Wings in the Dark (15 page)

“Joe Kennedy?” Laura sipped her champagne.

Stoddard shook his head. “I work for a different agency. It's a long story.”

He obviously didn't want to share the name of his boss or the agency where he worked. That was the problem with guys like Stoddard. They only told you what they wanted you to know. “Why didn't anyone but you take the report seriously?”

Stoddard sighed. “The colonel had been well thought of in Washington, then was promoted and sent to Hawaii. But even before he assumed his position, there was trouble—let's say some bad habits started to catch up with him. From what he says no one will return his phone calls.”

“Except you.”

“We met in Washington. I have a great deal of respect for him in spite of his transgressions. So I went to bat for him. When I got to Washington, I found out the Division of Investigation had intercepted a Japanese cable expressing concern over Amelia's flight across the Pacific.”

Laura took a sip. “Why would Japan be interested in Amelia's flight?”

Before Stoddard answered, Reggie Gary bounded up the steps. The Brit spotted Laura and held out both arms. “Laura, darling.”

Darling?

Laura's eyes widened. To my great surprise, she got up, threw her arms around the man, and kissed him on the cheek. “Reggie, I never thought I'd see you again!”

Reggie stepped back and gave Laura the once-over with a smile I was sure he usually reserved for showgirls. The hug had caused her robe to become untied, showing her skimpy red swimsuit.

He let out a low whistle. “Marriage appears to agree with you. You get more ravishing every time we meet, Laura, or should I call you Mrs. Donovan?”

Every time we meet?
How often had that been?

At least Laura had the decency to cinch her robe. “For you, Reggie, it'll always be Laura.”

For you, Reggie?

Laura glanced at me and burst out laughing. “I just realized you two never met. You were…”

“In Florida.”

My escape to Florida was starting to hit me like a sock to the gut. While I was there licking my wounds from Laura's rejection, she partied with actors and became friends with William Powell.

I'd never been particularly jealous, but I didn't like the way first Tony and now the Brit were flirting with her. I was being silly, but I couldn't shake what Shakespeare called the green-eyed monster.

She shot me an expression of annoyance, then returned her attention to Reggie. “I'm not surprised Stoddard would pop up when we least expect him, but why are you here? You work for a railroad.”

“I apologize, my dear. I was less than forthcoming in New York. I've been working for Her Majesty's government for almost ten years, the last five in what you Americans call the Far East.”

At least he admitted to not being honest with Laura. Score one for the home team.

“Hawaii's not in the Far East.”

Reggie filled his glass with champagne.

Laura cocked her head. “I thought you preferred sherry.”

“Your husband promised sherry, but this will do.”

He took a sip. “You and Jake deserve the truth. I work out of Singapore. I spent nearly a year in Manchuria helping the locals slow down the Japanese. As you know, it was a losing proposition—”

Stoddard interrupted. “Reggie's being modest. The Japs captured him and sent him to a prisoner of war camp. He escaped and made his way south. He knows more about Japan than anyone I know.”

And Stoddard knew a lot of people.

“You're too kind.” Reggie refilled his glass. “Laura?”

She shook her head and set her half-full glass on the table.

Reggie took a sip then set the champagne down. His face grew serious and I could imagine him escaping from a prisoner of war camp. “My superiors in Singapore and in London are concerned over the expansion of the Japanese Empire. Prime Minister MacDonald is focused on potential German aggression, and rightfully so, but the Japanese are already on a war footing, threatening British interests. I returned to Singapore to help our forces prepare for the inevitable.”

“The inevitable?”

“War, Jake.” Reggie took another sip. “The Japanese are intent on establishing an empire that rivals Britain's or America's.”

I'd never heard of an American empire. “We have an empire?”

Reggie chuckled. “You sound like Stoddard. Yes, you have an empire—the Caribbean, South America, now the Pacific, Hawaii, Guam, Wake Island, the Philippines. What's important for you Americans to understand is, while we may debate the issues over which liquor is the best”—he held up the glass—“the Japanese are convinced Americans want to expand their Pacific empire and become a true world power.”

