The Pearl Affair

By M J Donahue

Set in O'ahu, Hawaii, in December 1941, two investigators for the prosecutor's office, John Jardine and Val Cederlof, examine the lifeless body of a young woman. This is the second victim within a month. Murders are rare on the Islands. Detectives from the Honolulu Police Department resent the two investigators poking their noses in HPD's case. Jardine and Cederlof are accustomed to the hostility of the HPD. As the two investigators depart, Val comments that this will be a Christmas they will never forget. Little does he know how prophetic his words are. Early next morning at 7:00, Japanese Zeros attack Pearl Harbor.
Newlyweds Commander Morgan Gilchrist and wife Maggie rush to Queen's Hospital knowing that their medical backgrounds will be of use when the wounded arrive. In the midst of the chaos, Morgan and Maggie cross paths with abrasive Head Nurse Agatha Finch. Later that night, a young nurse is discovered dead. The usual cool Agatha is noticeably upset. Jardine arrives. He and Morgan meet across the corpse. Because of this meeting, Morgan and Maggie become involved in the hunt for the killer. Intuitive Maggie realizes that the truth lies with the stoic and secretive Nurse Finch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M J Donahue
• Release date: Feb 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466129702

M J Donahue

After thirty years and countless manuscripts, this is her debut novel. Beginning with romance, she gravitated to mysteries and rewrote what had been a time travel as a thriller. While a member of Romance Writers of America, she wrote a column, "To Market, To Market" for the magazine. She has published in WordPerfect Magazine, HAL-PC magazine for computer users, and various writers groups newsletters. At present, she is a member of Writers' League of Texas, Sisters in Crime, and a local writers' chapter, Houston Writers Guild. She served as president of Houston Council of Writers' from 1991 to 1993 and wrote the monthly newsletter. A former high school teacher, she combined her English and History degrees into an opportunity to show how the events of the time affected writers and vice versa.

Book preview

Prologue

She was lying on her back, her face to the cloudless night sky. The cool night breeze wafting across the Kewalo Basin caused the palm fronds to wave like delicate fans. The gentle gusts caused strands of dyed bleached blonde hair to flutter. The girl’s pallid complexion showed beneath the light tan. Her blue eyes were open, but she saw nothing.

On the jetty, a group of men in suits clustered around numerous fishermen, firing questions, and jotting down the responses on dog-eared pads. A lot of head shaking denoted minimal information.

Removing his dark grey fedora, Detective John Jardine knelt beside the body and crossed himself. Same killer you think? he said to the coroner.

Packing his case, the coroner paused. I’d say so. Unlike the other, this one looks like she’s lived a lifetime. Alcohol, smoking, and fast living masked by heavy make-up. May have done drugs too.

Yet she’s young, responded the detective. Suggestive clothing, flashy colors, expensive labels. Clothes are practically new.

Another rich kid out for a good time with the wrong people.

I was hoping that he’d target the same ethnic group, said Jardine. Nayda Lee was Chinese. This one is Caucasian.

The coroner snapped his bag shut. Well, there goes the possibility of eliminating suspects from the get-go. You just have to begin with the entire adult male population. Then he added. Except us, of course.

John Jardine was Portuguese-American, the son of a seaman on a whaler who then found work as a coal-passer on the waterfront. John’s mother arrived later, met and married his father. Because of his skills, work ethic and affable outgoing nature, John Sr. earned an important post, a gardener for the Territory. Unlike his father, who was tall and powerfully built, John Jr. was average height with a swarthy complexion. His angular features and hawk-like gaze gave him a menacing appearance.

In the pale light of dawn, the ligature marks on the victim’s neck were barely visible. Rigor mortis had frozen her features, giving her a doll-like appearance.

She’s been dead at least a half dozen hours, said the coroner. He pointed his flashlight at her neck. He had large hands. The bruising covers the entire throat area.

Jardine nodded. "Looks like he used a cord this time.

The coroner killed the light. The Lee girl had what looks like burn marks. We’re still scratching our heads about those.

Jardine said, The first time he used whatever was at hand. This time he came prepared.

The coroner said, I guess he wanted to be thorough.

Jardine’s partner, Val Cederlof leaned over to get a better look at the wound. Either way, it was personal. He did both from the front. Clearly pre-meditated.

Val Cederlof was cut from a similar cloth. Of Chinese parentage, he was older than Jardine, leather-faced, slightly taller than Jardine but just as slender. Age had caused his jowls to sag slightly and the sun had deepened the wrinkles. He wore a pale blue linen suit and thin tie with a larger brimmed fedora.

Jardine said, He wanted to punish her.

He swept the sand behind him with that discarded fern leaf, observed Cederlof, pointing some distance to the side of him.

