Now he sat forward; and his voice was so hushed I had to work to filter out the beach noise and discern the troubled words in his tranquil tone.
“I mentioned ah attended Mrs. Massie as her physician, prior to this incident. Only because Mrs. Massie’s attorney has requested ah share this knowledge with you am ah doin’ so, and then only reluctantly.”
“As Mr. Darrow’s paid and licensed investigator,” I said, “I’m bound by the same client confidentiality code as he is. And as you are.”
Dr. Porter sighed, swallowed, spoke. “Mrs. Massie had a preexisting condition when ah first began attendin’ her—preeclampsia, which manifests itself through hemorrhages in the liver and kidneys. Left unattended, eclampsia is often fatal. The symptoms are rapid weight gain, high blood pressure…and secondary hemorrhages in the retinas.”
“The eyes, you mean?”
“That is correct, suh. This generally leads either to blindness or at least badly impaired vision.”
My grunt was sort of a laugh—an amazed laugh. “Are you saying Thalia Massie is blind as a bat?”
“No. No. But her…visual acuity is drastically reduced. Specifically, her eyesight has been impaired by preeclamptic toxemia. She is particularly impaired in low-light situations.”
“Like at night. In the dark.”
“Precisely.”
“Christ. She identified these guys, and she’s fucking blind?”
“You are overstating, suh. Somewhat. There is a question whether she could recognize these people in the dark, since she practically couldn’t see in the daytime.”
“Jesus. You testified in the first trial, didn’t you?”
“Yes, suh.”
“But not to this.”
“No, suh. I would have had ah been asked—but ah was not questioned on this subject.”
And as a loyal naval officer, under Admiral Stirling’s thumb, the chance of Porter volunteering this information was unlikely, to say the least. But now that Joseph Kahahawai had been killed, Porter’s conscience was clearly bothering him.
“There is somethin’ else, Mistah Hellah.”
Wasn’t this bombshell enough?
“After ah performed a curettage, my analysis of the uterine scrapings did not indicate pregnancy.”
I blinked. “You mean, Thalia didn’t get pregnant by her rapists?”
“Or by anyone—despite what she said on the witness stand.”
And to her attorneys and their investigator.
“You might find it illuminatin’, as well, to know that the figures Admiral Stirlin’ and others have consistently provided to the press, regardin’ the high incidence of rape in Hawaii, are grossly inflated.”
I nodded. “I’d kind of come to that conclusion on my own, Doc. They’re mostly statutory rapes, right?”
“Yes, what the law refers to as ‘carnal abuse of a minor.’ With the exception of Mrs. Massie, the only rape of a white woman here in the past year is an unfortunate incident involvin’ an escaped prisoner.”
I thumbed through my notebook; hadn’t Mrs. Fortescue mentioned something abut this? Yes.
“Daniel Lyman,” I said.
“That is correct, suh,” Porter said. “And ah believe this miscreant is still at large, further inflamin’ public indignation.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate you sharing this information with me, Dr. Porter.”
“I only hope ah’m not required to take the stand in this second trial. If ah have to get up and tell everything ah know, it’d be awful—it’d make monkeys out of everybody.”
A familiar raspy voice to one side of us said: “No fear of that, Dr. Porter.”
Darrow, his potbelly like a beach ball he was hiding under the top of his black bathing costume, pulled up a third chair and sat.
“In the first place,” Darrow said, “I’ve already suffered through one ‘monkey’ trial. In the second, I would never dream of calling you to the witness stand—you’re one of the two honest physicians I’ve ever met.”
I said to Porter, “And how many honest lawyers do you know, Doc?”
Porter’s only response was a little smile.
We kept our voices down; the continuing beach noise created privacy in this crowd.
Darrow asked, “Can I assume you’ve filled my young friend in on what you know, Doctor?”
Porter nodded.
Darrow fixed his gray gaze on me as he jerked a thumb toward Porter. “John here has provided some remarkable insights not only into the Ala Moana case, but the psychology of the various racial groups on Oahu. I’d imagine we’d be hard pressed to find another naval officer with the doctor’s intimate knowledge of Hawaii’s social strata.”
“You flatter me, Clarence,” Porter said.
Darrow turned his gaze on the doctor. “Now I must risk insulting you, John, because I need to ask you to withdraw from this little gathering—I need a few moments alone with my investigator.”
Porter rose, and in one graceful gesture swept his straw fedora from the table even as he gave a little half-bow. “I’ll be in the Coconut Grove, Clarence, enjoyin’ an iced tea.”
“Be sure to ask for sugar,” I told him. “It’s not automatic in this part of the world.”
Porter snugged on his hat and smiled. “Whereas a slice of pineapple, rather than lemon, is. These Island customs are curious. Good afternoon, Mistah Hellah.”
And Porter strolled inside.
“After hearing the doc’s story,” I asked, “have you changed your opinion about Thalia?”
Darrow’s smile was a wavy crease in his rumpled face. “I still find her a clever girl.”
“You just don’t believe her story.”
A grand shrug. “It’s not important that I believe her; it’s important that her mother and her husband believed her.”
On the phone, I had told Darrow about my encounter last night with Horace Ida and company.
He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his round tummy. “You weren’t the only one that spent some time yesterday with Island luminaries. Know who Walter Dillingham is?”
“Somebody important enough around town to get a street named after him.”
“That’s his father’s street. Walter Dillingham is the president of a dozen companies, an officer or board member of a dozen or so more. He had me for luncheon yesterday at his home on Pacific Heights. Speaking for not only himself but the entire so-called haole elite, Dillingham expressed his belief in the guilt of the Ala Moana boys.”
“So what?”
“So,” Darrow drawled, “if all those important rich white people think those boys are guilty, I figure there’s a damn good chance they aren’t.”
I nodded, relieved by Darrow’s line of thinking. “It’s starting to seem possible, maybe even probable, that those boys—including Joe Kahahawai, the man our clients murdered—didn’t abduct and attack Thalia Massie.”
His smile turned crooked. “I ascertain that those young fellows were apparently fairly convincing in last evening’s melodrama…but the fact remains, on the way to making their point, they did kidnap you.”
“Granted. But they had their reasons, and it sure got my attention. Are you going to see them? They desperately want to talk to you.”
He shook his shaggy head no. “Conflict of interest. Perhaps after Mrs. Fortescue, Lt. Massie, and the sailor boys are free, I might be able to meet with them—until then, simply not possible.”
“What if they grab me again?”
He grunted a laugh. “Those sweet innocent boys? Perish the thought.”
“Look, they’re Island roughnecks, slum kids, but I don’t think they’re rapists, and I don’t think you do, either, C.D. Hell, these damn police used identification methods abandoned half a century ago by any civilized police department.”
His expression turned mock curious. “When and where was it you encountered a civilized police department? I don’t remember ever having the pleasure.”
“You know what I mean. Three times, they dragged the defendants in front of Thalia, as good as telling her, ‘These are the parties we suspect, and we want you to ID ’em.’”