The White Ghost

by James R Benn

  “Billy, we’re not a cruise ship. We don’t bother with all that. We got a manifest with names on it at Rendova, but once we made sure they were all on board, that was the end of it. Tulagi may not be much, but everyone who could leave did, and we didn’t stand in their way.”

  “I get it,” I said. “You don’t happen to remember anything else about the native Coastwatcher, the one who got on at Guadalcanal?”

  “I have a vague recollection of the guy we took from Rendova, but only because his speech was so surprising. I was expecting Pijin and got the King’s English.”

  “Okay, thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kelly said, snapping his fingers. “There was a GI up here, dressed in fresh fatigues. A little guy. He was pretty dark-skinned, but I thought it was a tan. He wore a big-billed cap, so it was hard to see his face. Not that I tried. But he could have been a native.”

  “Daniel Tamana. He’d been pulled out with his partner, who was sick with dysentery,” I said. “They were flown straight to Henderson Field. His clothes were probably in tatters from living in the jungle. They must have outfitted him on Guadalcanal.”

  “Makes sense,” Kelly said, nodding.

  It did, but it didn’t answer the important question: What had Daniel seen? I leaned against the rail, wondering if he had done the same thing.

  “What’s going on with that PT?” I said, looking to the boat below with its tubes and depth charges removed. I was vaguely curious, and uncertain what to do next. Asking questions came naturally, and seemed easier than admitting I was at a loss.

  “That’s PT-59,” Kelly said. “We’re turning her into a gunboat. She’s getting two forty-millimeter guns and extra machine guns, all in armored turrets. The idea is to use her against Jap barges moving men and supplies down the Slot.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said, remembering what Jack had said. “A guy told me the torpedoes are often slower than the destroyers they fire at.”

  “True enough,” Kelly said. “And the barges are shallow draft, so the torpedoes run right under them. Ought to be a nasty surprise for our Jap friends. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Billy. Good luck.”

  I wished him the same and stood for a minute where Daniel Tamana had stood. I walked along the starboard side of the main deck, keeping an eye on the lower deck where the group from the fantail would have stood as they waited to go ashore. With Daniel watching and listening. Seeing and hearing whatever got him killed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Hello gents,” I said to Archer and Gordie as they organized supplies on the dock next to PT-169. Sailors carried crates onboard as the two men checked them off lists flapping in the humid breeze on clipboards marked with grease and rust. Spam, medical supplies, whiskey, ammunition. All the essentials.

  “Scuttlebutt is you’re coming with us tomorrow,” Archer said. “Part of your investigation?”

  “I heard Daniel Tamana worked on Rendova,” I said. “Thought I’d ask around and see if anyone remembers much about him.”

  “Ah, the search for clues continues, eh?” Gordie said, grinning as the sweat ran in rivulets down his face. He was the quintessential jolly fat man, always ready with a friendly greeting. Did that smile hide a deadly intent? I had no reason to suspect him of any foul play, other than proximity. But that didn’t rule him out.

  “My dad always said, if you turn over enough rocks, you’re bound to find something slimy.”

  “Especially true out here,” Gordie said, chuckling. “Slimy and dangerous. I’d watch out if I were you. In the bush, the smallest rock can hide the deadliest creature.”

  “Your dad a copper, too?” Archer asked as Gordie turned back to his checklist.

  “Yeah,” I said, eyeing Gordie and wondering if he’d been making a joke, giving me a friendly warning, or something more sinister. “Family business back in Boston.”

  “Funny how these things go,” Archer said. “My old man had a station in New South Wales. That’s a ranch to you Yanks. I fancied taking over from him, but there was a terrible drought. Some of the local blokes made it through, but we’d recently come out from England and weren’t properly prepared. The cattle died and the bank foreclosed when his money ran out. As soon as I could, I headed out here, where there are no banks. Thieving bastards, they are.”

  “Hard to disagree with that,” I said. “I bet a lot of planters came out here to get away from civilization. Silas Porter, for one.”

