The frown turned into a sneer. “Who the hell are you, mister?”
“Nate Heller. I’m Clarence Darrow’s investigator. I’d offer to shake hands, but…”
He finished before I did, and I joined him at the sink, waiting for him to finish washing up so I could have my turn.
He looked at me in the streaky mirror; his features may have been bland, but the blue eyes were sharp—and he didn’t seem as drunk as his brother officers. “What do you want?”
Looking back at him in the mirror, I shrugged, smiled a little. “I want to talk to you about the case.”
He used a paper hand towel. “I had nothing to do with the killing of Kahahawai.”
“Nobody said you did. I want to talk to you about what happened to Thalia Massie last September.”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with the case Darrow’s trying?”
“Well, it does seem just the slightest little bit connected, since it’s the goddamn murder motive. But maybe you don’t want to help.”
He turned and looked at me; his eyes narrowed, like he was aiming a rifle at me. “Of course I’ll talk to you,” he said. “Anything to help Tommie and his wife.”
“Good.” I stepped up to the sink and washed my hands. “Why don’t we take some air?”
He nodded, and we exited the john and went out past the stocky doorkeeper into the warm night; the air this close to the drainage canal seemed muggy, and there was no sign of the trade-wind breeze that made the Hawaiian heat so bearable. He leaned against a Model A and fished a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket. He shook out a smoke, then held the pack toward me.
“Want one?”
“No thanks,” I said. “It’s the only bad habit I haven’t acquired.”
He lighted up with a match. “You know, all you had to do was ask. I’m willing to help. You didn’t have to crack wise.”
I shrugged, leaned against a parked Hupmobile coupe, facing him. “I left four messages for you at Pearl—two with your captain, two with your wife. You never returned my calls. I figured maybe you were ducking me, Lieutenant.”
“I’m just busy,” he said, waving out the match.
“Is that why you didn’t testify at the Ala Moana trial?”
He blew out smoke. “Nobody asked me to testify. Besides, I was on sub duty.”
“Did somebody arrange that?”
The eyes tightened again. “What are you getting at, pal?”
“Nothing. Just, when I went over the court transcripts, you seemed like a pretty important witness to turn into the little man who wasn’t there.”
“I’ve cooperated right down the line. Tommie’s my best friend. I’d do anything for him.”
“You mean, like sleep with his wife?”
He pitched the cigarette and lurched forward, grabbing me by my parrot shirt. He was close enough I could tell it was bourbon he’d been drinking; couldn’t make out the brand, though, but definitely not home brew.
“You got a filthy mouth, Heller.”
I looked down toward his clenched fists clutching my shirt. “That’s silk. It damages easily.”
He blinked and let go. Backed off. “It’s a dirty damn lie. Thalia is a—”
“Nice girl. She loves Tommie. Quiet, though. Yeah, I heard the story. You guys all got it down pat—that’s probably why none of you were called at the first trial.”
“What are you talking about?”
“DAs don’t like it when groups of witnesses use identical language; they’re afraid some smart defense lawyer will crack through the hooey and get at the truth—like how you submariners pass your wives around like other guys pass around a ciggie or a bottle.”
He was sneering again. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you? You really want your teeth handed to you, don’t you?”
“You want to try, Jimmy? Or do you only break women’s jaws?”
He blinked. “Is that what you think? You think
“Lovers’ quarrel turns ugly—a girl needs somebody to blame. Who better than a bunch of ‘niggers’?”
His face was reddening. “You’re crazy—there was
“I have witnesses that place you in Thalia’s house, last May, when her husband was away, on sub duty. Witnesses who say you also went on overnight trips to the beach.”
He was shaking his head, no, violently, no. “That’s just small filthy minds talking. Thalia and my wife Jane and Tommie and I, we’re close friends, that’s all. It was completely innocent.”
“Separate bedrooms, you mean? Now tell me about how Santa Claus is a real guy.”
“Go to hell! My wife went back home, last May, to Michigan, to take care of her sick mama. I was alone, Thalia