When Reggie glanced at Laura's legs for about the tenth time, she got up and excused herself, to my great relief.

Reggie continued to lecture about Japanese intentions. “The Japanese aren't going to stop with Manchuria and China. They see the growth of American aviation as a threat to their empire's expansion in Asia.”

“That's why they're so opposed to Amelia Earhart's flight across the Pacific,” Stoddard added.

What did Amelia and Putnam think of all this? “I'm sure you've mentioned Japan's position to Amelia Earhart.”

Stoddard nodded. “A month ago, before they boarded the ship to Hawaii, I met Amelia and her husband in San Francisco. I explained the threat, but both were determined to proceed, much to the pleasure of our government. Amelia Earhart's success in the Pacific is America's success.”

“You think the Japanese might be behind Kalua's murder?” I asked.

“That's why we're here, to find the Japanese spy I mentioned: Kitsune.”

Reggie finished his champagne. “The killer may be Fanny, someone associated with the Royalists—like this General Mahelona you met—even a rival businessman, but Washington and London want answers before Amelia takes off. If she doesn't make it, that could halt America's growing interest in aviation and allow the Japanese to continue their expansion unchecked.”

Stoddard nodded. “Reggie and I were sent to Hawaii to make sure Amelia Earhart's flight across the Pacific goes off without a hitch. If someone other than Fanny Chandler killed Kalua, we want to help you track down the killer.”

“Especially if the killer is this Japanese spy, Kitsune. I'd appreciate you filling me in on this guy.”

Stoddard gestured toward Reggie. “He knows more about him than anyone.”

Laura returned to the deck, her new outfit revealing nearly as much as the swimsuit. She wore yellow shorts and a white blouse tied below her bosom, displaying her navel. She was testing me more than Reggie.

Reggie set his empty glass on the table. “When I arrived in Singapore, they were tracking a Japanese spy who'd been causing quite a ruckus in Manchuria, before the Japs invaded. He's been linked to the assassination of a half-dozen mayors. After Manchuria fell, he popped up in Peking, so they sent me north before the Japs moved south. After my capture and subsequent escape, I returned to Singapore, but we lost track of the spy's whereabouts two years ago. He earned the nickname of the Fox. In Japanese, that's Kitsune.”

“So this spy…”

Stoddard chuckled. “Calling Kitsune a spy is like calling Ty Cobb just a ball player.”

Reggie shrugged. “I don't know who this Ty Cobb chap is, but Kitsune is the world's most notorious assassin. He's expert in martial arts and has killed using knives and swords. He's also an excellent marksman.”

“We think he's in Hawaii,” Stoddard added. “Kitsune's pattern is to precede a Japanese invasion. His presence doesn't bode well for Amelia, Hawaii, or the United States.” As if Fanny Chandler, the Royalists, and business rivals weren't enough, now I had to add this Japanese spy to the list of suspects.

I paced the floor, trying to make sense of everything I'd learned since Putnam forced my hand. The way Kalua was killed, a bullet in the chest and one in the head to make sure he was dead, sounded like someone who'd killed before, not a woman motivated by a lovers' quarrel.

Reggie lit a Lucky Strike and blew smoke into the air. “British intelligence is concerned about Hank Kalua's murder and the possibility it could scuttle Amelia Earhart's flight. They're relieved an arrest has been made and the flight is still scheduled to take off the day after tomorrow.” The Brit took another drag. “They're relieved. I am not.”

“Nor am I,” Stoddard added. “If the Japanese or the Hawaiian Royalists were behind the shooting to stop Amelia, she's still in danger. We need to know whether the cops arrested the right person.”

I poured myself a glass of champagne and took a gulp, wishing it was something stronger. Representatives of two governments were depending on my assessment, and I was just a former gumshoe. “Detective Tanaka is certain they have the person responsible.”

