The White Ghost

by James R Benn

  I’d given up by the time the PBY came into sight and landed as gracefully as a twenty-thousand-pound twin-engine aircraft can manage in heavy, rolling waves. It moved to its mooring as a launch departed shore and took on three passengers, Kaz included.

  “I believe I have had enough of air travel for quite a while,” he said as we drove back to our quarters. “I would almost prefer luxury accommodations on a steamship at this point. With smooth waters, of course.”

  “And no submarines,” I said.

  “Or Kawanishis,” he countered. “Perhaps we could wait out the war on Tulagi, and book cabins on the first decent passenger vessel that comes along. Unless every ship in the Pacific is sunk first.”

  We went on in the same vein for the rest of the drive, dreaming up exotic means of transportation, none of which involved enemy encounters. It didn’t seem right to blurt out news of Deanna’s death then, so I waited until we were back at what passed for home, sitting on the verandah, whiskey in hand, watching the last glimmering rays of sun descend over the horizon—which looked far too much like the Japanese Rising Sun banner.

  “Deanna Pendleton has been killed,” I said, after a healthy drink.

  “What? An accident?”

  “No,” I said. “She was knifed. In Chinatown, by someone who knew what he was doing.”

  “Tell me every detail,” he said, sitting bolt upright in his chair. So I did. I gave him a blow-by-blow description of meeting Jack, finding Deanna, speaking with Jai-li, and the subsequent medical report from Doc Schwartz, along with my discussions with the Coastwatchers and the ubiquitous Cosmoline.

  “You are certain Kennedy is not involved?” Kaz asked.

  “I can’t say for certain,” I said. “He can be a bum, but it’s hard to see him killing a woman.” What I didn’t say was that Jack was used to getting his way. Deanna was the kind of woman who didn’t give in to the male ego, and Jack’s ego was formidable.

  “Are you sure?” Kaz said, giving me a hard look. I nodded, keeping my darkest thoughts to myself.

  “And someone may have tried to kill me,” I said, changing the subject. I told Kaz about the runaway fuel drums.

  “Someone may be getting nervous,” he said.

  “I sure am. Tell me, did you find Dickie Miller?” I asked, now that the bad news was out of the way.

  “In hospital, yes,” Kaz said. “He is still quite ill and weak, but he should recover. He had nothing but good things to say about Daniel Tamana. ‘Smart chap for a native,’ that sort of thing. I got the sense he actually respected him, but found him hard to categorize. He said they got along well in the bush, but he wondered how Daniel would get along in the world of Europeans after the war.”

  “John Kari told me he was thinking of politics,” I said. “There’s talk of independence for the Solomons after the war. Maybe Daniel would have chosen the same path. The Solomons will need educated leaders.”

  “Miller said Daniel had talked about that as well. He said it might be the only place for him, as a spokesman for his people. Daniel said he doubted he could ever go back to village life or be accepted as anything other than a native outside of it. I had the feeling Miller felt sorry for him at some level.”

  “That’s pretty thoughtful on Miller’s part,” I said. “Not that it helps us much. Did you find out anything useful?”

  “Only that Miller said nothing seemed amiss with Daniel on their voyage to Henderson Field. He said Daniel was with him every minute, until he was put on the transport plane. All that does is confirm what we thought, that it was something Daniel saw or heard on his way to Tulagi.”

  “And now we know that our four Coastwatcher friends were all on the same vessel Daniel was,” I said, filling Kaz in on my visit to the PT tender, and what I found out about Daniel and John Kari both working on Pavau.

  “Miller said Daniel enjoyed his time on Pavau. He wanted a Coastwatchers assignment there, but apparently Hugh Sexton vetoed the idea. Since it is a relatively small island, it would be easy for Japanese patrols to run them down. Daniel claimed he knew every path, hiding place, and secret cove on Pavau, but finally agreed it would place the natives in greater danger.”

  “How so?”

