Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3

by B. M. Allsopp

  ‘Okay. You know that all commercial fishing vessels operating in Fiji’s EEZ must be licensed and pay a hefty annual fee to the government. That license comes with a rule-book.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. I guess there are quotas.’

  ‘No, not quotas—they have a downside. You’ve got to remember there’s intense pressure on the captains of the vessels to make a profit on each trip—they’re paid a percentage. So are the engineer and crew. Now, a ton of tuna is not just a ton of tuna. The price the fish gets depends on the species, the size, the condition of each fish and so on. The captain wants to get the top price to maximise his share.’

  ‘Sure, I can understand that.’

  ‘So, if you can only catch a hundred tons, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Make sure you catch the fish that get a higher price?’

  ‘That would be ideal, but the captain doesn’t often have that sort of control.’

  ‘What can he do, then?’

  ‘If he’s desperate, he’ll dump the small fish, and the unwanted species—they’re called the bycatch.’

  ‘What a waste—can’t they be sold?’

  ‘Not if they’re prohibited—like turtles. Not if they’re birds, like albatrosses. The rest can be sold, but if the vessel’s quota is a hundred tons, the captain wants those hundred tons to be at the top price. Did you know tuna that die before the line is pulled in can have lower quality flesh than those that are landed onboard live?’

  Horseman smiled at Waisele’s intensity. ‘No, but that makes sense. I guess that means a lower price too?’

  ‘Io, so you’ll understand why a captain might order all the dead fish dumped overboard. That’s against the rule requiring fishers to use the whole catch: the tuna for sale and the bycatch for bait if it has no sale value.’

  ‘I guess so. Do they often die before they’re landed?’

  ‘The longer the line, the more will die. It takes hours to haul in a line. Sometimes one in four or five fish can be dead. So you can see why Fiji doesn’t have quotas, at least for now.’

  ‘Io, makes sense to avoid those problems. But enforcing that rule-book seems almost impossible.’

  Wes sighed. ‘It is. I think the future is developing high-tech deterrents and making licenses dependent on their deployment.’

  ‘Words of one syllable, please.’

  Wes chuckled. ‘Sure, I find myself slipping into the bureaucratic jargon already and I’ve only been here a few months! It could mean in future that if you want a license, you’ve got to have tamper-proof cameras fitted that record what happens at the business end of your fishing vessel.’

  ‘Got it. So, what would that mean for fishing observers?’

  ‘We still need more and more FOs. They’re not meant to have a policing role at all. They have no power to enforce rules. Their role is to observe and record the catch, so people like me in research can get a handle on what’s happening to our tuna fishery and keep the regional authority informed.’

  ‘The regional authority?’

  ‘That’s the WCPFC—sorry, the Western and Central Pacific Fisheries Commission. Fiji is a member, along with what seems like half the world’s countries whose vessels are fishing here. All our data goes to them, to the Scientific Committee.’

  ‘What’s their role?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to bore you, but broadly, it’s to manage highly migratory fish stocks—that means tuna here.’

  Horseman had a vision of hordes of huge fish freewheeling around the vast ocean. How could they be managed? ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘Not without effective enforcement, no. But we’ve made a start. Now the members are obliged to do something about problems of illegal fishing by their own fleets. Speaking of high-tech, all vessels now have to install a device that allows fisheries managers ashore to track their whereabouts. But as I’ve been suggesting, the problems go a lot further than that.’

  ‘What sort of scale are we talking about?’

  ‘Nearly four thousand registered fishing vessels in the WCPFC area, which is twenty per cent of the planet’s surface, by the way. The majority are longliners. Until we have better data, we can’t say that number is sustainable or not. The FOs are essential for getting that data.’

  ‘Has a fishing observer ever disappeared?’

  ‘Io, it has happened. Working on a fishing vessel is dangerous—you’re at the mercy of storms and lethal equipment. An FO’s work should be safer than a fisherman’s, but some accidents happen, including falling overboard. Rumours fly about violence among crews. Hard to know the facts.’

