The Pearl Harbor Murders by Max Allan Collins Page A

stroked his chin, which was almost as blue as his shirt—he needed a shave.
    "Besides Harry, and Pearl? Just a couple. Most are local. Harry's from the big island, though, and needs lodging when we work Oahu, which lately has been most of the time."
    "I had the idea that Pearl lived with her uncle, that grocer, in Chinatown."
    Kaupiko nodded. "She did, when she first came here. But once we got this steady gig at the Niumalu, Harry negotiated with Mr. Bivens to get her a room in the lodge."
    "Who else lives here at the hotel?"
    The musician looked around, rather furtively, apparently checking to see if any of his band mates were watching... or listening.
    “Terry Mizuha," he said, finally. "He's the only guy besides Harry that was really cozy with Pearl."
    "Did she date him, too?"
    Kaupiko laughed.
    "What's so funny, Jim?"
    "Sorry." The musician's expression was sober again. "Listen, I don't want to talk outta school. Terry's a great guy, helluva guitar player."
    "Okay—now drop the other shoe."
    He shrugged. "I don't think Terry likes dolls. He's, uh ... you know." Kaupiko held up his hand and made a sideways shaking gesture.
    "But he and Pearl were friends?"
    "Yeah. Sort of... 'girlfriends.' Hey, don't spread that around. We don't care about Terry's tastes—he's discreet and he's a good musician and he's our pal. Anyway, some of the people we work for might not hire us if they knew he was that way. So mum's the word."
    "I appreciate you leveling with me, Jim."
    Kaupiko sighed, shook his head. "We all loved Pearl. She could've taken us to Hollywood or somethin', someday, if some bastard hadn't done her in. And I want to thank you for saying what you did in front of the band—you really got everybody thinking. I mean, in our hearts we didn't believe Harry could have done that terrible thing ... but we believed what we were told."
    "That's understandable."
    He sighed again, relieved this time. "Anyway, I'm going down to the police station and see about Harry—like you suggested."
    "Good. Before you go, is there anything else you can think of, that might be pertinent?"
    Kaupiko's eyes squeezed tight in thought. "Come to think of it... I did see Pearl have an argument last night, but not with Harry. Before we went onstage."
    Hully leaned in. "Who with?"
    "Do you know that Japanese diplomat, that idiot skirt-chaser Morimura?"
    "I know who he is—he sat with Dad and me at the luau."
    Kaupiko nodded. "Well, he had her cornered, out in the parking lot, away from everybody and everything, out by that big fancy car of his—it's a Lincoln. He was really chewing her out, shaking his finger at her....
    She just had her arms folded and was taking it, chin up, kinda proud."
    "Huh," Hully grunted. "What did you make of that?"
    Kaupiko shrugged elaborately. "I didn't know what to think, and I never said a word to Pearl about it. I mean, I always thought that Morimura character was just a harmless grinning jerk, always chasing tail."
    "You think Pearl and Morimura may have dated?"
    Another, less elaborate shrug. "I suppose anything is possible. But it doesn't ring true, somehow. Morimura doesn't seem her type—she liked musicians, and she liked servicemen ... that was about it. And that's the only time I ever saw them together."
    "Okay."
    Kaupiko gestured with a pointing finger. "If that cop asks me about this, I'm gonna tell him, too."
    "Good. It's not a competition—in fact, say and do anything you can that will help get that guy Jardine off the dime, and looking at some suspects besides Harry Kamana."
    The two men shook hands, and Kaupiko headed back toward the bandstand, while Hully returned to the lobby, intending to ask Bivens which room was Terry Mizuha's, wanting to talk to the guitar player.
    But Bivens was no longer behind the front desk, apparently off doing some other Niumalu chore. That was all right—it was even good—because Hully didn't need Bivens's help to find Terry Mizuha.
    The slender musician was sitting on a