Pacific Nocturne, 1944

by Don DeNevi

  No one seemed to notice.

  Everyone was absorbed with the horrendous reality of it all. Never before in the history of the American military, had the dead piled up by the murder madness of one of its own. The arrival of Bob Hope and his entourage was imminent, and the officers were angry and frustrated. The count of the deceased was growing, three within the night and early-morning hours alone and no one had an idea who the individual was that was multiple - murdering and why. What was supposed to be a festive few hours of entertainment was clouded by a Ghoul.

  With the arrival of Rupertus, Shepherd, and Sims, with Peter trailing behind, the gathering perked up, leaned forward, and prepared for the afternoon’s task.

  Immediately, indeed, precisely at 10:01am, the major general called the meeting to order. In his hand was a single sheet of typed assignments for both the duration and departure of the Hope entourage.

  “At ease, gentlemen. After a few statements and announcements, a final roll call of our participating personnel will be taken with a review of his specific safety and security assignment.”

  As he paused, he scanned the audience, as if in search of someone. Then he asked,

  “Is 1st Medical Battalion Commander Everett Keck of the Navy’s Medical Corps here? I don’t see him. He may have some new information about the Ghoul.” After glancing around, he continued,

  “If he arrives, call it to my attention. Meanwhile, as you have undoubtedly heard, the Ghoul struck three times last night, two at the Base Hospital on Banika and the other early this morning where he killed previously, the Pavuvu chapel. That makes seven killings in less than a week. Some firebrand, this Mad Ghoul, or Charlie the Croaker, or Choker. We have conflicted information as to what he looks like. I’ll let Lieutenant Toscanini bring you up to date on that.”

  “But what we have to discuss now is whether the murderer will strike during the performance. At me and my staff? At Hope and his people? While more than 16,000 combat veterans look on? At the beginning or end of the entertainment? We need answers, men, and we need them now. Lieutenant, step forward, please.”

  Peter walked forward from where he had taken a seat between Shepherd and Sims. As he approached Rupertus, with one hand holding out the small microphone, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, Bill and Ellen, followed by Pinoe, entering the pack of the patio seating area from a side entrance.

  “Gentlemen, the mad-murdering Ghoul is one of us, an officer, sitting among you. Remember, and never, ever forget, the first lesson in the study of the mind, whether it’s healthy or sick: No one, absolutely no one, is who he or she seems to be. Our minds always have a purpose. All of us have less control over it than we think. If it turns out that Major General Rupertus is the Ghoul, or Assistant Division Commander Shepherd, or Chief of Staff Sims, or, for that matter, me, you will be shocked, but not surprised, because you see, don’t you, that there is potentially a Ghoul in all of us.”

  “I say he’s one of us because other than the first murder through a cut hole in the victim’s canvas tent, all the murders have been the same, up front and less than 18” from the victim’s heart. Only one familiar person would be allowed that close to the armed sentry without being challenged. An officer the victim respected.”

  Peter paused.

  “And, not just an officer. He would have to have been an officer of high rank, of unequivocal acquiescence and obedience, once his bars and stripes and badges and emblems were noted as he approached the victim.”

  He continued,

  “We have varying descriptions of the Ghoul by those who chased and shot at him. But, the nurse sitting back there with her arm in a sling because she fought him and was slashed almost to the bone saw him best. As the mad murderer dashed into oblivion after each of his evil deeds, it was... “

  Just then, Commander Rupertus stood up and announced,

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but Commander Keck has arrived. After we hear what he has learned, we’ll continue where you left off.”

  As Peter immediately stepped aside and observed the second-most admired man in his life walk forth, he cast a quick glance at Brigadier General Earl Maxwell of the Medical Corps sitting in the third row of the semicircle. What more could Peter ask of the tragic situation? The special bond and fondness Keck and Maxwell had for each other elevated his admiration and respect for each. Both officers were exceptionally brilliant. Not only were their commands administered with nonpareil competence, but then also conducted their staff in kindness and patience. No one questioned the intrinsic bravery and courage of each man.

