Toward Night's End (32 page)

On my last run, it was my plan to find out the planned date of the attack on Seattle. But, to put it quite mildly, nothing went as planned that night. First, Carsteen mentioned to me that only one Japanese-American had ever learned the truth about the bank, and that the man was killed several years ago when he threatened to tell the Washington State authorities the truth. Carsteen did not know the name of that Japanese-American, but he said that the bank’s enforcement team, the same white men who maimed poor Sean, had knocked the man unconscious, then cut his femoral artery, placed him behind the wheel of his own car, and pushed it down a hill, where it crashed into a tree. The man bled to death.

Yes, Mr. Porter, that man was my father. Carsteen could see my horrified reaction and suddenly put two and two together. He knew right then that I was not pro-Imperialist Japan. We were in an alley near Ueno’s, and he grabbed a large stick, but I had my knife and struck him fatally in the neck. I then panicked. I decided I could use my boat to dump his body at sea. But seeing him lying there, in his uniform, I suddenly became very angry. He was not worthy of that fine uniform, so I stripped him to his underclothes. Inside his clothes I found his wallet and a small notebook. The notebook was all in Japanese, and I kept it. I tossed the bloody uniform and Carsteen’s dog tags in a nearby trash dumpster and put his body and the wallet in the back of the truck.

I then returned to the island, and, with Tom’s help deciphering what was in the notebook, we learned that the Japanese planned to attack the island on April 17
th
. You will find that notebook on the fifth stair of my family’s home. Just lift one of the slats of wood. It is underneath, wrapped in a cloth. Please give this notebook to the authorities.

As for the parts in your truck, I had been told that I was to meet someone at the north end of the island at one in the morning, and that person, or people, would take all the gun parts. After figuring out the time of the impending attack, Tom and I left separately for that meeting, and Tom planned to get to the meeting place a few minutes ahead of me – sort of my guardian angel looking over me.

But what I didn’t know was that Carsteen was to call his contacts once I had left Seattle. When he failed to call, they smelled a rat. And because that was the last delivery, I was expendable. Two men jumped me that night and knocked me unconscious. They also found Tom and beat him quite badly.

We woke up and found ourselves in Old Man Pete’s small barn. We were both badly bruised and beaten, and we’d been tied up, but we were able to escape. My head hurt terribly, and I couldn’t run as fast as Tom, which is the only reason I am still alive. When Tom made it to the road, he told me a Chevy sedan was approaching. We were hoping to go to the police, and after that, I would make it to the ferry and join my family. When the car stopped, whoever was driving asked Tom where I was. Clearly recognizing them, Tom lied – he told them I had died, that they had killed me. Then they shot him. They never saw me, and just drove off.

It was then that I knew I was in very deep trouble. I had killed one man, leaving my knife still stuck in his neck. It was only a question of time before the body was found by you or someone else, and someone recognized my knife. So I ran. I made it back to my home, then I left on my boat.

I implore you to find Carsteen’s notebook and share this letter with the police and the Navy in the hopes that this terrible wrong can be stopped.

Please tell my family that I love them and I’m sorry for any shame I may have brought them.

Sincerely yours,

Matthew Kobata

Johnstone read the letter once again, then folded it carefully and put it in his jacket pocket. While he agreed with Matthew that Mr. Porter was owed an explanation concerning his truck, it had been decided that national security took precedence. If people were told how close Seattle had come to a major attack, there would be mayhem. Not to mention, further bias against Japanese-Americans.

“Resume delivery?” the postal clerk asked.

Johnstone looked up. “Yes, fine.”

With that, the postal clerk took the large basket holding Mr. Porter’s mail to the back of the branch office.

Johnstone placed his fedora on his head and walked out. He was glad to see the sun was shining.

He found the headstone rather easily. Considering it was Memorial Day, he was not surprised to find fresh cut roses in front of it. He didn’t recognize the first name on the headstone, but he knew it was Matthew’s father. At least his murderers had been caught and were now in prison. Then he noticed a dark cross next to the headstone. Engraved into the fine piece of cedar wood was the name
Matthew Kobata
and the dates of his birth and death, January 12, 1921 – December 7, 1944. More roses were placed here.

