Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  ‘Goes without saying,’ Horseman agreed.

  ‘I’m from near Labasa myself. Now that’s a crowded town, full of schools and children, mostly Indians. There’s a lot of competition, parents are ambitious. Sometimes that’s not fair on kids, I know, but it toughened me up academically. I saw how much some kids cared about their marks and it made me care too. For these kids, so cut off here and all more or less related, well… a bit of competition could stimulate them more.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Three years. I’m getting married at Christmas. My fiancée’s not too keen on coming here to live, so I’ve applied for a transfer. If I get it, I’ll miss Tanoa in a way. It’s a different world.’

  ‘Did you know Viliame?’

  ‘Not well. He was only here at weekends, when I often go to see my fiancée in Suva. When we saw each other we would joke about our buses passing on the road on Sundays. He was a great guy. It’s amazing how he’s got the youth off their backsides and doing something worthwhile. What a loss!’ Sasa fell silent.

  ‘As an outside observer, did you notice opposition to Vili’s plans for the village?’

  ‘I didn’t notice anything, no. I did hear that the clan elders were sitting on his land applications. My guess is that was only to score a point, because he wasn’t humble or respectful enough. I can’t see how they could oppose growing more cash crops, do you?’

  ‘No. It would serve everyone’s interest, you’d think. I hear that people have faith that the mahogany sale will bring them riches.’

  ‘Io, but nothing’s happened yet. No schedule for logging that I’ve heard about. I hope it comes to something for Tanoa.’

  ‘Were you here last Saturday night?’

  ‘No, I managed to get away to Suva on Friday afternoon. I came back by bus on Sunday afternoon. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I mean, nothing happens here. No crime, let alone murder.’

  The boys had deposited their drum bags outside a door in the middle of the classroom block. ‘Is this the storeroom?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Io, there’s stuff in there that’s pretty attractive to kids, so we keep a padlock on the door,’ Sasa replied. He fished a key from his sulu pocket.

  The room was narrow, with orderly racks of shelves on both sides and tin trunks underneath. Sturdy hooks were fixed to the end wall, suspending large drawstring bags and some Fiji Army duffel bags. Some of the shelves held folded mats.

  Sasa waved his hand. ‘Quite a bit of this has nothing to do with the school—it’s the property of the clans. There’s room to store it safely, so why not? Stacks of good masi, sinnet rolls, raffia, dried skeins of palm and grass fibre.’ He gestured again. ‘I’d better get back to my class.’ He hung the drum bags on hooks, put the play clubs and fake whale’s teeth inside one of the trunks on the floor, and shut the lid.

  ‘There’s plenty of scope for concealing things in here, isn’t there? I’ll get my SOCO to look over this. Can you leave the key with me please, Sasa?’ Horseman held out his hand. Sasa looked surprised but handed it over.

  ‘How many copies are there?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘I don’t really know, sir. We three teachers each have one, because we don’t want it hanging on a hook where a kid could take it. I don’t know if anyone else in the village has one.’

  ‘If a lady wants to use masi for a special occasion, does she ask one of the teachers to open the store for her?’

  ‘Io, that’s what usually happens. But I wouldn’t know if a villager did have a copy of the key and let themselves in. How could I?’

  ‘You couldn’t, Sasa. Don’t worry, I don’t hold you responsible for the contents of the store.’

  Sasa’s brow cleared. ‘That’s a relief. I hadn’t thought the key thing through until now. You’re right. If we’re going to have a key, we need a better system.’

  Horseman smiled. ‘Can I ask you to think about any time you may have noticed someone going into the storeroom? Apart from the teachers, that is. Here’s my card.’

  ‘Do you think it’s important, sir?’

  ‘At this stage we don’t know. We’ll catch this killer in the end, but sooner would be better.’

  ‘Dina. I’ll do my best, Inspector Horseman.’

  19

  ‘Bula, Mrs Tora,’ Singh called out as she reached the pastor’s house beside the church. The door remained shut.

  ‘Ah, Sergeant Singh, bula vinaka.’ A moment later Mere Tora hurried from behind the house, a laundry basket on her hip. ‘Forgive me, I was at my washing line. It looks like rain.’ She shook hands and smiled a tense smile. ‘Please do come in and have a cup of tea with me.’

