The White Ghost (23 page)

“Upstanding young men visiting a house of prostitution,” Kaz said.

“Hey, it's Boston, no reason why the two things can't go together. We'd just had a mayor who was also head of the Irish mob in the city. James Curley himself, as crooked as they come. The only way to get him out of town was to elect him to Congress.”

“What happened next?”

“Needless to say, I didn't take either of the Kennedy brothers to the station. They drove off in Timilty's automobile, his sergeant at the wheel. Timilty's last words to me were that he'd have my badge by morning.”

“I take it he calmed down?”

“No. The vice detective who organized the raid was demoted to the traffic division. It turned out that Jack put in a good word for me and got Timilty to back off from firing me. I was sent to walk the beat in East Boston, around the shipyards. Not the choicest assignment, but it could have been worse.”

“If not for Jack's intervention,” Kaz said.

“Right. He came to see me at work the next day and apologized. I think he'd gotten the lowdown from someone, maybe his brother, about how Timilty had punished my dad. Maybe he felt bad about giving a second generation of Boyles a kick in the gut. It's the odd kind of thing Jack would do; get you in trouble and then fix things as best he could.”

“You became friends, it seems,” Kaz said.

“Yeah, we struck up a friendship. Both of us were Irish kids, our families not too long off the boat. He's a big Red Sox fan—I prefer the Boston Braves myself—and he invited me to a game. Best seats I've ever been in, right by the first-base line. I'd been to plenty of games but always in the bleachers.”

“I thought you were telling me the story of how you came to dislike Jack Kennedy so much,” Kaz said, finishing the food on his plate.

“I'm getting there,” I said. “You got anywhere else to go?”

“Yes, actually,” Kaz said. He refilled my glass. “But I am tired from the long flight. Continue.”

“Oh, right,” I said, thinking of Jai-li. I guess I was honored. “Okay, so we're pals. Not the closest of friends, but we get along. Jack invited me down to Hyannisport a couple of times that summer. There were usually a bunch of guests, all of his brothers and sisters inviting friends for sailing and football. I had a crush on his sister, Kathleen. They called her Kick, and it turned out that every guy Joe or Jack brought along fell for her. I liked Rosie a lot, too. She's the oldest sister, a really sweet kid with a great smile. Even better looking than Kick, but the family made it clear that the girls were out of bounds for male visitors. They were pretty strict, old-fashioned Irish Catholics. Attendance at Mass was obligatory.”

“You met the ambassador?” Kaz asked.

“Only in passing. He'd finished a term as head of the Securities and Exchange Commission and was waiting to be appointed to some important post by FDR. It was the following year when he went to England. He basically ignored his kid's guests. Not the friendliest guy around.”

“How did you get along with Joe Junior?” Kaz asked.

“I couldn't take a liking to him. He had a mean streak. All the Kennedy kids were competitive in everything they did, and sailing was no exception, but Joe was the worst. He brought his little brother Teddy along on a race one day, and Teddy screwed something up, causing Joe to come in way behind the pack. Joe threw him in the water, not close to shore either. I know kid brothers can be a pain, but the little guy nearly drowned. Whatever they did, you couldn't criticize any of them without the rest of them ganging up on you. Joe treated Jack pretty rotten at times, but I think either of them would go down fighting for the other.”

“So far, all I know is that Jack befriended you and you went to a baseball game and sat at first base instead of the bleachers, whatever they are. Then you went to what sounds like an ocean resort and went sailing. Did Jack throw you overboard?” Kaz laughed as he polished off his drink.

“It was fun, I admit,” I said. “One nice thing about Jack was that he didn't lord his riches over you. He didn't flash cash around. We'd go out at night but never anywhere I couldn't afford.”

“A prince among men,” Kaz said, leaning back in his chair.

“Jack went to Europe later that summer, with Lem Billings, a good friend of his. He sent me a note when he got back, and we went out to a club once, but he was busy at Harvard and I'd started working the night shift. I didn't hear from him again until November, right after the Yale-Harvard game.”

