James Benn - The White Ghost

“So it wouldn’t be out of the question for someone from Malaita to take their dugout canoe to Tulagi,” I said.

“Not at all,” Kari said. “Hardly any open sea to worry about, for a Melanesian, anyway.”

“But we don’t know of any Melanesian who had it in for Daniel,” I said, steering the conversation back from possible to probable.

“No,” Porter said. “And believe me, if Jacob Vouza knew one of his people killed Daniel, he’d have taken care of it himself. Kwiktaem.” There were nods and general murmurs of agreement.

“So it must have been a white man,” I said. “Or at least someone not from Daniel’s clan on Malaita.”

“Thanks for not leaving me out,” Kari said, and everyone laughed. But I had deliberately amended my statement to include him, or any other potential Melanesian suspect.

“I don’t know anyone who had a fight or a problem with Daniel,” Deanna said.

“It could have been something he saw or heard,” I said. I didn’t reveal that the wound on Daniel’s skull suggested he knew his attacker, at least well enough to turn his back on him. “He might not even have comprehended the reason.”

“That makes it tough to figure who did it, right?” Porter said.

“Yep, it does. We need to talk to Dickie Miller, Daniel’s Coastwatcher partner,” I said. “They were together constantly; maybe he could shed some light on this.”

“You’ll have to go to Brisbane. They took him there to the Royal Navy base hospital,” Deanna said.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Archer said. I followed his eyes to a group of American naval officers. They were tanned and dressed in wrinkled, bleached-out khakis. They had the look of privileged pirates. PT boat skippers, most of them Ivy League, I’d bet.

“What trouble?” I asked.

“Lieutenant Phil Cotter and his pals,” Deanna said. “Jack’s not happy with Cotter. His boat was on patrol in Blackett Strait with Jack when PT-109 was rammed.”

“Word is,” Porter said, leaning in to whisper, “Cotter reported back that he’d searched the area after seeing Jack’s boat run down by the destroyer. But he didn’t, at least not so any of the 109’s crew saw him.”

“Now that’s a motive for murder,” I said. I watched as Kaz made his way over to us. Jack was deep in conversation with one of the Chinese ladies, and hadn’t yet noticed Cotter. I edged closer, interested in how Jack would react when he did.

“Phil Cotter,” Jack said, finally catching a glimpse of Cotter at the drinks table. “I’m surprised you found the place.”

The room went silent. Apparently everyone knew about Cotter’s claim to have searched for survivors. There was a sudden ripple of nervous laughter at Jack’s barb, then the room filled with silence again. Cotter faced Jack, a drink in his hand.

“Don’t be an ass, Jack,” Cotter said.

“I mean, after all,” Jack said, ignoring the comment, “you searched for PT-109 and couldn’t find it, even with flames shooting a hundred feet in the air. So how’d you make it here in the pitch black?”

“Go to hell,” Cotter said, turning his back on Jack.

“Ah, there’s the side of you I know better,” Jack said with a grin. With that, he extended his arm to the woman he’d been talking to, and they left the room, heads touching, lost in a whispered intimacy.

Cotter’s face was red, but he kept mum. A good idea with Jack, who excelled at sarcasm and managed it in a way that left you defenseless and usually looking the fool.

Deanna rolled her eyes as Jack walked past her without a word. Good for her. She’d gotten his number quickly enough. Our little group broke up as people wandered off for fresh drinks or food.

“Interesting,” Kaz said, watching the couple depart. “It seems your friend Jack harbors a grudge.”

“He’s not my friend,” I said. “I’m not sure he knows the meaning of the word. I’m bushed, Kaz, how about you?”

“I think I will stay and talk with Jai-li a while longer,” Kaz said, looking faintly embarrassed. “Since Rui left with Jack, she is unaccompanied. I will offer to drive her home, if you can find your own way back to the house?”

“First-name basis, huh? You’ve been busy.”

“She is quite fascinating. You never know what dope I might pick up,” Kaz said, the American jargon he loved so much sounding odd with his Continental accent.

“Go ahead, I’ll hitch a ride or walk back,” I said. “We’ll figure out our next steps in the morning.”

I wished Kaz luck and walked outside, breathing in the cool night air, so welcome after a day of heat and sweat.

“I see our friend Jack has dropped Deanna,” Fred Archer said as he appeared by my side with two bottles of beer, handing me one. “Maybe I’ll take another run at her. Charming lass.”

“You tried before?” I asked.

“I did, but she was besotted with the Kennedy boy. She’s a nurse, and he’s a rich, good-looking lad who needed tending. It came naturally to her, I guess, even though he’s a bit of an ass.”

“Is that jealousy talking, Fred?”

“Well, he’s likable enough at a party, I’ll give him that. Not a stupid chap by a long run, but as a PT skipper he leaves a lot to be desired. First one I ever heard of who got his boat run over by a destroyer. And have you heard his nickname? Crash.”

“I did hear him called that,” I said. “What’s the story?”

“He was racing another PT boat into base after a mission,” Fred said, relating the tale with obvious relish. “You see, they have to refuel as soon as they get in, and it has to be done one boat at a time. So every skipper wants to be first, which gives his crew more time to rest up before the next patrol. Well, Kennedy pulls ahead, but as he gets close, something goes wrong with the engines, and he can’t stop or even slow down. He crashes into the refueling dock and destroys it. Hence the nickname.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t like that much,” I said.

“I don’t think he minds,” Archer said. “He’s not that sort. Kind of a glamorous name, and as time goes by, fewer people will remember the real story behind it. Like I said, he’s not stupid.”

I had to agree with Fred’s assessment. We clinked bottles and he went back to the verandah to speak with Deanna. I watched the conversation and it went well for a while, the two of them chatting amicably. But then Deanna shook her head back and forth, and put her hand on Fred’s arm. The way you do when you give someone bad news. Kind of pitying. He didn’t take it well and spun around, heading directly for the drinks table, probably looking for something stronger than Victoria Bitter.

Too bad for Fred, but when there’s one girl per thousand guys on the island-not counting the natives living in grass huts straight out of National Geographic -he had to understand Deanna was well practiced at saying no.

I was ready to leave, so I sought out Hugh Sexton, pulling him out of a conversation about rugby that was as heated as it was incomprehensible.

“Will you be here in the morning, Hugh?” I said. “I want to talk to you more about Daniel.”

“At your service, Billy,” he said. “Good work today on Malaita, by the way. Was the trip useful?”

“Yeah, we learned a lot,” I said, although doubtful that I’d ever need to know how to stuff a skull again. “Say, do you know anything about this feud between Kennedy and Cotter?”

“The whole island knows about it,” he said. “Cotter came back from that patrol claiming he’d searched for survivors after Kennedy’s boat was hit. Kennedy said he didn’t.”

“Who do you believe?”

“Kennedy. We had a report from Reg Evans on Kolombangara that he saw the flames from the explosion. He didn’t know what it was at the time, but in the morning he sighted the overturned hull of PT-109 drifting on the current. If he saw the flames, then Cotter should have had an easy time searching if he stayed in Blackett Strait.”