Joe chimed in, “I hope that’s good, but I’m afraid it’s not. I was a pretty bad character in the past,” and he added, “before I met this guy,” looking at me, “and Rachel.”
“No. I just heard the good things,” Andrew responded.
Rachel met us at the door as we stepped into the living room. She hugged Andrew, saying, “what a pleasant surprise!”
I motioned for him to take a seat on one of the chairs lining the room, and as he did I put his suitcase down next to the staircase. Joe sat down on the love seat, and Rachel made herself comfortable on the large sofa across from Andrew Dark. Apparently Ariel was still upstairs in bed. It was pretty early.
“What’s going on with the police outside?” Andrew said, looking at me. I had made myself comfortable next to my wife.
“Our neighbor was murdered. I think it happened in our yard. At any rate he staggered to our door before dying. I don’t think the cops are convinced we had nothing to do with it.”
The man from Virginia glanced at Joe. As if reading his mind, I added, “Joe and his new wife were upstairs asleep when this all went down.”
“Well I have some news that might shed some light on the situation. It’s why I traveled all the way out here,” and he added, to be gracious, “plus I wanted to see you two.” Andrew leaned forward in his chair as he spoke. He didn’t need to add that he was bored at home all alone since his Dorothy had passed away.
“Harold Lambright has disappeared!”
Chapter Fifteen
1943
Jeb’s new friend never returned to their cubicle. Word was that he had died from his wounds. The prisoners learned much later that he was executed when they found out he’d been one of the officers on the Doolittle raid that had bombed mainland Japan.
The nurse who had dressed his wound was no longer in the infirmary. He hoped she hadn’t been punished for her kindness. He had learned her name, for all the good it would do him, Yasmin Shigehara. It seems she was not born in Japan, though her parents were Japanese. They lived in Hawaii, on the big island, when she was born. Her father was very patriotic however, and when it became apparent the war with China would escalate into something much larger he packed up his family, including the twenty year old nursing student, and moved back to Japan. They settled in Hiroshima, and their daughter was conscripted into the military on December eighth, 1941.
Life on Okinawa became routine. The prisoners were herded out just after sunup each day for work, even those who were sick or whose wounds from war had not healed completely. Most of them were assigned to labor on construction projects, fortifying the island against attack.
Rumors were rampant that the Allies were making steady progress toward them. It was hoped they would be liberated before long, in time to join the invasion of the Japanese mainland, which couldn’t come too soon.
Meanwhile the bunk previously occupied by the friend he’d never learned the name of was taken by a newcomer. He was also Navy, and an officer. Jeb however in his assumed identity outranked the new guy but not by much. He was a lieutenant. When he came to their compound he was pretty beat up. He had a broken left leg which hadn’t been set, and shrapnel in his left shoulder. This guy had really been worked over. After stowing his limited gear under his bunk he was taken to the infirmary. He spent the better part of five days in there, while being returned to the compound to sleep each night.
Jeb didn’t have much chance to talk to him those first few days, but he did learn how the man had come to be captured. He’d been picked up in the water by a Jap version of a PT boat after being blown off the deck of his ship by a shell that landed nearby, off an island called Guadalcanal. That explosion was how he was hit by the shrapnel.
It wasn’t until the lieutenant’s second week of captivity on Okinawa that Jeb learned his name; William Collins. Bill, as he liked to be called, was a southern boy from the great state of South Carolina. One had to listen real close when he sp9ke, because he used a strange language called a southern drawl. It was funny to Jeb, because in a different life he too had come from the Deep South, in Virginia, but this was new to him too.
Jeb’s identity as Lieutenant-Commander James Priestley was difficult for him. He’d had no education past high school, and he hadn’t even graduated twelfth grade. The ways of an officer and a gentleman were extremely foreign to him, and yet he hesitated to tell anyone the truth. He’d heard the stories about the enlisted men’s confinement; that they were outside in the elements, caged behind barbed wire, with nothing but a ditch for a latrine. That wasn’t for him. He would have to keep up the pretense somehow, until he escaped from captivity.
He thought about getting away often, but he had no idea how to accomplish it. The island was far out to sea; no land in sight in any direction. He had no idea where Okinawa was. North and south were just words to him. A compass was a luxury none of the prisoners possessed. He thought about feigning sickness bad enough to be transferred to better facilities on the Japanese mainland, but he feared they might just shoot him to save the trouble of sending him away. He still had a strong will to live.
Jeb Lee, alias James Priestley, had no idea anyone might be interested in his whereabouts. He never considered the man whose identity he’d assumed might have a family somewhere back in the states. Not long after he was captured, or rescued, the Japanese published a list of imprisoned military personnel, as per the Geneva Convention, even though they didn’t belong. The name Lieutenant-Commander James Priestley was on that list. A woman identified as his wife, named Anne Priestley, was notified by mail that her husband was alive and a prisoner of war. Safe was a word they didn’t use to describe his circumstances. The letter with the information reached her at their family home in a small town in Massachusetts. The pretty blonde thirty-one year old had been previously married and divorced before meeting the dashing naval officer. They’d had little time together before he had to report for duty aboard the destroyer Sims. They were married only a day before his ship steamed into the war.
