Collins, Max Allan - Nathan Heller 09 (25 page)

I didn’t see it, and hell, it couldn’t have gone far, only if

I took the time to look for it, Lyman might get away. I had to go after him,
right now,
unarmed or not, and he didn’t seem to have a weapon on him, so what the hell—this was why I
came
to the
luau,
wasn’t it?

I trotted down the path Lyman had taken, stopping at a crossroads, not seeing my quarry anywhere. Had he ducked into a shack? The way the shacks were nestled in and around thickets and trees made for a maze of pathways. Squattersville seemed suddenly a ghost town—whether at the sound of a gunshot, its inhabitants had hidden inside the shacks, or had scattered into the woods or the street, I couldn’t say.

Not daring to move too quickly, knowing Lyman could leap at me from any shadowy doorway, I moved cautiously if not slowly, and damned if I didn’t find myself back at the central area, at the barbecue pit. No sign of Lyman here, of course. Or his fat friend, either.

I was about to set off down another path when from the convergent paths that joined here, one by one, figures emerged. None was Lyman, but they were just as menacing: three dark men, pimps, bootleggers, the city council among this roughneck rabble perhaps, the men whose domain I had invaded.

Each had something in his hand—one a gleaming knife, another a blackjack, yet another a billy club. No unseemly repetition—variety…

A fourth man stepped into sight and it was Lyman. He had yet another weapon, a gun—not mine, his own, a revolver.

So he hadn’t made a break for it—he’d got reinforcements, got himself armed.

And come back for me.

Lyman had an awful grin; it would have been awful even without the holes I’d put in it with my forehead.

“You make mistake, cop,” Lyman said, “comin’ alone.”

The crack that split the air sounded like a gunshot, and the agonized cry that followed it might have been a bullet-wounded man’s; but it was something else entirely.

It was a blacksnake whip in the deft hands of a little old Chinaman in a white suit. His knife-scarred face looked ghostly and ghastly in the hell-fire glow, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a grimacing smile as he moved nimbly among them, sending the leather tongue stingingly after each man, tearing clothing and flesh, moving in a circular fashion like a lion tamer in a cage full of beasts, with speed, with grace, and red slashes of blood appeared on the front of this one, on the back of that one, even down the face of another of these much-larger-than-he men he was flaying, their shrieks as long and jagged as their wounds and just as terrible.

Lyman had got his taste of lash across his shirt, shearing it angularly, and his revolver had flown from his hand reflexively. But unlike the other men, who had fallen to their knees in pain and tears, Lyman again took off down a path.

I took off after him.

This time he was headed for the road, for Ala Moana Boulevard where now only a few cars were parked, Chang’s among them; none of them must’ve been Lyman’s, because he headed straight across the road, into the thicket, and I was right behind him, as we both went into and through the undergrowth, snapping branches, shearing leaves, crunching twigs, and then we both burst through the brush, onto the beach, no white sand here, just a short rocky slope to an ocean that stretched in an endless ice blue shimmer, the tiny moon slice throwing silver highlights.

He probably figured he could follow the beach to nearby Kewalo Basin, where the sampans were docked, where he could find some kind of boat and elude capture once more.

Not tonight.

I tackled him and we both sailed toward the water, then plunged into its warm embrace, separating as we hit. We both got our footing on the sandy, rocky floor beneath us, water to our waists, but he was still in pain from that bloody gash on his chest and I slammed my fist into his bearded face with everything I had, hoping to hell I would break
his
jaw.

The blow sent him reeling back, and he fell backward into and under the water with a hell of a splash. I jumped after him, found him under there, breathing hard as I held the bastard under. When I felt him go limp, I hauled him by the arm and back of his shirt, up onto the shore, making no effort at all to protect him from the rocks I was dragging him over.

When I walked him through the thicket, he was like a man sleepwalking, guided largely by my steering him with my hand clutching a wad of the hair on the back of his head. We emerged, Lyman barely conscious as I guided him along, and I escorted him across the street, toward the handful of parked cars.

From the other side of them, where he’d been crouching, the fat man popped up like an unfriendly jack-in-the-box—with my gun in his hand….

“Haole pi’lau,”
the fat man snarled, raising the automatic toward me.

The crack of the blacksnake was followed by the howl of the fat man, who would have one hell of a scar down his back for the rest of his life. My gun went sailing out of his hand and I caught it perfectly, with one hand, as if it were an act we’d both long rehearsed.

