The Pearl Harbor Murders

'Rough joint,' Jardine said, and showed his badge to the two sailors. 'I'm Detective Jardine. How are you doing, Bill?'

'My fiancee was murdered,' he said, just slightly slurring his words. 'How the hell you think I am?'

'When did you see Pearl Harada last, Ensign?'

Dan said, 'Detective, if you want to question Bill, don't you think it'd be more appropriate if you waited till he's-'

'I'll talk to him now,' Bill said sharply. 'Right now. I'm sober-sober enough. And I don't have a goddamn thing to hide.'

'You should have a lawyer,' Dan said. 'This is a murder case.'

Bill batted the air. 'They already caught the guy. Didn't you catch the guy?'

'Harry Kamana is in custody,' Jardine said. 'When did you see Pearl last, Ensign?'

'At the Niumalu. I left about a quarter to midnight. … The Harbor Lights were still playing.'

Jardine gazed out from under the shadow of the fedora brim. 'She was your girl, wasn't she? Why didn't you hang around to spend some time with her, after?'

'I wanted to talk to my father. I was spending the weekend with my folks-and I knew I'd have the chance to talk to Dad about… about Pearl and me. About us getting married.'

'Did you talk to him?'

'Yes.' He shook his head, rolled his eyes. 'Oh yes indeed.'

'It did not go well?'

He grunted a humorless laugh. 'It did not go well.'

'What happened?'

Bill leaned forward, weaving slightly; his words remained slurred but coherent. 'Just a shouting match. My mother tried to calm both of us down, but… I went to the guest room, slammed the door. That was the end of it.'

'What time was this?'

'I got home just after midnight. We must have argued till one o'clock, one-fifteen.'

Jardine glanced at Hully: this would seem to be an alibi for both Bill and his father. . unless one was covering for the other.

'Ensign Fielder,' the detective said, 'I mean no disrespect … but you were not the only man in Pearl's life.'

Bill slapped the metal table and the coffee cups jumped, spilling a little. 'You're wrong! I was the only man in her life.'

Jardine's voice was a persistent near monotone. 'What about Jack Stanton? Harry Kamana?'

Bill gestured with an awkward hand. 'They were old boyfriends. I didn't say she was a… a nun. But we were engaged-she wasn't dating anybody else, wasn't seeing anybody else. Just me.'

'How would you have felt if you found her in the arms of another man?'

The ensign bobbed forward. 'Would it make me want to kill somebody? Is that what you want to know? Sure, Detective …'

Touching his friend's arm, Dan said, 'Bill-easy, now … watch what you're saying….'

'I'd have wanted to kill the son of a bitch who was with her… not Pearl. Never Pearl. But that didn't happen, Detective, and it wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. She loved me, I loved her. We were engaged. She was going to be … my wife.'

'What if you found her in the arms of Terry Mi-zuha?'

Bill blinked. 'Why would she be in that queer's arms? What the hell kind of stupid question is that?'

Jardine handed Bill a business card. 'That's my office number at City Hall. But I want you down at Central Police Station at eleven o'clock Monday morning. Can you remember that?'

'Yeah.' Bill was looking at the business card, trying to make his eyes focus. 'Why do you wanna talk to me again?'

'I want your formal statement. I don't think you did this thing, Ensign Fielder, but you are a suspect. You may wish to bring an attorney along.'

Bill's head was rocking, slightly. 'I don't understand this-Harry Kamana did it! He had goddamn blood all over himself! Somebody saw him do it, right? Why…'

'We can discuss this Monday. Show up sober, Ensign.'

Then Bill was on his feet, raving, ranting. 'You let that bastard Kamana out, I'll kill his ass! You understand? You wanna arrest me for a murder, you'll get your chance….'

Dan also got to his feet, latching onto Bill's arm. 'Take it easy, Bill. Just stop talking, goddamnit.'

A male voice chimed in: 'Did you kill her, Fielder? Did you murder my girl?'

As if he'd materialized, Corporal Jack Stanton was standing next to the table. Now Hully and Jardine were getting to their feet, as Stanton grabbed the startled Bill Fielder by his khaki blouse, with both hands.

'Why did you do it, Fielder?' Stanton demanded, his eyes crazed. 'Was she throwing you over? Coming back to me?'

Bill threw the first punch. Then the two heartsick, drunken servicemen were slugging away at each other, flailing, stumbling out into the street, mostly missing, occasionally connecting. Within seconds a crowd of sailors and soldiers had formed around them, cheering them on.

Jardine was shaking his head, giving Hully a look. 'Oh hell,' he said wearily.

It was only a matter of minutes before the crowd turned itself into a brawling mob, sailors belting soldiers, soldiers smacking sailors. Fielder and Stanton were no longer visible, swallowed in the sea of white and khaki, with shouted obscenities mingling with cries of pain.

The gunshot froze them all.

Then their eyes turned to the little Portuguese detective who had fired his.38 revolver into the air. The sailors and soldiers did not have time to process this before the MPs and Shore Patrol descended, blowing whistles, shouting admonitions, arresting a few of them, the bulk scattering.

Hully found Bill Fielder in a pile on the pavement,

barely conscious, fairly battered; Stanton was nowhere to be seen. Hully and Dan Pressman-who had not gotten involved in the fracas-walked Bill to the table and sat him down.

Dan said to Hully, 'Listen, I need to catch a liberty ship. You want me to haul him back to the Arizona?'

'No-I'll baby-sit him tonight,' Hully said. 'Clean him up, and let him sleep it off.'

Jardine was talking to the Shore Patrol and the MPs, showing them his badge.

'You guys always have this much fun on Hotel Street?' Hully asked Pressman.

Dan grinned. 'Every time.'

TWELVE

Party Crashers

In the golden Hawaiian moonlight, Schofield Barracks-the largest military base in the United States-looked like a perfecdy idealized American town, right off the cover of The Saturday Evening Post or the back lot of MGM. If it were not for the surrounding fields of sugarcane and pineapple, no one would guess the Hawaiian location; if it were not for the sentry-guarded entry, no one would take this for an Army post. Street after street was lined with stucco and brick houses on well-manicured lawns, ranging from bungalows to near mansions, depending on the ranks of their occupants, of course; and-set off in splendid isolation, like castles of the realm- massive brick structures for various military purposes.

Burroughs pulled up outside the gate, waiting for FBI agent Adam Sterling. He had called the agent at the Niumalu, where Sterling had been brooding in his bungalow, after an unsuccessful meeting with General Short on the lanai of the latter's home, at Fort Shafter, the Army administrative quarters just outside Honolulu.