Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  ‘Thank you very much. Is Samuela here now?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. He left early this afternoon to go to his accountancy class.’

  ‘If I could just note down his details, I’ll be off then, Mr Ghosh. Thank you for your help. I’m sorry for your loss. Vili must have been a good person.’

  ‘He was, Sergeant Singh, he was. My goodness, I will never see his like again.’

  ***

  Singh climbed the stairs to the first floor of the NLTB staff hostel and ducked under the blue-and-white tape isolating the section of verandah outside Viliame’s room. Ash was examining the contents of the wooden desk while his offsider dusted for fingerprints.

  ‘Hi, Ash,’ she said.

  The SOCO was startled and turned. ‘Hi, Sergeant,’ he said, grinning. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you, nearly jumped out of my skin. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I just thought I’d take a look at Vili’s room while I’m here. I’m here to meet another NLTB book-keeper who was friendly with Vili. Find anything interesting yet?’

  ‘Pretty much as we’d expect from a young man studying accountancy who’s interested in agriculture. We’re lucky he’s orderly. There’s a folder of correspondence and diaries for the years he’s been in Suva. You’ll want to take those away.’

  ‘Yes, please. I’ll just have a quick look here. My appointment with Vili’s friend isn’t until five o’clock.’

  She scanned the tall bookcase beside the desk. As Ash said, most of the titles fitted in with Vili’s interests. There were also some paperback thrillers and two nineteenth century classics of Fiji anthropology: Fiji and the Fijians by Thomas Williams and Life in Feejee: Five Years Among the Cannibals by Mary Wallis. Singh knew of them, but had never read them herself. She resolved to do so; maybe she’d understand places like Tanoa better.

  Vili’s clothes were neatly arranged in a battered chest of drawers. On top of the chest stood a framed family photo and a zippered sponge bag. No mirror. A few jackets and long-sleeved shirts hung from a rail attached to the wall. A steel-framed single bed jutted from under the louvred window into the middle of the room. It was a simple working room to accommodate a man who spent nearly all his weekends away.

  ‘Okay, Ash, call me if you find anything.’

  ‘Sure. Are you going to Tanoa tomorrow?’

  ‘Not sure yet. Maybe.’

  ‘We’ll be there searching for the club, but I don’t hold out much hope. This killer is a planner.’

  ‘I agree. Maybe see you up there.’

  Next, she went down to Samuela’s room on the ground floor. A tired-looking twenty-something Fijian man answered her knock. He towered over her. He was overweight, already suffering from his sedentary occupation. His room was identical to Vili’s, except it had no bookcase. All the wall space was covered in rugby posters featuring Fiji players and other teams as well: the All Blacks, England, Wales, and France. Horseman was there on the wall too, a few years younger.

  Singh sat on the desk chair, leaving the bed for Samuela. ‘You must be feeling sad, Samuela. I believe Viliame was a friend of yours.’

  He nodded. ‘You can call me Samu—everyone else does. Yeah, we get on pretty well. Vili keeps to himself pretty much, he’s so busy with study and his weekends in the highlands.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s such a long way to go every week, so he doesn’t have much spare time. But we study the same course at FIT, so we see each other a bit.’

  Samu’s use of the present tense brought a lump to Singh’s throat. She swallowed. ‘What did you do together?’

  ‘Sometimes we go to the rugby, and the cinema, especially action movies. He’s cool.’ His eyes filled and he looked away.

  ‘Did you work closely together at NLTB?’

  ‘The last two years we’ve been in the same section. He’s a way better book-keeper than me. So smart. He has an eagle eye, you know. He’s an assistant accountant, supervising four trainees.’

  ‘Including you?’

  ‘No, just the trainees. I’m a qualified book-keeper, but I suppose Mr Ghosh thinks I’m not ready for trainees yet.’ He looked at her, smiling. ‘I agree with him.’

  Singh wondered if he just lacked confidence. ‘Did you talk about what he was doing at work?’

  ‘Not much. I guess we both knew what we were doing, so there wasn’t any need.’ He looked up hopefully, wanting this to be helpful.