  “The Japanese would have fewer villages to terrorize on a small island. If they suspected Coastwatchers were there, they could simply start killing natives until one of them betrayed their location, or at least the likely location of the radio. Without a radio, there’s no use for a Coastwatcher.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Not that it’s helpful. Did he say if Daniel ever met John Kari?”

  “Not that he knew of. Since Kari was the only one you actually saw in Chinatown, he seems to be the most likely killer,” Kaz said. “But what would his motive be?”

  “No idea,” I said. “Money or love, that’s what Jack reminded me when we first got here. I’d told him back in Boston those were the two most common motives for murder.”

  “You are sure Kennedy is not involved in the other two killings?” Kaz asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “There’s nothing to connect him with Daniel Tamana. He did see Sam Chang that night in the hospital, but Chang was alive when he left.” I told Kaz about the report I’d given Ritchie and his promise to allow us to stay on to investigate.

  “Now that Kennedy is in the clear,” Kaz said, “isn’t it time you told me what grudge you have against him? Not his family, but him personally?”

  “Kao,” I yelled. “Bring out the bottle.”

  Kao fetched the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Then he carried out plates of fish, rice, and taro and placed them on the low table between us. I filled our glasses and figured there was enough to get me through the story, as long as Kaz didn’t hog the bottle.

  “It was the spring of 1937,” I said. “I was still a rookie and pulled duty with the vice squad one night. They were going to raid a brothel on North Street. Queen Lil’s, it was called. Fancy place with a doorman and a reputation for clean girls.” I stopped to take a few bites of fish and wash it down with the whiskey. “Lil hadn’t kept up her protection payments, so it was time to teach her a lesson. We weren’t supposed to arrest any of the girls, only the customers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she needed them working, to keep the cash flowing to the powers that be,” I said. “The idea was to show we could embarrass her clientele whenever we wanted. If we kept that up, Queen Lil’s would just be another cheap whorehouse in the Black Sea.”

  “The Black Sea?”

  “That’s what they call the area around North Street and North Square. It’s near the docks, with a lot of brothels and bars catering to sailors. A good deal of gambling, too. Queen Lil’s was at the top of the heap in the Black Sea, and her payments were probably a considerable source of income for the higher-ups. So it was a delicate operation. No damage to the premises, and leave the girls alone. Collar a bunch of customers and haul them away.”

  “Wouldn’t that hurt her business even more?” Kaz asked. “I’d think the public exposure would keep the elite clientele away.”

  “I thought the same thing at first,” I said. “It was only later I learned that the men were never booked. They were tossed in the paddy wagon in front of Lil’s and taken within a block of police headquarters. They paid a fine on the spot and were cut loose.”

  “A bribe,” Kaz said. “But Queen Lil did not know that either.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Anyway, we go in like gangbusters, making a lot of noise and grabbing guys with one leg in their trousers. A vice detective has me check the back door and then the top floor. When I get up to the third floor, there’s a sitting area at the top of the stairs. Plush red velvet chairs. In one of them, sitting with his legs crossed and smoking a cigar like he didn’t have a care in the world, is a young skinny kid. Nice suit.”

  “He hadn’t been t
aken away?” Kaz said.

  “Nope. He looked calm, like he had every right to be there, and to be left alone at that. Two detectives walked right by him, and he gave them a little nod, enough to send a message: you can’t touch me.”

  “Which you did not take well to, if I know you.”

  “Right. So I asked him who he was and what he was doing there. He smiled and said he was Jack Kennedy, and he was waiting for a friend. I asked where his friend was, and he showed me a room down the hall. A uniformed cop, a sergeant, was standing guard at the door. I was confused and didn’t know what to do. But vice had given us our marching orders, and I didn’t want to get in trouble with them. Or with my father, since he’d hear about how I did from his pals. So I grabbed Kennedy by the arm and hustled him downstairs.”

  “Did you know it was Ambassador Kennedy’s son?” Kaz asked.

  “No. Back then I mostly read the sports section and the funny pages. All I knew was that he was some Harvard rich kid, out catting around. He kept telling me I was making a mistake, which is what a lot of these clowns say.”

