“Porter?” Luckman said. “The hermit? I didn’t figure him for the Coastwatcher type.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Sexton offered. “But he was keen on it after the Japs massacred his workers.”
“The assistant manager as well?” Luckman asked.
“Peter Fraser,” Sexton said. “Yes, he and all of Porter’s workers were killed in a reprisal. At least as far as we can determine. As you can see, that area of Pavau island is cut off from the rest.” He tapped on the spiny mountain range that cut off the north third of the island.
“Yes, I know the lay of the land well enough. Pity about Fraser, we had our eye on him. He worked at our soap factory in Sydney before he came out to the Solomons. Didn’t stay long with us, though. There was an accident with a lorry that crippled his father. When the old man died, young Peter decided to light out for the islands. Did a fine job for Porter the short time he was there, from all reports. Manager material, definitely.”
“High praise,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. If Peter Fraser had a tombstone someday, I hoped that wouldn’t be his epitaph. “Does the name Daniel Tamana mean anything to you?”
“No,” Luckman said, rubbing his chin as if to coax the words out. “Another native chap?”
“Another dead man,” I said. “What about Fred Archer? Or Gordie Brockman?”
“Archer?” Luckman said. “Yes, a bit of brute, if you don’t mind my saying. The kind of man who leaves one step ahead of the constable and makes for the outback or the islands. His plantation was productive, I’ll give him that. Brockman doesn’t ring a bell though. Wasn’t a Lever manager; I’d know all of them.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Hugh, please keep us posted on Porter and Kari. We’re going up to Rendova but should be back in a few days.”
“Do you think John Kari is the killer?” Sexton asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s not certain. But I’d like to talk with him some more. I can understand him keeping his sticky fingers a secret, but I have to wonder what else he may be hiding. Lying gets to be a habit after a while, and he may have information we need.”
“Kari has saved many lives,” Sexton said, leaning over the map table. “Consider that before you accuse him of these murders or even suggest he was involved. He may have stolen from Lever, but he’s acted bravely since. I can’t see any reason why he’d turn on his own people.”
“I don’t think we’d pursue charges, not at this late date,” Luckman said. “Sounds like he’s done his bit and more.”
“I just want to talk to him,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I agree that petty pilferage is best forgotten after all he’s been through. Thanks for your help.”
We shook hands all around, wished each other good luck, and left with distrust hanging thickly in the air.
“They do not like the idea of one of their own as a killer,” Kaz said once we were on the road. “Sexton can’t imagine a Coastwatcher being a murderer, and Luckman wouldn’t want Lever associated with one.”
“What do you think?” I said as I accelerated up a winding, hilly road. It began to rain, a light mist that was refreshing, breaking the morning heat.
“You’ve taught me the three cardinal virtues of a crime,” Kaz said as he wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. “Means, motive, and opportunity. John Kari had the means in all three cases. We’ve seen him kill. He slit the throat of that Japanese sentry on Malaita quite efficiently.”
“So he could have easily brained Daniel on the beach,” I said. “And overpowered Deanna before he knifed her. But what about Sam Chang? He was strangled. Kari isn’t that big of a guy. The doctor said the killer had strong hands.”
“First, he was unconscious,” Kaz said. “Secondly, the killer knew he had to act quickly. His adrenaline would have kicked in, the fear of being discovered giving him the strength he needed.”
“Okay, I can work with that,” I said. “What’s next?” It was beginning to rain harder, the dirt road turning muddy along the tire tracks.
“Motive,” Kaz answered. “Daniel Tamana threatened to tell what he knew about the thefts, so he had to be eliminated. Sam Chang obviously knew, and when he showed up alive, he had to be taken care of. But why Deanna?”
“Because he’d seen Daniel speak to her privately. He had to kill her in case Daniel had confided his suspicions to her,” I said, without a lot of conviction.
“But she wasn’t killed right away,” Kaz said. “Why the delay?”
“Let’s move on,” I suggested, having no answer to that.
“Opportunity,” Kaz said. “He lured Daniel to the beach, saying he could explain things, perhaps appealing to their bonds as natives and fellow Coastwatchers. As for Chang, anyone could have walked into that hospital at night and gained access to the room where the Chinese patients were kept. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that he saw Deanna alone in Chinatown. An opportunity for him to silence her in case she knew his secret. And we know Kari was driving through around the time of Deanna’s murder, a stiletto on his belt.”
“It fits,” I said. “But the motive is weak. Why murder three people over a theft from more than a year ago? The whole world has changed since the Japs swept through here. Everything’s been turned upside down for the Solomon Islanders. It doesn’t feel like his thievery would be that important in the long run.”
“His life could still change for the better or the worse,” Kaz said as we drove along the harbor in Chinatown. I avoided looking at the desolate alley where Deanna had met her end. I slowed for a pair of sailors stumbling out onto the street, bottles of beer clutched in their hands. They looked up, seemingly shocked at the rain soaking their denims. Then the rain stopped suddenly, and they laughed as if it had been a joke staged for their benefit. Leaving them behind, I envied their carefree joyfulness while steam rose from the earth, clouds parted, and shafts of sunlight beat down on us, turning the cool downpour into stifling humidity. “He could be killed. Or return home a hero to his people.”
“So why risk murdering three people? What would he have to gain?”
“Not enough,” Kaz said. “Unless he were a madman.”
“Gwai lo,” I said.
“The white ghost,” Kaz said. “An elusive being.”
We drove on, the misty greyness dissolving the boundaries between the jungle and the road, the treetops and the sky, the water and the islands beyond. Ghosts were all around us, white ghosts floating above the earth, writhing among the palms and tiger grass. Elusive? They were everywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sesapi harbor was busy, PT boats coming and going, and destroyers steaming out toward the Slot. Native workers unloaded truckloads of supplies, and sailors stripped to the waist carried them from the docks to their waiting craft. The action had a frantic air to it, the rush to complete each task mingled with nervous laughter and foolish grins among the newer men, while the old hands ignored them, stacking ammo like split wood against freshening winter winds. Something was up, another big push up the Solomon chain in the offing, and we were being drawn along in its wake.
We dropped our gear off at Cotter’s boat and kept going, down to the end of the pier by the PT tender. I’d told Jack I’d see him on his new command. We had an hour or so before we left, or hauled anchor, or whatever the navy types called shoving off, so Kaz and I decided to check out the new boat.
“Impressive,” Kaz said as we took in the big forty-millimeter guns fore and aft. PT-59 bristled with armament and activity. Two turrets amidships sported twin fifty-caliber machine guns, and where the torpedo tubes had formerly been, more machine guns were being installed behind armored shields. An arc welder spit out white-hot sparks as a crewman worked on one of the mounts.
“That’s a lot of firepower,” I said to Jack, who waved us aboard.