  Horseman sighed. ‘At last, that’s a situation I can relate to. Semisi Inia, an observer on the Joy-13, was reported missing on Saturday. The ship docked in Suva on Friday. Has he checked in with a supervisor here?’

  ‘Fisheries doesn’t exactly employ observers. They’re self-employed.’

  ‘How come? Don’t they collect data for you?’

  ‘Io. I don’t know why this system evolved, but that’s how it is. We have a small section that coordinates the Fijian observers.’

  ‘Have you got a name for me?’

  ‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll let Marisa know you’re coming.’ He scribbled a name and number on a Post-it and handed it over. ‘It’s been great having a chat with you again, Joe.’

  ‘I leave you a far wiser man. Thanks for the instruction. I can see a great career ahead of you in the WCPFC!’

  ‘I prefer working for Fiji, I think. Talking about careers, when are you taking to the field again?’

  Horseman was grateful. Wes was one of the few people who didn’t assume his rugby career was finished.

  As Horseman left, Wes said, ‘I hope your FO turns up safe.’

  *

  As Marisa couldn’t see him until eleven o’clock, Horseman returned to the station. Singh was briefing the hotline staff. He waved and went to his desk. He found some documents on the internet about the regional observer program and selected a few to print.

  Singh joined him at the printer. ‘Good morning, sir. I took the family photo of Jimmy down to Photography. Kelera says she’ll do her best with it. What’s all this?’

  Her bright smile and perfect grooming, which he usually enjoyed, slightly irritated him for once. The hazardous lives of fishing observers bothered him. He summarised what he’d found out as the overworked old machine chugged along.

  ‘I knew you’d want to read these papers so I ordered two copies. I think the old machine’s confused. We can lay them out on my desk and collate them.’

  As they worked, he shared his thoughts. ‘The way these observers are sent to work all alone, without a colleague for weeks on end—it just seems careless to me, even reckless. Wes told me how common it was for the longliner captains to illegally dump fish of lesser value. If an observer does his duty and records that, what impact does that have on his relations with the crew, his position on the ship?’

  ‘I imagine it would be difficult. Unavoidable conflict.’

  ‘Precisely. He can’t get off the ship. He eats and sleeps and works alongside hostile people. Yet Salome said Jimmy liked the work.’

  After they stapled the bundles, Singh marked one set with her yellow highlighter, put it in a yellow wallet and handed it to Horseman. ‘Your light reading, sir.’

  ‘Vinaka. How’s the hotline going?’

  ‘The team are managing well. None of the potential victims matches our criteria. And since you found out about Jimmy Inia on Saturday…’

  ‘Yep, time to close it down. I’ll tell the super.’ He had to admit he’d not taken a lot of interest in the hotline since Salome had told him about Jimmy Inia. He had no doubts that it was Jimmy’s head the shark swallowed, Jimmy’s hand and pieces of Jimmy’s lung that washed ashore in a tangle of seaweed.

  ‘Right, fifteen minutes to make what you can of the FO Program that Fisheries runs, and what the WCPFC means for the poor beggars, the FOs. Then you can come with me to mee
t Marisa who coordinates the FOP.’

  ‘Will do, sir. Sounds like fun.’ Her green eyes shone and his grumpiness disappeared. She seemed in a lighter mood today. He speculated about her weekend in the west. Not her interview in Lautoka—he knew about that. He was curious about the marriage broker and especially the mysterious suitor.

  23

  The coordinator of Fiji’s FO Program looked tough. She was lean and well-muscled like an athlete—a long-distance runner. Perhaps she’d worked as a fishing observer herself. She skipped the customary leisurely formalities.

  ‘Call me Marisa. What can I do for you, officers?’

  ‘Semisi Inia, known as Jimmy, has been reported missing to the police, Marisa. We’re obliged to investigate, and we owe it to his worried parents and friends. Joy-13, the boat he was working on, docked in Suva three days ago. Are you saying you didn’t know that? You’re his employer!’ Horseman immediately regretted putting Marisa on the defensive. He wouldn’t get much out of her now. She’d fall back on bureaucratic claptrap.