I outlined Tanaka's case against Fanny—her relationship with Kalua, her jealousy of Amelia Earhart, and the handgun she kept in the kitchen. Fanny Chandler maneuvered Kalua to the hangar and timed it at the precise moment no one else was around, except for Amelia Earhart. With the famous aviatrix out of the way, Fanny believed she could convince the remaining financial backers to take Amelia's place, and fame and fortune would follow.

Stoddard furrowed his brow.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “After our visit to Fanny's apartment, I can't imagine her planning and carrying out such an elaborate scheme. However, she may have lured Kalua to what she assumed would be an empty hangar, without regard to Amelia, and shot him because he wasn't going to leave his wife. Though she'd known him barely a month.”

Laura chuckled. “My husband is aces when it comes to detective work, except when the need arises to assess the capabilities of women.”

“Sex, jealousy, and revenge by a woman scorned.” Reggie sipped his drink. “That sounds like a plot from one of your novels.”

“Maybe Fanny did kill her lover,” Stoddard said, “but, from my perspective, we have to assume Kitsune is the killer and Amelia Earhart is in danger.”

Maybe my doubts about Fanny's guilt weren't so crazy after all. “You have any leads on this guy?”

Stoddard shook his head. “Just the Patton report. If it's accurate, Kitsune has been in Hawaii for the past couple of years.”

“I'd like to read it.”

Reggie and Stoddard exchanged looks. Maybe they were sending each other prearranged signals like a twitch of a pinkie or a number of blinks but, for whatever reason, Stoddard pulled two pages from his jacket and handed them to me, like he was turning over the secrets to the Freemasons. “I should remind you the army doesn't view the report as favorably as my boss.”

“Why's that?” Laura asked.

“His personal behavior hasn't been the best since he arrived in Hawaii.”

“Booze and broads?” I asked.

Laura flashed me a look of irritation. “Why does everything have to center on booze and broads?”

Stoddard chuckled. “This time your husband is accurate.”

“That doesn't make his findings wrong.” I sat beside Laura, and together we read the report, dated six months ago.

The colonel had assembled a network of snitches, had a lot of friends, or knew plenty of people who owed him favors. The first page focused on the spy's history, including a climb up the brutal Japanese secret service, the Kempeitai. The next part focused on his capabilities as a murderer. The last section stated a belief he'd relocated to Hawaii and posed a threat to Wheeler Field and Pearl Harbor. Knowing the man's length of service and Japan's espionage infrastructure, the colonel concluded the man must be somewhere between the ages of forty and fifty-five. Over the years, he'd had plenty of identities and occupations. Unfortunately, no reasonable source had ever provided a description. I wanted to read more.

I handed the report back to Stoddard, who stuffed it in his jacket. “Has this lieutenant colonel found out anything new in the past six months?”

Stoddard shrugged. “We could ask him.”

“Now?”

Stoddard rose and gestured to Reggie. “Come on, driver. Remember we drive on the right side of the road.”

Reggie tossed Stoddard the keys. “You and Donovan go. The colonel is one of the most disagreeable fellows I've ever met, and he detests Brits. I'll stay with Laura. If we finish the champagne, we'll order sherry for old times' sake.”

Reggie might be a war hero to the Brits, but to me he was a guy who didn't care whether a woman he fancied was married or not. However, I'd used up my jealousy chips with Tony the surfer.

Laura kissed me. “Behave yourself, darling, I know how you can get when around disagreeable fellows in authority.”

“You're talking about Stoddard, of course.”

Reggie laughed until he snorted, grabbed the champagne, and filled his glass.

On the drive from the cabana, I asked Stoddard about the man we were going to meet.

He rattled off Patton's background. He spent most of his adult life trying to walk in the shoes of a family of army officers, including his grandfather, a Confederate colonel in the Civil War.

He was tough and determined and represented the United States in the 1912 Olympics in the pentathlon. Four years later he fought against Pancho Villa in Mexico with General Pershing and in 1917 commanded the American Expeditionary Forces' Tank Corps in the Great War.

