Damned in Paradise

The admiral continued, “And this wasn’t the only clash between Navy men and the hoodlum element….”

“How badly did things get out of hand?” Leisure asked.

“Well, to give security to the isolated naval people in Manoa Valley and the other suburbs, I established more foot patrols of sailors, and established Navy radio cars in districts where Navy families lived.”

“Why weren’t the cops doing that?” I asked.

“All I can tell you is that this was done at the request of the mayor and the sheriff. And the pressure I’ve brought to bear has resulted in a major shake-up of the force, finally…a new chief of police, practically the entire department put on a year’s probation.”

“How did you manage that?” I asked, impressed.

The admiral’s smile was tiny but bespoke large smugness. “There is certain…leverage the Navy has been able to apply.”

“What kind of leverage?” Darrow wondered.

The admiral’s eyes damn near twinkled. “We have, from time to time during this unfortunate affair, cancelled shore leave. When the fleet is in, gentlemen, income for many businesses in Honolulu is up. By withholding that from the community, well…you can imagine the results.”

“You obviously tried to exert a positive influence on this case from the beginning,” Darrow said. Even I couldn’t detect the sarcasm.

The admiral’s pouchy eyes tightened. “This degenerate sex criminal Kahahawai would be alive today, if Governor Judd and the attorney general had listened to me.”

Darrow frowned thoughtfully. “How so?”

“After the trial ended in a hung jury, I suggested they keep those rapists locked up, until a second trial could be held. But they insisted it was illegal to raise bail above what an individual could pay. It would violate their civil rights, don’t you know. You see, by accident of birth, these creatures are technically ‘Americans’…. Well—I suppose you gentlemen are anxious to meet with your clients.”

“With your kind permission,” Darrow said, rising. “By the way, Admiral—how did you manage to keep our clients under your benign influence?”

“You mean, why aren’t they in jail?” He allowed himself a broader smile. “Cristy, the trial judge, had no stomach for the responsibility of what might happen to Mrs. Fortescue and the others, what with threats of terrorism and mob violence. I suggested the judge swear one of my officers in as a special officer of the civil court, to supervise their confinement aboard the Alton. And I promised to produce the defendants wherever and whenever the Territory might need them.”

“Nicely handled,” Darrow said, meaning it.

The admiral was standing now, but he stayed back behind his desk. “You know, Mr. Darrow, in the trial against those hoodlum rapists, the jury deliberated for ninety-seven hours…. Deadlocked at seven for not guilty, five for guilty. The exact proportion of yellow and brown to white members of the jury. You will undoubtedly face a polyglot jury in this case, as well….”

“There will be no hung jury in this trial,” Darrow predicted.

“You’re up against Prosecutor John C. Kelley—he’s a young firebrand. He’ll attack ferociously…”

“And I’ll counterattack with an olive branch,” Darrow said. “I’m here to heal the breach that’s opened between the races in these garden islands, sir. Not to gouge open that gaping wound further.”

And we left the admiral to ponder Darrow’s words.

6

Our limo driver remained our chaperon as we were led to that obsolete, decommissioned, rundown old cruiser sitting high and dry on a mudflat in Pearl Harbor, the U.S.S. Alton. The driver turned us over to the two armed Marine sentries at the mouth of the seventy-five-foot gangplank that separated the ship and the shore. One of the sentries escorted us aboard, leading the way as we danced across to the rickety wooden gangplanks tune.

Above this screaky melody, Leisure managed to be heard, whispering to Darrow, “The admiral gives quite a ringing endorsement of lynch law, wouldn’t you say?”

But if racial champion Darrow was expected to provide a biting condemnation of Stirling (now that our host was absent), he disappointed. Well, he disappointed Leisure. I knew C.D. well enough to have predicted he’d say something like: “Admiral Stirling is a Navy man, and a Southerner, and his statements are naturally prejudiced.”

Which is exactly what he said.

Our Marine escort led us to the top deck. “The Alton’s used as a general mess hall,” he said over the echo of our feet on metal, “and Officers’ Club.”

He led us into a wardroom, in the stern of the ship, saying, “Mrs. Fortescue and Lt. Massie are staying in the captain’s cabin, just through here.”

We were moving past a large mess table where a number of officers watched us with curiosity, several obviously recognizing Darrow as he shambled by. The interior of the ship, at least judging by this mess hall, was nothing like its sorry exterior: the walls were mahogany paneled, with framed oil paintings of admirals, display cases of trophies, and shining silver ornamentation.

Darrow asked, “The captain was so kind as to vacate his quarters for my clients?”

“No, sir—Captain Wortman lives in Honolulu with his wife. This stateroom is usually reserved for visiting admirals.”

Or very special guests, like defendants in murder trials.

Our escort knocked at the door, saying, “Mrs. Fortescue? Your guests are here.”