“Or John Kari,” I said. “Remember, Daniel was on the high deck, and saw the group of them below. He may have heard someone call Fraser by Porter’s name. However it went, he bided his time. Once on Tulagi, he went looking for Sam Chang, a man he knew could confirm what he’d seen.”
“Why did he not simply go to the authorities?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he thought a native wouldn’t be believed. That may be why he went looking for Chang. He’d be cautious in challenging a white man and may have wanted someone to back up his story. Or perhaps he did speak to Fraser.”
“That’s possible,” Kaz said, hanging on as I took a sharp turn. “There had been no real crime committed at that point. Perhaps Fraser promised him a job if he kept his mouth shut. Assistant manager, his old post.”
“Or maybe Daniel forced the issue. We know he wanted to move up in the world, and his chances were limited.”
“You mean he blackmailed Fraser?” Kaz said.
“It’s a possibility. But it may be more likely that he simply hinted at the potential for exposure, telling him he knew Sam Chang was alive and could identify him.”
“So Fraser concocts an offer, one that Daniel decides to consider,” Kaz said. “An offer of a job or a share of the profits from the plantation.”
I nodded. “They meet at the beach, where no one can see them, so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“Reasonable,” Kaz said, constructing the scenario. “They discuss terms, and Daniel agrees to tell Chang it was all a mistake.”
“Although we don’t know if he ever actually talked to Chang,” I said.
“But Fraser doesn’t know that. Daniel could have held out the possibility as an inducement, to insure that he was needed.”
“Right, and then Fraser asks who else he’s talked to,” I said, the chain of events falling into place.
“He names Deanna, and once that’s done, Fraser has all he needs,” Kaz said.
“He kills him, and then Sam Chang,” I said.
“But why wait so long to kill Deanna? She hadn’t accused him.”
“He couldn’t take a chance that she would. She was probably harder to get alone. He may have heard from Gordie that he was dropping her off in Chinatown; there were calls back and forth from Sesapi and the communications center. So he sent Kari on an errand, drove there, and knifed her, leaving a smear of Cosmoline to implicate his partner.”
“Now all we need is proof,” Kaz said.
“Of murder,” I said. “We know Fraser took over Porter’s identity in order to steal his property. Fraud does qualify as a crime, even out in these islands. But I want him for three murders.”
“Yes, I am sure Porter’s family would agree, if he has any,” Kaz said as I passed the POW enclosure and turned off the main road, making for the nearest Quonset hut. “Why are we stopping here?”
“To check out a long shot,” I said. “You don’t speak Japanese by any chance, do you?”
“Konnichiwa,” he said. “Which means hello. It is the only word I know.”
“Well, you just might learn a few more,” I said as we approached a sentry in front of the hut. I was about to ask for the commanding officer when shouts rose up from a nearby tent. POWs surged to the edge of the barbed wire, guards raced in from various directions, and two officers burst out of the Quonset hut, shoving us aside as they made for the tent.
“I’ll kill that sonuvabitch, get out of my way!” It was a voice filled with rage, the words turning into one long scream. A high-pitched stream of Japanese followed, drowned out by other shouts, furniture being overturned, and bodies thumping to the ground in an embrace of violent struggle.
Two GIs hustled out a frightened Jap POW, each with a firm grip on an arm, practically lifting him into the air. The guy was so scared his legs were pumping, toes barely touching the ground. Guards at the entrance to the wire enclosure motioned with the tips of their bayonets for the POWs inside to back off. They did, and their pal was tossed in quickly, the gate closed and locked behind him.
“Let go of me, goddammit!” came a voice from inside the tent.
“Settle down, Harrison, that’s an order!”
We turned back to check on the hubbub. Harrison was a marine sergeant, his face red and his eyes wild. The guy giving the order was an army lieutenant. But that wasn’t the only difference between him and Harrison. The officer was Japanese. Japanese-American, I should say.
The tent was a mess. An upended table, chairs knocked over, papers scattered over the wooden plank floor. A couple of GIs held Harrison as he struggled against their grip. Finally he gave up, shaking his head. “I knew those guys, Lieutenant. I knew them.”
“Yeah,” the officer said, motioning for his men to release their grips. “I don’t blame you one bit, Sergeant. Go get some coffee, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, shuffling morosely out of the tent. The lieutenant motioned with his head, telling the GIs to go with him, as Harrison continued muttering, “I knew them, I knew them.”
“Who the hell are you?” the lieutenant said, startled as he noticed us.
“Lieutenant Billy Boyle. This is Lieutenant Kazimierz. I see we’ve come at a bad time.”
“Lieutenant Joe Sakato,” he said, offering us his hand and glancing at Kaz’s shoulder patch. “You’re a long way from home, Lieutenant Kazimierz. You’re the first Polish officer I’ve run into.”
“And you are the first Japanese officer I have seen. In an American uniform, that is,” Kaz responded.
“Japanese-American,” he corrected Kaz. “I’m a nisei, born in California. My parents emigrated from Japan, but we’re a hundred percent American. Not that everyone believes that, but what the hell can I do?”
“Looks like you’re doing plenty,” I said. “Interrogation?”
“First you tell me what you’re looking for,” Sakato said. “But not here, let’s go inside.”
We sat across from Sakato in his small office, which accounted for the rear section of the Quonset hut. The table behind him was covered in Japanese documents, maps, and booklets. His desk was clean except for a pad of paper and a single sheet, covered in Japanese characters. He took out a pack of Luckies, offering them around. We both shook our heads and he lit up, clicking his Zippo shut and tapping it against the wooden desktop. He seemed shook up.
“We’re investigating three murders on Tulagi for the navy,” I said, figuring we should establish our credentials before asking what Harrison’s threats were all about.
“Why are you two doing the navy’s dirty work?” he asked, tossing the lighter aside.
“Fair question, but it’s a long story,” I said. “Quick version: you heard of Ambassador Joe Kennedy?” This got a quick nod. “His kid Jack is in PT boats and got too close to one of the victims.”
“So you’re sent out with a bucket of whitewash?” Sakato said with a laugh.
“There are those who would not mind the entire affair being swept under the rug,” Kaz said. “But we prefer to find the killer.”
“I assume it’s not the Kennedy kid then,” Sakato said. “Otherwise, whoever sent you here would have you on a slow boat to the Aleutians.”
“Last I heard, the Aleutian Islands were still occupied by the Japanese,” I said.
“Exactly,” Sakato said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
“Smart guy,” I said.
“You have to stay on your toes out here, especially when you look like the fellow everyone else is trying to kill. Okay, I’ll bite. How can I help you?”
“First, you want to tell us what that was all about with Sergeant Harrison?”
“Harrison is our liaison with marine intelligence,” Sakato said. “We’re attached to the Thirty-Seventh Division, as part of the Allied Translator and Interpreter Section. There’s one other nisei with our section, but he’s on New Georgia right now, trying to talk isolated units into surrendering.”
“Much luck with that?” I asked.
“No,” Sakato said, dragging deep on his cigarette. “Especially if there are any officers. They order their men to hold grenades under their chins. Or stage suicide charges. Senseless.”