  “Our reformed hermit,” Gordie said, sticking a pencil behind his ear. “He was famous for his lack of hospitality. We islanders tend to stick together. Not many of us, you know. But not Silas; he was a man who liked his privacy. Still, his plantation wasn’t the easiest place to get to, so it wasn’t like he was turning people away. But you knew not to expect him at any sort of gathering.”

  “Man’s got a right,” Archer said. “That’s why a lot of us are here, isn’t it? To make our own way.”

  “Sort of like the Wild West back home,” I said, to nods from them both. “Tell me, that’s the ship you came in on, isn’t it?” I hooked my thumb in the general direction of Kelly’s ship.

  “Yeah,” Archer said. “PT tender. They treated us well, didn’t they Gordie?”

  “Food and drink, smooth sailing, and no Japanese aircraft dropping bombs. Delightful trip,” Gordie said.

  “Do you remember what you talked about?” I asked. “You were all on the fantail, right?”

  “I’d say we all were,” Archer said. “We gabbed a fair bit, but I’m damned if I can remember about what. You, Gordie?”

  “Cold beer, women, decent food, cigarettes that hadn’t gone moldy—that sort of thing, I expect. Nothing that sticks in my mind.”

  “You had company, right? Marines, navy officers, Australian commandos,” I said, hoping to prompt their memories for anything that might throw some light on Daniel’s behavior.

  “That’s right,” Archer said. “Some PT crew as well. But they stayed in the ship’s mess most of the time.”

  “And you didn’t notice Daniel Tamana?” I asked. “It’s fairly certain he went from Henderson Field and got a ride on the tender to this very place.”

  “Well, if he did, why wouldn’t he make himself known?” Gordie said, his brow wrinkled. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Given that neither of us had met him before,” Archer said, “we could have walked right by him and not realized who he was.”

  “But still,” Gordie said, “it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what we were all about. How many Australians in filthy khaki and slouch hats were on that boat? And John Kari was there, for goodness’ sake.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They’re both natives and part of the Coastwatchers. They must have known of each other. It’d be natural enough to want to meet a chap like yourself,” Gordie said.

  “But I thought you only knew each other by call sign,” I said.

  “Word travels,” Archer said. “The natives know much more than they let on, believe me.”

  “Besides,” Gordie said, “didn’t they both work on Pavau? They must have met at some point.”

  “Not according to John Kari,” I said.

  “Then why did Daniel hide himself?” Gordie asked.

  “But only on the boat,” I said, thinking it through. “He came right to Hugh Sexton’s place, right?”

  “That he did,” Archer said, nodding. “What does it mean?”

  “He felt safe there,” I said. “But not on the boat.”

  “Because Hugh was there, you mean,” Archer said, his voice suddenly hard. “Are you accusing us of making him fear for his life?”

  “It does make sense, doesn’t it?” I answered, watching for Archer’s reaction.

  “I should knock your teeth in for that, you
cow,” Archer said, stepping closer, his fists bunched at his side. His face was red and a vein throbbed at his temple. Interesting.

  “Hey, just thinking out loud, Archer,” I said, holding up my hands, palms out.

  “Do it quieter, then,” he said, and spun on his heel, stomping off the dock.

  “Why’d he call me a cow?” I asked Gordie, who as usual was smiling.

  “A Yank’d say bum or bastard. If he were feeling charitable, that is.”

  “My insinuation didn’t seem to bother you,” I said, wiping the perspiration from my eyes, glad to have avoided Archer’s swing. He looked like he knew how to use those meaty fists.

  “About Daniel being afraid of one of us? Hells bells, I’ve got bigger things to worry about, like the Japanese Army and Navy,” he said. “Besides, I know I didn’t hurt anyone. Not on our side, at least.” He flashed a grin and went back to work, leaving me to wonder at that singular statement of innocence.

