Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3

by B. M. Allsopp

  She was disappointed but wouldn’t dream of disobeying Matt. He must have a good reason. She took some shots. She was glad about one thing: she’d resisted the temptation to share her confusion over her brokered suitor.

  Ten minutes later, as he’d promised, Dr Young returned with Horseman in tow. Both men looked alert, excited.

  ‘Great job, Singh,’ Horseman said, clapping her on the back awkwardly.

  ‘What a day you’ve had. Between this hand and the hotline, we’ll home in on our victim’s identity soon. Seen the afternoon papers? As we predicted, the head’s been dubbed Jona.’ He handed her the Fiji Times, The Mirror and The Sun. Each front page shouted at the reader in huge block headlines.

  WHERE IS JONA’S BODY?

  WHO IS JONA?

  JONA AND THE SHARK!

  Horseman handed Singh a bulky envelope. ‘We’ve all got packs of flyers to distribute. Don’t make any extra trips—just carry them with you to hand out when you’re walking along the street. Give them to any shops you pass to put up in their windows. We’re going for saturation coverage. Every single person in Fiji needs to know about this.’

  ‘Okay, we’re in business, guys.’ Dr Young had placed the hand on his table and was swabbing it down carefully. ‘The hand’s condition supports our theory that it belongs to the same individual as the head retrieved last Sunday, which means the hand must have been in the sea for six to eight days. That fits because the skin has slipped off, so no fingerprints for you, I’m afraid. The surface is white and waxy due to saponification. Small marine predators like crustaceans inflicted these little wounds. All these features are consistent with sea immersion for around a week.’

  Good, good, but Singh wanted to see that ring. ‘Could there be skin under the ring?’

  ‘Possibly, Susie, I hope so. Let’s take a look now. The finger’s swollen so the ring may not come off.’ Grasping the ring with shiny pliers, he gently twisted and pulled. ‘I need to cut the ring. If there is skin underneath, I don’t want to destroy it by too much agitation.’

  He turned over the hand and severed the ring with a tool that resembled her father’s fencing wire cutters. He stretched it a little with the pliers and lifted it over the finger easily. After removing the tissue adhering to the ring, he dropped it into a kidney dish and handed it to her.

  ‘You can scrub at it all you like now. I’m going to put my microscope to work and hunt for skin cells.’

  The boss followed her to the sink, watched closely while she rinsed and scrubbed. The black ring emerged from its bath transformed. She must look as excited as she felt because when she glanced up, his brown eyes held a trace of amusement.

  14

  ‘D’you think it’s silver?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Could be, I’m no expert on jewellery. It looks distinctive. Could be a good lead.’

  ‘Yep, looks hand-made to me.’ He picked it up, weighed it in his hand. ‘Solid, quite heavy. Let’s get some photos. We’ll plaster posters of the ring around the place too.’

  ‘D’you think we should organise another press conference?’

  He pondered for a few moments. ‘I think it’s too soon after the show this morning. But we need to use the media to our advantage. Can you get onto Taufa Smith? We need a media release and posters. You two can decide on the text and pick the best photo. I won’t be too far behind you. I know a jeweller in the Jubilee Arcade. I’d like his opinion on this. He’ll give me an accurate description for the draft of the release. I’ll give you a lift to the station and walk on from there.’

  *

  He rang the bell beside Regency Jewellery’s door. He could see Hari through the glass, bent over his counter looking at something through a head magnifier exactly like the one Dr Young used. He looked up, flipped back his eye-piece and hurried to open the door.

  ‘Aha, the great Joe Horseman has condescended to visit me after all this time! I saw you on TV at lunchtime. What a horrible case, this Jona business. What can I do for you on this occasion?’

  Hari was even leaner than Horseman remembered, the bones of his face stretching the smooth brown skin. His shoulders were more stooped. ‘Sorry we haven’t run into each other lately, Hari. Are you well?’

  ‘Never better, Joe, never better. Don’t look so worried! No one has good posture in my trade. Hunching and bending all day to peer at tiny things isn’t good for the bones.’ His voice was cheerful. He didn’t sound sick.

  He pulled the evidence bag out of his pocket, putting it in front of Hari.

  ‘Can I take it out?’ the jeweller asked.