  ‘What did you two talk about, Samu?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sometimes our courses, assignments. Sometimes his village projects. He could be a successful business man. But he wants to help the people in his village too.’

  ‘Did he mention any specific people in his village?’

  Samu frowned, concentrating. ‘Not much, but I remember him mentioning the pastor and the chief, his parents and the friends who worked on the spice gardens.’

  ‘What did he say about them?’

  ‘He once said the pastor’s daughter liked him. He wanted his little brother to go to university, but the kid wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Did he talk about any opposition to his plans for the village?’

  ‘Now you mention it, I do remember something now. Yes, he came back to work one Monday in a bad mood, which wasn’t like him. He snapped at me a few times during the day. Vili was always polite. Then he came up to me at our FIT class that evening and apologised, said he was so upset that the clan elders had refused his request for more land.’

  ‘Did he name anyone?’

  This time Samu screwed up his eyes in the effort to remember. ‘He might have, he might have, but I can’t recall the names. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Never mind. Names are hard when you’ve never met the people. You know, I bet that name or names will just pop into your head before too long. It’ll help if you focus on that meeting with Vili at FIT from the beginning. Visualise how he looked, how he came up to you in class, what he said from the beginning. Your memory will return. And when it does, please call me. Here’s my card. Any name could really help us.’

  ‘Really? I’ll do what you suggest. Try, anyhow.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll remember, Samu.’ When they said goodbye, the young man looked hopeful, even confident.

  16

  ‘Can I give anyone a lift back to the station?’ Horseman asked the police volunteers who were yarning together after Shiners’ training. Those points taken off Marists had spurred the team on, no doubt about it.

  Only Musudroka accepted; the others were off-duty. As they crawled along in tedious traffic, Horseman asked, ‘Well, Tani, what’s the upshot of your enquiries today?’

  ‘DS Taleca’s been upgrading my computer search skills, sir. I’m shocked that Google can’t find everything we need. I’ve searched media files for mentions of the Tanoa chief and elders, then we went out to the university library. Wow, what a heap of paper they’ve got there! We found extra references for the same list of people. Then a librarian looked up the Weston murder for us—they’ve got heaps on that. We borrowed some books, and the librarian’s going to copy everything that wasn’t for loan. That’s service for you. She really did seem very pleased to help us.’

  ‘Glad you’re learning, Tani. What have you found out?’

  ‘Sir, we’re still compiling all the printouts. I haven’t had time to actually read anything yet.’ Musudroka sounded hurt.

  ‘Well, if DS Taleca thinks you’re to be trusted, take a couple of those books home with you tonight and start reading.’

  ‘Io, sir.’ Musudroka grinned; he enjoyed this banter. To him, as to most Fijians who grew up bombarded with affectionate teasing from their families, it signalled belonging.

  It was half past six and almost dark when Horseman and Musudroka got back. They found the others catching up on paperwork under Singh’s able supervision. The super had asked Horseman’s team to stay in the station so he could brief them on what they all now called The Case of the Cannibal Club, or the Triple C. It was past seven when the super entered
the room, his face grave. He was always rather serious and reserved, but Horseman had never seen him looking so down.

  ‘Sir, take a seat, please.’ Horseman jumped up and offered his chair and desk to his senior. ‘Gather near my desk everyone. Tani, get Superintendent Navala a cup of tea, please.’

  ‘Vinaka, I won’t say no this time,’ the super said.

  The others waited in silence until Musudroka set a large white mug of tea before the super. ‘Vinaka,’ he said. ‘You will observe I’m not carrying a box of files. Not even one. That’s because Chatterjee’s super won’t give them to us. Yet. But I’m not going to give up. This sort of competition for territory and, I hate to say it, downright jealousy and suspicion has no place in the Fiji Police I’ve served for thirty five years.’ He shook his head in sorrow.

  ‘It’s clear there’s a connection between the theft of the club and its use to murder Viliame. It’s clear the thief of the club and that poor young man’s murderer may be one and the same, or at least connected. However, Inspector Chatterjee’s superintendent doesn’t want to share the case files.’