  She looked at the open file in front of her and turned a page. ‘As I said, Inspector Horseman, I can confirm that we offered Semisi Inia the Joy-13 deployment, which he accepted. We liaised extensively with the fishing company, arranged his travel and visa to the Marshall Islands, where he joined the vessel. Both he and the captain were fully briefed about his role and duties as an observer. A complete Observer Kit was issued to him on deployment. Thus, all standard procedures were completed and recorded.

  ‘However, I must stress that while it is FOP’s aim to provide timely logistical support to our observers, they are definitely not our employees. They are independent contractors, as I explained.’ She leaned forward, glaring at him.

  ‘Who pays them? As a matter of interest.’

  ‘We handle their payments, reimbursements and entitlements, but all these costs are recovered from the vessel owners. That’s an article of the WCPFC Convention.’

  Horseman glanced at Singh, who looked as surprised as he was.

  ‘Does a FOP officer meet the ship when the observer disembarks?’

  ‘Not usually. However, our observers’ debriefing is essential to our goal of providing reliable data to the Scientific Committee. A placement officer checks the observer’s reports are completed according to the correct procedures and verifies the accuracy and completeness of the data before entering it in the appropriate database.’

  ‘Does the placement officer actually talk to the observer when they return?’ Singh asked.

  It was her turn for a scathing look from Marisa. ‘Of course! Both the observer and the debriefer will have matters to discuss.’

  ‘Forgive me, Marisa, but if the debriefing officer doesn’t know when the vessel docks and the observer disembarks, how can they meet?’ Horseman tried to sound polite.

  ‘That’s straightforward. The observer contacts his placement officer and arranges a meeting.’

  Horseman felt like walking out, getting away from this bureaucratic circling. But he took three deep breaths to calm himself.

  ‘Marisa, what would happen if the observer fails to contact his placement officer?’

  For the first time Marisa was nonplussed. ‘That’s never happened.’

  ‘It’s possible in theory though, isn’t it?’ Singh’s voice was friendly. She smiled.

  ‘Well, the debriefer would probably get in touch with the vessel’s port agent. They’re the ones who know all the day-to-day details.’

  ‘Great! Can you tell us the name of the port agent used by the Joy-13, please?’

  The FOP coordinator was softening. She turned to her computer keyboard and clicked. ‘Yes, I thought so. It’s TTF: Tuna Traders of Formosa. Behind the port in Rodwell Road. Mr Toby Shaddock is probably the right person. I’ll print out the details for you.’

  Shaddock was a familiar name to Horseman. The Shaddocks of Lautoka were an old part-European family like his own, who passed the surname of their foreign ancestor from generation to generation. He remembered his father mentioning the name but had forgotten the context.

  Another click or two and a tiny printer purred. Marisa handed Singh the sheet with a nod.

  Singh smiled again. ‘Many thanks for your help, Marisa.’ They all shook hands.

  They paused at the entrance, adjusting to the glare. ‘How could you be so nice to the dragon?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘As you told me once, sir, dragons are just doing their job, guarding their treasure. I always remember that.’

  Had he really said that? He must have been in a better mood than he was now. ‘But no one takes responsibility for these fishing observers—I can’t understand it. They’re independent contractors, for heaven’s sake. It seems to me they do an incredibly tough job in a hostile workplace with no protection at all. No one cares enough to check on their whereabouts. Salome said Jimmy considered himself well-paid. I damn well hope so. Let’s see what the port agent has got to say.’

  *

  When he was told Toby Shaddock would not be able to see them until two o’clock, he was even more irritated. He stopped reading the papers he’d printed and turned to his computer. There was an email from Kelera with the processed photo Singh had got from Jimmy’s family. The image showed a man in his thirties, a bit rough and weather-beaten, with a friendly smile. It was still a bit out of focus, but he knew Kelera would have achieved the best definition possible.

  ‘Singh, look what Kelera’s done with that poor family photo.’

  He picked up the phone. ‘Vinaka vakalevu, Kelera. Can you email that shot to Missing Persons, please? They’re waiting to slot it into their template. I want to get it out to all the stations nationwide as soon as possible. They’ll print the posters for the small police posts, too.’

  ‘Io, sir. I’m on it.’

