Toward Night's End

by M. H. Sargent

  “Okay, what happens when someone dies?” Johnstone asked impatiently. “People do die on this island, don’t they?”

  “Well, yeah. Then we tell Dr. Charlie.”

  Johnstone turned and headed for the car. “Fine, call Dr. Charlie. Get him to fetch the body. And be sure he leaves the knife where it is.”

  ***

  Matthew had seen the ferry crossing the bay and knew it had left on time. He took that as good news – they weren’t holding up the departure to search for him. He also knew his mother would be telling everyone that her eldest son was missing. He knew this stemmed from his father’s car accident, when he had driven off the road, hit a tree, and slowly bled to death while trapped in the mangled heap. She would be thinking the same fate had befallen him.

  Of course, this also meant that the Army and maybe the police would be looking for him. He thought of going down to the dock and telling them that he had been in an accident – which would explain the large lump he could feel on the back of his head, but he knew he couldn’t account for Mr. Porter’s truck. This alone would lead to further questions he couldn’t truthfully answer. All of which meant that he had to get off the island.

  It was just a matter of time before he was spotted. Besides, there were two bodies that might turn up soon. Though no one would normally link him to the man he had stabbed, he was now a wanted man, which automatically would make him a suspect. And as for Tom’s body, too many people – including all of Tom’s family – knew that they were best friends. Naturally, he would have to be questioned. And he knew he didn’t have the right answers.

  He also knew that using his own fishing trawler would be risky. But he reasoned that trying to sneak aboard the ferry or someone else’s trawler would be equally risky. Besides, all those boats would be heading to Seattle. In his own boat, he could go anywhere. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to control his own destiny and get away in his own trawler.

  Having been born on the island, he knew every inch of it. And he had used this knowledge to make his way home, bypassing the roads and neighbors that he knew would be home. However, now concealed behind a tree fifty yards from the rickety dock, he was astonished to see two people on his boat. It took him a minute to realize that one was wearing a police uniform. Damn!

  ***

  “I don’t understand why we’re here,” Officer Stanton said.

  But Johnstone just knelt beside a large fishing net on the stern, inspecting it with great care.

  “I mean, the Jap took the truck to the mainland,” Stanton went on.

  “And how do we know that?” Johnstone challenged, standing up.

  The young man hesitated for a moment, then explained, “The truck hasn’t shown up. This isn’t a big place. Everyone thinks he took off. Afraid to go to a relocation center. Or like I said, he’s working for—”

  “The real Japanese. I remember.”

  “Right. I mean, he’s not on the boat. I’m sure the Army looked.”

  Johnstone didn’t respond. Instead, he headed down the steep ladder that led to a small galley, a cramped living space, and a closed door toward the stern. Johnstone headed straight for the door and opened it. A rancid odor hit him first. The large hold was obviously used to store fish.

  “I don’t think I could ever do this for a living,” Officer Stanton announced, following him inside. “Stinks.”

  “Well, I’ll be...” Johnstone said, his voice trailing off. Marching across the hold to a wood support beam in the middle of the chamber, he stared at a knife stuck in the wood at eye level. The handle had the same red and black twirling design as the murder weapon.

  “My God,” was all Officer Stanton could muster.

  Pulling hard, Johnstone extracted the knife. It was larger than the murder weapon, but definitely a close match. “Let’s go.” Johnstone headed back to the narrow ladder.

  “My God,” Stanton repeated. “I mean, he did it. The Jap did it.”

  Johnstone stopped in mid-step on the ladder and turned to the young man. “I don’t want to hear that word again. Ever.”

  “What?” Stanton asked, clearly puzzled.

  “Jap. He’s a Japanese-American.”

  “He’s a murderer,” came the brazen reply.

  “It looks that way, yes.” Johnstone started up the ladder again. “But we need to let the agencies know that we’re no longer looking for a man who may have wanted to escape the internment camps. Get word out that he’s wanted in connection with a murder.”