  “But I get a sense you may have been,” Kaz said.

  I nodded, and dug into the food and drink to fortify myself.

  “How was I to know at the time?” I said. “When we got outside, this Kennedy kid asked if we could wait for his friend. The paddy wagon was crammed full, so I said fine. We had plenty of squad cars, and I said we’d give them both a ride to the station. While we’re waiting, another kid comes up and starts asking Jack what’s up. Turns out it was his older brother, Joe Junior.”

  “Was he visiting Queen Lil’s establishment as well?” Kaz asked.

  “Apparently. He began to get testy with me for taking Jack into custody, and with Jack for allowing himself to be caught. Joe worked himself up to the point where I was ready to smack him with my billy club, but Jack laid a hand on my arm and shook his head. It was strange, my own prisoner touching me like that. I should have had him in cuffs, but somehow I never thought to do it. He was so confident, I couldn’t picture him doing something as low as running off. I took his advice, and told Joe to hold his horses. It was a bit tense, until Commissioner Timilty showed up.”

  “That’s the police commissioner you mentioned before,” Kaz said. “The man who demoted your father because he investigated Joe Senior. Why would the commissioner of police be present at a raid on a brothel? Isn’t that unusual?”

  “He wasn’t there for the raid. Turns out, he was a regular at Queen Lil’s. That was the friend Jack had been waiting for. The guy behind the door guarded by the police sergeant.”

  “Oh no,” Kaz said.

  “That was almost the end of my career, then and there. Timilty tore into me like I was responsible for the entire raid, and then demanded to know why I was harassing upstanding young men like the Kennedy brothers, and did I know who their father was. It went on like that for quite a while.”

  “Upstanding young men visiting a house of prostitution,” Kaz said.

  “Hey, it’s Boston, no reason why the two things can’t go together. We’d just had a mayor who was also head of the Irish mob in the city. James Curley himself, as crooked as they come. The only way to get him out of town was to elect him to Congress.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Needless to say, I didn’t take either of the Kennedy brothers to the station. They drove off in Timilty’s automobile, his sergeant at the wheel. Timilty’s last words to me were that he’d have my badge by morning.”

  “I take it he calmed down?”

  “No. The vice detective who organized the raid was demoted to the traffic division. It turned out that Jack put in a good word for me and got Timilty to back off from firing me. I was sent to walk the beat in East Boston, around the shipyards. Not the choicest assignment, but it could have been worse.”

  “If not for Jack’s intervention,” Kaz said.

  “Right. He came to see me at work the next day and apologized. I think he’d gotten the lowdown from someone, maybe his brother, about how Timilty had punished my dad. Maybe he felt bad about giving a second generation of Boyles a kick in the gut. It’s the odd kind of thing Jack would do; get you in trouble and then fix things as best he could.”

  “You became friends, it seems,” Kaz said.

  “Yeah, we struck up a friendship. Both of us were Irish kids, our families not too long off the boat. He’s a big Red Sox fan—I prefer the Boston Braves myself—and he invited me to a game. Best seats I’ve ever been in, right by the first-base line. I’d been to plenty of games but always in the bleachers.”

  “I thought you were telling me the story of how you came to dislike Jack Kennedy so much,” Kaz said, finishing the food on his plate.

  “I’m getting there,” I said. “You got anywhere else to go?”

  “Yes, actually,” Kaz said. He refilled my glass. “But I am tired from the long flight. Continue.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, thinking of Jai-li. I guess I was honored. “Okay, so we’re pals. Not the closest of friends, but we get along. Jack invited me down to Hyannisport a couple of times that summer. There were usually a bunch of guests, all of his brothers and sisters inviting friends for sailing and football. I had a crush on his sister, Kathleen. They called her Kick, and it turned out that every guy Joe or Jack brought along fell for her. I liked Rosie a lot, too. She’s the oldest sister, a really sweet kid with a great smile. Even better looking than Kick, but the family made it clear that the girls were out of bounds for male visitors. They were pretty strict, old-fashioned Irish Catholics. Attendance at Mass was obligatory.”

