The White Ghost

by James R Benn

  “They look much more frightening when they are trying to kill you,” Kaz said as we left the barbed wire behind.

  “You take weapons and gear away from soldiers who’ve been fighting for weeks straight, and all you’re left with is dirt and ragged, stinking clothes. It’s as if belts, helmets, straps, and packs were the only things holding them together.”

  “In North Africa, German and Italian POWs ranged from sullen to deliriously happy,” Kaz said. “Those men looked neither. They appeared lost.”

  We reached a fork in the road. “Speaking of lost,” I said, “which way?”

  “Inland,” Kaz said. “A coffee plantation would be at a higher elevation, not sea level.”

  As always, Kaz was right. I’d given up asking him how he knew so much. He’d shrug, as if to say, how is it you don’t know these things?

  The dirt track took us higher, looping around hills until the sea was far below us and the gently sloping ground was cleared of thick jungle and planted with rows and rows of shoulder-high bushes. Workers moved through the rows, wielding hoes and attacking the weeds that threatened to overwhelm the coffee plants. We drove to the top of the hill, where a house with the usual wide verandah stood, flanked by a large shed with a corrugated roof and another long, narrow building on stilts, roofed native-style with palm fronds.

  “This is much better than Lumbari,” Kaz said, stretching as we got out of the jeep. A mild breeze swept up from the sea, slightly scented with salt, cool and crisp after the stale, thick air of the base.

  “Are you gents lost?” The voice held the trace of a Scottish accent, softened by years in the Solomons.

  “Not if you’re Josh Coburn,” I said to the tall figure who’d stepped out of the shed. He had a full white beard, wore a wide-brimmed hat, and walked with one stiff leg. He came closer, eyeing us suspiciously.

  “Who might be asking, then?”

  I did the introductions. “We don’t mean to bother you, but we’re investigating a murder. Three of them, actually. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Why? I haven’t killed anyone. Which is a claim few can make these days.”

  “You are Josh Coburn, I take it?” Kaz asked.

  “I am guilty of that,” Coburn said. “Now, how’d you like to taste some real coffee? If you’re going to talk at me, I might as well take a break.”

  “We’d be fools to turn down a cup of java from a coffee plantation, Mr. Coburn,” I said. A few minutes later, we were seated on the verandah, sipping the best coffee I’d ever tasted, marveling at the view. The wind caressed the green jungle beneath the ordered rows of coffee plants, the sparkling sea beyond deceptively peaceful.

  “This is extraordinarily delicious,” Kaz said. I nodded an eager agreement.

  “It’s the peaberry that does it,” Coburn said. Noting our quizzical looks, he launched into an explanation. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the shape of coffee beans. The cherry—the fruit of the coffee plant—holds two seeds, which is the bean itself. They grow together, which flattens the sides that face each other. But a very few plants will produce a cherry with single seeds. Then you get a nice oval bean, perfect for roasting. You’ll never get it as fresh as this.”

  “Remarkable,” Kaz said.

  “Fine stuff, isn’t it?” Coburn said. “Commands a good price, too. I roast some beans for myself; the rest get bagged up and sold. Or will be, when the commercial traffic starts back up.”

  “Your place seems to have weathered the occupation,” I said.

  “I’m lucky the Japs prefer tea,” he said with a laugh. “They had a lookout post up here for a while, but didn’t cause too much damage. Shot a half dozen natives for no reason I can figure, then lit out when your army landed. It’s mainly a case of beating back the bush after a couple years of neglect. Now that you’ve had your lesson, go ahead and ask your questions.”

  “Did you know Daniel Tamana?” I said, feeling the jolt of caffeine kick in.

  “Sure I know him,” Coburn started, then caught himself. “You put that in the past tense. Has Daniel been killed? Is he one of the three?”

  “The first of the three,” Kaz said. “Next was Sam Chang.”

  “Christ,” Coburn said. “Sam was a fine man. Forward-thinking. Don’t tell me those damn fool sisters of his are mixed up in this?”

