana worked on Rendova,” I said. “Thought I’d ask around and see if anyone remembers much about him.”
“Ah, the search for clues continues, eh?” Gordie said, grinning as the sweat ran in rivulets down his face. He was the quintessential jolly fat man, always ready with a friendly greeting. Did that smile hide a deadly intent? I had no reason to suspect him of any foul play, other than proximity. But that didn’t rule him out.
“My dad always said, if you turn over enough rocks, you’re bound to find something slimy.”
“Especially true out here,” Gordie said, chuckling. “Slimy and dangerous. I’d watch out if I were you. In the bush, the smallest rock can hide the deadliest creature.”
“Your dad a copper, too?” Archer asked as Gordie turned back to his checklist.
“Yeah,” I said, eyeing Gordie and wondering if he’d been making a joke, giving me a friendly warning, or something more sinister. “Family business back in Boston.”
“Funny how these things go,” Archer said. “My old man had a station in New South Wales. That’s a ranch to you Yanks. I fancied taking over from him, but there was a terrible drought. Some of the local blokes made it through, but we’d recently come out from England and weren’t properly prepared. The cattle died and the bank foreclosed when his money ran out. As soon as I could, I headed out here, where there are no banks. Thieving bastards, they are.”
“Hard to disagree with that,” I said. “I bet a lot of planters came out here to get away from civilization. Silas Porter, for one.”
“Our reformed hermit,” Gordie said, sticking a pencil behind his ear. “He was famous for his lack of hospitality. We islanders tend to stick together. Not many of us, you know. But not Silas; he was a man who liked his privacy. Still, his plantation wasn’t the easiest place to get to, so it wasn’t like he was turning people away. But you knew not to expect him at any sort of gathering.”
“Man’s got a right,” Archer said. “That’s why a lot of us are here, isn’t it? To make our own way.”
“Sort of like the Wild West back home,” I said, to nods from them both. “Tell me, that’s the ship you came in on, isn’t it?” I hooked my thumb in the general direction of Kelly’s ship.
“Yeah,” Archer said. “PT tender. They treated us well, didn’t they Gordie?”
“Food and drink, smooth sailing, and no Japanese aircraft dropping bombs. Delightful trip,” Gordie said.
“Do you remember what you talked about?” I asked. “You were all on the fantail, right?”
“I’d say we all were,” Archer said. “We gabbed a fair bit, but I’m damned if I can remember about what. You, Gordie?”
“Cold beer, women, decent food, cigarettes that hadn’t gone moldy-that sort of thing, I expect. Nothing that sticks in my mind.”
“You had company, right? Marines, navy officers, Australian commandos,” I said, hoping to prompt their memories for anything that might throw some light on Daniel’s behavior.
“That’s right,” Archer said. “Some PT crew as well. But they stayed in the ship’s mess most of the time.”
“And you didn’t notice Daniel Tamana?” I asked. “It’s fairly certain he went from Henderson Field and got a ride on the tender to this very place.”
“Well, if he did, why wouldn’t he make himself known?” Gordie said, his brow wrinkled. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Given that neither of us had met him before,” Archer said, “we could have walked right by him and not realized who he was.”
“But still,” Gordie said, “it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what we were all about. How many Australians in filthy khaki and slouch hats were on that boat? And John Kari was there, for goodness’ sake.”