“More baseball?” Kaz asked.

“No. Football, American style,” I said, raising the glass to my lips. It was empty, and I set it down. “I got a letter from Jack. He wrote that the night of the game, he accidently backed into a woman's automobile. There was some slight damage, and she wanted to call the police. In his words, she was a ‘shit' and he gave her ‘a lot of shit' in return. So he backed into her car again, four or five times, then drove off. But not before she wrote down his license plate number, yelling that she'd be reporting it to the Registry of Motor Vehicles in the morning. When the police came calling, Jack told them he'd loaned the vehicle to a friend, who had returned it with the rear bumper crumpled.”

“The friend he named was you,” Kaz said, his voice low.

“Yeah. The letter said Jack was sure I could work it out and that he didn't want his father to find out about the accident.”

“Did you work it out?”

“I almost lost my job. Again. This time Jack didn't come to my defense, since I was his alibi. I got called in front of a disciplinary hearing. I could either tell the truth, and risk bringing down the wrath of the Kennedys, especially if Jack's old man got involved, or admit it was me.”

“What did your father say?”

“I tried to keep it a secret, but he found out soon enough. I told him the truth, and he made me promise never to have anything to do with the Kennedys again. I gave him my word, and I meant it. He and Uncle Dan showed up at the hearing wearing their dress blue uniforms. They never said a word. I got a reprimand, which was basically a slap on the wrist.”

“You never heard from Jack?”

“Nope. Not until we were summoned here. I was nothing but an alibi, when all was said and done. A convenient sap. Jack's got a lot of personality, I'll give him that. Too much. It blinds you to his shortcomings.”

“Do you think he was drunk at the time?” Kaz asked.

“He doesn't touch the hard stuff. Why?”

“As much as he comes across as a scoundrel for his treatment of you, I have to wonder about a man who would lose his temper like that when confronted by a woman. To excuse his behavior by describing her as a shit is terribly self-centered, don't you think? If he could repeatedly ram her automobile over a perceived slight, what else might he be capable of?”

“That's a stretch, Kaz. It happened years ago. It doesn't make him a killer.”

I drained the whiskey from my glass. It didn't mean anything, I told myself.

Right?

Chapter Twenty-Four

I woke up
beneath mosquito netting, clutching an empty bottle. The good news was that I'd made it to bed and even managed to close up the netting. The bad news was that sooner or later I'd have to move my head. I did, along with the rest of my body. I was glad there wasn't a mirror in the room.

“You look like hell, boss,” Kao said as I stumbled out of the bedroom. “You don't smell so good either.”

“Thanks, good morning to you, too,” I said. “Shower. Kopi.” I was pretty impressed with myself that I managed to remember the Pijin word for java.

“I can heat up water for the shower if you want.”

“No thanks, Kao, but make the kopi strong and sweet.” I headed out back to where an outdoor shower was rigged up to a rainwater barrel. Yesterday Kao had added hot water and the shower had been lukewarm, but this morning I needed a cold shock—or as cold as water can get in the Southwest Pacific.

Turns out, that's pretty damn chilly. But it chased away the cobwebs and took my mind off the throbbing in my head. I shaved and got dressed in clean khakis, courtesy of the redoubtable Kao. By the time I was clutching a cup of coffee on the verandah with Kaz, I felt almost human.

“That was quite a story you told last night,” Kaz said. “I hope you don't tell another; your liver might fail you.”

“Very funny,” I said. “But that's it. Now you know the full story of the history between the Kennedy and Boyle clans, such as it is. As soon as we get out of here, I'll be glad to never hear of Jack or his family again.”

“Hey boss, you want a Spam and egg sandwich?” Kao asked from the doorway.

“I think I'll skip it, Kao. But thanks. Say, are you from Tulagi? How'd you end up with this job anyway?”