  Perhaps Mrs Tora needed a cup of tea and a sit-down more than she did herself. ‘That would be lovely. Vinaka.’

  They went inside the cheerful home, which Singh found so much more pleasant than the formality of the chief’s house.

  ‘You look like you could use a rest, Mrs Tora. Let me put the kettle on for you.’

  The pastor’s wife recovered her energy at this challenge. ‘Now, now, you mean well, Sergeant, but you are my guest and besides, you don’t know where anything is! Please sit yourself down at the table and we’ll talk while the kettle boils.’

  Singh did as she was told. ‘I’ve just enjoyed your iced banana cake at Ratu Osea’s house. So please, I don’t need anything more to eat.’

  Mrs Tora beamed at her. ‘Yes, I like to help Adi Ana when the chief is here. She’s not so interested in cooking and entertaining. But you’ll definitely need a bit more to get you through the afternoon.’

  So, against her better judgement, Singh sipped at her piping hot tea and accepted a dainty coconut macaroon.

  ‘Mrs Tora, I’ve not been able to talk to you alone before. You’re observant, I can tell you’ve got a pretty good idea about what goes on in the village. Can you tell me about last Saturday night? Just start with what you were doing.’

  ‘Oh my dear, last Saturday seems like a year ago, another age! How can it be just four days ago?’ She looked bewildered.

  ‘Maybe just start from what you were doing.’

  ‘Well, Saturday’s always busy for us, preparing for our Sunday, which is no day of rest for me, or any of our family!’ She sipped her tea before continuing, looking out the window as if it opened on the past,

  ‘In the morning, I was busy with housework. We had leftovers for lunch. You wouldn’t understand how this kerosene refrigerator has transformed my life, dear. I hate wasted food, even if it does go to the pigs. But why should the pigs get it if it’s still fit for humans, stored in the fridge? Pigs will eat absolutely anything—they don’t need my good cooking! Oh, sorry my dear, I’m rambling.’

  Singh hastened to reassure her. ‘Not at all. I understand completely. I grew up without a fridge in the house.’

  ‘After lunch I got ready for choir practice in the church, as usual.’

  ‘Was anyone missing from choir practice?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Kelera didn’t go. Vili arrived early, around lunch. The two of them went off to the gardens to meet the other spice workers. It didn’t matter, Kelera knows all the hymns. But now I cast my mind back, Tomasi wasn’t at practice either.’

  Singh noted down everything. Although she had a good memory, the fear that she wouldn’t remember a critical detail always nagged her. She wished she was like Horseman, who took few notes and seemed quite relaxed about it.

  ‘And after choir practice?’ Singh asked.

  ‘A few other women and I cleaned the church and put fresh flowers in the vases. I replaced the communion table runner with a fresh one, starched and ironed. Then I spent quite some time on food for the Sunday lovo. The men like to think they do all the lovo work, but really, the women spend a lot of time preparing the vegetables. Sometimes the men expect us to pluck and dress the chickens they kill too. It takes no time to kill a chicken now, does it?’

  Singh smiled sympathetically.

  Mrs T
ora continued. ‘I’m always asking myself, “Where does the day God gives us go?” But then I remember He made the days just the right length so we don’t get too burdened by our work and forget about Him. Anyway, when I got back here it was twilight. Kelera was already frying some fish so we got our meal early. I baked the soda bread for Sunday. Then our family Bible reading, prayers, and bed.’

  ‘Your children, Mrs Tora? Were they with you all evening?’

  ‘Yes, except for Kelera. She went off with the Tilley lamp to her classroom to prepare her Sunday school lesson. She says it’s too noisy to concentrate here, and she’s right! My husband says the same—he goes to the church office to read and write his sermons.’

  ‘When did the pastor and Kelera return home?’

  ‘I’m not sure of the time really. When Joni got back he began our Bible reading. Kelera wasn’t back before we all went to bed. You’ll have to ask her. Why?’

  ‘Vili’s killer brought his body to the church sometime during the night, Mrs Tora. The police need to talk to those villagers who were up late. Someone must have seen the killer.’

  Mrs Tora shuddered. ‘It can be very dark here, Sergeant. I was inside. Joni always notices the sky—when the moon rises and so on. You could ask him.’