We arrived at Schofield Barracks, the largest army base in Hawaii. The guard checked Stoddard's identification card and let us through. We parked at the far end of the base, in front of a forgotten one-story building flanked by scraggly palm trees.

Inside, a sergeant dropped the
LIFE
magazine he was reading and snapped to attention in his chair. He relaxed when he appeared to recognize Stoddard.

Stoddard glanced toward a closed door beside the sergeant's desk. “Is he in?”

“He's always in, but he gave me orders he was not to be disturbed.”

“I need to disturb him.”

The sergeant stuck both fingers in his ears. “It's your funeral.”

Stoddard took a deep breath. He knocked once and entered.

I followed into a neat and Spartan room, except for a fencing sword on one wall above a collection of framed photos of the man's military career. We hung our hats on a coatrack that contained a holster and two pistols as well as a dog leash.

On a simple metal desk, cigar smoke curled from a large glass ashtray. A steely-eyed man, who wore a well-fitting uniform and had thinning hair, glared from behind the desk. “Son of a bitch. I left word not to be disturbed.”

In the short time I'd known Stoddard, I'd seen him with a number of despicable characters. I'd never seen him intimidated by anyone until now.

For a moment no one spoke, until the officer gestured toward the two chairs in front of the desk.

In the corner, a Yorkshire terrier snored softly on an army blanket. He opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. He circled twice and stopped beside Patton, who shouted, “Sergeant, front and center.”

The sergeant appeared in seconds. “Yes, sir?”

Patton pointed to the dog. “Take Ike for a walk and make sure he takes a crap.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant grabbed the leash from the coatrack and snapped it on the dog's collar, and the two disappeared out the doorway.

Stoddard introduced me.

“The mystery writer.” With his firm gaze and calm, reasoned voice, Patton was the kind of guy who could walk into a room full of strangers and take charge without anyone questioning him. He folded his hands. “Stoddard mentioned you served in Europe. You must've been a kid when you enlisted.”

“Seventeen, sir.” I hadn't addressed anyone as
sir
in years but, for some reason, I wanted the colonel to respect me.

“You lied about your age to get into a fight in Europe to help ancient empires battle it out? What were you thinking?”

I shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Patton took a puff from the cigar. “You're the one who saved Stoddard's ass two years ago and stopped a coup against Roosevelt. I always knew Oliver Greenwoody's ego would be his downfall. Whatever happened to that Broadway actress who got involved? I saw her in a play once. A real knockout.”

“I married her.”

“Good for you.” Patton appeared to have more respect for me after learning I'd married Laura.

While Stoddard thanked him for his time, I glanced out the window behind Patton. The sergeant stood beside a palm tree, where the colonel's dog had decided to do his business. With the dog in the middle of finishing, two officers approached.

The sergeant saluted. The officers returned the salute, while Ike finished his task. I forced myself to look away to keep from laughing.

Stoddard apparently hadn't noticed. “Did you see the paper this morning, Colonel?”

“That business in Amelia Earhart's hangar?” Patton snapped to attention.

Stoddard nodded. “There's a possibility someone killed the Honolulu businessman and tried to make the cops think Amelia Earhart shot him.”

“Donovan”—Patton thumbed toward Stoddard—“how the hell did a mystery writer married to a real dish like Laura Wilson get mixed up a second time with Landon Stoddard?”

“Actually, I got pulled into this case without knowing Stoddard was even in Hawaii.”

The colonel leaned back with his linked fingers resting on his stomach. “So, what's the shooting have to do with me?”

Patton didn't seem to be the type to appreciate a civilian reading something he labeled Top Secret. “I read your report about the Japanese spy Kitsune.”

Patton sprang to his feet, his face as red as a fire truck. “Stoddard, there are six people between here and the president's desk who had eyes-only access to that report. You're not one of them, and a mystery writer damn sure isn't either.”

