should leave him alone, he was an officer with the Shore Patrol. We told him if he was in the Shore Patrol he should know better than to give another cop a hard time.”
“Tell him,” Chang said.
Jardine sighed. “When I brought Mrs. Massie out to drive her to the hospital, Bradford was being shown to a patrol wagon. They spoke. I heard her say to him, ‘Don’t worry, Jack—it’s going to be all right.’ It was…it was like
Chang looked at me with both eyebrows raised. The ceiling fans whirred above us. Jardine might have been a cigar-store Indian in a fedora, he was sitting there so motionless, so expressionless.
“Is there anything else about the case,” I asked, “you can share with me?”
Jardine shook his head, no. “I got pulled off the investigation, when Daniel Lyman and Lui Kaikapu broke out of Oahu, New Year’s Eve.”
Chang Apana’s tone was almost scolding. “How can prisoner break out of cage with no door?”
“What d’you mean?” I asked.
Chang said, “Most guards in Oahu prison, like most prisoners, are Hawaiians. Big on honor system. You in jail but have urgent business on outside, just ask for pass. You want to know how murderer Lyman and thief Kaikapu ‘broke out’? Chang will tell you: guards send them out to get big supply of
This reminded me of Cook County jail, who let the likes of the bootlegging Druggan brothers in and out at will, and neither the jailers nor the Druggans were Hawaiians.
“But the trustees didn’t bother to come back,” I said.
“Once they got out,” Jardine said, “they decided to split up and take their chances on their own. We caught Kaikapu the next day.”
“But Lyman’s still at large.”
Jardine’s mouth twitched again. “The bastard mugged a couple out parking, tied the guy up to a fence with fishing line, raped the woman, took a buck and a quarter out of her purse, and then drove her home.”
“Thoughtful fella.”
“And he’s been leading us a goddamn merry chase ever since.”
“You’re still on the case?”
Jardine sipped his coffee. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
Jardine dug in his pocket for a pack of Lucky Strikes—presumably not the ones found at the crime scene. “The governor appointed Major Ross to head up a Territorial Police Force.”
“Just to track this jailbird down?”
“No.” He lighted up the Lucky, exhaled smoke through his nose, echoing the dragon on the table. “We’re in the middle of a departmental shake-up here, most of it due to the screwups in the Massie case. Heads are rolling daily. This Territorial Force is supposed to pick up the slack.”
“Who are these temporary coppers?”
“Major Ross has a group he’s picked from his National Guard members plus some Federal Prohibition Agents and a few American Legion volunteers.”
Funny. Joe Kahahawai had served in the National Guard under Major Ross; it had been Mrs. Fortescue’s fake summons from Ross that summoned Big Joe to his death.
Jardine continued, “I’m liaison between Major Ross’s group and the PD.”
I grunted a laugh. “Only all the king’s horses and all the king’s men haven’t found this raping murderer.”
Jardine nodded. “But we’ll get him.”
“Any sightings? Any other crimes?”
“Enough sightings to believe Lyman hasn’t left the Island. No more rapes, no major thefts credited to him. He’s gone way underground. Probably in the hills.”
“Well, if you’re off the Massie case, does that mean I can’t ask you to chase down a lead for me?”
Jardine’s eyes flashed. “Not at all. What’d you come up with?”
I sat forward and smiled just a little. “Are you aware that right before she went out the Ala Wai door, Thalia had a little chat with a
Jardine frowned in interest. “New one on me. Where you’d get this?”
“I’m a detective.”
That amused Chang; at least, he smiled a little.
“His name’s Sammy,” I went on, “and he’s some kind of musician with a band on Maui.” I got out my little notepad and read off the name: “Joe Crawford’s band. Are there any coppers on Maui you can check with?”
Jardine was nodding, getting out his own notebook to write down the names.
“Excuse me,” a male voice intoned from behind us; it was deep and rang with authority.
The big man standing in the doorway of one of the glassed-in offices behind Jardine had the leanly muscular frame of a football linebacker and the pleasant, patient smile of a parish priest. Angularly handsome, kindly features