  ‘Mrs Tora—Mere, do you have any suspicions at all about who might have killed Vili?’

  The pastor’s wife, good woman that she was, shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Everyone seems to be aware of conflict between Vili and the clan leaders about his plans for more plantations.’

  ‘Oh sure, he rubbed them up the wrong way, but murder? Never!’ Defiance crept into Mere’s voice.

  ‘What do you think Vili’s death is about, Mrs Tora?’

  ‘What all crimes are about, my dear. Good and evil. The police should think about that more. It’s about good and evil. And in this case, evil has killed good. Vili was good. Evil has captured someone here. Satan has made him kill what was good.’ Her voice quavered and she wept.

  Mrs Tora’s fervour impressed Singh. She’d been asking herself whether she should tell Kelera’s mother about her daughter and Vili. Now, sitting opposite the quietly weeping woman, Singh didn’t have the heart. Mrs Tora might well be right about Satan. But as a police officer, she must find the human being who had done evil. For that she needed hard evidence.

  20

  Horseman couldn’t raise Ash on the radio. Maybe the search team was in the spice gardens over the ridge and out of range. Ridiculous! The rollout of the new, more powerful radios couldn’t come too soon. He could either go back over the bridge to their vehicle and try the stronger radio, or walk over the ridge. He decided to walk.

  ‘I’ll follow you, sir,’ Singh said when he radioed his plan to her. ‘I’ve just left Mere Tora. Speak to you soon.’

  As he walked along the lower path to the plantations, Horseman felt slightly cheered by his talk with Sasa. He was a bright young man, with a cooperative attitude. There was a good chance he’d retrieve from his memory any incident involving the storeroom. If there’d been one, that is.

  He gave the radio another try. This time Ash responded. ‘Ash, sir. Just about to call you. We’ve got something here. In the bracken, between the top path and the lower one. Over.’

  ‘Right. On the lower path now. I’ll wait for Sergeant Singh to catch up. Sing out when you see us.’ He turned and looked back over the village. Distance made it picturesque: the scattering of steep thatched roofs, some smothered in bougainvillea and allamanda, the blue-and-white of the schoolchildren running, now released for the day, and the grass so green. Further off loomed the dark stone keep of the old fortress. He’d like to prowl around there one day when he had enough time.

  By the time Singh caught up, ominous clouds were rolling in. They left the track and headed diagonally up the slope through bracken, lantana, and grass. Horseman stopped, gave a piercing whistle, and waved. The searchers yelled back. They were higher up on the right. He glimpsed the scarlet of Musudroka’s Tribal Surfer tee shirt, then all four searchers came into view.

  ‘What’ve you got?’ Horseman asked. ‘The weapon?’

  ‘No, but something, we think. What do you reckon?’

  The searchers stepped back to reveal a trampled area two metres in diameter, screened from view by creeping lantana. Someone had removed the brittle old wood from the central space and carpeted it with bracken. Whoever had made this hideout wanted to be comfortable for longish periods and on repeated occasions.

  Singh dropped to a crouch, rotating on her haunches. ‘See, he’s made spyholes. Let’s check what he was spying on. Ash, can you see me when I look out?’ She put her face to one of the small gaps in the thicket.

  Ash checked from different angles. ‘No, if I didn’t know you were there, I certainly wouldn’t suspect anything. It’s a nice cave, isn’t it?’

  Musudroka spoke up, excited. ‘See what’s been going on in there?’ He waved an evidence bag in front of Horseman.

  ‘Ah yes, smoking. Looks like roll-your-own.’ He opened the bag and sniffed. ‘Imported tobacco, not home-grown leaves. But we’ll leave that to Forensics to rule on. Anything else?’

  Proud Musudroka passed over some more bags. There were fabric scraps, a button, and a black plastic lid.

  Horseman said, ‘My guess is a lens cap from a pair of binoculars. This is a regular birdwatcher’s hide!’ He smiled at Musudroka’s obvious confusion. ‘Just joking, Tani. What was he watching?’ He turned to Singh. ‘I think our watcher is a man, don’t you?’

  ‘I think so, sir,’ Singh agreed. ‘Village women wouldn’t have time to spend hours on end spying. There’s a view to both the upper and lower paths. You can’t see the paths from the hideout unless you stand up, which would defeat the purpose. But you can certainly see any adult walking past, from the waist up, at least.’