  ‘Did he give you a reason for that, sir?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Oh, several! Let me think, now. One: the case is at a critical stage and may be jeopardised by widening the tight circulation list. Two: the case is politically sensitive, which makes me even keener to find out about what they’ve uncovered. Three: there are international repercussions, again sensitive. Four, and this is what I think, not what I was told: Chatterjee found out all this allegedly sensitive information and he reckons it’s his personal property. It disgusts me, it really does.’

  Horseman was again stunned to see his reserved boss express such strong emotion, or indeed any emotion. ‘Do you want us to interview the museum staff again and try to find the thief ourselves, sir?’

  The super sighed. ‘No, I was forbidden to run our own parallel investigation. And I don’t want you distracted by competition either. Of course, you can interview anyone you feel you need to in connection with Viliame’s murder. There’s considerable overlap between both cases, the museum’s stolen artefact being our murder weapon. That can’t be helped.’

  ‘So we could interview museum cleaners if we consider they may be able to help us to discover Viliame’s murderer.’ Singh said.

  ‘Of course, and you don’t need my specific approval. However, I will pursue this matter of the Chatterjee files further, mark my word. Vital principles of cooperation for the public good are at stake. If you want me, I’ll be in my office drafting a letter to the deputy commissioner. I’ll do my best to get us access to those files.’

  With that, the super picked up his mug and left the room. Horseman followed. ‘Sir, anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Vinaka, Joe, but this one is up to me, for my sins.’

  ‘Sir, I know it’s not at the top of your list right now, but if you haven’t had time to draft in extra officers…’

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Sorry. I’ve managed to get two extra constables seconded to the case. But on reflection, I can’t authorise Tanielo’s deployment to Tanoa full-time. He still needs a lot of support. The place is too isolated, out of radio reach. And there’s a murderer in that wretched village, I’m sure.’

  ‘Io, sir. I realise I didn’t think that through. I never intended to put Tani at risk.’

  ‘We can ever only do our best with the resources we’ve got, Joe. There will always be hill villages at the end of roads going nowhere.’

  ***

  Melissa woke around two o’clock in the morning, but couldn’t go back to sleep. She made herself camomile tea, drank it in bed with her American Journal of Sports Physical Therapy, but sleep did not come. If only she knew how Joe’s case had gone that day. Three o’clock Tuesday morning in Oregon meant it was ten o’clock Tuesday night in Fiji. He was probably still up. She gave in and called. He answered right away.

  ‘Joe honey, sorry to disturb you. I can’t go back to sleep until I know how things went with you today.’

  ‘I’m glad you did, darling. I didn’t want to wake you, it must be—what—3:00 a.m. there?’

  ‘Yep. How did it go today?’

  ‘Melissa, we made progress today. We discovered the murder weapon! You never know, with more luck, we could just wrap this one up by Friday.’

  ‘Wow, Joe, way to go! I guess you’ll get DNA off it and all that?’

  ‘Not yet, we’re still looking for the actual weapon. When I said discovered, I meant we’ve identified it, and it’s one of a kind.’

  ‘Intriguing. What is it?’

  ‘A historic artefact, stolen from the Fiji Museum here in Suva. I can’t go into details, but we’re sure.’

  It hurt that Joe wouldn’t admit her to his trusted circle. But her feeling was unjustified, she knew; he was simply doing his job. She mustn’t start getting resentful. ‘I hope you get hold of it pronto, then!’

  ‘Me too. We’re going up to the village tomorrow. A few lines to pursue, as well as finding the weapon. What about you? Are you packed?’

  ‘I’ve started. My last day at work will begin in five hours. So…’ She stifled a yawn. Maybe the camomile was working now.

  ‘You need sleep! Sweet dreams, Melissa. Wish I was with you.’

  ‘Ditto. I’m guessing you’ll make an early start?’

  ‘Crack of dawn. Good night, darling!’

  Melissa hoped she didn’t come across as a worrier. Joe wouldn’t like that, long term. Long term! She often caught herself making wishful assumptions, these days. Just chill, enjoy the holiday with Joe for what it is, whatever happens, long, short or medium term.

