She began to nod. Then she let out a huge sigh, stood, smoothed out her dress, and said, “All right. If it’s best for Tommie and Mother.”
He stood, nodding sagely, pressing her hands in his. “It is, dear. Why subject yourself to a needless ordeal? Now, I must warn you, there will no doubt be a summons issued for you to appear as complaining witness in a new Ala Moana trial. Prosecutor Kelley needs to do that to save face….”
“He’s an awful man.”
“He’s cooperating with me, dear, and that’s all that matters. I’ll be saying things for appearance sake, too, but it’ll be bluster and show. Understand? What the public hears, and what’s really going on, are two different affairs.”
I’d have to pass that one on to Chang Apana; anyway, it was a concept Thalia Massie, of all people, ought to grasp.
I was on my feet, too. Forcing a smile for her.
She fixed those bulgy eyes on me. “No one knows what you’ve discovered, Mr. Heller? Just you and Mr. Darrow? Not even Mr. Leisure?”
“No one,” I said.
“You won’t tell Isabel…”
“No.”
“I don’t want Tommie to hear these lies.”
“They aren’t…”
Out of her sight, Darrow was waving at me not to finish.
“…anything anybody’s going to hear but you.”
She smiled, drew in a breath, and said, “Well, then—I think I’ll go down and join Isabel and Mrs. Darrow and Mr. Leisure. I could use some tea to settle my stomach.”
Darrow took her arm, showed her to the door, small-talking with her along the way, soothing her, smoothing a wrinkled feather or two, and then she was gone.
Slowly, Darrow turned to me and said, “Thank you, Nate. Now we can do what’s right for our clients.”
“What about doing something for the poor bastards that bitch wrongly accused?”
He came over and settled a hand on my shoulder. “Now, now—don’t judge Thalia too harshly. She was the first victim in this affair, and she’s suffering still.”
“What about the Ala Moana boys?”
He shuffled back to his easy chair, settled back in, putting his feet back up, folding his hands across his ample belly. “We’re going to see to it, with Thalia’s help, that those boys aren’t put through a second trial.”
I sat across from him, where Thalia had been sitting. “Their supporters are demanding complete exoneration. You’ve seen the papers—the colored population here, egged on by Princess What’s-Her-Name, thinks the Ala Moana boys deserve to be freed of this stigma.” I gestured to the pictures of Lyman and Kaikapu. “Sure, the real bad guys are already doing long, hard time, and that’s peachy; but to the public, Horace Ida and his pals’ve been branded rapists.”
“In due time, the case will be officially dropped, over insufficient evidence.” He shrugged. “There’s no way you can undo something like this, not entirely. In the eyes of the white population, both here and at home, yes, the Ala Moana boys will remain forever rapists. To the various ethnic groups on this island, these boys are heroes, tragic heroes perhaps, but heroes nonetheless—and Joseph Kahahawai a martyred hero.”
“I suppose.”
He grunted a humorless laugh. “What do you think, Nate?” He nodded toward the photos of Lyman and Kaikapu. “Your informed opinion—did they rape her? Or just rob her and thrash and throttle her?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “and I don’t care.”
Darrow shook his head, smiled sadly. “Don’t get hardened so soon in life, son. That poor girl went for a moonlight walk and came back damaged for life….”
“Joe Kahahawai went for a morning ride and never came back at all.”
Darrow nodded, slowly; his eyes were moist. “You must learn to reserve the lion’s share of your pity for the living, Nate—the dead have ceased their suffering.”
“What about Horace Ida and his buddies? They’re alive—with that one little exception. Are you going to meet with them, now, finally?”
A pained frown creased his brow. “You know I can’t do that. You know I can’t
It was time for his afternoon nap, and I left him there, and that was the last time I suggested he meet with Ida and the others.
There is a rumor, however—unsubstantiated but persistent to this day—that the old boy and the Ala Moana defendants sat together for dinner in a private alcove at Lau Yee Ching’s; and that the only word spoken of the case, at this unique and singular meeting, was C.D. raising his teacup of
21
Even in Hawaii, mornings in May came no more beautiful. Sunlight glanced through the fronds of palms and a sublimely sultry breeze riffled lesser leaves as reporters—who the night before had been given the news that the sentencing had been moved up two days—milled about the sidewalk. The only hitch in this perfect day was some grumbling from a surprisingly modest crowd of gawkers, annoyed over Governor Judd’s order banning the public from the courtroom; only those involved in, or reporting, the case would be allowed inside.
