Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  Kelera shrugged. Now the focus had shifted from Vili’s death, she seemed a stronger, more decisive person.

  ‘I’m not sure if there is a general opinion. The villagers have held fundraisers, planted extra crops, raised piglets and calves for the feast. These people are excellent at detailed organisation of events. But whether it’s a good thing or not? I mean, the chief and elders decide what’s to be done, and to question their decisions would be like questioning their authority—almost a sin. What the villagers give their minds to is how to implement the decisions.’

  Singh understood the attitude Kelera was describing.

  ‘You’re a great help, Kelera. We’ll speak again soon. Please think carefully about anything you saw or heard as you returned home on Saturday night.’

  Kelera nodded abstractedly and sat gazing out the window as Singh left the room to find Horseman. If he hadn’t already found out about the big event in just a few days, she needed to tell him right away.

  10

  ‘It seems to me, Pastor Joni, that the village is quite divided,’ Horseman said. ‘The chief and elders want to right the wrongs of the past through tradition, whereas Viliame and his followers want to get cash-earning projects up and running. They focus on the future.’

  Pastor Joni was behind his desk in the church office. Horseman and Singh sat on the other side. The pastor leaned forward slightly, folded his hands together on the desk.

  ‘Io, but everyone wants the same thing—that’s a thriving village. Just different ideas on how that should be done. There’s no reason why both strategies can’t work together. I don’t see them as incompatible.’

  Singh spoke up. ‘I agree, they needn’t be incompatible. But when funds are limited, which everyone tells me is the case here, the reconciliation ceremonies and the cash-crop projects must be competing for those funds. Do you agree?’

  Pastor Joni nodded slowly. ‘Io, if you put it like that, io. It could be difficult to do all these projects at the same time.’

  ‘In crimes of assault and especially murder, we look for conflict, Pastor. It seems there’s serious conflict here, and it’s been going on for some time, wouldn’t you say?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t say serious conflict, no, Inspector. Young people are always impatient, want to do everything overnight. Viliame had knowledge and leadership and energy. The spice gardens are a great project, and he and the young ones have done well. Everyone thought so.’ Horseman glanced at Singh.

  She smiled encouragingly. ‘Yet I hear the elders are relying on the future sale of mahogany for income.’

  ‘Oh, that’s none of my business, but I know people hold great hopes for the future logging.’

  ‘Do you know why the council didn’t approve additional land for the spice project, sir? Allocating unused land wouldn’t cost the village anything, would it?’ Singh asked.

  ‘I imagine they would prefer to make less rapid progress, to ensure success in the long term. But I don’t know. They’re conservative, you know. I don’t believe there was any ill will towards the youngsters.’

  Did the pastor really always believe the best of everyone? His attitude was certainly Christian as one would expect, but surely he could not ignore evidence that pointed the other way? Possibly he felt it was his duty to support the chief.

  ‘Kelera told me you’ve been a great help in tracing the descendants of the murdered missionary,’ said Singh.

  ‘Reverend Weston, io. I was happy to take that on. The Methodist church headquarters in Suva provided specialist help. They have computers there, you see. I went to Suva a few times and saw how it’s done. Fascinating. They put me in touch with the international church archives, whose people were very helpful and did genealogical research for us. They traced a number of descendants to whom I wrote, at the chief’s request. He was gratified that five of them agreed to come all the way from Canada, New Zealand, and Australia to receive an apology from our chief for the sin of his ancestors.’

  ‘All expenses paid, I heard,’ Singh commented.

  ‘Dina, Sergeant. The villagers are the penitents, begging the forgiveness of the Weston descendants. It is our obligation to look after our guests well. After all, to take a worldly view, the chief and council have initiated the ceremony for the benefit of the village. They trust God will look more favourably on our village when this burden of guilt is lifted.’

  Horseman asked, ‘What effect will Viliame’s death have on your plans for the weekend? Will the ceremony still go ahead?’

  Pastor Joni shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The murder itself is dreadful, tragic. The timing couldn’t be worse. Too close to the date to easily postpone the event, but also too close for us to recover from our shock, so we can welcome our guests wholeheartedly.’ He sighed and looked up. ‘I can only pray for God’s guidance should the chief consult me about this.’