  I couldn’t think of any other rocks to turn over in Sesapi, and I had some time to kill before I picked up Kaz at the PBY base near headquarters. I decided to pay Jack a visit and see how he made out with Cluster, angling for a new boat. If he managed not to irritate me, I might even tell him about the report I filed with Ritchie, absolving him of any involvement in the murder of Daniel Tamana.

  I found Jack in his hut, whistling a happy tune while he stuffed clothes into a white canvas sea bag.

  “I guess it went well with Cluster,” I said, thinking that most guys would be happy about going home, not hanging around the Solomons to give the Japs another chance to burn, drown, or maim them.

  “I’m getting a new boat, Billy,” Jack said, his grin wide and his eyes on fire. “And I’ve got you to thank for it. Ritchie told Al Cluster about your report, and that sealed the deal.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. Not that Jack thanked me directly. He was good at alluding to things without coming out and saying them. A real pal tells you thanks straight up. A rich kid says it like he owns you. I was already irritated.

  “It’s not only a new boat, it’s a new experimental craft,” Jack said, jamming a pair of tennis shoes on top of his khakis. “A gunboat, armed to the teeth.”

  “I think I saw her at Sesapi,” I said. “PT-59, moored next to the PT tender. They were removing depth charges and torpedo tubes.”

  “Yeah, that’s the plan. They’re installing forty-millimeter guns, more machine guns, armor plating, the works. We’re going after Jap barges bringing men and supplies down the Slot,” Jack said, cinching his sea bag closed. “That’s where the war is, Billy, not waiting like a sitting duck for destroyers. If the Japs can’t keep their garrisons manned and supplied, we’ll send them to hell and gone.”

  “You discharged from the hospital, Jack?” He was excited, walking on air, but I wasn’t so sure about him captaining a gunboat. He was still rail thin, and I could see he was disguising a limp, walking around the bed like a drunk determined to stay upright. The slightest of winces played across his face, hidden by an eager smile. Some guys feigned illness to get sack time in the sick bay. Jack feigned wellness to get out.

  “Clean bill of health and a new command,” he said. “Never felt better. All I need to do is gather up a crew and oversee the finishing touches on the 59 boat. Al said they might rename her Motor Gunboat Number One. Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

  “Jack, are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m not ready for, Billy. I’m not ready to be sent home before I pay the Japs back for sinking my boat and killing my men. Don’t get in my way, okay?”

  “I’m not in your way, Jack,” I said, stepping closer and holding my hands behind my back to keep them from grabbing Jack by the collar and shaking some sense into him. “If I were, that report would have come out differently. Not everyone who disagrees with you is trying to get in your way.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding up one hand in half surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just can’t wait to get out of here and get on with things. Come on, sit down. Have a sandwich, I’m not hungry.” Jack sat at the small table and pushed a plate of Spam sandwiches in my direction, sending newspapers and magazines fluttering to the floor. Jack was never much for housekeeping, but now that he was on his way out the door, he was even more careless.

  “Thanks,” I said, biting into half a greasy sandwich, knowing that Jack’s stomach could never take anything like this and keep it down. I didn’t say anything else, letting the brief burst of temper settle back down.

  “Anything new on Deanna?” Jack finally asked.

  “I thought I might have had something,” I said, telling him about John Kari driving through Chinatown and the Cosmoline, which I thought implicated him until I saw the others with it.

  “Pretty common stuff,” Jack said. “But it does put those four Coastwatchers in the frame, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t clear them, that’s for sure,” I said. “Did you know that Daniel came over from Guadalcanal on the same PT tender they were all on? He apparently didn’t make himself known, which raises even more suspicions.”

  “No, I didn’t. Wouldn’t have any reason to. Who do you think is the most likely suspect?”

  “I think Kari is hiding something,” I said, tossing down the remains of the Spam lunch. My stomach wasn’t crazy about it either. “He and Daniel were on Pavau at the same time, but he claims never to have met him. I think he must have, though, since they both would have been present when the Lever boat picked up copra deliveries.”