  At Horseman’s nod, Hari took out the ring and flipped down his magnifier. Horseman waited, noting the display of Chinese watches and Indian-style gold bangles and necklaces in glass cabinets beside the counter. Nothing valuable on show.

  ‘It’s hand-made, sterling silver, blue cold-enamelling. It’s well made, isn’t it? Probably a man’s ring, from the size. Did you find it cut like this?’

  ‘No,’ Horseman replied.

  Hari shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Aha, I get the picture. The pathologist cut it, perhaps?’

  An impish grin took years off. ‘I know you won’t tell me, but I’m getting the picture. I’ve never seen a ring like this. Nice design, nice. There’s a maker’s mark that I don’t recognise. I could give it a proper clean for you. You could see the fine detail then.’

  ‘That’d be great, Hari. We’ve done our best but…’

  ‘You did a terrible job! Just wait a moment.’ He ducked behind the curtain to his tiny workshop. In no time he was back, smiling. ‘Silver does reward a good clean and polish, isn’t it?’

  The ring gleamed bright, the sky-blue swirl of enamel sparkled.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Horseman replied.

  ‘I checked the maker’s mark on my list while I was at it—I couldn’t find it but that doesn’t mean a lot. Many small jewellers don’t register their marks. Unless someone recognises it you’re unlikely to trace the maker, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘That would certainly be a help, but I’m more interested in tracing the owner.’

  ‘Stolen, eh? Well, it’s of no great value, but people are often happy to pay a fair sum for hand-crafted pieces like this. Sorry I can’t be of more help.’

  ‘You’ve helped a great deal, Hari.’ He fished a flyer out of his bag. ‘If you could put this up in your window, I’ll be even more grateful.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. What a horrible business. The ring’s not connected with the Jona case?’

  ‘We don’t know. Vinaka, Hari. Look after yourself. Eat a little more, perhaps.’

  They shook hands. ‘Call in and we’ll go and eat a curry together, watch the rugby,’ smiled the jeweller, sceptical.

  As Horseman closed the jeweller’s door, he heard a rapping from the other end of the arcade. The distinctive sound of a shoe-shine boy drumming up business.

  ‘Aunty, uncle, shoe-siiine, shoe-siiine.’ Rap, rap, rap.

  ‘Like a mirror, like a mirror, shoe-siiine.’ Rap, rap, rap.

  The insistent cry rang out as he neared the Victoria Street entrance. It was not just any shoe-shine boy—it was Tevita. Horseman suspected Tevita’s eagerness to drum up business could come across as aggression to potential customers. Once or twice he’d suggested he could try softening his approach but the boy didn’t get it. What would a policeman know about business?

  He stepped out from behind Tevita and planted one foot firmly on the boy’s box. He’d worn leather shoes today in honour of the media conference, which made no sense as the camera frame would never take in his feet. But dressing more formally helped his confidence.

  ‘Bula, Joe! You got proper shoes today!’ Tevita’s face was all smiles.

  ‘Bula vinaka. Just for you Tevita. I don’t wear these often. They need a good polish.’ He rolled up the hem of his best grey trousers, well away from Tevita’s wild brushing.

  Tevita evaluated his shoes in a glanc
e. ‘Sure do, Joe, sure do. You wear them for TV, eh.’ He wiped the shoes off with his dirty rag before skimming his brush lightly over the black Kiwi-brand tin of polish. As he worked the polish in, he asked, ‘I wanna help on Jona case. Terrible when tiger shark bite your head off, eh. You got job for me, Joe?’

  How could he let him down lightly?

  ‘I was a big help with the war club back in May, eh?’

  ‘You certainly were, Tevita. You did well.’

  Tevita now took his cleaner rag and set to work, bringing the leather to an even gleam. His loud rap on the side of the box startled Horseman, who obediently changed feet. His right knee protested at the increased weight as Tevita set to work on his left shoe.

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is a job you can do for me,’ he said. The boy grinned up at him but continued to work.

  Horseman gave Tevita a five-dollar note—five times what customers usually paid, but he should give the boy something for his time. He pulled a wad of flyers from his bag.

