Damned in Paradise

Porch. Chang and I were alone but for a table of women playing bridge, well down from us.

“Detective Jardine asked me to report,” Chang said, “that Joe Crawford’s band on Maui no longer counts Sammy among its members.”

I frowned. “What became of Sammy?”

“Maui police did us courtesy of making inquiry. Sammy, who seems to lack last name, is no longer in the Islands.”

“Where is he?”

“Thought to be in California. Los Angeles. We have just contacted Los Angeles police. Too early for results.”

“Damn. That was my only good lead on this possible second gang….”

Chang sighed, lowered his gaze. “Not so. There is other lead.”

“What?”

He was shaking his head slowly. “I feel shame for withholding information from brother officer.”

“Come on, Chang—spill, already. That hooker in Mosquito Flats told you something! What was it?”

He sighed again. “Please understand, Nate. Rape of white woman in Hawaii, exception not rule. No matter what mainland papers say, no matter what Admiral Stirling says, rare thing in Hawaii.”

“What’s your point?”

“Point is, only other rape of white woman by colored man in recent memory is this prisoner Jardine been seeking.”

“Yeah, the jailbird who was let out New Year’s Eve to get oke and never came back.”

Chang was nodding. “White woman he raped, he grab her at lovers’ lane…off Ala Moana.”

I sat up. “Not at the old Animal Quarantine Station?”

“No. But very nearby. Modus operandi all too familiar.”

“Are you saying this guy might be a viable suspect in the Ala Moana case?” I shifted in my wicker chair, smirked. “Well, hell—surely you guys checked this out long ago! Where in God’s name was the bastard the night Thalia was attacked?”

“We did check,” Chang said, “and he was in prison. Serving murder sentence.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a pretty good alibi….”

“Bad alibi like fish,” Chang said distastefully. “Not stand test of time.” He leaned forward, lifted a gently lecturing forefinger, squinted until his eyes completely disappeared. “If murdering rapist can walk out of jail on New Year’s Eve, why not do same on twelfth of September?”

“Shit,” I said. “Is Oahu Prison really as casual as all that?”

He was nodding again. “Yes. Warden Lane—recently replaced—sent convicts out working on municipal projects ’round Honolulu. Is said any prisoner who not return from work assignments by six P.M. get locked out of jail, and lose dinner privilege.”

“That’s some strict warden.”

Again he lowered his eyes. “Such laxity at prison well known by Honolulu police. I am ashamed for shoddy police work by my department, not following so obvious a lead. Of course, jailers at Oahu Prison, when questioned, lied to cover their own misdeeds.”

“But they turned around and let the bastard out again on New Year’s Eve! If they knew he most likely raped Thalia, why would they—”

Chang’s eyes were knife-point sharp. “To allow him to really escape, and take his guilt with him. Remember—prisoners usually returned when given temporary release. But Lyman did not.”

“Lyman,” I said. “That’s what that hooker at Mosquito Flats said to you!”

He nodded gravely. “Please accept apology. Harlot’s words hit this old man hard as brick.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “You think I haven’t seen some pretty lousy things going on, in the Chicago PD? Lousy enough to make me ashamed to be part of it?”

In fact, I’d done a few.

So quietly it was barely audible over the rustle of fronds, he said, “Rumor say Lyman still in Islands.”

“How do you know he hasn’t gone to the mainland, like Sammy?”

Chang shook his head, no. “Is somewhere in these Islands, still. People help him hide, they protect him, because they fear him. He is one big mean bastard and they don’t cross him.”

“Where do we start? It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Needle in haystack give away hiding place when fat man sit down.” He dug in his pocket. “Meet Daniel Lyman.”

Chang handed me a mug shot of Lyman—blank-eyed, pockmarked, bulbous-nosed, shovel-jawed, a face designed for wanted circulars.

My laugh had no humor in it. “Well, we need to sit on the son of a bitch as soon as possible—and how likely is that, when Jardine and Major Ross and the entire goddamn Hawaiian National Guard haven’t got the job done, in