Upon hearing the news that her husband was alive, Anne put her furniture into storage and bought a ticket to Hawaii. She wanted to be close if and when he was freed.
Chapter Sixteen
Rachel Embree gasped upon hearing the news Andrew Dark had disclosed. She’d tried to bury that part of her past that had included Harold Lambright, but now with just that one pronouncement it all came flooding back.
It was early in 1950. Her twenty year old son Thomas had just left for Korea, having been drafted into the Army. Neither she nor her son had any idea that part of the world would soon explode into chaos. The North Koreans had not yet crossed the 38th parallel into the south.
Her former high school classmate, socialite Louise Ormsby Lambright was planning the twentieth reunion of their class. She and Louise had not particularly gotten along, both having been interested in the same boy years earlier. So it was surprising to Rachel that Louise would send her eighteen year old son with the invitation to the party.
Louise and Rodney Lambright lived with their only son on the other side of town, the rich side. So it was with surprise that she opened the door that day to see Harold standing on her doorstep. She hadn’t been expecting company, and she was in her housecoat. The eighteen year old explained that he was coming to that neighborhood anyway on a story, so it was no problem to deliver the invitation rather than for his mother to send it by mail or, God forbid, to use the telephone.
She could see he was looking at her breasts, and she felt uncomfortable, pulling her housecoat more tightly around her. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had no intention of inviting him in, when he pushed past her and was suddenly standing in her small living room.
Still she didn’t want to be impolite. It just wasn’t her nature, so she tried to make small talk by asking about his parents.
When he reached out and pulled her to him she tried to escape his grasp, but he was too strong. She scratched his face in the scuffle, raking her finger
s across one side, until she brought blood.
He became enraged and hit her full on the mouth with his closed fist. She lost consciousness, and when she awoke he was rearranging his clothes. She knew she’d been raped. He threatened that if she told anyone of their encounter, he would return and attack her again, and then he would kill her. She was terrified.
She didn’t attend the reunion. Her jaw was still swollen, and besides she didn’t want to see his family or chance seeing him again. It would be over a month before she would venture out of her home. By then the bruises on her face had healed. She told no one what had happened, until she met Ivan Dunn.
Andrew Dark was speaking again, “I’m sorry Rachel, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“That’s all right Mister Dark, I was just remembering some things in the past I’d much rather forget.”
“I understand. It’s not pleasant being shot at.”
“And hit,” I added. Rachel’s right hand automatically came up to a spot just under her left shoulder.
I remember I had been so sure at the time the rifle bullet had been meant for me, but that was before I learned of the rape, and the ominous threat to the woman who would later be my wife. We hadn’t become close yet, but I was enraged just the same. I wanted to kill the insolent son of a bitch. Then I would beat the hell out of him. Maybe it was the other way around, I don’t remember.
Just then Ariel came bounding down the stairs looking as if she were ready for a party. She was fully made up, and wearing a beige off the shoulder dress with all the trimmings, a gold necklace, matching earrings, and bracelets, one on each arm, and brown high heels.
“It looks like you’ve been busy,” Joe said, in an admiring voice.
“I just felt so dingy when we arrived yesterday, that I wanted to dress up for my husband. Do you mind?”
“What are you, crazy? You’re beautiful.” Joe responded, on cue.
Rachel interjected, for all to hear, “Isn’t love grand?” It lightened the mood in the entire room.
After I made all the introductions, and explained that two kids might come strolling down from upstairs at any moment, I added, “I could use some coffee, how about all of you?”
“Coming right up,” Rachel said, as she moved toward the kitchen.
We all seemed to have forgotten a murder had been committed not far from where we sat, and the killer could be lurking close by to add to his total. I looked out the front window. The Sheriff’s vehicle was no longer in the driveway. I remember being thankful I was still a free man, but maybe not for long.
Chapter Seventeen
Everett Paulsen had read the report of the murder outside the home of Ivan Dunn. Unlike the men assigned to the case, he knew the ex-private detective was just an innocent bystander, so to speak. How did he know? Why was he so sure? He had met the man, and delved into his character, and his past.
Paulsen was a man with an unassuming personality. His intelligence would sneak up on the unsuspecting witness or perpetrator of a crime. The first thing anyone noticed was his white cowboy hat, of the ten gallon size. By design, this would put people at ease, and as such they’d be inclined not to take him seriously. He wore a smaller version of western hat originally, but when he realized the effect of the white cover, he decided to go whole hog and buy the full size. The rest of his attire was conservative. He wore a dark blue gabardine suit, even in the warm months, which were most of them in the mild Southern California climate. One would be inclined to ask, “What part of Texas are you from?” when encountering him for the first time. He would explain with a smile, “I’m from Minnesota originally, but I love Tom Mix.”
When he walked through his supervisor’s door, his boss groaned. Paulsen never entered his sacred domain unless he wanted something. At least he’d removed that stupid hat.
“Don’t say it,” he had said, “all my cases are already assigned.”
“But,” Paulsen was going to say he had special knowledge about the case he was interested in, but his boss interrupted.
