Looking back at him in the mirror, I shrugged, smiled a little. “I want to talk to you about the case.”
He used a paper hand towel. “I had nothing to do with the killing of Kahahawai.”
“Nobody said you did. I want to talk to you about what happened to Thalia Massie last September.”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with the case Darrow’s trying?”
“Well, it does seem just the slightest little bit connected, since it’s the goddamn murder motive. But maybe you don’t want to help.”
He turned and looked at me; his eyes narrowed, like he was aiming a rifle at me. “Of course I’ll talk to you,” he said. “Anything to help Tommie and his wife.”
“Good.” I stepped up to the sink and washed my hands. “Why don’t we take some air?”
He nodded, and we exited the john and went out past the stocky doorkeeper into the warm night; the air this close to the drainage canal seemed muggy, and there was no sign of the trade-wind breeze that made the Hawaiian heat so bearable. He leaned against a Model A and fished a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket. He shook out a smoke, then held the pack toward me.
“Want one?”
“No thanks,” I said. “It’s the only bad habit I haven’t acquired.”
He lighted up with a match. “You know, all you had to do was ask. I’m willing to help. You didn’t have to crack wise.”
I shrugged, leaned against a parked Hupmobile coupe, facing him. “I left four messages for you at Pearl—two with your captain, two with your wife. You never returned my calls. I figured maybe you were ducking me, Lieutenant.”
“I’m just busy,” he said, waving out the match.
“Is that why you didn’t testify at the Ala Moana trial?”
He blew out smoke. “Nobody asked me to testify. Besides, I was on sub duty.”
“Did somebody arrange that?”
The eyes tightened again. “What are you getting at, pal?”
“Nothing. Just, when I went over the court transcripts, you seemed like a pretty important witness to turn into the little man who wasn’t there.”
“I’ve cooperated right down the line. Tommie’s my best friend. I’d do anything for him.”
“You mean, like sleep with his wife?”
He pitched the cigarette and lurched forward, grabbing me by my parrot shirt. He was close enough I could tell it was bourbon he’d been drinking; couldn’t make out the brand, though, but definitely not home brew.
“You got a filthy mouth, Heller.”
I looked down toward his clenched fists clutching my shirt. “That’s silk. It damages easily.”
He blinked and let go. Backed off. “It’s a dirty damn lie. Thalia is a—”
“Nice girl. She loves Tommie. Quiet, though. Yeah, I heard the story. You guys all got it down pat—that’s probably why none of you were called at the first trial.”
“What are you talking about?”
“DAs don’t like it when groups of witnesses use identical language; they’re afraid some smart defense lawyer will crack through the hooey and get at the truth—like how you submariners pass your wives around like other guys pass around a ciggie or a bottle.”
He was sneering again. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you? You really want your teeth handed to you, don’t you?”
“You want to try, Jimmy? Or do you only break women’s jaws?”
He blinked. “Is that what you think? You think I hit Thalia…?”
“Lovers’ quarrel turns ugly—a girl needs somebody to blame. Who better than a bunch of ‘niggers’?”
His face was reddening. “You’re crazy—there was nothing between Thalia and me.
“I have witnesses that place you in Thalia’s house, last May, when her husband was away, on sub duty. Witnesses who say you also went on overnight trips to the beach.”
He was shaking his head, no, violently, no. “That’s just small filthy minds talking. Thalia and my wife Jane and Tommie and I, we’re close friends, that’s all. It was completely innocent.”
“Separate bedrooms, you mean? Now tell me about how Santa Claus is a real guy.”
“Go to hell! My wife went back home, last May, to Michigan, to take care of her sick mama. I was alone, Thalia was alone…lonely. I kept her company. Out of friendship to both her and Tommie.”
“Oh, I believe this. This sounds real likely.”
“I don’t give a damn what you believe! There was nothing between Thalia and me except friendship. And if I didn’t want to help her and Tommie, I wouldn’t be putting up with this horseshit interrogation!”
“Okay,” I said calmly, patting the air with my hands. “Okay. Then let’s just back up a few steps. Tell me what happened that night. The night Thalia was assaulted.”
He let out a sigh, then shrugged. “It was just another Navy Night at the Ala Wai. Dancing, drinking, laughing. Husbands and wives do tend to split up on Navy Night, go their separate ways—nothing wrong with that. We’re not swapping wives! It’s just a damn party.”
“Okay. Did you see Thalia leave?”
