E Pluribus Unum, Part 2
Deford only made a detour into the office that morning to drop off his briefcase and encourage his men. He had a morning appointment down the hall that couldn’t be missed. The Governor.
Paul Jameson brought a light touch to his job as Governor that the serious Deford couldn’t help but admire. Some people call Deford "The Bulldog." If that was true, then Jameson should be "The Butterfly," able to win the admiration of all while never seeming to come down hard anyplace.
Today, though, Jameson was grim. "Fill me in, Lloyd."
"It’s nasty," Deford said. "The Nisei veterans are having a 20-year reunion at the Waikiki Biltmore. A couple hundred of them saw Babe Kunsu give a speech and receive a plaque from the group at about 10:30 p.m. He spoke with my man Ted Hada slightly thereafter and promised to meet Ted and some of the other veterans in the bar for a drink. When he didn’t show up, one of the men went up to check on him—this was about 11:15. The room door was slightly open and the congressman was dead—beaten to death with the plaque he’d just received."
The Governor shuddered. "What a terrible thing. Lloyd, are there any suspects?"
Deford nodded. "Plenty. Mrs. Kunsu turned over some death threats her husband had recently received. The worst kind of race hate. Ted’s running them down now."
"I would hate to think that kind of racial bigotry could exist here on our islands," the Governor said. "I’ve never understood race prejudice of any kind, Lloyd, let alone someone who could be so blind as to hate a man who sacrificed as much for his country as Babe Kunsu."
Deford sighed in agreement. He still remembered how as a child he had played with his little Filipino friends on the plantation on the Big Island that his family owned. It had bewildered him when, as they grew up, some kind of invisible wall had dropped between him and his pals, separating them forever on opposite sides of an unbridgeable gulf. In some ways it bothered him still. "We have to consider other possibilities, Paul."
"And those would be?" Jameson asked.
"Well, a couple hundred Japanese-American veterans, for starters, all of whom saw the congressman leave the banquet, and who had his room number in their convention packets."
"In theory, it’s possible," the Governor agreed. "But, Lloyd, I hardly think it likely. These men went through hell together. They’re famous for their unity and spirit. They’re probably the greatest unit of American fighting men this country ever produced."
"I know," Deford said. "I know. But it’s still something we’ll have to look into. We’ll be questioning as many as possible. At the very least, someone may have seen something or someone suspicious."
"Do what you have to do, but step lightly, Lloyd. Those men are heroes to just about everyone in these islands."
"There are several other avenues we’ll have to pursue. We can’t discount the possibility of a personal grudge, of course. We’ll have to look into his personal life, and don’t worry—" he raised his hands to stave off Jameson’s next sentence. "—I will try to be delicate." Deford sighed. "And we haven’t even talked about political enemies. You know better than I do that it isn’t always possible to be stay clean in politics. When it comes right down to it, Paul, there are an awful lot of potential suspects."
The Governor rose from his chair and gazed out of his window at the giant banyan trees that shaded the grounds of the Iolani Palace. Once the home of Hawaii’s kings and queens, it now housed government offices, including the governor’s and Five-O. Then he turned back to Deford.
"Lloyd, Babe Kunsu was one of the most popular and promising politicians in these islands. His murder is a tragedy for his family. But more than that, it strikes at the very heart of democracy itself. The voters deserved to make the choice about Babe Kunsu. Now, he’s gone, and Hawaii is the poorer for it." He paced a minute, then continued. "None of the alternatives you’ve mentioned is palatable, but we have to face facts. Babe Kunsu’s murderer must be brought to justice—no matter whom it turns out to be."
"I intend to investigate every single suspect," Deford replied. "Anyone who had a reason to want Babe Kunsu dead."
The Governor looked startled for a minute, and Deford thought he knew why. Babe Kunsu had been one of the Governor’s harshest critics, and had made no secret of the fact that he intended to challenge him for the Democratic nomination in the next election. Even Paul Jameson couldn’t completely hide the fact that Kunsu’s death had eliminated any real chance that he would be unseated. It had to be something of a relief.