“Colonel”—Stoddard held up one hand—“the man I work for, who sent me to Hawaii, is one of those six.”

Patton snarled and sank back into his chair. He mumbled to himself and gestured to me with the cigar. “Did Stoddard tell you who he's working for these days?”

I shook my head. “He was a little evasive in the details.”

Patton stubbed out the cigar. “If I worked for that bastard, I'd be more than evasive.”

Stoddard appeared to resent the colonel's criticism. “We don't always get to choose who we work for.”

Patton hid behind a smile. “Touché.”

I tried to diffuse the tension by playing to the colonel's obvious ego. “Stoddard said you knew more about this Kitsune than anyone.”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “Did he now?”

“He did. The killer shot Kalua next to Amelia Earhart's plane. One bullet in the center of the back and another to the head. He fled without dropping any evidence by the body, leaving Amelia alone in the hangar.”

“That sounds like Kitsune. The son of a bitch isn't in Hawaii for R and R or to snap pictures of military installations.” Patton rubbed the side of his face and stared toward the photos beneath the sword. “I've been after this bastard since I arrived in Hawaii. If I don't find him, there's a chance I'll rot here. When the next war starts, I'll be reporting to men half my age.”

That's why Patton hadn't thrown us out when I mentioned reading his classified report. If he helped capture Kitsune, his career might resume its upward path.

“Have you learned anything new since you wrote the report?”

“Two weeks ago a security jeep spotted someone taking pictures outside a secure area at Pearl Harbor. He disappeared before he could be apprehended. The MPs provided a vague description, slender and short, between five foot five and five eight. That's about eighty percent of the damn Japs on the island.”

If Kitsune was a genuine suspect, I'd need more information and a better description. “So, except for a vague physical description, there's nothing else that isn't in the report.”

“Read the report again. The most important part is this: wherever he is, whether it's Manchuria, southern China, or Hawaii, Kitsune blends into the population. British intelligence out of Singapore has reported he passes himself off as a common laborer, someone you'd least expect to be an intelligence agent. Hell, he could be the gardener trimming our palm trees earlier. Sorry I don't have more to offer you.”

I thanked him for his time.

Patton stood. “I wish you all the success in the world. Lives depend on it.”

Stoddard and I rose and shook the colonel's hand.

When we turned to leave, Patton spoke again. “Stoddard, would you give Mr. Donovan and me a moment?”

“Sure, Colonel.” Stoddard didn't look happy, but he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Patton sat and gestured to the chairs.

I took a seat and waited to see what he wanted to share out of earshot of Stoddard.

“I know it's none of your concern, but I hate sitting behind a desk. I was meant to command men in battle, men like you.”

I'd seen enough combat in Europe and on the streets of New York. Men weren't put on earth to die when a bullet ripped through them, smashing bones and tearing tissue. No one should bleed to death on a street or a battlefield.

My father died of tuberculosis, but at least he passed away in his sleep.

Patton opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small box. “Cigar?”

“No, thanks, Colonel. I don't smoke.”

“You were in combat and didn't learn to smoke?”

“I learned. When I returned to the States, I forgot.”

He put the cigars back in the drawer. “Most people would envy being stationed in Hawaii. The sand, surf, and weather. It's probably twenty degrees in D.C. right now. I feel like I'm marooned here while every important decision maker is in Washington.”

“I'm sure the military still values a man with your experience and background.”

“You don't have to lay it on so thick.” For a moment he glanced at the pictures along the wall, Patton with General Pershing, and others with people I didn't recognize. “I just wanted to share one more thing.”

He seemed to struggle with what he was about to say. “This isn't army protocol, or even the policy of Washington bureaucrats like Stoddard has become. This is just advice from one old soldier to another. If you get the chance to nail this bastard Kitsune, don't call for backup, hoping to capture him alive to be interrogated. He'll never talk. If you get the chance, blow the son of a bitch's brains out. Got it?”

I rose and shook his hand again. “Yes, sir.”