  Horseman dropped down beside Singh and checked. He didn’t wince. His knee hadn’t let him down all day. Maybe it was going to be okay. ‘You’ve left nothing behind?’ He examined the bracken and the tangled lantana hedge, just to be sure. Then he pushed himself up with his hands to be on the safe side of embarrassment.

  ‘And our biggest prize—one bush knife.’ Ash grinned and handed over a large brown paper bag. Horseman and Singh looked in. The first warning drops of rain fell.

  ‘He must have needed to do some trimming from time to time. How long do you think this has been here?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘I really don’t know, sir.’

  ‘When can we expect results on these, Ash?’

  ‘I’ll do all I can, sir.’

  ‘Vinaka, Ash, I know you will.’ Horseman smiled. ‘And I’ve got another search field for you. It’s indoors, what’s more! Could you please conduct a thorough search of the school’s storeroom? The one where the meke props and paraphernalia are kept. Here’s the key. I noticed the boys rehearsing this afternoon with model war clubs. They’re kept in a tin trunk on the floor. I know it’s only a slim chance Vili’s murder weapon is there, but we have to check. Who knows what else you might turn up? Have a look around the classrooms and office too. Get the teachers to open up any cupboards big enough for the club. Anything else today, boys?’

  ‘We’ve bagged bits of rubbish, sir. I can’t see it’ll be of any use, but it’s going back to the lab. We could keep searching forever, you know how it is. But in the absence of more evidence, I wouldn’t recommend continuing the search, sir. Not unless you want us to search all the village houses?’ Ash sounded hopeful.

  ‘No evidence justifying a warrant yet, Ash. Sorry. Keep going at the school until you’re satisfied. Can you give your apprentice Tanielo here a lift back to Suva?’ Musudroka looked pleased. Ah, the energy of the young!

  ‘Sergeant Singh and I have a couple more interviews, then we’ll head off. Well done, all of you! Moce mada.’

  The searchers hurried off, cut leaves from the nearest banana trees, and strolled towards the school beneath their
makeshift umbrellas.

  ***

  Horseman and Singh were thoroughly wet when they got back to the Land Cruiser.

  ‘Ash and the team are pushing things along better than we are, Susie. I got nothing from those last interviews. Do you reckon those kids really have no suspicions?’

  ‘Can’t tell. Probably they don’t want to tell us about them if they’re just speculation. I can understand that.’

  ‘Yes, of course you’re right.’

  Horseman drove the vehicle out of the car park and around the bend of the rutted gravel road leading away from Tanoa. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to Suva in daylight for once. It’s depressing leaving and returning in the dark,’ he remarked for no particular reason.

  ‘I got nothing from our lunch with the chief and his headman apart from yaqona and food. Ratu Osea is affable, but he doesn’t give anything away, and Ilai’s a man of few words, isn’t he? The most taciturn headman I’ve ever met. He’s supposed to be the chief’s spokesman!’

  Horseman chuckled, remembering the stilted conversation. ‘Yes, but that’s not a crime. I reckon one of them is behind Triple C, maybe both. We’ve got to hammer away to get evidence. Or get lucky.’

  ‘Some luck, please,’ Singh said fervently.

  Horseman smiled. ‘Vili’s brother Sevu couldn’t tell me anything more. I can’t see that young man filling Vili’s shoes. But he’ll try and who knows? Once a leader goes, another emerges, often an unlikely one. How did you get on with Mrs Tora?’

  ‘Her interpretation is that evil has killed good. She didn’t tell me anything helpful. I wondered if she knew about Kelera and Vili, but didn’t have the heart to ask. It seemed like breaking confidence with Kelera, even though I didn’t promise not to tell. She thinks the world of Vili, as everyone else seems to.’

  ‘Except at least one person, who hated him.’ Horseman sighed. ‘I really wish I could have been harder with Ratu Osea and Ilai. But I just couldn’t, not in the chief’s home, eating his food, being treated as an honoured guest! Our respectful behaviour to chiefs is so ingrained, so hard to overcome, even when our official duty demands that we suspect everyone equally. Now Tomasi is a retired police officer, but I’d be less shocked if he turned out to be a murderer than if it was Ratu Osea. Isn’t that crazy?’