"I guess that includes me," Jameson said ruefully.
"Yes, sir, it does," Deford rose from his chair. "I’ll keep you posted, several times a day, on the investigation. It’s bound to be politically sensitive, no matter what the answer turns out to be."
***
"OK, boys," Deford told Steve McGarrett and Julian Kala’oka. "Ted is working the lead we got from Mrs. Kunsu on the death threats the congressman had been receiving. In the meantime, we’ve got a lot of other leads to follow up, including 300 Japanese-American veterans scattered all over these islands. Any one of them might have seen something or know something about the murder. We’ve gotta question as many of them as possible."
"What about the personal angle?" McGarrett asked. "From the way the congressman was killed, it sure looks more like a crime of passion than a political assassination or mob payback."
"Yeah, we’ve gotta look into the corruption angle too, but I agree. It does seem like a hitman would use something more professional than a plaque. I’m going to work the personal angle for now. We’ve got round-the-clock protection going on Mrs. Kunsu, complete with a wiretap of her phone line." Reacting to Steve’s raised eyebrows, Deford continued, "Before you get too excited, it’s with the lady’s permission, I might add. She’s genuinely scared, I think. We can protect and keep an eye on her at the same time."
"Isn’t there a son, too?" JuJu asked.
"Yeah. Jerome. Sixteen years old, goes to the Punahou school. Whether there was family discord is something we’ll need to find out. Meantime, you can divide this up anyway you like, boys." Deford handed them each a list of the convention attendees.
JuJu groaned. "That’s a lotta legwork. They could be anyplace on the island." The young cop thought a minute. "No, wait. That’s not really true. Tell you what, McGarrett. I’ll take the golf courses, you take the bars."
McGarrett grinned and pulled rank. "I got a better idea."
"What’s that?" JuJu asked innocently.
"I’ll take the golf courses, you take the bars."
Deford shook his head as Steve and JuJu left laughing. It was a hell of a thing, being a cop. Who would their killer be? Some racist nut? Deford knew Hada was convinced of it. That lovely lady? It seemed unthinkable, but Deford had seen it before. Or would they be bringing in a hero?
***
Steve McGarrett liked doing legwork. At its best, it slowly but surely began to give you a picture of the fatal intersection between the life of the victim and the life of the killer. Even at its worst, it got you out of the office, away from your desk, and learning something. He knew he had a lot to learn about these islands. After almost two years here, he was just starting to realize how much.
Such as these men, for example. Most people on the mainland didn’t even know about the 100th Battalion and 442nd Regimental Combat Team, or if they had, they knew little more than the famous motto "Go for Broke!" In fact, these Japanese American men had faced enormous odds just to be allowed to serve their country. Those living on the mainland had been herded into internment camps with their families. In Hawaii, the Japanese population was too large for that, so instead they were forced to wear black badges, meaning "enemy alien."
Even so, there were more volunteers to form a Japanese American regiment than there were slots available. Finally deployed in Italy, later in France, nearly everyone in the regiment earned a Purple Heart. Out of 4,500 men, the unit earned over 3,900 individual decorations.
Approaching the next group of these "little iron men" on the golf course, he could see they were like the two dozen he had already questioned. They were unprepossessing in appearance, with their glasses, aloha shirts, and middle-aged physiques. Beneath that, he had found them to be tough as nails and fiercely protective of one another and of the memory of Babe Kunsu.
The group was just getting ready to tee off when McGarrett got their attention. He held up his badge. "McGarrett, Hawaii Five-O. I’m investigating the murder of Babe Kunsu."
The men stood holding their clubs, their faces registering both interest and wariness.
"You men at the reunion were the last people to see Babe Kunsu alive. If you saw anything suspicious, different, or unusual, anything at all, even if it seems trivial, it might help us find out who killed your friend."
"The last time I saw Babe," said the tallest one, whose golf bag marked him as someone who had prospered since the war, "was leaving the dinner. I saw him go over to the elevators, I guess it was a little past 10:30."
"Did you see anyone else go to the elevators?"