Of course Johnstone knew that Matthew’s remains were not buried here. He had been on the
USS Mahan,
a destroyer that sank in 1944 after it was hit by three kamikaze aircraft.

Detective Johnstone removed his fedora as he gazed at the headstone and cross. Along with Commander Merrick, he had covered up Carsteen’s murder. Matthew had confessed to them on the Navy plane as they flew back to Seattle. But after the Japanese surprise attack on Seattle was thwarted, Johnstone and Merrick didn’t want Matthew to stand trial for Carsteen’s death. Each man had his own reason. For Merrick, he didn’t want more dissension among the rank and file in the Navy. If word got out that a Japanese-American had killed a U.S. Navy sailor, well, it just wouldn’t do.

As for Johnstone, although he could never condone murder, he thought in this case it was better for Matthew to serve the country he loved by fighting in the war rather than hanging for the murder of an American traitor. Five weeks after the Japanese had landed on Old Man Pete’s property, Matthew, using his real name this time, had left for the Pacific.

Officially, Merrick and Johnstone wrote up similar reports for their respective bosses stating that they believed Sean Kanagawa was responsible for Carsteen’s murder. Due to the fact that the Navy and even the President did not want the country to know how close the Japanese had come to successfully attacking the mainland, the whole episode was kept under wraps. Each report was sealed, never to be opened under any circumstances.

Johnstone thought back to that night, on this very island, five years ago. After the dust had settled and it was confirmed that the sub was heading west at a good clip, it was Matthew who went after George Kanagawa, calling him a traitor and hitting him again and again before Merrick and Johnstone could pull Matthew off.

George had collapsed on the ground, sobbing, saying how sorry he was, as he explained that Tsuneko was not his sister, but his wife. That when Sean had been murdered, the killers went to the Kanagawa’s upstairs apartment and took George and Tsuneko’s infant son. It was their insurance that George would go along with the plan and serve as interpreter for the Japanese soldiers landing on the island. George continued, explaining that originally, the son of the bank president was to assist the soldiers and translate for them. But he had been killed in a car accident.

Johnstone had been somewhat skeptical, but it had not taken long for the FBI to confirm George’s story. The feds quickly stepped in, closing down the Japanese-backed bank, arresting those involved, and finding the baby in good condition with a surrogate couple. In keeping the entire matter absolutely secret, George and the child had been taken to Manzanar where they were reunited with Tsuneko.

Within a week following the thwarted attack, the FBI had even recovered the remains of Seaman Glenton, the young Navy man who had seen Carsteen stealing the anti-aircraft gun parts, buried in a shallow grave on Old Man Pete’s property. Likewise, the Navy had done a thorough investigation, and found that Commander Leseman owed a great deal of money to the illegal gambling house, Bog Adams. He had been told to look the other way concerning Carsteen, and he had done so. He was court martialed for his actions.

Now, standing at the headstone, Johnstone bowed his head in prayer. Before he had married, he really hadn’t given that much thought to God. He always dealt with what he could see and touch, what he knew was real. He wasn’t quite sure that there was a God, frankly. But Betty was raised Catholic, and her faith had rubbed off on him. They had even baptized their newborn son in the Catholic church two years ago. So, Johnstone said a short, silent prayer, hoping that Matthew was at peace and thanking the Lord for giving Matthew the bravery to do what he did for his country.

As he made his way back to the road on the gravel path, he saw her. She was placing roses at another tombstone. At first he thought he should walk away, pretend he never saw her. But something compelled him to go over to her.

When he got close, he could read the headstones. There were three. He was surprised to see one headstone was marked for Rex Bollgen, who had died one year and one day after his son Tom. Next to Tom’s headstone was a marker for his cousin Donald who had died in 1945. Johnstone had read about Donald’s death in the Seattle paper. The young man had died in France, and although he could have been interred at Arlington National Cemetery, before leaving for Europe he had requested that should he be killed, he wanted to be laid to rest at home – on Bainbridge Island.