“No, not from Tulagi,” Kao said, coming out to the verandah and leaning against the railing. He had a slight physique and a lighter skin tone than most of the natives I'd seen. “My family is from Buka Island, north of Bougainville. They sent me to missionary school on Vella Lavella. The Japs came, and I escaped with my teachers. They found this job for me. Not bad work. Better than on plantation or unloading ships. I'm not strong like my brothers.” He looked downcast, maybe at the memory of being teased or missing his folks—big, strong brothers and all.

“Have you heard from your family?” Kaz asked.

“No. Buka full of Japs. Big airfield there. I hear they make all island men work to build it. Many die.”

“I am sorry,” Kaz said.

Kao shrugged, as if to say condolences were nice but of little value.

“Did you ever hear of Sam Chang from Bougainville?” I asked, as much to change the subject as for any information Kao might have.

“Sure, everyone in those islands knows Sam. He brought supplies to the mission every month. Smart man. I asked if I could work for him someday, told him about my grades in arithmetic. Best in my class.”

“What'd he say?” I asked.

“He said maybe he'd have a job on Pavau for me in a few months. Something about an opportunity there, some deal he was working on with Lever. But then the Japs came and everything ended.”

“That's all he said?” Kaz asked.

“Yes, boss. He said it was a big secret, and to not tell anyone. But I don't think it matters now.”

“Hardly what John Kari told me about Chang's dealings on Pavau,” I said, once Kao had gone.

“He didn't want to compete with Lever, I believe you mentioned,” Kaz said. “It may not be a contradiction.”

“No, but Chang working a secret deal with Lever might have been bad news for Kari. Could have put him out of a job.”

“Or perhaps Chang was expanding and would have put both Daniel and John to work, for all we know,” Kaz said. It was hard to dispute his logic. We really didn't know much.

“It's a loose thread,” I said. “It deserves pulling.”

“I may know the perfect man to help,” Kaz said. “A fellow by the name of George Luckman was on the flight from Brisbane with me. He works for Lever Brothers and is touring the Solomons to assess how soon the plantations can get up and running.”

“How does a soap executive rate transport on military aircraft?” I asked.

“Because glycerin is used in making soap,” Kaz said. “They produce nitroglycerin now, given the shortage of raw materials to make soap. And for the good of the war effort, of course.”

“Sure,” I said, “but now that the Solomons are being slowly liberated, it's time for people to lather up again.”

“I would think that is in Lever's interests,” Kaz said. “Luckman is traveling under the auspices of the Australian Department of Trade and Customs, so it is logical to assume the government is interested in new tax revenues as well.”

“The taxman always wants his cut,” I said. “Do you know where Luckman is hanging his hat?”

“With Hugh Sexton, so he can get up-to-date reports from the Coastwatchers.”

“Makes sense, since so many of them are planters. Let's grab our gear and pay him a visit.”

We packed up and told Kao we were headed for Rendova and weren't sure when we'd return. We tossed our bags into the jeep and paid a visit to Sexton's headquarters. We found him hunched over his map table, a small-scale map of the Solomon Islands spread out from end to end. An older man in nondescript pressed khakis held a pointer, tapping it on the islands to the north.

“Ah, Lieutenant Kazimierz, good to see you again,” the gent said, his English accent proper but without the lazy cadence of the upper classes. He stood ramrod straight, his short-cropped hair grey at the temples and thinning on top. He looked old enough to have served in the last war and intelligent enough to have made a lot of money since then. Kaz introduced us and I watched Sexton as he did so. His eyes darted between us, confused at the familiarity until Luckman explained that he and Kaz had been traveling companions.

“What can I do for you?” Sexton said. “We're a bit busy at the moment, if you don't mind.”

“Actually, I have a few quick questions for Mr. Luckman, if you don't mind the interruption,” I said, idly gazing at the map unfolded across the table. It wasn't a military map. At the corner, in fancy print, the legend read:
Lever Brothers Limited—By appointment—Soapmakers to H.M. The King
.

“Glad to help, although I don't know how I can,” Luckman said. “The lieutenant told me a bit of your inquiry. Dreadful business, murder during wartime, especially so close to the front lines. Practically aiding and abetting the enemy.”