"No, not that I noticed. I was on my way to Kalakaua Avenue with these guys to visit some of the bars. I’m a katonk—from the mainland—and I don’t make it over here too often. I wanted to see the changes in Waikiki."
McGarrett nodded. He knew that the Niseis had nicknames for each other dating back from their days training together. The Hawaiians were called "buddaheads," a play on words meaning "pig heads," and the mainlanders were called katonks, for the sound their heads made when they hit the barracks floor in a fight. Born in antagonism, the nicknames went on to be part of the affectionate bonds of brotherhood between the soldiers.
"I understand," McGarrett said. "If any of you think of anything or remember, give me a call." He handed each of them his business card and watched them carefully slip the cards into their wallets. "Listen," McGarrett said. "It sounds like Babe Kunsu was a pretty popular guy. Any of you know him well?"
"Sure, I knew Babe," the katonk told Steve. "Served with him in Company E."
McGarrett was blunt. "Why would anyone want to kill him?"
The katonk shook his head sadly, while the others looked blank and shrugged. McGarrett was just about to start off in pursuit of the next golfing foursome when one of the guys cracked, "Maybe a jealous husband."
McGarrett’s interest perked. "Babe had a problem with the ladies?
The man grinned. "He didn’t have a problem. He liked them, a whole lot."
"Any special one?" McGarrett asked.
To McGarrett’s disappointment, the katonk stepped in to squelch the gossip. "Look mister, some people thought Babe had a wandering eye. As far as I'm concerned, that was between him and Sachie. Babe Kunsu was a great guy. You’d follow him into hell. Any of us would."
"First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen?" McGarrett asked.
"Something like that," the katonk retorted.
"OK, he was a great guy," McGarrett said. "Anybody who didn’t think so?"
The katonk stuck a tee in the ground and placed his ball on it. "Oh, there are rumors sometimes. You hear things, you know?" He took his stance behind the ball.
"What kind of rumors? What kind of things?"
The katonk looked at McGarrett and then looked away. McGarrett recognized the look. He had gotten it a million times from Ted Hada. He had just been dismissed.
"I really couldn’t say."
The katonk soldier swung the club. The ball went straight down the fairway.
***
McGarrett wasn’t the only one to discover that Babe Kunsu was a little different than the sanitized hero-father smiling out of his campaign brochures. Taking the bars, Julian Kala’oka found, wasn’t all bad, even if it did mean moving his car around the choked streets of Waikiki about a thousand times. Alcohol tended to loosen tongues.
Take this pair. Here it was not even lunchtime, and they had obviously already been at the booze pretty hard. Sitting in a beachside bar, both wore sunglasses and aloha shirts, and both seemed at least a sheet or two to the wind.
JuJu introduced himself and explained that he was looking into the murder of Babe Kunsu.
"Yoshikiyo Miyahira’s my name," one of the vets said, sticking out his hand. "Folks call me Shorty. Pull up a chair and we’ll talk your ear off."
"I’m Kats Shimazu," the other guy murmured, also offering JuJu a shake. "And this is Happy."
JuJu felt confused. Not only did the members of the 100th/442nd have more catchy nicknames than the Seven Dwarves, but he only saw two guys.
"Under the table," Shorty explained. "Happy’s under the table."
Amazed, JuJu ducked his head and peered under the table. Had one of these guys passed out already? Then he understood. Golden brown eyes looked back. A big German shepherd, wearing a harness. JuJu took another look at Kats. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from the glare. Kats was blind.
"Happy is an honorary member of the One-Puka-Puka," Kats smiled, reaching under the table to pet the dog. "That’s what some of us call the 100th."
"I know," JuJu said. "Puka means one big hole."
"So what do you wanna know about Babe Kunsu, kid?" Shorty asked.
"Well, we’re looking to find out if anybody saw or, uh—" JuJu glanced at Kats. "—noticed anything suspicious or unusual last night."
"Not me," Shorty said.
"Me either," said Kats.
"How well did you guys know Congressman Kunsu?" JuJu asked.