  Singh leaned over his shoulder to look at the image. ‘Fantastic! You’d never know it wasn’t an original headshot!’

  ‘Yep, Kelera’s magic.’

  ‘While we’re waiting to see Shaddock, why don’t we go down to Joy-13 and see if we can speak to someone?’ Singh asked.

  ‘We could be lucky I guess, but somehow I don’t think so. These foreign fishing crews keep themselves to themselves. I can’t see us being invited on board. I bet we’d be told to take our questions to their port agent. I deal with agents when I have to send or collect things from the wharves, but I always called them shipping agents. Do port agents have a different function?’

  ‘Can’t help you there, sir.’

  ‘When we see Mr Shaddock I hope he’ll arrange for us to visit the vessel. Fiji Police don’t have a right to board foreign vessels unless they suspect criminal activity. I don’t want to cause a diplomatic incident.’

  ‘You could always say you had a tip-off there was heroin or cocaine on board,’ she suggested, tongue in cheek.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Singh, I’m shocked!’ However, we could drop in on the Port of Suva Authority—POSA, yet another acronym. They should be able to fill in some blanks for us. Let’s go now.’

  *

  As he climbed the steps of the squat tower, Horseman imagined the harbourmaster gazing out to sea through his telescope, alert for unauthorised ships entering the port. Of course, he should have known better. Although the lookout room at the top was glazed right around with a superb view of the whole bay, and there was indeed a telescope trained on the horizon, the officer on duty focused his attention on a bank of screens on his desk. The officer turned around at Horseman’s knock on the open door.

  ‘Bula vinaka, Detective Inspector Horseman, what an honour to meet you!’ He gripped Horseman’s hand and pumped it with vigour. ‘I’m Manoa Naulu, one of the assistant harbourmasters. My goodness, I’ve followed your games since you were a newcomer playing for Police. You’ve given us moments of excitement over the years.’

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu, Mr Naulu. In rugby the team is everything. The result depends on every player.’

  ‘Io, but some
players stand out and you are one of them, sir!’

  ‘Vinaka. This is Detective Sergeant Singh.’

  ‘Welcome, ma’am.’

  ‘Mr Naulu, we have some questions about a fishing vessel, name of Joy-13,’ Horseman said.

  ‘Io, one of the Chinese longliners. We put the longliners on the Princess Wharf. Some people call it Fisherman’s Wharf now, like in San Francisco. Let me see, come over here. I’ll point her out to you.’ They crossed the room, Mr Naulu brought the telescope and focused it. Princess Wharf and the row of white ships sprang to view in sharp detail. They all had low sterns and high bows, with a lot of elaborate-looking equipment protruding from the superstructure.

  ‘Which one is Joy-13?’ Singh asked as she took her turn at the eyepiece.

  ‘You can’t see her name, but Joy-13 is the third along, right in the middle. These days, the longliners all look very much the same.’

  ‘We’ve had a report of someone missing from this ship. Do you have a crew manifest or a list of everyone who was on board when Joy-13 entered the port?’ Horseman asked.

  Mr Naulu consulted his computer. ‘Oi lei, I’m sorry. I wish I could help. However, we are yet to receive all the statutory entry documents for Joy-13.’

  Horseman was confused. He believed ports, whether seaports or airports, were absolute sticklers for procedure and paperwork, even if it was now e-work.

  ‘I understood a whole raft of paperwork was required of ships entering Fiji.’

  ‘Quite correct. But we haven’t received it from the agent yet.’

  ‘You mean the port agent? Tuna Traders of Formosa?’

  ‘Io, that’s the one.’ Naulu nodded cheerfully.

  ‘Doesn’t the ship have to have permission to enter, take a pilot on board and hand over the documents before it can berth?’

  ‘Io, io, that was the old way. You’re right, Inspector. Nowadays, the ship’s agent informs us the ship will arrive and submits the Request to Enter online. We send out the pilot who navigates the vessel the five kilometres into the port. Because the Joy-13’s agent is a well-respected company which has never given us any problems whatsoever, her entry was facilitated to allow the fish to be unloaded promptly.’