“There must be quite a pent-up demand for soap,” I said, ignoring his pompous little speech. “Are you here to reopen the plantations?”

“Is this part of your investigation?” Sexton said, his irritation clear.

“No, just idle curiosity,” I said, tracing my finger along the islands on either side of the Slot. The map showed ports, towns, roads, and plantations. Some were colored red, others blue. “What are the colors for?”

“The red are plantations owned by Lever Brothers and managed for us. The blue are independent properties,” Luckman said. Like most people, he didn't mind talking about a subject he knew well and cared about. “Several on Guadalcanal are back in operation already. The fight was mainly contained on the northeast side of the island. The plantations were hardly touched, except for the buildings. If the Japanese patrols didn't burn them out, your chaps bombed them. But it's the trees that are important. It takes ten years for a coconut tree to reach peak production. Compared to that, rebuilding a house is simple.”

“Does it matter to you if a plantation is one of yours or owned by the grower?” I asked.

“Individually, no,” Luckman said. “There's really no one else to sell to, so it's not a matter of access to resources. But to establish quality and a reliable crop, it pays to run the majority ourselves.”

“So on Pavau, for instance,” I said, studying the island northeast of Choiseul where one blue section stood alone. “There's one local plantation on the north side, and the rest on the south are all Lever. Any difference in the copra production?”

“None,” Luckman said. “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason. Just curious about a fellow who worked for you there. John Kari, a native fellow. Well-spoken.”

“Kari?” Luckman said, furrowing his brow. “On a plantation? Can't recall the name. Was he a foreman?”

“He worked in the harbor,” I said. “Keeping books on the copra deliveries and managing the sale of supplies your ships brought in, if I remember correctly.”

“Kari, yes, now I remember,” Luckman said. “We do employ staff at some of the harbors where several plantations bring their crops. Easier to manage that way. Not a very demanding job, except when the ship docks. Once or twice a month it was, at Pavau, I think.”

“He's a Coastwatcher now,” Sexton said, trying to pull the conversation back to familiar ground.

“Really?” Luckman said, a look of surprise on his face.

“We have several natives working as Coastwatchers,” Sexton said, somewhat defensively. “Plus those who serve as scouts and porters. All good men.”

“I don't doubt it,” Luckman said. “But I wouldn't count John Kari as good. My memory is that he's a thief. We were about to sack him and bring him to Tulagi to be put under arrest. But then the Japanese swept through the islands and the matter was forgotten, until you reminded me of his name.”

“Let me guess,” I said, “this happened after you cut a deal with Sam Chang. He was going to pay you to give up the supply business in the islands where he operated. Which would have put John Kari out of work.”

“You are well informed, I'll give you that,” Luckman said. “It was about the same time, yes. But that doesn't give Kari an excuse for out-and-out theft. He was overbilling the customers and keeping a good portion for himself. Not exactly grand larceny, but still, we couldn't stand for it.”

“Did Sam Chang report this to you?” Kaz asked.

“Yes, he was the first to have his suspicions. He had talked with several plantation managers, finding out what they wanted from more frequent deliveries. When he saw what they were being charged for a case of whiskey, he thought Lever was gouging them.”

“Surely you didn't mind making a profit from the sale of supplies?” I said.

“A profit, no. As is stands, the ships go out empty, so why not use the space? But we also want our people happy with the arrangement. Our focus is the regular delivery of copra, not being a greengrocer. We were happy to turn it over to Chang. He's a good businessman. I hope we can still come to an agreement when the fighting moves on.”

“That'll be tough,” I said, noting that he didn't say
when the war is over
. This businessman didn't look far beyond next quarter's profits. “He's dead.”

“Don't tell me,” Luckman said, looking to Kaz. “He's one of the two victims.”

“Three now,” Kaz said.

“Bloody hell,” Luckman said. “The Japanese are bad enough. I hope you catch him.”

“That's going to be tough as well,” Sexton said. “By now he and Silas Porter are deep in the bush on Choiseul. They went up to Rendova yesterday and were dropped off early this morning.”

“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.”