  ***

  As Matthew watched them get into their car, he had no way of knowing that not only had his stabbing victim been found, but that he was now tied to the murder. Yet it wouldn’t have mattered if he had known. He felt a desperate urge to get off the island.

  He had to resist the temptation to run as fast as he could to the trawler. He knew from experience that in a matter of minutes he could cast off the mooring lines and be underway. But it was far better to wait and make sure he was now truly alone.

  Walking at a brisk pace, but not running, Matthew headed for freedom. As he neared the dock, he heard a car approaching and willed himself not to turn around. With his back to the road, he looked like any other man. Hopefully, whoever it was would pass by.

  “Matthew! Matthew!” he heard. It was Sally. How many times had he and Tom joked about her distinctive voice. Tom had called it “tantalizing.” Whatever it might be, it was definitely distinguishable. Still, Matthew walked on. “Matthew! Stop! Matthew!”

  Finally, Matthew did as she instructed. She was already out of her father’s car and running toward him. Did she know? Had Tom been found? But he knew a moment later when she smiled brightly that this wasn’t the case. She had no idea.

  “How come you’re still here? Aren’t you supposed to be...you know...”

  “I sold the trawler to the Navy.”

  “The Navy? You’re kidding.” She still smiled. She was very pretty, her short blonde hair blowing with the sea breeze.

  It took all of Matthew’s will not to ask her why she was here. As Dr. Charlie’s receptionist, she worked long hours, often even working through her lunch hour to catch up on paper work. So why was she out now? Looking for him?

  “My gosh, the Navy,” Sally repeated.

  “They wanted it. I think to use for spying.”

  “No!” Sally gasped.

  “It’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “No, no, of course not. I won’t say a word.”

  “I have to take it across.”

  Sally gave him a puzzled look. “But why wouldn’t they just come get it?”

  “No one is to know. No one,” he emphasized. “If people see Navy sailors on it, then word gets out. You can’t say anything.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I have to go, sorry.” Matthew backed away, anxious to get on board.

  “Wait! We can’t find Tom. Do you know where he is?”

  Matthew swallowed hard. “No.”

  “Did you see him last night?”

  His heart hammered in his chest. “No,” he lied. It wasn’t in his nature to lie, and he wondered if she could tell that he was deceiving her. “I didn’t see him, sorry.”

  Sally slowly nodded. “He never showed up for work this morning. His Dad’s pretty upset. With all the Army people here, he needs as much help as he can get.” Sally was talking about The Crow’s Nest – the family restaurant.

  “Why did you think he’d be here?” Matthew asked, wondering why she was even on this side of the island.

  “I’m on my way back from Mrs. Perrgle’s. She doesn’t drive, remember? Anyway, she had an appointment. Dr. Charlie usually takes her home, makes sure she has her medications all sorted out, but he had me take her back. He got an emergency call. I guess some guy from the mainland was found dead on the north end.”

  Matthew just stared at her. His mind racing. “On the north end?” he repeated. Was it the man he had killed? It had to
be. What were the odds, otherwise?

  But Sally just shrugged. “Funny. They told Dr. Charlie to be sure to have a blanket or something to wrap him in. I guess he wasn’t dressed.”

  Matthew felt like he had been struck in the chest with a sledgehammer. It was the man he had killed. And disrobed. Matthew continued to stare, speechless. Finally, he said, “I better go, sorry.”

  She nodded. Then suddenly she stepped forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Good luck.”

  He could only nod.

  Little did she know how much he’d need that.

  Chapter Four

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  Porter’s truck was found by the Kobata’s neighbor, Bill Thorne.

  His young daughter had dragged him over to the Kobata house in the hopes that he could entice Ido’s cat to come down from the large tree located in the Kobata’s front yard. Some Army private had brought the cat back to them, but it had quickly escaped his daughter’s clutches and now sat stoically in the tree. While he couldn’t do anything about the cat, he did dutifully notify Porter that his truck had been located. News on the small island always spread fast, and he was fully aware that both Matthew and the truck were missing.

