James Benn: The White Ghost

“Was he hurt?” I asked, still wondering what this had to do with me.

“Mainly his pride,” Kennedy said with a snorting laugh. The Kennedy brothers were highly competitive, and if Joe was just getting his first combat assignment, it must have been tough on him to have his kid brother already in the fight. It was common knowledge that old man Kennedy had high hopes for his namesake. To live up to his father’s plans, Joe Junior needed to come out of this war a hero and not second best to his rail-thin sickly brother.

“His crew?” Kaz asked.

“Two dead, one badly burned,” Kennedy said. “They spent a week on some island eating coconuts before they were rescued. Jack got his feet pretty cut up on coral and got sent to a navy hospital on Tulagi. That’s in the Solomon Islands.”

“Yeah, I read Stars and Stripes ,” I said. “And you need an ex-Boston cop for exactly what?”

“Jack has been involved in the death of a native scout. Apparently losing his boat wasn’t bad enough; now he’s got himself mixed up in a murder,” Joe said. “Father wants you to help him out.”

“In the South Pacific?” I said, not quite believing what I was hearing.

“Sure,” Kennedy said, reaching into his flight jacket for a thick manila envelope. “Here are your orders, signed by General George C. Marshall himself. Also there’s a file on what we know about the incident. The native was part of the Coastwatchers operation. You know, those Australians who stayed behind on Jap-occupied islands?”

“Wait a minute,” I said, not giving a hoot about Aussie Coastwatchers. “Why send me? The Boyles and the Kennedys aren’t exactly a mutual admiration society.”

“You’re right, Boyle, we aren’t. That’s why Father chose you.”

“For what exactly? I’m not navy. Don’t you have the shore patrol or something like that?”

“Let me lay out some facts for you,” Kennedy said. “First, the shore patrol is only whoever the master-at-arms can lay his hands on. They get a baton and are sent ashore when swabbies get their leave to make sure they don’t burn down the town. They’re a joke, unless you’re a drunken sailor wising off to one of them. The Office of Naval Intelligence investigates crimes against US Navy personnel. But as I said, the victim here was a native. Jurisdiction is murky. The Solomons are a British protectorate, administered by the British and Australians in peacetime. Now it’s mostly Japs and Americans up and down the islands.”

“And the Melanesians,” Kaz said.

“Yeah, the natives,” Kennedy said. “So there’s no one really in charge when it’s a crime against one of them. The Melanesians.”

“Is Jack actually a suspect?” I asked. I wouldn’t admit it to Joe, but my curiosity was getting the better of me.

“At least one of the local brass contacted ONI asking for direction,” Kennedy said. “The navy doesn’t want to turn one of their own over to the Australians without sufficient evidence. And since we’re the only thing standing between Australia and a Japanese invasion, the Aussies are being careful not to ruffle any feathers. Father wants the record set straight now so there are no future repercussions.”

“You don’t mean he wants the truth?” I said.

“Jack’s not a killer,” Joe said. “Your job is to find out exactly what happened and put this behind him. We don’t know yet if the navy is going to court-martial Jack for losing his boat or make him their latest hero. Either way, he doesn’t need a murder charge hanging over his head. It would embarrass the family.”

“You still haven’t said why you want Billy on the case,” Kaz said. “I assume you are primarily interested in him.”

“Two reasons,” Kennedy said. “And you’re right. Boyle is the man we want on the case, with your assistance, of course, Baron.” He gave a polite smile, flashing pearly white teeth like a shark before he takes off your leg. “Father thinks that if you clear Jack of any potential charges, no one will question your judgment.”

“Because of our mutual past,” I said.

“Exactly,” Kennedy said, nodding as if to encourage a slow pupil. “You’d be more apt to convict him, based on family history.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Although as an investigator I do have an interest in what the evidence tells me.”

“Sure, sure,” Kennedy said with a wave of his hand. “Look for all the evidence you want.”

“I take it the other reason is the reverse of the one you stated,” Kaz said, drumming his fingers on his knee, his eyes narrowing as he took the measure of the man seated across from us.

“How do you mean?” Kennedy said.

“That if Billy finds evidence which implicates your brother, it can be written off as a grudge.”

“Baron, how can you say that? I might take that as an insult,” Kennedy said, his smile still stretched across his gums as his eyes darkened. “Besides, that isn’t the other reason.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“You owe us,” Kennedy said in a whisper, leaning over the desk, pushing aside Kilpatrick’s paperwork with his elbows.

“For what?” I said, anger rising inside me. “I don’t owe your family a damn thing.”

“Your father never told you, did he?” Kennedy leaned back, glee rising in his voice. “How do you think it all happened? Your sudden appointment to the War Plans Department right out of Officer’s Candidate School? While the other second louies went off to get shot to pieces as platoon leaders, you got a soft posting with Eisenhower. Someone had to make that happen Boyle. Someone with clout.”

“The Ambassador,” Kaz said. He knew my story. How my dad and uncle hated the idea of me dying in another war to save the British Empire, as their eldest brother Frank had in the last war. How they cooked up a scheme to get me appointed to the staff of a distant relative-on my mother’s side-who worked in an obscure office in Washington D.C. And how shocked we all were when Uncle Ike got sent off to Europe as head of all US Army forces, and took me with him.

“Yeah,” Kennedy said, his eyes locked onto mine. “Father was the one who pulled the strings. Even after he came home from London in 1940, he still had his contacts in government, still had favors owed. Your father and that lunatic uncle of yours approached him to get you appointed to General Eisenhower’s staff. You’re here because the Kennedys put you here, Boyle. It’s time for payback.” He clasped his hands behind his head, the same pose as I’d so confidently presented a few minutes ago. I didn’t feel quite so sure of myself anymore.

“I can see that,” I said, marshaling my thoughts as I tried not to show my dismay at being in thrall to the Kennedy clan. “Your old man could pull a few strings back home. But how did he pull this off? Getting General Marshall to order me halfway around the world for your kid brother?”

“It doesn’t hurt that the director of the Office of Naval Intelligence used to be Father’s naval attaché in London,” Joe said with a smirk. He liked to brag about family connections, even when it would be best to keep his mouth shut. I decided to push further.

“Come on, Joe,” I said. “Even ONI couldn’t make all this happen so fast. Somebody other than your old man must be calling the shots.”

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Boyle. There’s an election coming up in ’44. FDR wants a fourth term, and there are plenty of people who think he never should have had a third. His health isn’t so good, either, although he does a good job of hiding it.”

“Is your old man going to challenge him?” I asked. There had been rumors of Joe Senior wanting a shot at the presidency.

“No, that’s not in the cards,” Kennedy said. “The country’s not ready for a Catholic president. Not yet. But millions of Catholics vote. Father can deliver a lot of that vote, especially the Irish Catholics.”