  “On some of those outlying islands, the arrival of a boat carrying mail and supplies is a major event,” Jack said. “There’d have to be a good reason for them not to have taken notice of each other.”

  “Especially since Kari worked for Lever, keeping track of copra deliveries and selling supplies to the planters.”

  “Didn’t Silas Porter come from Pavau?” Jack asked.

  “He has a plantation there,” I said. “But apparently the north end of the island is cut off by a mountain, and there’s little contact between the leeward and his place on the windward side. Didn’t seem like they ever had the chance to meet. And Porter was something of a recluse back then. The war changed him after the Japs massacred his workers.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Jack said. “Things have to get really bad before a man is forced to change his ways. But when that happens, there’s no going back.” His eyes drifted, not fixed on anything in the room, or even outside the open windows.

  “What’s next?” I asked, in an effort to bring him back from the place where things got really bad.

  “I could use a lift to Sesapi,” he said, the weariness in his voice weighing it down. I didn’t bother telling him he should stay here.

  “Sure. Come on, I’ll even carry your bag.” That got a smile, a real one, and I was reminded how damn likable Jack was when he wasn’t playing the angles. As we stood up, a muscular, tanned navy ensign entered the hut.

  “Jack,” he said. “I just heard. Congratulations on the new boat.”

  “Thanks, Barney,” Jack said. “Billy, I want you to meet the lookout on PT-109, Barney Ross.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I watched Jack’s face, and then the ensign’s. Finally, Jack’s stern face dissolved and they both laughed, enjoying my discomfort. It was a classic Jack Kennedy move: cracking a joke that made you chuckle and put you in your place at the same time. It was obvious they’d pulled this routine before, and Barney was as much a part of it as Jack. But I still wondered, if it were repeated often enough, would it create the impression that the loss of PT-109 wasn’t entirely Jack’s responsibility?

  Barney and I shook hands as I tried to dispel my cop’s suspicions. I couldn’t help it. Being raised in the Boyle household meant a constant state of awareness, observing what people said and did in order to discover
the hidden meanings behind even the most innocent of jokes, comments, and silence. As my dad always said, there are no coincidences, and nothing is ever as it seems.

  “Barney came along for the ride that night to man the thirty-seven-millimeter cannon we’d scrounged from the army,” Jack explained.

  “We didn’t get off a shot,” Barney said, “but the timbers we used to lash down the gun came in handy. The guys who couldn’t swim hung onto them. Probably saved a few lives.”

  “This time we’ll have real firepower,” Jack said. “No more jury-rigged single-shot cannons. Two forty-millimeter Bofors guns, how’s that sound?” The crazed gleam was back in Jack’s eyes, and I left the two of them to talk about gunboats and killing plenty of Japs. Barney had a jeep and said he’d take Jack to his new boat, so I promised Jack I’d visit him onboard the 59 at Sesapi, but I can’t say I looked forward to it.

  I drove to our quarters and told Kao to have some dinner ready for Kaz and me in an hour or so. Then I headed down to the PBY base, passing Captain Ritchie on the road. He ignored me, which is the best possible relationship to have with a senior officer. I sat in the jeep, waiting for the PBY to come into sight, thinking through everything that had happened since Kaz left. I’d have to tell him about Deanna. Kaz liked new and interesting experiences, not ones that reminded him of the past. I was worried how he’d react to the news. I did my best to keep him distracted, but memories of Daphne were always at the edge of everything, as with all great losses.

  Trying to think of less depressing matters, I began to catalog all the events and people in this case of triple murder. What had I learned about all the known suspects? Was there a wild card out there, someone whom I didn’t even suspect, or perhaps even know?

  I went through all the names and faces I’d encountered, but all that did was leave me with the vague feeling that I’d missed something. Maybe it was vital, or maybe a meaningless loose end. But there it was, that empty space behind my eyes, where sat the niggling feeling of questions begging to be formed and asked, maybe even answered.