The Pearl Harbor Murders

college games)-gave Burroughs a lift. He was enjoying this exceptionally beautiful day with its clear sky and sharp sunlight as much as anyone in the polyglot assemblage, which contained more than its share of high-ranking military personnel, including Colonel Kendall 'Wooch' Fielder, next to whom the writer sat. As the first half neared its conclusion, with the Roaring Rainbows of the University of Hawaii leading the Bearcats of Willamette (Oregon) University fourteen to nothing, the reserved seat on the other side of Burroughs-meant for FBI agent Adam Sterling-was vacant.

Sterling was a rabidly loyal Willamette grad, who for weeks had been vocal about looking forward to this game, and his missing-in-action status nagged at Burroughs, who was aware the agent had taken off early this morning to go in to work. The writer could not help but again wonder if Sterling's absence was related to the murder of Pearl Harada.

When Burroughs had returned to his bungalow, this morning-after his conversations first with Otto Kuhn and then with Etfriede Kuhn-he had come in on Mrs. Fujimoto, who was, in her pastel floral kimono, vacuuming the sitting room. He had directed her to continue working, got himself a bottle of Pepsi from their little refrigerator perched in one corner, slipped his shoes off and lounged on the couch, with his feet up on it, to stay out of the maid's way.

Though Mrs. Fujimoto was invariably, subserviently formal in her manner, she and Burroughs were friendly-he often kidded her, prodding giggles out of her-and her college-boy son Sam and Hully were good pals. As he waited for Hully, Burroughs formed a few questions which he realized the maid might de-cline to answer… but were definitely worth a try.

When she had finished her vacuuming and began her feather-dusting, Burroughs said, causally, 'So the Kuhns chased you out early, today.'

She smiled and nodded, carefully dusting his work area.

'Mr. Kuhn almost knocked me down,' Burroughs said, still lounging on the sofa, keeping his tone light. 'The way he came bolting out of mat bungalow, I thought he might be … mad or something.'

She nodded. 'Mr. Kuhn very upset this morning.'

'Really? Well, you know, he witnessed that murder last night.'

Mrs. Fujimoto looked up from her work. 'I did hear this….So sad.' She sighed, shook her head. 'Miss Pearl, so beautiful.'

'It was a terrible tragedy Kuhn identified Harry Kamana as the killer, you know.'

She nodded, dusting. 'That I also hear. Hard to believe.'

'Why do you say that?'

She dusted some more, before answering. 'Mr. Kamana… he is a very gentle man. Kind man. He always treat Miss Pearl with kindness.'

The opinion of an 'invisible' person like a maid, here at the Niumalu-who observed much, from the sidelines-was not to be undervalued.

Burroughs rose, crossed to her at his desk. Her eyes widened-she was surprised by this familiarity.

Facing her, close to her, he said, his tone serious now, 'I don't believe Harry Kamana killed that young woman. Do you?'

She winced. 'If Mr. Kuhn say he saw it…'

'People lie sometimes don't they, Mrs. Fujimoto? Were the Kuhns arguing this morning? The way he came flying out of there, that was the impression I got.'

From her expression, she seemed to be experiencing physical pain. 'Oh, Mr. Burroughs… do not ask, please. It would be improper for me to-'

'It would be improper to let Harry Kamana take the blame for something he didn't do. My son and I are looking into this matter.'

'But… the police…'

'They've already made their minds up that Harry did it-largely because of what Kuhn told them…. Did you hear anything this morning, Mrs. Fujimoto, before the Kuhns chased you out of there? Anything… suspicious?'

She raised her hand, in a gentle 'stop' gesture. 'Mr. Burroughs…' 'Please.'

She swallowed. Shaking her head, her gaze lowered, she said softly, 'They did argue. I….I did not hear much.'

'What did you hear?'

'Something … something about a phone call… a phone call last night.'

What the hell?

Burroughs leaned in, even closer. 'A phone call-what about it?'

'Mr. Kuhn tell her this phone call-it never came.'

His mind was racing. 'There was a phone call, but if anybody asked, she was to say there wasn't any phone call? Is that it?'

'I cannot say. I tell you what I hear. I do not understand what it mean. Please… Mr. Burroughs … I am uncomfortable speak of this.'

He sighed. Then, very lightly, he touched her shoulder. 'That's all right, Mrs. Fujimoto. But if the police talk to you, you must tell them about this-understand? It could be important; it may relate to what really happened to that poor girl. You must tell them.'

Nodding slowly, she said, 'Yes, Mr. Burroughs. I understand. If police ask, I tell them.'

'Good. Good.'

Hully had come in shortly after that, and father and son had strolled to the beach and filled each other in on what they had learned so far, in their informal investigation.

At the game, Burroughs.had watched the one-sided affair with only mild interest; and Wooch Fielder-casual in a short-sleeved blue aloha shirt and khaki trousers-applauded and occasionally cheered, but he too seemed distracted. Burroughs didn't mention the murder, waiting to see if the colonel would bring it up.

The halftime show was a binge of patriotism, a colorful, musical pageant that the crowd ate up. Fifteen marching bands-with a crack Marine unit in the lead-combined into one massive crew, playing island favorites like 'Hawaii Ponoi,' the inescapable Shriner anthem 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles,' and such flag-waving fare as 'Stars and Stripes Forever.' The lavish exhibition included a rare daylight array of fireworks, one of whose rockets delivered a miniature Hawaiian flag, followed by another that sent the American flag wafting down in a shower of sparks, though the unfurling barely occurred before it bit the ground, due to a slight malfunction. After all of his friend Teske's talk of Japanese invasion, Burroughs could not keep from wondering if the latter was a portent.

Also, the creator of Tarzan and John Carter of Mars could not keep from noticing white clouds piling up in the placid blue of the sky into what seemed to him the unmistakable formation of a monster, whose long tongue lashed side to side. Another omen? At times like these, Edgar Rice Burroughs could have done without his vivid imagination.

As the second half got under way, Burroughs finally looked over at his friend and said, 'I'm a little surprised you haven't said anything about that girl's murder.'

Fielder gave Burroughs a quick sideways look, then said, as if commenting on the rising price of wheat, 'Well, it's certainly a terrible thing.'

'How's your son taking it?'

Now some humanity came into Fielder's hawkish face. 'Very hard, I'm afraid. I don't even know where he is, he rushed off after we … He came looking for me….'

Burroughs frowned. 'Why would he come looking for you?'

Fielder was lighting up a cigarette. 'He just needed to take it out on someone….'Are you satisfied?'…. That kind of thing. To be expected.'

'Hully was the one who broke it to him. Hell of a thing.'

With a sigh of smoke, Fielder said, 'Poor Hully. I hope he can help Bill. I'm afraid I won't be able to break through the resentment for some time.'

Bill and Wooch had a somewhat strained relationship, anyway-that the boy had joined the Navy, rather than the Army, in an effort to step out from under his father's shadow, had been a point of contention. On the other hand, Burroughs believed that Fielder was secretly proud of his son, for taking that stand.

'Did you and Bill ever argue about the planned marriage?'

'Actually, yes-last night, after the luau, he came to see me … to state his case. I'm afraid I was rather rough