  “Rarely have such men of quality looked upon each other with such reverence,” Peter reflected. As he glanced at Maxwell, the brigadier general smiled and winked at Peter. Then, a quick look at Bill and Ellen showed the two beaming at him.

  “Hello, lieutenant,” nodded Keck, “and officers of the 1st Division and its Medical Corps. The news I bring you this morning amid our difficult, no, wrong word, our tragedy, is directly from the Federal Bureau of Investigation in our nation’s capital and its Chief, J. Edgar Hoover. I was looking to communicate with an assistant director of the Murder Department. While I waited for a connection, Mr. Hoover wired,

  “How are your boys doing against the Japs out there?”

  Everyone in the audience laughed loudly.

  “In any case, men, he gave all of us a good pat on the back, said the nation was watching our fighting, island to island, certain of our final defeat of the little bastards of the Rising Sun. He also said he was sorry for our crushing blow - - a Marine killing a Marine. Then, he said I was to communicate with one of the leading homicide detectives in the country, Howard Teten, a highly respected expert on multiple-murderers. Mr. Hoover concluded that with the large number of men congregated together here, he’s surprised there’s only one Mad Ghoul. Stateside, there are undoubtedly several dozen scattered throughout. They are impossible to identify because most kill at random and over varying periods of time. Rare does one murder as rapidly as the one among us. The FBI has no answers. It’s trying to recruit Teten to join its staff. All his bureau can do now, until a Teten-type steps forward, is to gather information, case studies, keep records, search for patterns of unsolved murders.”

  “Well, naturally, I was eager to wire and communicate with Mr. Teten, of the Homicide Division in the Hayward, California, Police Department.

  He was very eager to help us, although he admitted he was just as much at a loss as we are at a loss to whom the Mad Ghoul could be unless we provide more details on his manner and fashion, his modus operandi, of his killings.”

  “So, in short, we’re on our own out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, trying to figure out who this Ghoul is. But, to help guide us, Mr. Teten offered four, maybe five, types of multiple-murderers. Listen carefully and see if any of these types trigger a personality we can look at among our troops.”

  “The demented, deranged killer. He claims he sees with clarity things we can’t. He hears voices, we can’t. He’ll say things like the darkness and impenetrable demand he murder. He is an outright lunatic. There is nothing rational, sane, or real about him.”

  “The Ghoul isn’t crazy, insanely, delirious, nuts. He plans. He’s smart. And, he’s organized.”

  “The second is the emissary type. He feels he’s on a special duty, or task, to murder a special group of people, like call girls, priests, and major generals.”

  With that, everyone in the audience laughed uproariously, causing General Rupertus to wince, yet with a slight smile crossing his face.

  “In other words, this type of murderer displays nothing abnormal. He just wants to do his part of murdering off the evil Marines.

  “Well, again, that’s the Ghoul.”

  “Third, there’s the type of killer who kills for the sport of it, the amusement. It’s the tingle, the sensation, the kick that comes from murdering. He’s cruel, almost fiendish, because it provides him with a certain intoxication. Know any Marines like this?
The Mad Ghoul is more like this kind of murderer. If he’s caught, rather than shot to death, he’ll boast about it. Search your minds. He’ll probably give himself away in some manner, by words or actions short of murder.”

  “Then, there’s the sex-driven killer. Teten says that for such men the amount of their pleasure is in direct correlation with how much torture can be inflicted, how loud the screams are from the victims. The more atrocious, brutal, torturing he can be, the better, the more stirred up, the more excited he becomes. Teten says he’s carnal in his behavior, and, again, you would know him by his behavior and words. Again, the Ghoul is closer to this type rather than the first two.”

  “So, gentlemen, we’re looking for someone within the last two types. Teten says the FBI is establishing a list of possible ‘multiple-murderers’ from across America who had been reported to have behaviors such as these, and we’ll see if any of our 1st Division men are on that list. We have a crew of officers working on this as I speak to you this moment.”