“No buts. No crying. You’ve been assigned to a desk for at least another month.” He was remembering the caper that got his best detective in hot water in the first place.
He’d been off duty, and sitting by the window at his favorite restaurant. He was minding his own business, ready to attack a porterhouse steak smothered in mushrooms, when he noticed some strange activity at the bank across the street. A man was standing near the door, and looking nervously around. The bank was closed, and there was no reason, in the detective’s mind, for the guy to be there.
He knew he could get the waiter to warm his food when he returned so he sauntered over to where the suspicious man stood.
Just then the guy turned and ran down the street. Paulsen yelled, “Stop, Police!” and drew his shoulder-holstered gun. The subject continued running, and soon was out of sight. Paulsen didn’t pursue. He looked in the window of the bank, and, seeing nothing, he returned to his steak.
The next day the proverbial “all hell broke loose.” When he came in to work, he was greeted by his supervisor, and two other men, obviously cops, in suits. He had an inkling then that he’d done something wrong, and he was sure it had to do with the episode at the bank.
Seems the FBI had staked out that facility on a tip that a heist was going down at the bank. Paulsen scared off the advance scout, and the others never showed up, thereby foiling the feds well planned sting to catch them all in the act.
They never would have even known he’d been there, except for a nosey cabbie who happened to be within sight of the bank. There was a cab stand on the corner, maybe thirty yards from where the encounter had happened. The next day he, the cabbie, stopped in to the substation looking for information as to what he had seen.
Paulsen had left his hat on the bench where he’d been sitting in the restaurant, and he wouldn’t have been recognized except that the proprietor inside brought the cowboy hat outside, thinking maybe the detective had forgotten it. Of course the cab driver saw it. It was the only instance in his illustrious career that the hat had been a detriment.
Paulsen had not filed a report of the incident, thinking others might think him deranged for chasing a guy just standing around minding his own business, maybe stopping to light a smoke. By the time he learned the significance of what had happened, it was too late to save his ass. So he was a desk jockey for a while.
It occurred to him that he might get off the hook if he apologized to the FBI, maybe pleaded on his knees. He was acquainted with the Special Agent in Charge of the L.A. office. He’d met him while working the Dunn case in 1954.
It wasn’t something he thought he could accomplish over the phone, so he jumped in his 1955 Chevy hardtop, and headed up 101.
He was in luck. Harry Shields was in his office in the Federal Building in downtown Los Angeles. He hadn’t even considered that the agent might be out somewhere. After an obligatory fifteen minute wait, he was seated across from the man he felt held his fate in his hands.
Harry Shields was well aware of events in the city to the south. It seemed as if his friend Ivan just couldn’t stay away from danger, no matter what form it took. He also remembered the role of Everett Paulsen in getting Ivan released from jail, by proving, along with the barrister Jered Longfellow, that he couldn’t have killed that Sheriff’s deputy in 1954. So he was receptive to Paulsen’s request this time. All was forgiven.
Chapter Eighteen
1945
The past year had seemed to drag on for Jeb. It could be summed up by the number of bunks that were vacated by execution and disease. There seemed to be one for each month.
Maybe the New Year would be better. 1944 had not been a banner year at the camp on Okinawa. The officer’s compound had fallen into disrepair. God knows how much worse it was for the enlisted men. No money was spent to fix anything. Because of disease and executions their numbers had fallen to twenty-two, and about half of the survivors were sick due to the unsanitary c
onditions.
The prisoners received no hard news. They had no idea how the war was really going, but there was much scuttlebutt about an impending invasion. Jeb heard Iwo Jima had fallen to the Allies, and the tide of battle was definitely in favor of defeat for the Japanese Empire, but again that was just hearsay.
In January all the officers imprisoned who had survived were transferred to the mainland. They were scattered to various internment camps. Jeb went to a compound not far from Hiroshima.
Almost simultaneously with Jeb’s arrival at the camp in Hiroshima, a guard named Isaru Toki was transferred to the compound. At first it seemed conditions would be much better than on Okinawa. For one thing, the nurse in the infirmary was Yasmin Shigehara. Surprisingly she recognized him right off, when he was sent in for a cursory physical.
“It is good to see you James San.” She used the more traditional greeting. She still knew him as James Priestley. He addressed her as Miss Shigehara.
She seemed very sincere, most likely because he was still alive. That had not been an easy accomplishment in the Okinawa camp.
He’d been incarcerated on the mainland for about a month, all the time looking for a chance to escape, when he and the new guard Isaru Toki had the first of many confrontations.
The Japanese man had a score to settle with all enemies.
He’d been only nineteen when his unit was dispatched to Guadalcanal. It was early in 1942. The island forces were being beefed up in anticipation of an assault by the American forces. At first it was quiet, with the enemy still reeling from the loss of much of its fleet at Pearl Harbor. But by 1943 he saw many of his comrades killed or wounded by the invading American Marines. The fighting, sometimes hand to hand, was fierce, but he continued to survive unscathed. That was surprising, because Isaru considered himself a coward. He did not shirk his duties, but he couldn’t shake his fear. Perhaps it was because he had so much to live for back home in Tokyo.
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