  “What about Osco, Daddy?” his daughter asked.

  “He’ll come down eventually. Maybe just leave him some food at the base of the tree. Every day, you can move the food a little closer to our house. He’ll get the idea.”

  “But he’s mine!” she whined.

  “What did I tell you? You’re just baby-sitting it for a little while. Mr. Kobata will want it back when he gets home.”

  “But when? When will they be home?”

  Thorne gave his daughter a small smile. “I don’t know, honey.”

  “But he’s mine!”

  “He doesn’t understand that. So do as I say. Feed him here, but move the food closer to our place.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  Thorne wasn’t surprised when Porter pulled up in his small pickup just minutes after he had called him. With just a curt nod of acknowledgment to them, Porter got out and headed for the truck cab. He opened the door and found the keys in the ignition. He then walked slowly around the truck, carefully inspecting it. At the back end, he swung open the cargo doors and stumbled backwards, as if someone had physically pushed him.

  Curious, Thorne left his daughter at the base of the tree and went to the back of the truck. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  “Oh, Christ,” he mumbled. He, too, staggered back a few steps.

  It was Tom Bollgen. With a gaping hole in his chest. Blood soaked his shirt all the way to his trouser’s waistband.

  “Daddy, come here!” his daughter demanded. But it was as if she were miles away. His brain recognized her voice and her order, but all he could think was that Tom Bollgen was dead. Shot. By Matthew Kobata? Weren’t they good friends? Since childhood? It didn’t make sense.

  “Daddy, do something!” In a mindless fog, he looked up and saw his daughter running toward him, clearly distraught. Thorne immediately snapped to attention and headed quickly toward her, scooping her up and blocking her view of the truck.

  “Daddy, look! Osco’s going even higher!”

  Sure enough, the cat was moving further up the tree. As if it could sense that the truck held the young man’s body. Thorne and Porter exchanged looks.

  “You got a phone?” Porter asked.

  Thorne could only nod. With that Porter slowly approached the rear of the truck. Staring at the body, he silently shut one door, then the other. Without a word, he followed Thorne and his daughter to their house.

  “But the cat, Daddy! The cat!”

  “Never you mind the damned cat!” Thorne tersely replied.

  His daughter sensed something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. As she was carried briskly away from the Kobata house, she watched Osco. The cat had chosen a new branch and now crouched low, staring at the cargo truck below.

  ***

  “Hard to say for sure,” was the final announcement.

  Irritated, Johnstone waited for him to say more. But apparently the man wasn’t going to elaborate. The exam room was small and stifling, and Johnstone felt his patience evaporating. “Just an estimate. A day?”

  But Dr. Charles O’Brien didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied the body as Johnstone studied him. The doctor was probably about 70, quite tall, and very thin with wisps of gray hair in complete disarray as if he didn’t own a comb. He had a very angular nose upon which reading glasses were now perched.

  “Have to guess sometime late afternoon or early evening,” Dr. Charlie finally said.

  “Yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes. By all means, this man was alive before that.”

  Finally, the doctor had made a pronouncement with some certainty. Johnstone nodded, although the doctor didn’t see him – he was busy studying the fatal wound.

  “Sliced the jugular,” Dr. Charlie explained. “Must have been quite a mess.”

  Johnstone thought about this. “There wasn’t any blood where we found him.”

  “No, no. I noticed that too. He was left there. But he died somewhere else.”

  “You don’t know him, I take it?”

  Dr. Charlie looked up at him. “No, but I can tell you that he never lived here. At least not for more than a couple of months.”

  Johnstone was surprised. “You seem very certain.”

