Free The Pearl Harbor Murders by Max Allan Collins Page A

Honolulu's top homicide cop staring him down, the musician obviously was grasping what kind of spot he was in. "It... it was on my hand... I must have... must have touched my face...."
    "How did you get it on your hand?"
    Hully and his father sat on the couch as Jardine questioned Kamana—just preliminary stuff, but Hully was interested in the musician's responses, which were for the most part a rehash of the things Kamana had emotionally blurted to Hully and O. B.
    But Hully was impressed by the unrehearsed consistency of Kamana's answers.
    Before long, Jardine was lugging Kamana—his hands cuffed behind him—outside into the breeze-kissed dark, where he turned the musician over to a uniformed cop, a Polynesian who walked Kamana toward a squad car waiting in the parking lot near the lodge. From down toward the beach came bursts of light, as if a tiny lightning storm had moved in.
    Noting Hully's confused expression, Jardine said, "Flash photos."
    Hully nodded—like his dad had said, the beach was a crime scene now ... and Pearl was no longer a person, but evidence.
    The Portuguese detective said to O. B., "Do you mind a few questions? While it's all fresh in your mind?"
    "Not at all. Shall we go back inside?"
    O. B. was opening the screen door for the detective when a figure came rushing up, dressed in white, a ghost emerging from the darkness.
    Otto Kuhn—in a white shirt and white linen pants, looking like a male nurse seeking a doctor—seemed out of breath, though his bungalow, next door, was hardly any distance. His light blue eyes had a startled look.
    "Are you with the police, sir?" he asked Jardine in his thick yet smoothly accented second tenor.
    "I'm Detective Jardine."
    "I'm Otto Kuhn—I live there." He pointed toward the bungalow past a cluster of palms. "Could I speak to you, sir?"
    Jardine gestured toward the sitting room, which beckoned beyond the screen door O. B. held open. "Mr. Burroughs, do you mind?"
    "Not at all."
    And soon Hully and his father were again seated on the couch, spectators, as the German real-estate agent spoke excitedly to the Portuguese detective. Though Kuhn towered over the little man, literally, Jardine's commanding presence loomed over the German, figuratively.
    With an inappropriate smile, Kuhn said, "I saw you arrest that... native. That musician."
    "You did."
    "Yes, and you were correct to do so. I... hesitated to come forward until I was sure he was safely in custody."
    "You sound as if you were afraid of Kamana, Mr. Kuhn."
    Kuhn swallowed, nodded. "I'm not proud to admit that is the case. You see... I saw of what brutality he was capable. My bungalow ... a window looks out on the beach. It is somewhat blocked by trees, but I had them trimmed back, recently ... for a better view."
    "What kind of view did you have tonight, Mr. Kuhn?"
    "I was sleeping," he said, tilting his head, as if onto a pillow, "and woke suddenly...." He jerked his head straight up.
    Hully winced; these histrionics were somehow distasteful.
    Kuhn was saying, "I heard arguing, loud arguing, a man and a woman. I rolled over, to go back to sleep ... my wife did not waken, I must emphasize, she saw nothing."
    "All right."
    Gesturing with both hands, the German said, "The arguing got louder. Heated, you might say. I went to the window, to complain. I think if I shout at them, they might stop, and I can sleep again, and no one would be harmed. But when I got to the window ... that's when I saw it."
    "Saw what?"
    "The murder. That man... the Hawaiian musician, Kamana... he had something in his hand... a rock, I think. Something heavy, anyway, small enough for him to grasp. He raised his hand, and I wanted to shout, 'Stop!' But I was too late... she screamed, and he struck her. Struck her a terrible blow."
    Kuhn lowered his head, shaking it, as if remembering this terrible thing... but something about it seemed hollow to Hully. He glanced at his father, to see if he could read any similar reaction, and noted his