  ‘When is he likely to do that?’ Singh asked.

  ‘I‘m not sure,’ Pastor Joni answered. ‘Possibly tomorrow afternoon, when he returns to Tanoa.’

  ‘As you say, he’ll need to make some difficult decisions. Have you got any telephone numbers for him in Suva?’

  ‘Io, I’ve got a few of his cards here.’ Pastor Joni handed a business card to Horseman.

  ***

  Ash and his team were waiting in the shade. ‘Any luck, boys?’ Horseman asked.

  Musudroka was champing at the bit but deferred to Ash. ‘We found the murder site! Well, it’s pretty definite. Less than half way to the gardens, there’s a trampled area. Not big, I’d say there was only one attacker. It looks like he fell to the side of the track. Found some blood too. We searched a wide area all around, but couldn’t find a weapon. The murderer could have taken it with him, or tossed it or concealed it beyond the immediate vicinity.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Let’s see the pictures, then,’ Horseman said. Ash plugged his camera into a tablet and handed it to Horseman, who sat beside Singh so they could look at the photos together. They were good-quality wide-angled shots and close-ups.

  Musudroka said, ‘We stripped some branches for posts and taped off the immediate area, sir. We’ve taken lots of samples for the lab, too. All bagged and tagged, sir.’ He looked hopeful.

  ‘Man, that’s great work.’

  ‘I’ll get going then, sir, if there’s nothing more. I can take the constables with me if you like,’ Ash said.

  Horseman shook his hand. ‘Do that please, Ash. You’ve all worked hard. Leave me my DC, though.’

  Ash grinned. ‘You can have Tani! I’ll be in touch soon as, sir.’

  Mere emerged from the pastor’s house carrying a tray with steaming mugs. ‘Bula officers. Would you like to have a wash at the bench next to the house? There’s soap and basins, a towel, and a barrel of water. That’ll cool you down. Then, come back to the porch and have some tea.’ She put the tray down on the concrete floor of the porch. The search team trooped off obediently to wash while Horseman and Singh took mugs of tea from the tray.

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu, Mere. We’re grateful. Tea is just what we need.’

  Mere popped into the church and Pastor Joni appeared with two plastic chairs from the office. ‘Forgive us, Inspector, we don’t have much furniture about the place.’

  ‘Not at all, Pastor. You’ve been very good to us,’ Horseman said. But he sat gladly, stretching out his right leg.

  ‘What’s next, sir?’ Singh asked.

  ‘We need to eyeball this site, even though we’ve seen Ash’s excellent shots.’

  Kelera approached. ‘Sir, I found two of the spice project team for you. Epi and Waisele. Shall I ask them to come over?’

  ‘Vinaka, Kelera, that’s wonderful. We’ll talk to them as soon as they can get here.’

  ‘Shall we take one each?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Sure. We’ll go to the murder site, if that’s what it is, after we’ve interviewed them.’

  Viliame was a hero to young Epi and Wais, who supported what Pastor J
oni and everyone else said about him. They’d worked on Saturday, clearing vegetation around the nutmeg trees and managing the curing vanilla. They had spoken to Viliame at the curing shed that afternoon and never saw him again after that.

  Musudroka proudly escorted them to the suspected murder site, but it didn’t reveal anything that Ash’s photos had not. Horseman agreed it was probably where Vili had been killed. He never liked to rely on photos if it was possible to visit the scene. Context was vital to his understanding of the crime, but this scene provided no flash of insight. Neither could he and Singh spot any evidence the search team had missed.

  ‘We’ll hit the road. It’s frustrating to be out of reach here. Even the vehicle radio is dead. I’ll call Ratu Osea from the Kumi police post down the hill. If we’re in luck, I could talk to him this evening.’ Seeing her disappointed face, he added, ‘You’re welcome to come too. That goes without saying. But won’t you need time to get settled in after your holiday in the west?’

  ‘It’s okay, sir. I’d like to meet the chief, too.’ Her eyes, the colour of sunlit sea, shone in anticipation.