  “No,” I said, glancing at Kaz. “They are mystified as well. The third victim was a woman, Deanna Pendleton.”

  “Not the lass from the Methodist mission? Dear God, what’s going on? When and where did all this happen?” Coburn stood, pacing on the verandah, trying to take in the terrible news.

  “On Tulagi, very recently,” I said. “We were wondering what you could tell us about Daniel. What kind of man he was, and if he had trouble with anyone.”

  “Hardly a man back then,” Coburn said. “He came here to work when he was a young lad. Smart, spoke good English. I wasn’t surprised when he moved on. If I’d had a better job to give him, I would have.”

  “Did he have trouble with anyone?”

  “No, not that I recall. Kept to himself a lot. Always reading, trying to improve himself. Which meant that he didn’t make friends well. The other native boys likely thought him stuck-up. Neither fish nor fowl, as they say.”

  “But no arguments or serious disagreements?”

  “No,” Coburn said, shaking his head. “A bit of resentment maybe, but nothing more.”

  “Would you say he was honest?” I asked, wondering if there might be some criminal connection between Daniel and John Kari.

  “Yes, I’d peg him as an honest chap. No reason not to,” Coburn said as he refilled our cups from an enamel pot. “Brave, too, although you probably know of his service.”

  “Did you ever run across another native, John Kari?” Kaz asked. “He is a bit like Daniel. Well-educated, suited to European ways.”

  “Kari, you say?” Coburn said, rubbing his beard. “No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Have you been on Pavau much?” I asked, trying to jog his memory.

  “Now and then,” Coburn said, raising his eyebrows and giving a slight shrug, inviting me to explain the question.

  “That’s where Daniel ended up. This John Kari worked there as well, for Lever,” I said. It might have been the jolt from the strong coffee, but everything began to converge on the island of Pavau, like the phosphorescent wake of a PT boat. “Sam Chang was looking to expand his operations there as well.”

  “Right, right,” Coburn said, snapping his fingers. “Young fellow, worked down at the harbor, keeping accounts for Lever or something.”

  “You know a lot of people,” I said. “You must get around the islands a fair bit.”

  “Used to,” he said. “Before the war I had my own little cutter, sailed between here, Bougainville, and all points in between. We islanders pay a lot of social calls, helps to ease the monotony. A native can be a good friend, but there’s nothing like the sound of your own language spoken by one of your own.” He gazed out to the sea, shaking his head slowly, perhaps at the memories of friends lost. He sat again, silent.

  “You were almost captured on Bougainville,” I said, hoping to shake him out of his reverie.

  “Nearly ran out of luck that time,” Coburn said, taking a drink and smacking his lips. “I’ve got another plantation up there, and I wanted to get my people out when it looked like the Japs were about to descend. Some of my workers are from Bougainville, but the rest are all from Malaita, and I’d planned on arranging transport for them.”

  “Daniel was from Malaita,” Kaz said. “Were there any kinsmen of his working here?”

  “No,” Coburn said. “My workers were mainly from New Georgia and right here on Rendova.”

  “Why did you bring others all the way from Malaita to Bougainville?” Kaz asked.

  “Mala
itamen are good workers,” Coburn said. “And tough. I was clearing out a new section of bush for planting and I knew I could count on them for hard labor and no complaints. Some say there’s still headhunters up in the hills there. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Did you happen to see Sam Chang on Bougainville?” I asked. “He went into hiding when the Japs invaded.”

  “No, I didn’t. I docked my cutter at Arawa and was looking for a vehicle when the Japs began bombing. They blew my sailboat to pieces and strafed the harbor. That’s when I knew I’d waited too long.”

  “You never made it to your plantation?” Kaz asked.

  “No. I went south, along the coast road, hitching a ride with some Australian troops who’d been ordered to withdraw to the island of Balalae, where there’s a dirt airstrip. We were bombed again and two of them were killed. I decided that the Japs were likely to attack and capture any airstrip within miles, so I left their company. Ended up in a coastal village within sight of Oema Island, beyond which is Choiseul. I gave a native what cash I had and took off in his canoe. This leg’s no good anymore, but there’s nothing wrong with my arms, I’ll tell you that.”