  “Now, let me turn this meeting back to the lieutenant. And, as I do, let me tell you about Peter Toscanini. He’s my lone rover, my wanderer, and roamer in search of the Ghoul. In brief, he’s the 1st Division’s own psychotherapist, although he’s not that just yet. You might say that he’s in training to be a future psychologist, or psychotherapist. Peter is on his own, taking him wherever he feels he needs to go. His sole responsibility, his goal, is to find, arrest, and if necessary, kill the Ghoul. He reports to me directly. Peter, step forward.”

  As he did so, Peter glanced around the open, saw that Bill and Ellen were still among the officers, accepted the small microphone from Keck and said,

  “Gentlemen, I’m no certified psychologist, psychoanalyst, or anything other than a proud lieutenant from the Medical Corps assigned to special duty. I’ve been interested in human nature for a long time, and at the University of California was taking courses in psychology, personality theory, with a special interest in the criminal mind. While there, a visiting professor by the name of Dr. Salvador Minuchin further triggered my interest. My fieldwork consisted of helping him pioneer work with teenagers as he began to shift his focus from individual symptoms to their relationships with their families. No little boy or girl at the age of three or four says, ‘Oh, I can hardly wait to grow up to kill people’, unless he hates everyone so much he wants to strike back later in life. That amount of hatred can only come during the first years of life. The Ghoul may have just started killing while on this island, but the core, or, the basis, the foundation, was laid as a child not being loved, not being wanted, not being valued, not being held and acknowledged or appreciated. The Ghoul is empty of any human emotion and fills it, homicide detective Teten believes, with the thrill and excitement that comes from murdering.”

  “My courses taken under the guidance of that good man, Salvador Minuchin, helped me define who the future therapist should be. He began disputing the traditional methods of the fathers of modern psychology, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Alfred Adler, and so, so many others who searched and search the subconscious, then the much deeper unconscious, for illness to look at the broader perspective of family role and social environments to shape a person’s behavior. Minuchin rejected the therapist’s traditional role as a passive listener to become an inquisitive, traditional interventionist who challenged the patient’s preconceptions and preoccupations with evil thoughts. He would ridicule, plea, praise, pull away, demand, insult, fight, then say he was sorry to the patient. But the point was the patient began to think, which, in turn, led to feelings, new feelings of hope, a certain liveliness, empathy, and ultimately, love.”

  “If only he were here today to study what’s right in front of us, the clues that we can’t see staring us right in the face. If only, Mr. Teten were here to help us.”

  Peter paused for a moment, glancing at Dr. Maxwell who was listing intently, and Dr. Schneidermann who just entered and took a seat in the back.

  “I will leave you with this thought before returning the meeting over to Commander Rupertus. Howard Teten spoke once in Dr. Minuchin’s ‘Advance Personality Theory’ class. The men were good friends. The detective said simply, and please mark down these words, ‘Don’t be afraid to listen to your intuition. Use it as a lamp, a guide, follow it, because it may lead you directly to the obvious. And, when you come to the obvious, don’t be afraid of it. Don’t turn away from the obvious, don’t fight or disregard the obvious. You may think that the obvious is too easy and therefore can’t be the answer. But, damn it, the obvious is most often the right conclusion and answer. More than likely the obvious will allow you to crack the case wide open.”

  With that, Peter turned to Major General Rupertus who rose instantly, walked forth, nodded to Peter, and turned to the audience,

  “Gentlemen, we will now turn to the issue of Mr. Hope’s safety. When we conclude, we’ll have a brief sandwich lunch, then, go about our tasks. He will be arriving with his performers in less than three hours.”