  Horseman failed to get an answer from his call to the chief from the police post. Both his landline and mobile numbers went unanswered. Horseman left messages. He wanted to talk to Ratu Osea this evening, at least on the phone. He would try again at Nausori.

  Musudroka dozed off in the back seat while Singh didn’t seem in the mood for talk. When her head lurched suddenly, he realised she was dozing too. It suited him; he needed to think this case through as he waited for the post mortem results tomorrow. A young man was killed by one or more blows to the head while walking home on a village path on Saturday night. He was the leader of a young village development group which was opposed by conservative village leaders who fought the activists by doing nothing.

  This scenario was not unusual in Fiji. But was it possible the passive opposition had erupted into violence and murder? There would have to be another trigger. Could the bizarre ceremony planned for the very next weekend be connected, and how? He shook his head at the thought of two years’ work and the resources used for what was promising to be a grand and unique occasion. He was a Christian himself, went without saying for a Fijian, but it seemed a twisted theology to him. How could a non-existent burden of guilt be lifted by the forgiveness of the descendants of Rev. Charles Weston? The idea that the prosperity of Tanoa would then be assured smacked of superstition and magic ritual to him, not Christianity as he understood it.

  They were nearing Nausori. He pulled into the car park near the bridge, where some cafés were open. The other two stirred the moment he stopped the vehicle.

  ‘Oi lei, dark already!’ Musudroka said, yawning heavily.

  ‘Did I nod off?’ Singh asked, stretching her neck and shoulders.

  ‘Yes, you did. I need a drink and something to eat or I’ll be nodding at the wheel too.’ He just said it to make them feel better; his thoughts had kept him wide awake. ‘Indian or Chinese? Or maybe a hamburger?’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend this Indian place, sir. I think we’re safer with a hamburger,’ Singh said.

  ‘Great,’ said Musudroka. ‘That’s just what I feel like.’

  Horseman would have preferred a couple of rotis, but fell in with the others. They trooped into the hamburger joint. The salty, greasy atmosphere sparked their appetites. They ordered hamburgers all round with a family-sized chips to share. Singh chose the least chipped formica table.

  They demolished their so-so hamburgers in silence. Singh thoughtfully nibbled at a giant chip. ‘Tanielo, do you know anything about this kind of reconciliation ceremony that the village is doing?’

  ‘Sorta, but nothing like Tanoa is organising. There are reconciliation ceremonies after disputes are resolved, or the chief might insist on one after someone has caused serious offence, or done some wrong, or for young people for persistent bad behaviour in the village. The offender has to offer a sevusevu, a gift of kava to the chief, listen to a lot of long speeches, and apologise very humbly. After that, all is forgiven. Supposed to be.’

  Singh frowned, looking puzzled as she munched.

  Horseman said, ‘It’s a strange notion Ratu Osea has got hold of. He’s become obsessed with an ancient crime that for him is controlling the present. There’s more than enough present crime for me without worrying about something that happened a hundred years ago, however horrific. I can’t wait to meet the chief. Which reminds me, I must try calling him again.’

  Horseman went outside, hoping for a stronger signal. The chief’s mobile was again turned off. He turned and smiled at the sight of Singh and Musudroka eating chips comfortably together. Aside from cracking a case, nothing gave him more pleasure in his job than seeing his team get along together. This case promised to be as tough as they come. But Singh and Musudroka looked confident—in themselves and each other. Singh’s authority over the almost-raw recruit to CID was both natural and official. Musudroka looked up to her as someone who could teach him as much as for her rank. But the heap of chips was reducing rapidly, so he’d better get back. Still, he hadn’t called the landline number, so punched it in half-heartedly, sure that no one would answer. He turned into the grimy café doorway, ready to end the call, when it inevitably rang out. He took a few steps towards the chips, then a deep voice startled him.

  ‘Bula vinaka, Osea Matanitu speaking.’

  Horseman stopped, then stepped outside again. ‘Bula vinaka, Ratu. Detective Inspector Horseman. You will have been expecting my call, no doubt, in connection with Viliame’s murder at Tanoa last Saturday night.’