“No.”
“Did you leave yourself, at any time?”
“No.”
“Well, you eventually did leave….”
Another shrug. “Party lasted longer than usual. I even slipped a couple bucks to the orchestra to play past midnight, we were having so much fun. I took off my shoes and danced. Everybody stood around and clapped in rhythm and…”
“Everybody saw you, you mean.”
Another rifle-aim narrowing of the eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you might have slipped out, then slipped back, and made yourself conspicuously seen, to build an alibi.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“What were you doing walking outside Thalia’s house with your fly unbuttoned, Jimmy?”
“I was a little drunk. I took a piss in the bushes. Some cops came along and I got smart with ’em and they hauled me in.”
“That’s how you became a suspect in the rape.”
He scowled. “It was just a stupid mix-up. Tommie told ’em he’d been with me all night. Thalia vouched for me, too.”
“What were you doing there? You don’t live next door to the Massies or anything.”
“Tommie and me left the Ala Wai around one o’clock; when he couldn’t find Thalia, he assumed she’d gone on to the Rigbys—it was kind of an after-party tradition to go over to Red’s for a nightcap and scrambled eggs, and when Tommie called home from the Ala Wai and got no answer, he figured Thalia must’ve caught a ride over there. Tommie drove us over to the Rigbys, but there was no Thalia. So Tommie called home again—and this time she was there, and that’s when she told him about the…you know.”
“The rape.”
“Right. Tommie rushed out and took off in his Ford, and then I started gettin’ worried…. I’d only heard his half of the phone conversation, but it was clear something was terribly wrong at home. So I walked over.”
“And stopped to take a piss along the way.”
“Yeah. And forgot to button my fly, and that’s how the stupid mix-up with the cops happened.”
“I see. Do you know anything about Thalia having an argument with Lt. Stockdale?”
He shrugged. “I was just on the fringe of that. It was nothing special.”
“What was it about?”
“I don’t really know. When people are drinking, they don’t need an excuse to bicker.”
“I guess they don’t.”
We stood staring at each other. The muffled sound of the band and the gaiety within the Ala Wai mingled with the call of birds and the rustle of trees; these sounds, which neither of us had noticed while we were talking, seemed suddenly deafening.
Finally he asked, “Is that all?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the information.”
His smile was nervous. “Look, uh…sorry I grabbed your shirt. I know you’re just doing your job.”
“Forget it. I was provoking you.”
“You admit that?”
I nodded. “I’ve been getting canned stories from everybody I talked to here, tonight. I had to find a way to cut through the bullshit, so I gave you the needle.” I held out my hand. “No hard feelings?”
He took it; we shook.
“No hard feelings,” he said.
I smiled at him, and he smiled back, but I didn’t mean it, and neither did he. This bastard had been fucking Thalia Massie, and we both knew it.
We wandered back inside together, and split off faster than the marrieds around this joint did. I went over and buttonholed the stocky doorkeeper, Joe Freitas.
“You wouldn’t happen to know Lt. Stockdale, would you, Joe?” I was asking this question over the edge of a shiny half-dollar.
Joe snatched the half-buck and jerked a thumb upward. “Booth upstairs. Tall good-lookin’ fella. Short curly yella hair.”
Stockdale was, as the doorkeeper had promised, a blond-haired bruiser, ruggedly handsome; he had a flask and two glasses, an ashtray with two burning cigarettes, and a skinny but pretty brunette he was nuzzling. Both he and his lady friend were tipsier than a three-legged table.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you!” he exploded, good-naturedly drunk. “Sit yourself down. This is Betty. She’s Bill Ransom’s wife—except for tonight.” And he let out a horse laugh and Betty’s giggle evolved into an unladylike snort.
I slid into the booth. “I hear the night Thalia Massie was assaulted, you and she had a little run-in.”
“Hey, first off,” he said, overcompensating with his enunciation in an effort to be soberly serious, “I’m as against niggers raping white women as the next guy.”
“That’s an admirable view.”
“Just because Thalia Massie is a lousy stuck-up slut is no reason niggers should go around raping her. That character, Joe Ka-ha-what’s-it? I’da shot that black bastard myself, if they’d invited me to the party. Tommie Massie is my pal.”
“What happened that night, Ray? Between you and Thalia, I mean.”