Kumiko rose to her feet, turned, and saw him. For a moment they just stared at each other. She then quickly gave him a polite half-bow. He came forward. “I didn’t know about Tom’s father.”

Kumiko turned back to the graves. “They say you die when your heart breaks like that, yes? His heart, I think, it was much broken. One year after Tom die, one year and one day, his heart can take no more. It stop. Pain too much, yes?”

Johnstone didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded. She continued, saying, “Donald, he was at Manzanar for a little time. Helped get us white rice instead of potato.” A small smile appeared on her lips as she remembered.

“He was an honorable man,” Johnstone finally remarked.

“He die in France. War almost over when he die.”

Again, Johnstone nodded. For the first time, he noticed that she had placed a single rose at the foot of each headstone. She still held one in her hand. They walked in silence. But not to the Kobata grave sites. Instead, she led the way to another family plot. Johnstone read the names. Ethel Harkin, age 34. Peter David Harkin, age 9, and Peter Mark Harkin, age 65. Kumiko placed the rose at Old Man Pete’s headstone.

“Old Man Pete,” Johnstone murmured to himself.

Kumiko gave him a surprised look. “You know him. You know what everyone here call him. Old Man Pete.”

Realizing his error, Johnstone covered by saying, “He helped with the war effort.”

She nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself, so Johnstone asked, “Good friend?”

“I not know him before, so well, yes? He very private man.”

“Before?”

“Before we sent away. Ido and Mr. Harkin, they make plans before. Mr. Harkin buy our land, we get land back when we come home. Then we get letter. He write to Manzanar, to Matthew. But Matthew no there. He fighting, yes? Then we get letter from attorney. Old Man Pete, he die. He give our farm back and leave his farm to us. The Kobata family.”

Johnstone marveled at the turn of events. “That must have been a surprise.”

She smiled. “Yes, yes. Very much surprise.”

He nodded, recalling that night. When Old Man Pete had finally figured out that it was over, the evil men holding him hostage would no longer haunt him, he had thanked Matthew over and over again. Much to Matthew’s embarrassment. Johnstone glanced at Matthew’s mother. Of course, she had no way of knowing that Old Man Pete probably felt indebted to her son.

Kumiko went on, saying, “He have no family, yes? They die before him, yes?” Johnstone nodded. “I think, he like Matthew. I think, somehow, it because of Matthew. Letter was to Matthew, yes?” She thought for a minute, then smiled, saying, “And Ido, he grow fine strawberry. Fine strawberry. Some say almost as fine as Old Man Pete. Maybe he want Ido to have good farm to grow strawberry.”

“And Ido? He works the farm?”

“Oh, yes. Grow very fine strawberry. Very good soil, yes?”

Johnstone smiled. “And your other children?”

“Daniel at university.”

“And your daughter?”

“Julia.” She smiled again. “She work with Ido on farm every day. Learning, yes? And Robert. He learn too.”

“Robert?”

“Nice boy. We, what you say? Adopt? He have no family. From Sacramento. His mother with him at camp, but she die there. After war, he have no home, yes?”

“So you offered him one.”

“He sixteen next week. He good boy,” she said simply, reminding Johnstone of how Kumiko had once described Matthew.

“That’s great.”

Kumiko smiled. “Sometimes, not so great. Julia fight with him. But I know her. She likes the boy.”

The detective in Johnstone couldn’t resist asking, “And you approve?”

Kumiko seemed to give this some thought. Then she nodded. “He be good for her. Be good husband. But they both very young. We see, yes? We see what happen.”

They walked in silence along the path between the family plots. Finally, Johnstone said, “I’m sorry about Matthew.”

She nodded, lost in her own thoughts. Then she said, “My cousin, her son a Japanese pilot in the war. Kamikaze.” Johnstone looked at her in surprise. She actually grinned at his reaction. “Not one of the boys that run into Matthew’s ship. Another pilot.”

“Another Kamikaze,” Johnstone clarified.

“Yes. That so. But my cousin son, he hit U.S. ship. He die.”

They fell into a comfortable silence again. Then Johnstone said, “I feel honored to have known your son, Mrs. Kobata.”