The Pearl Harbor Murders by Max Allan Collins Page B

cushioned wicker chair, between two archways that looked out onto the parking lot.
    Mizuha, in a cream sportshirt and white slacks and cream slippers, had almost delicate features—handsome but vaguely feminine, his dark hair long, slicked back like an Oriental George Raft. His Iong-lashed eyes were dark-circled and webbed with red.
    "I hoped you might come through here," Mizuha said. His voice was soft, gentle, melodic. Hully pulled another of the wicker chairs up.
    "Why didn't you stop me in the other room, Terry, when I asked for information?"
    "Jim beat me to it. What did he fell you?"
    "That you and Pearl were good friends."
    "That's true... that's true." He covered his face
    with a finely boned hand and began to weep. Hully, embarrassed, dug out a hankie from his pocket and handed it to the man, who took it gratefully; for two excruciatingly long minutes, Mizuha wept into Hully's cloth. When the slender man lowered the handkerchief from his face, his eyes were even more bloodshot. He said, "She was my best friend."
    "Do you know anything about her murder?"
    "I know I saw that soldier... Stanton? She had dated him, before the sailor boy—Fielder? I saw him yelling at her, after the dance, when we were packing up."
    "Did the others see this? Why didn't they—?" Mizuha was shaking his head. "They didn't see the argument. It was outside, he had her up against the wall of the lodge. I... I interceded. He almost struck me, but I pretended she was needed by Jim, for band business. Stanton stalked off."
    "Did you hear anything of what was said?"
    "Just the usual spurned-lover recriminations."
    "Did Stanton threaten her?"
    "Not overtly. Just his manner. I do think she was afraid... she was trembling. I put my arm around her." He began to cry again, into the hankie.
    Hully waited, then asked, "Is there anything else you saw, Terry? Anything else you know?"
    Mizuha bunked. "What do you mean... anything else I know?"
    This seemed a peculiar reaction to Hully, who shrugged. "Just that."
    The pretty eyes narrowed; the smooth forehead furrowed. "You're not a detective, are you?"
    "Unfortunately, no—just a friend trying to help a friend who is beyond help, really."
    He swallowed, nodded. "You were going to talk to Colonel Fielder for her, weren't you?"
    "Yes....My father agreed, also."
    Mizuha sat forward, a strange urgency in his voice. "What did she say to you? What did she tell you? Or your father?"
    The intensity of the man made Hully rear back, a little. "Nothing, really—obviously, she wanted to state her case, plead for the colonel's consent to the marriage."
    Mizuha's eyes tightened, but otherwise he relaxed, air escaping as if from a balloon, his body becoming even smaller. Then he said, "Let us talk again,"
    "Sure."
    "I have ... I have to sort a few things out. I have to think."
    “Terry, if you know something, tell me, hell, tell the police. ..."
    Mizuha was shaking his head. "I'm too distraught right now. I'm confused. I'm afraid. Please give me a few hours....We'll talk again."
    “Terry..."
    But the conversation ended there, because something attracted Hully's attention: he saw Bill Fielder getting out of a gray Ford sedan (it beloriged to Colonel Fielder), having just parked in the Niumalu lot.
    Something was terribly wrong: Bill was smiling, his expression cheerful; the young Naval officer—who was in a green sportshirt and chinos, on this fine off-duty day—was even whistling a tune.
    "We'll talk more, later," Hully said, and Terry Mizuha was getting up and going off in one direction, as Hully—shuddering as if from cold on this warm morning—moved through that open archway into the parking lot, where he approached Bill, catching him before he entered the lodge.
    "Hey, Hully." The handsome, cleft-chinned Fielder wore a winning smile. "Hell of a beautiful day, huh?"
    "Yeah, Bill—nice weather, even for Hawaii." He touched his friend's arm. "You doing okay?"
    "Yeah, better today. I skipped Hotel Street, and