  ‘Tevita, your job is to give these out to your customers, or passers-by on the street. Don’t shove the posters at them—be polite. You could say “Can you help the police find who Jona is?” Something like that.’

  Tevita beamed. He gazed at him with the same adoring light in his eyes as Tina the dog. ‘Count on me, Joe. This is easy job for me.’ He took the bundle. ‘You got any more? I can do more, Joe.’

  ‘I’m very grateful, Tevita. Vinaka vakalevu.’ They shook hands.

  As he walked back to the station, passing out flyers himself, he thought how he should do more for Tevita. Despite his urgings, the boy had not made any moves to choosing a trade he would like to take up. His short-lived enrolment in the carpentry course run by Father Francis in Tailevu made Horseman reluctant to take over again. Tevita must decide. But the boy didn’t see his life as disadvantaged and couldn’t understand his future was pretty hopeless without some qualification. Before long he’d be tempted or coerced by those older and stronger into petty crime. Maybe he was already. Life in Suva was becoming more dangerous as the evil of the drug trade insinuated itself into the unsuspecting islands of Fiji. He must think of a way to use Tevita’s hero worship for the boy’s own good.

  15

  Horseman ordered his core detective team to take a break from the hotline phones. They were tired, thirsty and hungry. Their eyes lit up as he carried in a box wafting appetising smells in their direction. Singh followed him with a packed tea tray.

  As they shared their phone experiences, from the hilarious to the horrifying, over warm salty food and scalding sweet tea, they relaxed. Horseman asked, ‘Sergeant Singh, you’ve got a tall tale to beat these. Tell us about your day.’

  They were agog at her news. Suddenly a hubbub erupted.

  ‘Where’s the ring?’

  ‘Can we see it?’

  ‘Is it a wedding ring?’

  ‘Where’s it made?’

  ‘Is it gold?’

  Singh extracted papers from her purple ring binder and passed them around. She’d already photocopied blow-ups of two ring shots. She was a gem of a sergeant. She closed her binder with a snap and passed a plastic sleeve to him.

  ‘That’s a draft of the press release text. It would be good to review it and get it approved this evening so it makes the late news and tomorrow’s early editions.’

  ‘Sure, we’ll aim for that. Ash radioed from Levuka station before the SOCOs boarded the launch. They’ve got bags of bits and pieces that may or may not be human tissue. They’re done in after searching a beach in the rain for most of the day. I urged Ash to store their collection at the lab, get a night’s sleep and start on it tomorrow morning.’

  Now he would surprise them. ‘I’ve got something to show you all, but Sergeant Singh comes first.’ He handed her the ring inside its evidence bag. ‘See what a professional clean can do?’

  Singh’s eyes widened as she took the now-sparkling ring. ‘It’s really lovely,’ she said. ‘So bright, and the blue…’ She passed the ring around the table.

  ‘I consulted a professional jeweller who told me it’s sterling silver and enamel, hand-made. Good quality. Unfortunately, he’s never seen one like it before.’

  ‘I think I have.’ Everyone turned to Musudroka. ‘I’ve seen some in different colours, too.’

  They all froze, expectant. In the end, Horseman broke the silence. ‘Where, Tani? You’re a champ, but spit it out, man.’

  Musudroka turned the ring so it caught the light. Then he grinned, punching the air. ‘I’ve got it! It was at the ROC market!’

  ‘What’s the rock market?’ Kau asked. ‘Precious stones?’

  ‘Oi lei, Apo! Where’ve you been? Okay, you’re a newcomer to Suva. It’s initials, ROC—Republic of Cappuccino. The ROC’s a café on the corner of Victoria Parade and Loftus Street near the government buildings. Out of your league, man.’ He nudged Kau’s arm.

  ‘The first Sunday of each month, they close Loftus Street and turn it into a craft market. Only quality local stuff—that’s where I’ve seen rings like this.’ Musudroka enjoyed prolonging his moment of glory.

  ‘Since when have you hung out at quality craft markets?’ Kau sounded offended.

  ‘Mum’s cousin has a garment stall there—bula shirts. She gets much higher prices than at the flea market. I often help out. I manage to have a look around while I’m there. Great stuff.’

  ‘Please get back to the ring, Tani. Do you know who made it?’ Singh’s patience was running out.