  “First, let me give you a brief background of today’s gala affair. As our division started to prepare for the next campaign last week, the recreation officer learned that Bob Hope and his troupe were to pay a surprise call on our men next door at the Banika airfield. Staff Sergeant Harold Broome immediately asked permission to wire Hope if he would also perform on Pavuvu. I understand that within minutes, the famous vaudeville actor and popular radio comedian and movie star, a legend who’s already won the hearts of servicemen in North Africa, Italy and France, agreed to hop a Piper and fly over here, 20 minutes away, with all his crew of six. Since the Cub is an observation plane, a two-seater, six of them will be required. They’ll be arriving around 1400 this afternoon, performing immediately in our makeshift amphitheater. In between, the entourage will be escorted by a team made up of Lieutenant Toscanini and Commander Everett Keck of the Navy’s Medical Corp, Lt. Col. Earl Maxwell, the Chief Surgeon of USAFISPA, Captain Oscar Del Barbra, and my entire staff, Shepherd, Sims and the D-1, D-2, D-3, D-4 chiefs. They will tour Pavuvu Island and its facilities, defenses, and see the ocean views, then spend an hour or so at the hospital where Toscanini and Maxwell will assume the roles of guides. They will then be taken to our Pavuvu headquarters for an early supper in our officers’ mess and finally over to our Banika theater for the performance. By 1800, they’ll be back on the Piper Cubs for the short return flight to Banika. There, Mr. Hope insists they immediately perform for the Banika boys until 2200. They’ll stay overnight in the Base Hospital, and, after an early breakfast, tour the hospital in the morning. By 1000, they’ll be on their way back to Guadalcanal.”

  “Who’s coming?” an officer of the 1st Division, 1st Battalion asked with a smile.

  “I’m glad you asked, Lieutenant Colonel Walker Reavers,” responded Rupertus.

  “Well, only six. Bob himself, fellow humorist singers Frances Longford and Patti Thomas, guitarist Tony Romano, and some other comics and musicians whose names I’ve forgotten.”

  “We’ve heard he likes being with the troops, the fighting men,” said another.

  The major general smiled.

  “Well, I understand a few months ago, Jack Benny and Larry Adler, with his harmonica, were all over the Middle East. Then, awhile back, Martha Raye went into the foxholes of Tunisia, as Al Jolson, with his harmonium, headed for Egypt. Only Judith Anderson and Ray Bolger were out this way, Anderson with the troops and Navy in Hawaii, and Bolger in Guadalcanal.”

  “Now we get to the prize of them all, the best the USO, the United Services Organization, has straight from the Aleutians, where our men in tiny posts up there get nothing, no leave, no entertainers, nothing but cold, sleet and rain.”

  “Every officer I’ve spoken to has said the same thing about Mr. Hope. He’s a tornado in himself. No one has seen anyone from the ranks of Show Business travel as far, work harder, make as many masses of troops laugh more, and risk his life almost daily. For us out here in the Russells, he’ll do two show
s, back to back. One from this afternoon on Pavuvu, and, on Banika tonight, then up at 0700 to tour and spend time with our men who are hospitalized. An amazing man!”

  As Rupertus paused, Reverend Pinoe walked into the open patio area, searching for a chair among those in the audience of the semicircle.

  “Reverend, I’m glad you walked in. Are you available this afternoon to join our welcoming party to meet Mr. Hope and the troupe at the landing trip and remain with him until he and his troupe fly back to Banika at 1800?”

  “I’d be honored, sir,” Pinoe responded, with a broad grin.

  “Then, take the seat up here next to Lieutenant Toscanini since you’ll join him and my staff in welcoming the troupe. Meanwhile, let me finish telling you what I’ve heard about Bob Hope. Sure, I, too, have gone to the cinema at home, always with my wife, Beth. We have seen every one of the films he’s made. I remember ‘Road to Singapore’, ‘Road to Morocco’, ‘The Ghost Breakers’, ‘My Favorite Blonde’. We even saw one of his earliest, ‘The Cat and the Canary’. But my favorite, one that dealt with Nazi spies in New York, was called ‘They Got Me Covered.’”

  After glancing around the assembled group, and seeing their intense interest, Major General Rupertus continued,

  “When it comes to mingling with our brother servicemen, it is said Hope is extraordinarily friendly. It’s known among our troops, here in the South Pacific, and across the Atlantic in Western Europe, that Mr. Hope will only eat with the fighting men, drink what they drink, use the same personal facilities, read the same monotonous drool and drivel we all read, and listen to the same as our boys listen to. He sincerely feels he’s one of them, is with them, and wouldn’t mind be given an M-1 so he can join the front line.”

  Rupertus again remained silent, searching for words to express his innermost thoughts. After a pause lasting a full minute or so, the commander said quietly,