With each lap of the waves, tethered sampans pitched up and down like young colts, eager to be free. The tide was just beginning to recede. Lights from nearby beach houses and shacks started to pop on. The distant whine of crabby babies added cacophony to the gentle slap, slap of the waves caressing the ecru colored sand.

The three men fell silent, each contemplating the girl’s last terrifying moments.

Suddenly, a short, portly detective left the group on the jetty and headed towards the crime scene. Huffing and puffing through the shifting sand, Lieutenant Fred Coffman accosted the three men. Coffman was an unpleasant man. Getting his shoes wet in the surf made him downright surly. He was impatient with everyone all the time. As an investigator, he was careless. His underlings had to go behind him and gather up the evidence he discarded or overlooked. Being a mediocre investigator and knowing it, he was jealous of Jardine’s superior ability and always had been. Jardine, what the hell are you and Cederlof doing here? He spat on the sand near Jardine’s shoe. Why are you poking your noses in my case?

Jardine spoke. Because it’s out of the ordinary, and people don’t like things being out of the ordinary.

Cederlof then added. Two murders of young women within a month’s time have caused the city prosecutors some sleepless nights. Telephone calls from the governor’s office have put them on the hot seat. Not to mention calls from anxious parents have flooded the telephone operator. They want to know about the madman who’s killing young women.

We can handle this! I’m reporting this to the Chief!

Jardine looked at the coroner who stood up. You finished with her?

The coroner nodded.

Jardine reached over and swept the heavily colored eyelids closed, rose and stepped back.

The coroner motioned to his two assistants. Be gentle with her.

He stepped back and watched while the two men respectfully wrapped the body, carefully laid it on the canvas stretcher, lifted it with ease, labored through the sand and slid it into the police ambulance.

Cederlof said, Assistant Prosecutor Fairbanks wants a complete report when you’re finished.

The coroner put on his hat. He’ll get it.

Coffman spat. You guys are supposed to wait until we catch the killer! We ain’t caught him yet!

Jardine tugged on his hat so it touched his thick eyebrows. For the sake of these girls’ families, catching the killer will take cooperation from all of us. Or don’t the families matter to you?

When Jardine’s back was turned, Coffman stepped forward and swung his fist.

Cederlof caught his arm.

Agitated, the usually taciturn coroner stepped forward. Another young woman is dead! he spat. This is where she took her last breath. He scanned the men’s faces. Another family will mourn rather than celebrate. Unopened gifts will be a sorrowful reminder rather than a source of joy. For their sakes, show some respect.

Coffman yanked his suit coat back in place and bellowed at his retreating rivals. Go back to your office and wait. When we get him, we’ll let you know!

Jardine and Cederlof climbed in the car.

Cederlof looked back at Coffman who was stomping the sand and growling something incoherent. He’s looking old.

Jardine nodded. Shining up to Gabrielson day in and day out has taken its toll.

John Jardine and Val Cederlof were both exiles from the Honolulu Police Department. Chief William Gabrielson didn’t appreciate the two detectives being individualists who preferred working independently rather than as team players. What galled Gabrielson the most was the majority of their investigations resulted in arrests and convictions. Val was the first to go. During Prohibition, Val had been on a trip to Samoa. When he disembarked, Val punched a customs agent that caught him with a bottle. The incident got some press coverage. Gabrielson considered it a black eye to the force. Seeing this infraction as disrespectful to him personally, Gabrielson had busted Val for drunkenness. Val didn’t take kindly to his treatment.

In the end, Val considered the demotion a godsend. Needing an independent and effective investigator, former Prosecutor John Kelley had plucked Cederlof from the force. Although it meant a reduction in pay, Val jumped at the opportunity. For his part, Gabrielson strongly resented Kelley’s taking Cederlof.

Jardine didn’t fare much better with the Chief. All one day and all one night, Jardine had chased a suspect, but the man had eluded him. Exhausted and frustrated, he drank a beer to revive himself. Jardine wasn’t able to change his clothes before reporting to the station. Appearing in his disheveled uniform with alcohol on his breath, Gabrielson demoted him for being drunk on duty and cut his pay. Jardine took responsibility and accepted his punishment. Gabrielson’s policy of favoritism for his admirers and disregard for those he considered unworthy started to affect morale. In time, Jardine lost all respect for the Chief. Whether Cederlof recommended Jardine or the prosecutor recognized Jardine’s skill, Kelley requested Jardine. Although eager to be rid of him, Gabrielson saw the transfer as an effort by the prosecutor to undermine his authority. Cederlof and Jardine now both served the office of city prosecutor as special investigators and worked out of City Hall.