I tossed Lyman against the running board of the nearest parked car. He collapsed there, breathing hard, head hanging, shoulders hunched.

The fat man was running down the road, toward Honolulu, and Chang was out in the street, cracking the whip after him, not landing a blow but lending the runner further motivation.

I was soaking wet, exhausted, breathing hard, throbbing with pain, and exhilarated as hell.

Chang was smiling as he approached me; with an agile flip of his wrist, he caused the long tail of the whip to curl up in a circle, which he grasped.

“Shall we take suspect in?” he asked pleasantly.

“I don’t think that’s the way Charlie Chan would do it,” I said, nodding to the coiled-up whip.

“Hell with Charlie Chan,” he said.

And, blacksnake tucked under his arm, he snapped the cuffs on the groggy Lyman.

The following afternoon, Prosecutor John Kelley joined Clarence Darrow, George Leisure, and me in the outer sitting room of the Darrow suite. Kelley, in the same white linen suit he’d worn so frequently in court, was pacing. His ruddy face was redder than usual, his blue eyes darting.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like it the least damn little bit.”

“John, please sit,” Darrow said gently, magnanimously gesturing to a place on the tropical-pattern sofa next to Leisure and me. Darrow, in shirtsleeves and suspenders, was sprawled in his easy chair, feet up on the settee, as casual and relaxed as Kelley was tightly coiled.

With a massive sigh, Kelley lowered himself to the sofa cushion, but didn’t sink back in like Leisure and me, rather sitting forward, hands clasped tightly between his open legs. “These people killed a man, an
innocent
man, we now know, and you expect me to go along with some slap on the damn wrist?”

Wind was whispering through the open windows, rustling the filmy curtains, as if speaking secrets we could almost hear, nearly make out.

“There comes a time when every reasonable man has to cut his losses,” Darrow said. “I prefer not to argue the point again, but my misguided clients truly believed they were dealing with one of the guilty parties. What pleasing choice do any of us have in this matter? Knowing what you now know, you can’t in good conscience retry the Ala Moana defendants. But you can’t exonerate them either, not without delivering a devastating blow to an already crippled police department and the local and territorial government it represents.”

“Mr. Kelley,” I said, “I’m as frustrated as you are. I risked my…life bringing Lyman in. But you’ve spoken to Inspector McIntosh, and the chief of police. You know the reality of this as well we do.”

The reality was that even under all-night, back-room station house questioning, Lyman and Kaikapu had denied any involvement in the Thalia Massie abduction/attack. Further, prison records indicated they were present and accounted for on September 12 of last year; the prison officials and guards who could expose that lie would be setting themselves up for a stay on the wrong side of the bars in their own facility.

And even if these obstacles could be overcome, prosecuting two new defendants for the Thalia Massie abduction/attack—defendants who had walked out of Oahu Prison
twice
to commit rape and other crimes—would almost certainly result in a storm of embarrassment and ridicule that the beleaguered local government could scarcely afford.

“Of course,” Darrow said, “both these individuals are serving life sentences…so, in a sense, justice has already been served.”

Kelley’s mouth was moving, as if he were muttering, but nothing was coming out.

“The only way you’ll get them to talk,” I said, “is to offer them immunity and a deal for shorter time.”

“Promise them
parole,
” Kelley said bitterly, shaking his head, “for confessing to the most notorious crime in the history of the Territory? It’s scandalous.”

“No,” Darrow said, lifting a gently lecturing forefinger. “Going forward with a full
investigation
and a
prosecution
would be scandalous. No one would emerge a victor. My clients would be disgraced, Thalia Massie might as well sew a scarlet letter on her breast, and you would just about guarantee Hawaii losing self-government and see the reins handed over to the racist likes of Admiral Stirling.”

Kelley had his head in his hands. “Christ Almighty.” He looked up; now his face was very pale. “You’re meeting with the governor tonight?”

“Yes.”

“What does he know?”

Darrow raised his eyebrows, set them back down. “To my knowledge, nothing about Lyman and Kaikapu. That’s up to your office and the police department, should you think this is information Governor Judd need be privy to.” He shrugged elaborately. “Though, you know…I would assume the governor has enough on his mind, at present, knowing that if he doesn’t release my clients, he’ll be remembered as the governor who brought martial law to Hawaii, by provoking the United States Congress, and financial ruin to local businesses, by alienating the United States Navy.”

Kelley snorted, sneered. “You’d prefer that he be remembered as the governor who ignored law and order, and arbitrarily freed four people convicted of killing an innocent man.”