  ‘Io, Detective Inspector. What may I do for you?’ the voice was sonorous, calm, remote. Horseman felt an extended telephone call would not serve his purpose.

  ‘Ratu, I need to talk with you as soon as possible about this. When is the soonest you could meet me?’

  There was a significant pause. Then a sigh, or perhaps just a heavy breath—he mustn’t infer too much from one exhalation. ‘Morning tea at the Regiment Club. Half past ten tomorrow. Just the two of us would be best. Would that be convenient, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘Io, Ratu. I look forward to meeting you then. Ni sa moce, good night.’

  This was no formal courtesy—he was truly looking forward to their meeting. He knew local chiefs in remote areas tended to be conservative, but one who sought prosperity for his people through the expiation of the sins of long ago intrigued Horseman. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Singh she wasn’t required, but she could attend the morgue instead. She faced the dead with more equanimity than he did.

  When he returned to the table, he was dismayed by how few chips remained in the large bowl. ‘We saved you some, sir,’ Musudroka said cheerily. ‘All these are for you.’

  11

  A wind chilled by May snow on Mt Hood whipped through Portland in the afternoon. Melissa had not argued when her father declined her proposed walk. She had to admit she wasn’t too sorry. It was undeniably bleak, and summer seemed far away. Back home, she had to wait until one in the morning when Joe might be home. The latest issue of the American Journal of Sports Physical Therapy couldn’t hold her attention, even a follow-up study of recurring injuries among footballers following knee reconstruction. Relevant to her work, relevant to Joe, but she couldn’t take in what she was reading. Eventually she put the journal down and allowed herself to worry about her trip to Fiji.

  Joe was the first Fijian she had ever encountered. When she met the new admission at the Oregon Rehabilitation Institute, she immediately liked his handsome, open face and his charming formal courtesy. As she got to know him, his fortitude and dedication attracted her, not to mention the warm smile that lit his eyes whenever he caught sight of her. Over the months, their mutual attraction blossomed into love. But they were both aware that such a relationship was unlikely to last, although neither wanted to mention this. Melissa hoped they could make it work, despite a distance between them of six thousand miles and
nineteen hours. Her first visit to Fiji was not just a holiday with her boyfriend, but a crucial test that would determine their future. Although he didn’t speak about it, she reckoned it was the same for Joe.

  She couldn’t wait until one o’clock. It was already midnight. She’d call now. It would be seven o’clock on Monday night in Suva; he might be home. She texted him to check.

  Half an hour later and no reply. She logged on to Skype and called him. Oh no, the connection must be down. On the third try, the switch-through to Fiji worked. She waited until the ring tone cut out, drumming her fingers. She’d make decaf coffee to fill in a few minutes before trying again. Just as the kettle switched off, her phone buzzed. She snatched it from the bench. Yay, Joe!

  ‘Melissa, sorry darling, got back late. I was in the shower, trying to think.’

  ‘No, honey, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait for you to call. Let’s video?’

  ‘I’m on my phone, but why not?’ He tapped video. ‘There you are. A welcome sight for my sore eyes.’

  ‘You too. How’d it go today?’

  ‘Definitely murder. A young man. Not killed where his body was found. We’ve got a probable murder site, but no weapon. No one’s confessed. So not looking good for a quick wrap-up, I’m afraid.’ His voice was flat, his face weary.

  ‘Joe, I’ve been thinking, too. Maybe you’re worried I’ll be offended if you ask me to postpone my trip. Honest, I won’t. Not at all. I get it. I reckon I’d better postpone for a month. I can come in June, for sure.’

  ‘Melissa, you’re wonderful. But I don’t want you to put it off.’ He sounded bereft. ‘I’ve never had such a good incentive to break the record for stone turning and get a result!’ His cheery tone was fake, she could tell.

  ‘Joe, you’ve gotta be free to devote yourself to the case, not be distracted by me.’

  ‘I’m always distracted by you, Melissa.’ His eyes flirted, but she would not be deflected from her purpose.

  ‘You tell me how few murders you have in Fiji, Joe. Once you solve this new one, how likely is it that there’ll be another in a month? In your district?’