  ‘Sorry, Sergeant. Well, I know him by sight, but I don’t know his name. An expatriate—Aussie guy, I think.’

  ‘Great, Tani,’ Horseman said. ‘Your knowledge of the ROC market has just pushed us ahead by days. With a bit more luck, we may not need the media release. Sergeant Singh, get Taufa to put a hold on that until further notice.’

  ‘Right away, sir.’ She went to the nearest phone and made a brief call.

  Horseman thought aloud. ‘It’s possible this Australian jeweller sells his work in shops, too. Gift shops patronised by tourists, don’t you think? Here’s what we’ll do. Musudroka and Kau, you do the rounds of Suva jewellers and gift shops with the photos. Find out if they know the maker and if they’ve ever sold this design. It’s back to the hotline phones for the rest of you. It’s off to the ROC café for Sergeant Singh and me. We’ll get our coffee fix and just possibly solve the case in one blow.’

  Things were moving; he could feel it. Singh inserted each photo into a plastic sleeve before sending the two young detectives on their mission. She was intent on her tasks, super-competent as ever, but something wasn’t quite the same. The fire in her eyes when a case turned a corner—that irrepressible excitement was missing. Perhaps she was overtired. She’d had quite a day.

  *

  Horseman greeted the smiling barista. ‘Bula, Maura, I’ll have an espresso, please. Susie, what about you?’

  ’Chai latte for a change, please.’

  Horseman paid in advance. ‘I have a question about your monthly market. Do you know an Australian jeweller who has a stall there?’

  ‘Um, there are quite a few jewellery stalls. I’ve seen an expat, but I don’t know his name. He has nice stuff. You’ll need to ask Nicola—she looks after the market arrangements.’

  ‘Great, can you give me Nicola’s number?’

  ‘Anything for you, Joe! Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.’

  ‘You must be tired,’ he said as Singh propped her elbows on the table.

  ‘A bit. It seems like forever since we got the news about the hand. And now, the ring and Tani’s lead could save us a lot of time.’

  Maura served their drinks and handed Horseman a ROC business card. ‘I’ve written Nicola’s number on the back.’

  ‘Vinaka, Maura.’ He took a sip of espresso, letting its smoothness bathe his mouth. The intense flavour was comforting and stimulating at the same time. He called himself an addict as a joke, but maybe coffee and he were b
ecoming too close. He dialled Nicola’s number. When it switched through to voicemail, he left a message.

  He was disappointed, impatient. ‘Doesn’t anyone answer a phone call these days?’

  Singh seemed lost in thought. Her chai was untouched. ‘Sir, I put in a leave application yesterday. I wonder if you’ve approved it.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I haven’t seen it yet. What’s it for?’

  ‘Oh, it’s family business. My parents are expecting me to visit again this weekend. I’m rostered off duty on Sunday, but with this case, I imagine all leave will be cancelled. I’m not looking forward to telling them.’

  ‘We’ll manage something. I hope your parents aren’t ill?’

  ‘No, they’re well. It’s traditional religious matters they see as vital. I don’t want to disappoint them.’

  A solid middle-aged woman came up to their table and stretched her hand out to him. A wild curly mane of brown hair framed her face and hung over her shoulders. A smile lit up her face.

  ‘Bula, so nice to meet you, Inspector Horseman. I’m Nicola. I was driving here when your call came so I couldn’t answer it. I know you’ll approve of me obeying the rules of the road.’

  Horseman pushed himself up from the table and shook hands.

  ‘Bula, Nicola. Indeed, I do approve,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s nice to meet you in person, too. This is Detective Sergeant Susila Singh.’

  The two women shook hands and Nicola pulled up a chair to their table. ‘I know you’re on duty, but can I call you Joe? As I’ve been following your rugby career since the beginning, you’re Joe to me. Just like the rest of the country. Inspector Horseman sounds totally weird, like a different person.’

  ‘Joe is fine with me. But you’re right, I am sort of a different person on duty.’

  ‘Not too different, I hope.’ Nicola’s friendly smile included Singh too. ‘I’m happy to help you if I possibly can.’

  ‘Maura told me you manage the Sunday craft market.’ He pulled the ring from his pocket and placed it in front of her.