Weariness passed over Darrow’s face in a wave; then he blinked a few times slowly, and a smile came to his lips at about the speed it takes for a glacier to form.

“I prefer to put this suffering behind us. Two of the three men who assaulted Thalia Massie are in prison on life sentences; a possible unidentified third party has fled to parts unknown. Those innocent Ala Moana boys have seen their number diminished by one, and their lives turned inside out and upside down. My clients have been held in custody for months, and have lost their dignity and their privacy and have, goddamnit sir, suffered enough. So, I would dare say, have these fair islands.” He slammed a fist on the arm of the easy chair, and a frown turned the kindly face into a mass of angry wrinkles. “Enough, sir! I say enough.”

Kelley swallowed, nodded, let go another sigh, said, “What precisely do you propose?”

“George,” Darrow said to Leisure, “would you show Mr. Kelley that document you prepared?”

Leisure sat forward and removed a sheet of paper from the briefcase at his feet. Handed the document to Kelley, who read it.

“You’re not asking the governor for a pardon,” Kelley said. He looked up at Darrow. “You’re asking him to commute the sentence….”

Darrow nodded slowly. “A pardon can be viewed as a reversal of the jury’s decision…while commuting the sentence is a fine way for the Territory of Hawaii to save face. After all, the felony stays on the record, the crime is not officially condoned in any way. Prison time, in this instance, would serve no rehabilitative purpose…. Does anyone really believe Tommie Massie and Grace Fortescue are dangers to society? And, remember, the jury did recommend leniency.”

Kelley seemed somewhat overwhelmed by all this. He sounded almost confused as he said, “Sentence hasn’t even been handed down yet….”

“We’d like it to be, tomorrow.”

The prosecutor frowned in surprise. “It’s not scheduled till Friday….”

Darrow cocked his head, raised one eyebrow. “If we move it up, we get less press attention.”

Kelley shrugged facially, then gestured with the document. “Commuted to what? Time served?”

Darrow shrugged. “Whatever. As long they’re allowed to leave Honolulu.”

“I’m going to be expected to prosecute the Ala Moana boys, you know. I certainly have no desire to, particularly knowing what I do about Lyman and Kaikapu.”

Darrow’s smile turned sly. “You won’t be able to prosecute without your complaining witness.”

Sitting so far forward, he seemed about to tumble off the sofa, Kelley said, “So you’ll advise Thalia to leave the Islands?”

Darrow looked at his pocket watch. “I will. In fact, I’m expecting her in just a very few minutes…. Would you care to stay to pay your respects?”

Kelley, twitching a smile, rose. “I think I’ll pass on that morbid pleasure, gentlemen…. Don’t get up, I can see myself out.” He went to Darrow and extended his hand; the two men shook hands as Kelley said, “I won’t stand in your way on this. You can expect my cooperation…as long as you make sure Thalia Massie is off this island as soon as possible.”

Darrow nodded gravely, then lifted a gesturing hand. “Understand, I’ll be making some public statements at odds with our private agreement. I’ll be outraged that my clients have been denied the full pardon they so rightfully deserve…that sort of malarkey.”

Kelley chuckled. “Well, you can expect me to bray like a mule about taking the Ala Moana boys to trial…. Of course some people will suggest that, having prosecuted Joseph Kahahawai’s killers, I in good conscience should step down. You know what I may do? I might suggest to the press that the man to prosecute that case is the man who so eloquently defended the wronged family: Clarence Darrow.”

A smile tickled Darrow’s lips. “You wouldn’t…”

Kelley was at the door. “I may be seized by an uncontrollable impulse.”

And he was gone.

Darrow was chuckling. “I like that Irishman. Hell of a prosecutor.”

Leisure folded his arms and leaned back. “He wasn’t happy, but I believe he will cooperate.”

Darrow began to make a cigarette. “He’s a man of his word. He’ll cooperate. And I don’t believe any of us are happy.” He looked up. “Nate, do you feel gypped out of the glory of nabbing the man who raped Thalia Massie?”

“No,” I said. “I had the pleasure of knocking some of his teeth out, even if I didn’t quite manage to break his goddamn jaw.”

Leisure was laughing softly, shaking his head. “Where’d you find this roughneck, C.D.?”

“On the West Side of Chicago,” Darrow said as his slightly shaking hands did a nice job of dropping tobacco into the curve of cigarette paper. “That’s where America turns out some of its best roughnecks.”