  “You met the ambassador?” Kaz asked.

  “Only in passing. He’d finished a term as head of the Securities and Exchange Commission and was waiting to be appointed to some important post by FDR. It was the following year when he went to England. He basically ignored his kid’s guests. Not the friendliest guy around.”

  “How did you get along with Joe Junior?” Kaz asked.

  “I couldn’t take a liking to him. He had a mean streak. All the Kennedy kids were competitive in everything they did, and sailing was no exception, but Joe was the worst. He brought his little brother Teddy along on a race one day, and Teddy screwed something up, causing Joe to come in way behind the pack. Joe threw him in the water, not close to shore either. I know kid brothers can be a pain, but the little guy nearly drowned. Whatever they did, you couldn’t criticize any of them without the rest of them ganging up on you. Joe treated Jack pretty rotten at times, but I think either of them would go down fighting for the other.”

  “So far, all I know is that Jack befriended you and you went to a baseball game and sat at first base instead of the bleachers, whatever they are. Then you went to what sounds like an ocean resort and went sailing. Did Jack throw you overboard?” Kaz laughed as he polished off his drink.

  “It was fun, I admit,” I said. “One nice thing about Jack was that he didn’t lord his riches over you. He didn’t flash cash around. We’d go out at night but never anywhere I couldn’t afford.”

  “A prince among men,” Kaz said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Jack went to Europe later that summer, with Lem Billings, a good friend of his. He sent me a note when he got back, and we went out to a club once, but he was busy at Harvard and I’d started working the night shift. I didn’t hear from him again until November, right after the Yale-Harvard game.”

  “More baseball?” Kaz asked.

  “No. Football, American style,” I said, raising the glass to my lips. It was empty, and I set it down. “I got a letter from Jack. He wrote that the night of the game, he accidently backed into a woman’s automobile. There was some slight damage, and she wanted to call the police. In his words, she was a ‘shit’ and he gave her ‘a lot of shit’ in return. So he backed into her car again, four or five times, then drove off. But not before
she wrote down his license plate number, yelling that she’d be reporting it to the Registry of Motor Vehicles in the morning. When the police came calling, Jack told them he’d loaned the vehicle to a friend, who had returned it with the rear bumper crumpled.”

  “The friend he named was you,” Kaz said, his voice low.

  “Yeah. The letter said Jack was sure I could work it out and that he didn’t want his father to find out about the accident.”

  “Did you work it out?”

  “I almost lost my job. Again. This time Jack didn’t come to my defense, since I was his alibi. I got called in front of a disciplinary hearing. I could either tell the truth, and risk bringing down the wrath of the Kennedys, especially if Jack’s old man got involved, or admit it was me.”

  “What did your father say?”

  “I tried to keep it a secret, but he found out soon enough. I told him the truth, and he made me promise never to have anything to do with the Kennedys again. I gave him my word, and I meant it. He and Uncle Dan showed up at the hearing wearing their dress blue uniforms. They never said a word. I got a reprimand, which was basically a slap on the wrist.”

  “You never heard from Jack?”

  “Nope. Not until we were summoned here. I was nothing but an alibi, when all was said and done. A convenient sap. Jack’s got a lot of personality, I’ll give him that. Too much. It blinds you to his shortcomings.”

  “Do you think he was drunk at the time?” Kaz asked.

  “He doesn’t touch the hard stuff. Why?”

  “As much as he comes across as a scoundrel for his treatment of you, I have to wonder about a man who would lose his temper like that when confronted by a woman. To excuse his behavior by describing her as a shit is terribly self-centered, don’t you think? If he could repeatedly ram her automobile over a perceived slight, what else might he be capable of?”

  “That’s a stretch, Kaz. It happened years ago. It doesn’t make him a killer.”

  I drained the whiskey from my glass. It didn’t mean anything, I told myself.