"I didn’t know him well at all," Kats said. "I served in a different company. I mean, everybody knew of Babe Kunsu. He rose from private to squad leader. Promoted in the field. And, man, he had a lotta guts. He had a coupla wounded guys pinned down under fire in France and went back personally to rescue them. That’s how he lost his leg."
"I served in Company E," Shorty said. "In a different squad. Babe had guts. But he could also be a real prick."
"How do you mean?" JuJu asked.
"Hard on people. Got a few promotions and thought he was Jesus Christ on a stick. You know, better than the rest of us. I didn’t keep in touch with him after the war."
Kats shifted uncomfortably. JuJu wasn’t sure whether he was feeling pain from physical wounds or he just didn’t like what Shorty was saying. "You ever been in a war, kid?" he asked JuJu.
It was JuJu’s turn to feel uncomfortable. This was something Hada always made into a big issue. "No, sir."
To JuJu’s surprise, Kats smiled. "Smart boy," he said.
Shorty leaned forward, breath beery. Behind the sunglasses, his puffy eyes stared into JuJu’s. "Don’t be in one," he confided. "It does things—to your mind." Shorty tapped his temple significantly.
JuJu responded as politely as he could. "I can see that, sir."
***
Chin Ho Kelly and Duke Lukela were bored. Deford had asked for the HPD officers especially to provide the protection for Sachie Kunsu and her son Jerome. Chin and Duke were both known for their maturity and discretion. Deford knew they wouldn’t put any gossip out on the coconut wireless.
Not that there was anything to gossip about. There was absolutely nothing doing outside of Sachie Kunsu’s comfortable-but-not-flashy home in Punchbowl.
Duke groaned and tried to stretch his legs behind the steering wheel. "You gonna go see Cleopatra?"
"I dunno," Chin replied, pulling out a thermos full of hot tea. "My wife wants to see it. She thinks there’ll be a lot of fireworks between Liz Taylor and Richard Burton."
"I like Liz Taylor," Duke said. "We might go see it at the drive-in. That way, the kids can sleep in the backseat and we won’t need a babysitter."
"I want to go see the new Fellini movie. It’s playing over by the university," Chin said.
Duke rolled his eyes. "I can’t stand that arty-farty stuff."
"You won’t even give it a chance, bruddah. You might learn something." Chin put his tea down suddenly. "Hey, Duke, you see a movement there in the bushes?"
Duke looked carefully. "Naw, I don’t see anything. No, wait—" There was something there.
They were out of the car in an instant, running toward the fence that encircled the Kunsus’ backyard.
"Halt!" Chin yelled. "Halt!"
Duke saw a pair of blue-jean covered legs scrabbling at the side of the fence. He tackled the legs and slammed the owner to the ground.
"Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!" the intruder yelled. He was a young man, no older than twenty, Japanese-American from the looks of him. "Please, I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to see Sachie."
"Oh yeah? Ever heard of the front door?" Duke snapped, whipping out a pair of handcuffs and wrestling the kid’s thin arms behind his back.
"What’s your business with Mrs. Kunsu?" Chin demanded.
"She knows me!" the kid insisted. "She’ll vouch for me. Really! I just didn’t want to get her in any trouble. Um, I mean, not that she would be or anything…" he finished lamely, seeming to be tangled in some complexity of thought that was beyond him.
"OK, you wanna play it that way, we’ll see about it right now." Duke jerked the kid to his feet. He and Chin marched him around to the front door. Chin rang the bell.
Looking tired and pale and wearing only a light silk bathrobe, Sachie Kunsu opened the door. "I’m very sorry, officer, I was just about to take a bath."
"Sorry to disturb you, ma’am," Chin said. "We caught this young man trying to climb over your fence. Says he’s a friend of the family."
Sachie pulled her robe around her throat and leaned out the door to look at the youngster. Her pale face turned another shade of white. Her eyes flashed with anger.
"Ricky!" she hissed. "I thought I told you not to come here!"
"I had to see you, Sachie, "the boy pleaded. "I had to make sure you were all right! Please don’t be angry."
Duke looked at Chin. "Call Deford?" he asked.
Chin nodded. "Wiki-wiki, bruddah."