The Pearl Harbor Murders

'No. But I'm supposed to. Terry Mizuha was a known mahu-and he's nude, possibly preparing for … you know.'

'In the middle of the day?'

Jardine frowned. 'That's why I say we weren't supposed to find him so soon. I would like to talk to your servicemen friends, Fielder and Stanton.'

'Why, you think one of them may have lured him out here, on a pretext?'

'Possibly. It's secluded enough, even for a daytime tryst Anyway, there are no signs of the body being carried down the slope. He would seem to have been killed here, on the beach.'

'But he could have been killed elsewhere.'

'Yes-if the killer had an accomplice to help him carry the body down the slope. The body could have been transported here in the trunk of a car.'

'Did you find the clothes?'

Jardine nodded. 'I'm told they were neatly stacked in the rocks nearby.'

The afternoon was dying. The setting sun seemed a red-hot ball of flame, tinting the waves pink, as if the ocean were watered-down blood.

The detective looked up at Hully with eyes that were bright but no longer hard or sharp. 'Would you help me tonight, Mr. Burroughs? We'll go to Hotel Street and find that sailor and that soldier.'

There was no question about it: Hully would go along with Jardine. But just the same, he said, 'I thought I was supposed to leave this to the professionals.'

'You'll be with a professional. What do you say?'

Down the beach, foamy surf licking ever nearer, Terry Mizuha seemed to have no objection.

'I had nothing else planned,' Hully said.

TEN

An Evening at the Shuncho-ro

At the top of Red Hill, Burroughs slowed his Pierce Arrow to take in the panoramic view of Pearl Harbor on this peaceful evening-the scattering of stars in God's purple Hawaiian sky competing with the man-made twinkling of buildings and ships, the ebony sea highlighted shimmeringly by the rays of the near-golden moon. Dance band music drifted up from the officers' club below, the view including the Naval Station, Luke Field, and-in the distance- the Ewa Sugar Plantation; but the equipment, the trappings, of the great base were lost in the night, the workshops, the big hammerhead crane, swallowed by darkness, with only the lights of the Pacific Fleet remaining- and there were plenty, what with every battleship in port. Winding down the hill, passing through Halawa Gulch, the convertible glided by fields of sugarcane, which waved at the writer, friendly in the moonlight.

A sign told Burroughs that Pearl City Road Junction lay ahead just three miles, where a left turn would take him to the Peninsula residential section and the Shuncho-ro teahouse.

He had not connected with Hully, and Burroughs wondered what his son might have uncovered-he only hoped the boy hadn't gotten himself in any jam. For once Burroughs valued his son's friendship with Sam Fujimoto- snooping in Chinatown without a safari guide would have been reckless. Not that he was worried, really, other than a standard fatherly concern: Hully was as smart as he was strapping, and could damn well take care of himself.

On the other hand, it was a murderer they were chasing. And Burroughs was starting to wonder whether Pearl Harada's death really had been a simple crime of passion, driven by the jealousy of one suitor or another … or was it a small yet important part of something greater and far more sinister?

Back at the Waikiki Tavern, after Colonel Fielder had departed, Burroughs and FBI agent Sterling had sat and talked for another fifteen minutes, in the matched-roofed pergola on the beach. No more rum punch: a waiter was dispatched to bring coffee for both men. As they spoke, a tropical sunset painted the water, the world, with shades of red and orange; but as the sun's ball of fire slipped over the horizon, darkness rapidly invaded.

Burroughs had told Sterling about the informal investigation he and his son were undertaking into the Harada girl's death, assuring the agent that Hully had not been clued in on Otto Kuhn's suspected status as a sleeper agent.

'To me, the most interesting thing you've come up with,' the ruggedly handsome FBI agent said, stirring sugar into his coffee, 'is that phone call that Kuhn and his wife argued about.'

Burroughs lifted an eyebrow. 'Apparently, Otto told her to deny there'd been any phone call, or anyway not to mention there had been one.'

Sterling's eyes narrowed. 'But who rang Otto, in the middle of the night? And why?'

'He's a sleeper agent-maybe it was a wake-up call.'

The FBI agent nodded. 'Maybe in a way it was-Otto receives a call, and then before you know it, he's on your doorstep, telling Jardine he witnessed Kamana killing that girl.'

'You mean… the real murderer called him, and ordered up an alibi?'

Sterling made an openhanded shrugging gesture. 'There's really only two reasonable alternatives, here: Kuhn did the killing and blamed Kamana; or someone else did the killing, and Kuhn is alibiing for him… or her.'

'Her? Mrs. Kuhn, you mean?'

'She remains a viable suspect,' Sterling said, and sipped his coffee. 'Otto's reputation as a playboy has been well earned-he does run around on Elfriede … and you gotta give Otto his nerve for that: his wife is the niece of Heinrich Himmler himself.'

The saltwater breeze suddenly seemed chilly to Burroughs. 'So I really do have Nazis living next door.'

'No doubt of that.'

'Then where does the damn phone call come in?'

Sterling threw his hands up. 'Search me. But I can tell you this-there's a reason why Pearl Harada's murder sent up a warning flare at my office … particularly with Otto Kuhn as a supposed eyewitness, apparently fingering a fall guy.'

'Why is that, Adam?'

The agent leaned forward. 'Remember what I told you about the network of nisei who are helping compile a list of potentially disloyal Japs here in Oahu?'

'Sure.'

'Well, Pearl Harada's uncle-the Chinatown grocer-is on that list.'

Burroughs half climbed out of his wicker chair. 'Jesus, Hully went to question that guy this afternoon!'

Sterling patted the air, calmingly. 'I didn't say Uncle Harada was dangerous-just that he's loyal to his native country… like a lot of issei in Chinatown.'

Issei were first-generation immigrants.

Sterling was saying, 'Until recently, Harada displayed photographs of the emperor in his shop. Plus, he's vocally supported Japan's war on China, buying Jap war bonds, helping organize an effort to send 'comfort bags' to Japanese soldiers-blankets, shoes, candy.'

Burroughs shifted in his chair. 'Well, this is beginning to look like Pearl Harada's death may have more to do with espionage than affairs of the heart.'

Sterling shrugged again. 'There's no question this was a beautiful girl who could have driven a man to some irrational, jealous act of violence… but with both her uncle and your 'Nazi-next-door' in the scenario, an espionage- related motive remains a distinct possibility.'

'And let's not forget she knew Vice Consul Mori-mura, either-or that he was reading her the Riot Act in the parking lot, a few hours before she was killed.'

Sterling's reaction was not what Burroughs had expected: the FBI agent laughed.

Astounded, Burroughs said, 'This is funny, all of a sudden?'

'I'm sorry. It's just… That guy's hard to take seriously. My guess is Morimura was yelling at her because she wouldn't give him the time of day.'

'How can you say that, Adam? Fielder admits this clown spends most of his time engaged in 'legal'