James Benn - The White Ghost

“Nice piece of work, that,” Porter said, joining us with a large whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Henry Josselyn on Vella Lavella had a hundred and sixty blokes wash up on his beach. That was a handful, to be sure.”

“Were they all rescued?” I asked.

“My lot was,” Archer said. “The natives hid them from the Japs and we organized a PBY to come get them as soon as the weather permitted. We-my partner, Gordon Brockman, and I-hitched a ride with them for this radio course. The plane took us to Rendova and then we came by boat to Tulagi. Josselyn had a damn hard time of it. One hundred and sixty sailors, many of them wounded, weren’t easy to care for. He and the Reverend Silvester hid them for more than a week, until destroyer transports could take them off the beach. Ah, here’s Gordie now.” Archer waved his pal over, and made introductions. Gordie was short and stocky, going bald, and halfway in the bag.

“Archer filling you with tales of our island exploits?” Gordie said, his Aussie-accented words slurring. “Don’t believe half of it, at least not the half that involves me!” He thought that was hilarious and laughed as much as everyone else put together.

“I was telling them about the sailors from the Helena , Gordie,” Archer said, an indulgent smile on his lips.

“Oh yes, a close-run thing,” Gordie said. “We’re lucky our small island didn’t get as many as Josselyn did. Wouldn’t have known where to put ’em.”

“Who is the reverend you mentioned?” I asked.

“Reverend Silvester is the Methodist minister I worked with. He stayed behind to tend to his flock. And his radio,” Deanna said.

“He’s a Coastwatcher?” I asked.

“Not officially,” she said. “But he already had a radio to keep in touch with the outside world, so it was the natural thing to do.”

“Seems to me the natural thing to do would be to get out,” I said. “Hiding alone in the jungle for months, on the run from the Japanese-now that sounds unnatural.”

“That’s us,” Archer said. “Crackers, as the Australians say.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Porter said. “Tell me, Archer, who are the Chinese ladies? I haven’t seen them around before.”

“Sisters to one of the Chinese merchants that came out with the Helena crew,” Archer answered.

“What were Chinese doing there?” I asked.

“Hiding from the Japs,” Archer said. “Most of the small merchants in these islands are Chinese. Since Japan is at war with China, they generally don’t fare well under occupation. When the Japs landed in force on Vella Lavella, a small group of Chinese headed into the interior. They were fairly safe, but when the Helena crew had to be evacuated, it made sense to bring them along.”

“Since they couldn’t thank Henry Josselyn in person, the sisters came tonight to give their thanks to Hugh for helping to rescue their brother,” Deanna said.

“Sam Chang,” Archer explained. “Fairly well known in the local waters. You must have run into him, Silas. Pavau isn’t that far from Vella Lavella.”

“Yeah, I heard of Chang. We tried to do business with him, but we were too far off his route. Decent fellow, had a good reputation from what I knew,” Porter said.

“He visited the mission often,” Deanna said. “Had a thriving business before the war, buying and selling, importing Western food, that sort of thing. There’s a call for the comforts of home among the islanders. Marmalade and gin are favorites.”

“Why isn’t Chang here himself?” Porter asked, looking around.

“I heard he fell and reinjured his leg,” Archer said. “He broke it on Vella Lavella when he was in the mountains. He’s in the hospital here on Tulagi. His sisters live in the local Chinatown. They own their own stores and have done very well for themselves. Important in the community, from what I hear.”

“War is usually good for business, until it’s on your doorstep,” I said.

“Damn right, Boyle,” Gordie put in. “When the Japs poured into the Solomons, it ruined a lot of us. Archer here had a thriving plantation on Bougainville, and I was set up on New Georgia, both of us doing well selling copra to Lever Brothers.”

“Copra?” I asked.

“The dried meat of the coconut,” Archer explained. “They have to be opened, shelled, and dried, usually in kilns. Hot work, I’ll tell you.”

“And it’ll be hotter work paying off debts to Sam Chang, eh?” Gordie said, a bitter laugh punctuating his statement. “First the Japs take our plantations, run off the workers or enslave them, then old Sam takes to the hills, account ledgers and all. He says we still owe him, the bugger!”

“Are we talking serious money?” I asked.

“Well, before the war, when business was booming, no,” Archer said. “Everyone close to Vella Lavella did business with Sam. Even when the Japs attacked back in December ’41, we still had our plantations to run. We were stockpiling copra and waiting for the regular Lever transports to make the island runs. But by April ’42, the Japs were on our doorstep.”

“Still had workers to pay and expenses, you know,” Gordie said. “A lot of us owed Sam a fair bit when the Rising Sun was hoisted over the Solomons. We lost everything, and to be fair, so did Sam. The Japs seized his goods and would have finished him off if he hadn’t taken to the bush. Can’t blame the fellow. He’s alive and he wants his money. Wish I had it to give.”

“What was your business, before the war, Lieutenant Boyle?” Archer asked, draining his whiskey and looking like he wanted to put an end to talk of debt and loss.

“I was a cop,” I said. “Detective in Boston.”

“Billy’s here to look into Daniel Tamana’s death,” Porter said. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Right, right,” Archer said. “How is that going? Daniel was a good man. I wouldn’t mind getting hold of the bastard who did him in.”

“We’re still gathering information,” I said, giving the standard police response. “Do you know of anyone who had a problem with Daniel?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Archer said, rubbing his chin. “But I always wonder about chaps like him. And John Kari. Well-educated natives-between two worlds, aren’t they?”

“What would that have to do with murder?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Archer said. “But there’s bound to be problems somewhere along the line. Daniel was a Melanesian who spoke the King’s English, like Kari does. Smart, too. Easy enough to run into a white man who doesn’t appreciate a Fuzz Wuzzy who speaks better than he does, if you know what I mean.”

“Or a native who doesn’t like one of their own acting like a white man,” Porter said. “I’ve seen that often enough. So I know what you mean about him being between two worlds.”

“It is true enough,” John Kari said, joining the conversation.

“No offense meant, John. I was simply making a point,” Archer said.

“I quite understand,” Kari said, with exaggerated politeness. “And it is a valid one. The only question is, does it apply to Daniel’s death?”

“Well, there aren’t any members of Daniel’s tribe here on Tulagi,” Deanna said. “None I know of, except for Jacob.”

“True,” Kari agreed. “But remember what expert paddlers we have in the Solomons. Biuku and Eroni took their canoe thirty-five miles through Japanese waters to deliver Kennedy’s message to Rendova. A journey from Malaita is much less than that.”

“Who are Biuku and Eroni?” I asked, recalling that Jack had mentioned their names but not much else.

“They’re scouts for Reg Evans on Kolombangara Island,” Archer explained. “Excellent chaps.”