  “That’s a long way,” I said, remembering the maps I’d seen. “And close to Pavau, too. Did you stop there?”

  “No, by God! It doesn’t look far on a map, but I had no time for visits, not on that trip. I rested on Oema and then paddled all night to get to Choiseul. Nearly did me in.” Coburn rubbed his eyes, weary at the recollection of his voyage.

  “Daniel also escaped to Choiseul,” Kaz said. “From Pavau.”

  “He did. I met him there, along with a boatful of nuns he’d gotten out. I told you he was brave. That was a risky run he made. Two ships left Pavau harbor that day. One was an old island ferry, crammed with refugees. It capsized under the weight and the Japs machine-gunned those who weren’t drowned straight off, or so the story went from the few who made it out after that. The currents brought the bodies straight back to Pavau, washed them up for days. Daniel was smart, he only took what his small boat could hold. A half dozen nuns, a wounded flier, and three other Malaitamen.”

  “Is it possible Daniel turned anyone away, and they held a grudge?” I asked.

  “Well, I suppose anything’s possible,” Coburn granted. “But likely is another story. The nuns on Bougainville were well thought of. I doubt anyone would contest their need to escape the bloody Japs.”

  “No, I don’t suppose so,” I said. I watched the workers hacking away at the jungle growth as I finished the coffee in my cup. Even though it had gone cold, it was good enough to keep the wheels turning in my mind. “You said a minute ago that you didn’t have time to stop at Pavau during that trip. But you had previously? When?”

  “I did, a few days before I went on to Bougainville.”

  “Did you meet Daniel? Or see John Kari?”

  “No, I went around to the north side, to stop in at Silas Porter’s place. He’s somewhat of a recluse, lives on a remote part of the island. I wanted to let him know what was coming. He didn’t have a radio, so I knew he’d be out of touch. Which is the way he wants it, but there are times to intrude on a man’s privacy.”

  “He’s a Coastwatcher now as well,” I said.

  “Porter? I wouldn’t have thought it of him,” Coburn said, his forehead furrowed. “Not the type.”

  “You’ve been away from the Solomons since your escape, I take it,” Kaz said.

  “Yes, as soon as I got off Choiseul, I went down to New Caledonia. Stayed with a friend from the French export firm that handles my beans. Came back up here as soon as I heard Rendova had been taken. All the natives thought I was dead, after not coming back here from Bougainville. Porter? Really?” He was having a hard time believing it.

  “Really,” I said. “The Japs massacred his workers and Peter Fraser, his assistant manager. Porter escaped only because he’d gone to get their boat ready.”

  “Apparently somebody shot a Japanese soldier when they landed,” Kaz said. “It was a reprisal.”

  “Well, I could see how that would get old Silas’s blood up,” Coburn said. “I’ll have to look him up and let him know I’m alive. He probably thought I’d bought it on Bougainville.”

  We chatted some more but it was evident Coburn didn’t know much of any consequence about Daniel Tamana. We shook hands, complimenting him on his coffee, and headed back to the jeep.

  “Pavau,” I said, stopping to look out over the fields, the plants laid out in neat rows, gracing the curves of the hills. “Why do all roads lead to Pavau, and what does it mean?”

  “Perhaps it’s simply an island where a number of people have traveled to and from,” Kaz said. “Like many in the Solomons.”

  “There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, some thread that we haven’t yet unraveled. An inconsistency. But what is it?”

  “Something about Pavau, then,” Kaz said, leaning against the jeep.

  I watched the workers, hauling bushels of pulled weeds out from the cleared rows, dumping them at the edge of the jungle. They walked between plants, crossing rows, holding the baskets high to avoid damaging the plants. I saw the natives on Russell Island again, fading into the bush, disappearing into the dappled shadows.