He shrugged. “We was eatin’, and me and the wife and another coupla couples.” He gestured vaguely off to the right. “Over in one of the private dinin’ rooms. Thalia come stumblin’ in, drunk as skunk, uninvited.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Nobody liked Thalia, snooty little bitch. Little Miss Sassiety Butter-Wouldn’t-Fucking-Melt-in-Her-Pussy.”
Ah yes. As Olds had said, you make special friends on submarine duty.
“She come waltzin’ in here, and we just ignore her. She wasn’t invited! And she just stands there with her goddamn nose in the air, and clears her throat and says, ‘Don’t you know a lady’s entered the room.’ I says, ‘I don’t see any.’ About then, Jimmy Bradford comes in, lookin’ for her I guess…they used to be kind of an item, y’know. Anyway, pouty little bitch says, ‘You’re no gentleman, Lt. Stockdale,’ and Bradford says, ‘Take it easy, baby, this is a public place.’ But Miss Sassiety Bitch struts up and sticks her chin in my face and says, ‘I don’t care! You’re no gentleman, Lt. Stockdale, talkin’ to me like that!’ I says, ‘Well, Thalia, who gives a shit what a lousy slut like you thinks, anyway.’ Which is when she slapped me.”
“Slapped you….”
This hadn’t been in the transcript material I’d been provided! No wonder Doris Olds had referred to Thalia as “slap-happy.”
“Yeah.” He touched his jaw. “She whaled me a good one.”
“Then what happened?”
He shrugged. “She stormed outa there. Good thing, too. I’da kicked her fat ass, if she hadn’t, and the other fellas hadn’t been holding me back. I was well and truly pissed off. Then, I guess somebody went looking for Tommie, to tell him what happened. He come looking for her, but she was long gone, o’ course.”
“When was this?”
“I dunno. Eleven-thirty, maybe.”
I thanked Stockdale and left him to his guzzling and nuzzling, and searched out the doorkeeper again.
“Joe, did you hear anything about a fuss upstairs involving Mrs. Massie, the night of the assault?”
“She slap some sailor, I hear.”
“Did you see her leave? I mean, did she come flying down the stairs and go rushing out?”
Joe shook his head, no. “That was a busy night. I was showin’ people to their seats, not always watchin’ the door.”
“You didn’t see her leave, sometime between eleven-thirty and midnight?”
“No…but I did see somethin’ else.”
“What?”
His smile was friendly but his eyes were mercenary. “I’m tryin’ to remember, boss.”
I dug out a dollar for him. “Does this jog it?”
“Comin’ back to me, boss. I remember her, that girl in the green dress. When her party come in that night, it was the first big party to arrive, and she walk ahead of others, with her head bent over. I thought maybe she was mad at somebody, or maybe drunk already.”
“That’s not worth a buck, Joe. Keep trying.”
“Okay. But I think maybe this is worth two dollars.”
“Try me and see.”
“Oh-kay. I remember seein’ her standin’ by the doorway about midnight, little after, maybe. She was talkin’ to Sammy.”
That perked me up. “Who’s Sammy?”
“Sammy’s worth two dollars, easy.”
“Two bucks it is. Who’s Sammy, Joe?”
“He’s a music boy.”
“What?”
“Hawaiian boy, he play music with Joe Crawford’s band, over on Maui. But when he’s home, on Oahu, he like to come over to the Ala Wai, and listen to the music, here. We always got good music here, boss.”
“What were Sammy and Mrs. Massie talking about?”
“I couldn’t hear ’em.” He shrugged. “Not even for ’nother dollar.”
“Were they friendly?”
“She seem a little worked up.”
“Arguing, then?”
“No. Jus’ talkin’, boss.”
“Has Sammy been back since?”
“Sure. Now an’ then, once in while.”
“Lately?”
“Not sure.”
“Look—this is where you can reach me.” I got out my notebook, jotted down my name and the Royal Hawaiian’s phone number, tore off the paper. “If Sammy shows up, no matter what time of day, Monday through Sunday—you call me. There’s a fin in it for you—and I don’t mean a shark, get me?”
Grinning, he snatched the slip of paper from my hands like it was the five-spot. “Got you, boss.”
The rest of the evening I spent dancing with Isabel to the syrupy but rhythmic music of the Sol Hoopii Trio.
And when we went out to the car, hand in hand, she said, “Did you find anything out?”
“Nothing particularly useful,” I said.
It was a lie, of course, but I didn’t feel like being the only guy who went to the Ala Wai Inn tonight who didn’t get laid.