Although the two were opposites in temperament, they were a good team. Cederlof was affable while Jardine was aloof. Where Jardine was methodical, Cederlof was quick. Their new duty was murders, unsolved and current. Once a perpetrator was apprehended, the pair’s assignment was to find additional evidence to solidify the prosecutor’s case. Despite the jealousy of a few at HPD, detectives from both offices maintained a cooperative association.

As the sky lightened, Jardine looked past the crime scene to watch the fishermen cast off, steady the pitching sampans and chug away. Early morning surfers on their homemade boards were paddling away from shore to find the best spot to wait for a suitable wave. Privately owned sailboats headed west from Ala Wai Harbor to catch some wind. With the sun just clearing the top of Koolau Mountain Range, it made a beautiful picture.

Cederlof steered the car onto the worn pavement of Ala Moana Boulevard. The no nonsense detective made an uncharacteristically prophetic observation, I have a feeling that this will be a Christmas we’ll never forget.

Chapter 1

December 5, 1941

Agatha Finch brushed her coarse lightly grayed black hair with strong, punishing strokes. Her hazel eyes were red and swollen. She hadn’t slept. Her brother Martin Harris had gotten home late. She met him at the door in her cotton nightgown and chenille robe. He was rumpled and pale. They didn’t speak. He slunk to his room and quietly closed the door. Frightened, Agatha stared at the empty hallway. She went to her room. With shaking hands, she retrieved several of her sleeping pills and tossed them back without water. She faced another night without sleep.

When she was younger, Agatha had been an attractive woman. Slender and well-groomed, she had attended nursing school and worked her way up to Head Nurse at Queen’s Hospital. She foolishly accepted a marriage proposal from Herman Finch. At first, he played the gentleman, well groomed and eager to please. He was a consummate actor. After the wedding, the mismatched pair had serious problems. Being jealous of Martin, Herman threw Martin out. When Agatha objected, he cuffed her and growled that the parasitic no account wouldn’t live under his roof. The roof, and everything under it, belonged to Agatha, not to Herman. Dispossessed and uprooted, Martin soon acquired work at the docks and found no end of lonely women with empty beds to cosset him.

Herman had worked on the Leeward side of the island at the Dole plantation in a supervisory position. Most of the time, he went to work with a hangover which caused him to be surly as well as ineffective. His work crews constantly complained about him to his superiors. As a result, Herman watched while others were promoted over him. His anger festered. He would get drunk and lose money at cards. Since she was a success, Agatha took the full brunt of his misery.

How he hated that plantation.

How he hated his wife.

One night, Herman was found dead on Fort Street, outside one of his favorite gambling dens. When the police came and told her, Agatha cried and cried. Tears of loss and grief. Poor widow. Little did they know, those were tears of joy. With a happy heart, she burned Herman’s possessions to cleanse her house. Now free of his tyranny, she eagerly welcomed back her younger brother Martin.

A tall, muscular, attractive man, Martin tried to join the military but was rejected by every branch. Martin pouted for months. Agatha suspected it was his mental instability that ended his dream. Although intelligent and charming, he was volatile. Grudgingly, he worked a series of odd jobs until Agatha got him a position as an orderly at the hospital where she could monitor him. Surprisingly, Martin took to it and did good work. The more the staff and his supervisors praised him, the harder he worked. To keep his job, he wisely avoided the women that surrounded him.

Martin really liked pretty women. A short time into a relationship, Martin would get rapacious. Those who were savvy would extricate themselves without harm. Martin would sulk for days until he caught the scent of another victim. After all, the ocean had lots of fish. Unfortunately, those who were reckless and self-absorbed didn’t fare as well. Having a fragile ego, Martin reacted with violence. Over time, maturity and numerous incarcerations blunted his impulsive nature.

Or so Agatha thought.

At the breakfast table, the siblings shared some coffee, fruit and toast. A lit cigarette hung from Martin’s chapped lips. They didn’t look at each other or talk. Agatha was prim in her starched white uniform. Not a hair was out of place. She ate mechanically. Martin slouched over the table nibbling at his plate’s contents and drawing deeply on the cigarette.

Between them lay the unfolded newspaper. At the bottom of the front page, Agatha read about the death of a young woman whose body was found on the beach. Identification had been confirmed but not released. Death appeared to be identical to a previous murder at the Puowaina Crater. The article’s writer requested that anyone having information should contact the Honolulu police.

Agatha stared at Martin. This must stop, Marty! You must stop! She was near hysteria. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this terrible secret.

Martin looked up in panic. I told you I didn’t mean to hurt Nayda.

Agatha was white. Her voice calmer. I know you didn’t. But for whatever reason, you’ve killed two women.