  They moved gracefully, I thought. Those on Russell and these workers in the fields of Rendova. Brought up in the bush, did they learn from childhood how to glide quickly and quietly through the dense greenery? The sense I had on Russell Island was that they had vanished, leaving not a leaf disturbed by their passing.

  So what of it?

  What was it that bothered me about natives moving through the bush, quietly or otherwise?

  What did it have to do with this case?

  Pavau. Why did everything come back to Pavau? Daniel Tamana worked there and he was killed, victim number one. Sam Chang went there and spoke to John Kari about expanding his business. Victim number two. Deanna Pendleton hadn’t been there, as far as I knew, but she must have known Chang from Bougainville, and she definitely knew Daniel. Victim number three.

  “Billy!” Kaz said, in a voice loud enough to tell me it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “Are we going?”

  “Where? What’s next?”

  “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “Dammit, Kaz, I’m out of ideas,” I snapped. “This image of natives moving through the bush keeps eating away at me. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t have much more than that to go on. What about you?”

  “I think you are correct about Pavau,” Kaz said, taking a seat in the jeep. “It is at the center of things, but not in a way that sheds any light on the matter. I wonder how many Japanese are on the island right now.”

  “You’re not serious,” I said, hoisting myself into the driver’s seat.

  “No,” Kaz said. “Although if there were Coastwatchers there to guide us, I might consider it. A visit could help pull the pieces of this puzzle together.”

  “Daniel wanted an assignment there, didn’t he?” I said. I felt my mind shifting into gear, images and memories falling into place, and I finally began to see things clearly.

  “Yes, that’s what Dickie Miller said. Sexton vetoed it because the island was too small to hide in.”

  “And what else did Dickie tell you about Pavau and Daniel?” I said.

  Kaz rubbed his chin, coaxing out the recollection. “That Daniel knew the island very well,” he said, still unsure of where I was going.

  “Every path and hiding place, that’s exactly what you said. You were quoting Dickie Miller, right?”

  “Yes, those were his exact words,” Kaz said, his face brightening as he sat bolt upright. “And how could he know every path on the island—”

  “If he hadn’t been to the north coast, where Silas Porter’s plantation was. So not only did John Kari lie about knowing Daniel
, Porter lied as well.”

  “But does that follow?” Kaz said. “Perhaps Daniel simply went overland to visit a friend working at Porter’s plantation and never talked with the owner himself.”

  “The way Coburn described Daniel, he was more of a loner,” I said. “If John Kari had worked there, I could see Daniel looking him up, since they were so much alike. But no one else.”

  “But why would he have gone?” Kaz asked.

  “To better himself,” I said, trying to put myself in Daniel’s place. “To see if there was a job available. He would have to have met Porter.”

  “Why would Silas Porter lie?” Kaz said. “I am still not convinced.”

  “No,” I said, finally understanding the importance of those natives retreating into the bush. “Daniel crossed to the north side. Everyone’s been talking about the difficult terrain, but they were looking at it from a European’s perspective. Well educated or not, Daniel knew the jungle and its ways. So the question remains, why did Porter lie?”

  “We know why John Kari lied,” Kaz said. “Because he’d been a thief.”

  “But who could Silas Porter have stolen from?” I said. “He’s the independent type. I don’t think he’d worry about other people’s opinions.”

  “Do you see a motive in Porter’s actions, whatever the reason?” Kaz asked, not unreasonably. I shook my head, trying to figure that one out.

  “If you boys are going to hang about, I might put you to work,” Coburn said, coming out of the house and giving us a wave. He walked to the barn with his rolling gait, his bad leg not seeming to hinder him much.

  “He’s pretty spry for an older gentleman,” Kaz said.

  “It must be the coffee,” I said, and went to start the jeep. Then my hand froze.

  “What is it?” Kaz asked.

  “Old. He called Porter old Silas, didn’t he?”

  “A figure of speech, old chap,” Kaz said. “What of it?”

  “Come on,” I said, jumping out of the jeep and following Coburn into the barn.