  WEDNESDAY

  17

  The SOCO Subaru was in the Tanoa car park when Horseman, Singh, and Musudroka arrived, together with an extra constable to assist the search. They all hopped out. ‘Like a cuppa before you go?’ Horseman asked Musudroka.

  ‘Vinaka, sir, but we’ll find the SOCOs and get cracking. They’re expecting us.’ The constable looked disappointed but said nothing.

  ‘Great, see you two later.’

  Ash had certainly fired up Musudroka with the SOCO work, and that could only be good. Horseman retrieved a thermos of coffee and a couple of enamel mugs from his kit bag. He liked his coffee black, but found a sachet of Longlife milk for Singh. ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Any sugar?’

  He kept a screw-top jar permanently in his bag. Ex peanut butter. Into it went the paper sachets of sugar served to him in cafés, which he saved for the jar. A vestige of the frugality absorbed in his boyhood, where ‘waste not’ was the eleventh commandment. He passed the jar to Singh, who extracted two sachets and passed it back. She fished a packet of Lal’s coconut biscuits from her backpack and offered it to Horseman, who took three, then placed the packet in the well between their seats.

  As she busied herself with constructing her substitute latte, which she stirred with the end of her pen, Horseman said, ‘I’m not at all sure how to play this today. There are good reasons to withhold the information about the Weston war club, not least our orders to keep it quiet. But if we do, all that we can hope to do today is to talk to more villagers, try to find out more about Vili and his activities. So far, everyone’s singing from the same songbook.’

  ‘We could discover a contradiction any time,’ Singh said.

  ‘True. If we ask about old war weapons in the villagers’ possession, they’ll soon draw the obvious inference. But if we told the chief and the pastor about the theft from the museum, their reactions could be very interesting. I don’t feel I owe Chatterjee anything while we’re shut out. We could even have a public meeting and make a general announcement. Maybe that’s going too far. What do you think, Susie?’

  Singh sipped her coffee, non-committal. ‘Could work, sir. I don’t know. I think I’d rather go with your first option—ask around about war weapons and see where it takes us.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll do that. I guess it’s wise to keep quiet about Tri
ple C.’

  As they crossed the bridge, the curtain of mist rose. A bilibili, a bamboo raft, burdened by great stacks of palm fronds, pulled into the beach below them. Men and women hurried to help unload. The two detectives paused to watch. The helpers cut the vines that lashed the cargo to the deck, carried the bundles of fronds up the bank, and dumped them on the ground. Underneath the palm fronds were bamboo poles, which the workers unlashed and carried away. Then a second bilibili rounded the bend upstream, the crew poling into the same beach.

  ‘I guess this scene would have been much the same a hundred years ago,’ Singh said.

  ‘Probably just the clothes that would be different. Yes, a glimpse into the past,’ Horseman said. ‘Ratu Osea has obviously decided to go ahead with the grand ceremony. The place is like a beehive. Look, the mist is clearing. See the men putting up feasting shelters on the rara? That’ll be what the loads of bamboo and palms are for.’

  ‘People look more cheerful, too,’ Singh observed.

  ‘Perhaps the need to put on a good show will boost village morale. But it’s time for us to start work too. We’d better pay our respects to the chief, if he’s here,’ Horseman said.

  ‘I bet the newish Land Rover in the car park belongs to him,’ Singh said.

  They hadn’t gone far along the main village path when Tomasi came out of a house ahead and waited for them to catch up.

  ‘Yadra, good morning, detectives. I saw you crossing the bridge.’

  ‘Yadra, Tomasi. We stopped to watch the bilibili coming ashore. A real scene from yesteryear. Everyone’s hard at work. I take it the ceremony is going ahead on Sunday?’

  ‘Io, Ratu Osea thinks it must. We can’t disturb our guests’ arrangements and we should fulfil their expectations. Our reputation is at stake—they would think we are not to be trusted if we postponed the ceremony. Possibly they wouldn’t agree to come if we set a new date. This is Ratu Osea’s reasoning.’