  “Been here all my life. Left to go to school. Medical school.” Dr. Charlie took off his glasses and smiled at Johnstone. “I know everyone here. Everyone that lives here, that is. We don’t get a lot of newcomers, but when we do, I end up meeting them one way or another. Everyone born on this island after 1893, they were delivered by me. Or at the very least, I saw them the next day.”

  Johnstone nodded. “What about the left hand?” he asked.

  Dr. Charlie carefully scrutinized each digit. “Done some time ago, I imagine.”

  “Accident?”

  “It wasn’t a surgical procedure, if that’s what you mean.”

  The doctor delicately touched the top of each severed finger. “Doubt he caught them in a machine of some sort. Looks like it was intentional. Sharp blade. Maybe an ax. Each one was done separately, I’d guess.”

  Johnstone looked at the body and the knife that now lay on the table next to the man’s arm. “Ever seen a knife like that? The handle, I mean. Seems unique.”

  Dr. Charlie just shook his head. “Serrated edge commonly used in fishing. But no, couldn’t hazard a guess.”

  You just did, thought Johnstone.

  They were interrupted by a brisk knock on the closed door, and then Officer Stanton peeked in. “Sorry,” he said, looking just at Johnstone. “Something’s come up.”

  “In a few minutes. We’re almost done,” Johnstone told him.

  “Sir, it shouldn’t wait. Another man has been murdered.”

  217 Miles South of Seattle, Washington. March 30, 1942

  They were on their way to California. This made Kumiko feel better because she had arrived in San Francisco as a small child after she and her parents had left Japan. She could still remember their first two years there, the beauty of the rolling hills, the greenery, and of course, the beautiful sea.

  Now she, her family, and hundreds of others were being taken to California. At least that was the rumor quietly going from family to family on the train. Word was they were headed to some sort of valley. Located somewhere along the edge of the eastern Sierras. It sounded promising. A valley. Probably very green and lush. Perhaps they could grow much of their own food.

  She was also pleased because Julia’s enthusiasm for adventure had now spread to Daniel, and the two of them often left their seats to wander from train car to train car, and both had already made new friends. Plus, all the porters, as well as the Army personnel on board, treated the Japanese-Americ
ans with the utmost respect. If they wanted something, it was just a matter of minutes, and it was theirs. An extra pillow. A glass of water.

  Even Ido had perked up. He was insisting that he would grow the finest strawberries in this valley that they were going to now call home. While a part of her was pleased that her family was bearing their circumstances quite well, another part of her wanted to scream at them. How could they have so suddenly forgotten all about Matthew?

  Bainbridge Island, Washington. March 30, 1942

  “Touch anything?” Johnstone asked, staring at the body of Tom Bollgen. He and the others were clustered at the back of the truck.

  “No,” Porter was quick to answer. “Just the doors. To open them.”

  Johnstone looked to Bill Thorne. “Me neither,” the man explained.

  “And you know for sure it’s this...Tom..?” Johnstone inquired.

  “It’s Tom Bollgen, sir,” Officer Stanton replied before Thorne had a chance. “I knew him. Family owns The Crow’s Nest.” This didn’t seem to register with Johnstone, so Stanton added, “Restaurant in Winslow.”

  Dr. Charlie had ridden with Stanton to the Kobata home, and he now said, “I brought all the Bollgen kids into the world. It’s Tom.”

  “He’s got a bunch of brothers and sisters?” Johnstone asked.

  “Cousins,” Dr. Charlie explained. He furrowed his brow in concentration and then said, “Five. Three boys, two girls.”

  Johnstone nodded. “What else can you tell me about him?”

  It was Stanton this time. “Works with his father at the restaurant. Nice guy. Been tight with Sally Grazer for about two years. Word has it they’re engaged, but I never heard that from any of the Bollgens.”

  “What about the Grazer family? They like this guy?”

  Stanton shrugged. “Not sure.”

  With that, Johnstone climbed into the back of the truck. Carefully inspecting the rear of the truck, he noticed something dark on the floor and knelt down. “Dr. Charlie, can you come up here, please?”