He pressed his thumb on the article. The rich bitch laughed at me. I was dirt under her feet. He stubbed out his cigarette in his toast. Nobody’s better than me.

Agatha stood up and leaned across the table toward Martin. You must stop. Do you hear? You have to stop? Sooner or later, they’ll find out.

Angry, he grabbed Agatha’s arm in a crushing grip. You’ll go to prison too. Knowin’ and not tellin’. An accessory to the crime. He twisted her arm till Agatha cried out. You keep it shut, do you hear me?

You’re hurting me, she whimpered.

He pushed her to the door. Go to work, ‘Hagatha’!

Rubbing her arm, Agatha hurried into the living room, swept up her purse and trench coat then scurried out.

Stupid witch, growled Martin. He watched her go down the street to catch the trolley. When she was out of sight, Martin sank into a chair. He leaned forward and covered his head.

Memories flooded back. His mother stood over him, whipping him with his father’s belt. You’re no good! Thwap. No one loves you! Thwap. You’re hopeless! Thwap. I’m sorry you were ever born! Thwap. I should have thrown you into the blowhole long ago! Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

Shaking violently, Martin fell to the floor in a torrent of tears. He rolled tightly into a fetal position. I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!

Chapter 2

Friday, December 5, 1941

In the late afternoon, Commander Morgan Gilchrist and his bride Margaret Powell heard the hubbub from the dock as the steamship S.S. Lurline, prize of the Matson Line, chugged her way out of the harbor. It was Boat Day. It seemed every resident of Honolulu had mobbed the dock and adjoining beaches. Bombers circled overhead, and then dove so low, their bellies nearly skimmed the top of the water. Fighters swooped across the ship’s decks. A flotilla of speedboats and outrigger canoes followed the Lurline, her passengers waving madly and screaming their goodbyes. Multicolored streamers clung to the decks like broken spider webs while halos of leis floated beside her. The Royal Hawaiian Band played loudly.

Aloh’a, fathers and sons cried to family members.

Aloh’a, family members mournfully answered their fathers and sons.

Imagine how they must be feeling right now, said Maggie. They were all so happy when we arrived. Now they all wonder when they’ll see each other again. She looked at Morgan. Good thing most of the fighting is in Europe.

Morgan pressed her to him. War is a manmade pestilence. It can break out anywhere.

Far away on top of Diamond Head, Morgan saw countless arms moving almost in unison as the ship slid past.

We all cried when Ray joined the Navy. He was so young. I’ll be so happy to see him on Sunday. I wish we could see him tonight.

Morgan squeezed her hand. He’s on duty, Maggie.

She smiled at him and hopped along. I know, but I want to find out what he has to tell us. She cocked her head. Aren’t you the least bit curious?

Morgan chuckled at her giddiness. No.

At this time, Honolulu was a little colonial city with low-rise, pink stucco and red-tiled houses made of wooden slats and louvered windows to let in the breeze. It was an informal atmosphere where children went to school barefoot. On the weekends, the women wore bright floral print muumuus and men sported aloha shirts of varying designs. Flowers, trees and greenery surrounded every building. The very air was perfumed.

Rutted trolley tracks ran down King Street as far as the eye could see. Automobiles bounced along the rough paved road and went askew when they hit a trolley rail. The crossing guard stood on his platform beneath his large umbrella, directing traffic in his crisp military style uniform with a stripe up each pants leg, shiny helmet and immaculate white gloves. His whistle, which was attached to a chain around his neck, stayed in his mouth. Occasionally, quick loud chirps and robot arms indicated a violator. Most people, including the military boys, didn’t have a car so they waited at taxi stands or trolley stops to get a ride to their destinations.

Maggie was in awe. Isn’t this a beautiful place? No wonder people call it a tropical paradise.

Morgan agreed. As he gazed at his bride, Morgan prayed nothing would spoil this blissful reprieve. Meeting Maggie; courting Maggie; and marrying Maggie. It had all happened so fast.

*********

Two years earlier, the military plane containing Morgan and other navy personnel crashed in Houston, Texas. Convalescing and on crutches, Morgan hobbled through the main entrance lobby of St. Joseph’s Hospital when he first saw Maggie. Dressed in a clown costume, she was entertaining a group of children and their parents. At the time, he thought she was a volunteer who assisted fearful children and anxious parents. Later that day, when he made his way into a surgery theater to assist, Maggie was preparing instruments. During the procedure, the clown disappeared and Maggie was all business. She anticipated Morgan’s requests and was ready with the correct instrument or swab before he asked.

Above the sterile mask, she had large cobalt blue eyes, caressed by dark, long lashes.

When the surgery was complete and the orderly rolled out the patient, Morgan introduced himself, "Morgan Gilchrist, Commander, United