A knock at the door brought Ruby Darrow out of the bedroom; she was straightening her hair, smoothing her matronly gray dress, saying, “Let me get that, dear.”

It was Thalia, of course, and she was accompanied by Isabel. Thalia wore a navy blue frock with white trim, Isabel the blue-and-white-striped crepe de chine from the Ala Wai, both in cloche hats, carrying clutch purses, two stylish, attractive, modern young women; but they also wore a cloak of unhappiness. Thalia seemed jittery, Isabel weary. They stepped inside, Thalia first, digging in her purse.

Darrow, lighting his cigarette, got to his feet, and so did Leisure and I. Thalia was moving toward us, handing a stack of telegrams toward Darrow.

“You simply must see these, Mr. Darrow,” she said. “Such wonderful support from people all over the United States…”

“Thank you, dear.” He took them and said to his wife, “Would you put these with the others, Ruby? Thank you.”

Ruby took the telegrams and Darrow turned to Leisure and said, “George, would you mind accompanying Mrs. Darrow and Miss Bell for some refreshments in the lobby? I recommend the pineapple parfait.”

Leisure frowned. “You don’t want me here when you speak to—”

“Mr. Heller and I have a few details to discuss with Mrs. Massie that I think would be best served by…a limited audience.”

Leisure seemed vaguely hurt, but he knew his place, and his job, and took Ruby by the arm and led her to the door. Isabel looked at me with an expression that mingled curiosity and concern; we never had connected last night.

I threw her a smile and that seemed to console her, and then Leisure and his two charges were gone, and Darrow was gesturing to the sofa for Thalia to sit.

“My dear, there are several things we need to…chat about. Please make yourself comfortable.”

She sat on the sofa, her slightly bulging eyes darting from Darrow to me, as I sat next to her, but not right next to her, giving her plenty of space.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Please don’t tell me you think Tommie and Mother are actually going to have to serve any…prison time.”

“I think we can avoid that,” Darrow said, “with your help.”

Relief softened her expression and she sighed and said, “I’ll do anything. Anything.”

“Good. Does my cigarette bother you, dear?”

She shook her head, no.

“Fine, then. Here’s what I need to ask of you…”

“Anything.”

“…I need you to leave Hawaii, with the rest of us, once I’ve worked things out with the governor.”

Her eyes tightened. “What do you mean?”

“There will be public pressure, here in Honolulu, and from back home, to retry those boys you accused. I need you to spare yourself the pain of going through this yet again, testifying for a third time; I need you to go back to the mainland and never return to these shores.”

She smiled, but it was a smile of astonishment. “You can’t be saying this. You can’t be saying that I should turn my back on what was done to me. That I let those terrible black creatures
get away
with what was done to me!”

He was shaking his head somberly, no. “There must not be a second Ala Moana trial, dear.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong…there
must
be. Otherwise, you’re sentencing me to a lifetime of gossip and humiliation, putting my word, my reputation, in doubt forever.”

Darrow’s expression turned sorrowful. He drew in on his cigarette, and when he exhaled smoke, it was a sigh of smoke, and he nodded, reluctantly, toward me.

I nodded back, and took a manila envelope off the coffee table before us and removed the Oahu Prison mug shots of Daniel Lyman and Lui Kaikapu. I handed her the photos.

Puzzled, she looked at them, shrugged, tossed them back on the table, and said, “Is this supposed to mean something to me? Who are they?”

I glanced at Darrow and he sighed again, nodded again.

I said, “These are two of the three men who abducted you.”

Her puzzlement turned to perplexity, with irritation working at the edges of her mouth and eyes. “Why are you saying this? Kahahawai and Ida and the others, they’re the ones, you
know
they’re the ones—”

“The ones you accused,” I said. “But those two…” And I indicated the mug shots on the table. “…are the ones who really grabbed you.”

“You’re insane. Insane! Mr. Darrow, must I listen to this insanity?”

Darrow only nodded, poker-faced.

I said, “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and figure you were confused as to how many of them there were in the car…which is only natural, considering that your preeclampsia impairs your eyesight in low-light conditions.”

Her eyes bugged with alarm; the blood drained from her face, turning her Kabuki white.

“Yes, dear,” Darrow said softly, compassionately, “we know about your condition. Did you think our mutual friend Dr. Porter would keep that from me?”

“Oh, how
could
he?” she asked. Desperation mingled with despair in her voice. “That was privileged communication, between doctor and patient….”