The Pearl Harbor Murders

Then the writer pressed the automatic's barrel to the German's forehead, and released the safety, a tiny click that echoed in the stillness of the night.

Eyes glittering with alarm, Kuhn said, 'What do you want?'

'The truth. Did you see Kamana kill that girl?'

Swallowing thickly, the German shook his head, and the pressed-to-his-flesh pistol went along. 'Morimura called me. Told me what to say.'

'Did Morimura kill her?'

'I don't know. Maybe. I only know he wanted the musician identified. As far as I know, Kamana really could be the killer… I just… I just didn't see him do it.'

'Why was Pearl Harada killed?'

'I don't know, I don't know. She flitted around-she was a pretty girl. Jealousy makes men crazy.'

'Did you have an affair with her?'

'No! No. Of course not.'

Burroughs pushed harder against the German's forehead. 'What about Morimura?'

'I don't know! I don't know….I'm not his goddamn chaperon.'

'No, you're his stooge, though. Or should I say his understudy?'

Now the blue eyes tightened-alarm dissolving into fear. 'Wh… what do you mean?'

'The Consulate's been busy burning its papers; coded messages to Japan have been flying. You're a good Nazi, aren't you, Otto? Waiting to help your ally, after we're at war, and diplomats like Morimura are suddenly prisoners….'

Stiffly, Kuhn said, 'I am not a Nazi.'

'Should I pass that news along to your uncle Himmler?'

'Why are you … what are you … You're just a writer!'

'I'm just an American. Otto-did that girl's murder have anything to do with espionage?'

'What? No! How should I know?'

Burroughs pressed harder with the gun barrel. 'Try again.'

Trembling now, sweat pearling down his forehead, Kuhn said, 'I swear to sweet Jesus I don't know….I told you what you wanted! I admitted Morimura called me… that alone could get me killed.'

Burroughs thought about that-then removed the gun from the German's forehead; it had left an impression, in several ways.

'Get the hell out of here,' Burroughs told him, disgustedly.

Kuhn swallowed again. 'What about my gun?'

'Spoils of war,' Burroughs said, and dropped it into his pocket.

Kuhn didn't argue the point; he scrambled to his feet, climbed into his car and-as Burroughs headed back toward the Shuncho-ro-roared out, throwing crushed coral, finally waking up the Japanese chauffeur … for a few moments.

The word Ichigo appeared in both English and Japanese on a small oak plaque by an upstairs door. Burroughs knocked.

A male voice from within answered: 'Yes?'

The writer spoke to the door. 'Mr. Morimura? Ed Burroughs. Could I have a word with you?'

Moments later, the door cracked open. The handsome young Japanese diplomat stood eye to eye with Burroughs; Morimura's black hair was slicked back, and his slender form was wrapped up in an off-white robe with a scarlet sash. His feet were bare. He smelled heavily of musk.

'I do not understand, Mr. Burroughs.' Morimura's expression was friendly but his dark eyes were not. 'Why do you seek me here?'

Burroughs leaned a hand against the doorjamb. 'I took a chance you might be at the Shuncho-ro. I heard it was kind of a second home to you.' 'Could we not meet another time, another place?'

'This won't take long-I just want to chat for a few minutes. May I come in?'

'I have company.'

Burroughs pushed the door open and shouldered past Morimura. At a low table, three Japanese girls wearing nothing at all were sitting on tatami mats. They were lovely of face and form, though their frozen embarrassment was painful to see.

'Put your kimonos on, girls,' Burroughs said, 'and take a break.'

The pretty trio made sounds that mingled distress with giggling as they quickly got into their kimonos, which had been folded neatly on the floor behind them. This was another sparsely decorated, oak-lined, cream-walled room; a row of big picture windows looked out onto the ocean … and Pearl Harbor, Ford Island visible to the west, the Army's Hickam Field just to the left. A powerful telescope on a stand awaited any … tourist… who might want a better, closer look.

The now-clothed geishas scurried out past Morimura, who stood near the door with his arms folded, his face blank.

The consul said, 'You are a rude and foolish man.'

Burroughs strolled over and touched the telescope admiringly. 'Maybe it's just cultural differences. Besides, I don't think you're a fool-even if everybody else seems to.'

'Perhaps all Americans are foolish.'

'They are if they don't think you're a damn spy.'

Morimura smiled, almost gently. He gestured to the low table and the tatami mats. 'Sake, Mr. Burroughs?'

'No thanks. I'm on the wagon.'

'Wagon?'

'Never mind. But I'll sit with you, while you drink.'

They sat across from each other at the low table; neither partook of the pitcher of sake.

Morimura's arms were again folded. 'I am not a spy, Mr. Burroughs-I am a diplomat. Any information I have obtained has been through strictly legal means. Blame your own… American openness. Much can be gleaned from your daily newspapers, for example-and is there a law against looking through a telescope at a restaurant's lovely view?'

'Did you kill Pearl Harada?'

Morimura blinked, and his expression became one of horror. 'What? What a ridiculous question!'

'Did you?'

'No. Certainly not I barely knew her.'

'Do you… 'barely' know her, the way you 'barely' know those three geisha girls?'

'No. The singer and I were not romantically involved.'

'How about carnally?'

'No.'

'Then why were you arguing with her, in the Niumalu parking lot, the night of her murder?'

Morimura's eyes widened-obviously, he didn't know he and Pearl had been seen.

'Her uncle asked me to speak to her.'

'Her uncle? The grocer?'

'Yes. He heard rumors she was planning to marry an American boy. A sailor. He disapproved. I merely conveyed this message to her, and she was….disrespectful, both to me and in speaking of her uncle.'

'Why didn't her uncle tell her this himself? He was around the Niumalu in the afternoon.'

Morimura glared at Burroughs. 'Why are you curious? What business is it to you, the murder of this girl?'

'I helped put the cuffs on Harry Kamana… I caught him at the beach with his hands bloody.'

The diplomat nodded. 'This I have heard.'

'Between the two of us, you and me, we really nailed the poor bastard.'

'The two of us? Nail? Your meaning escapes me.'

'You called Otto Kuhn in the middle of the night, and had him pretend to be an eyewitness. You had him finger that musician.'

'Nonsense.'