Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  Horseman guessed Pita was minimising his own role in the operation. He may have been a key player. Unless Pita identified his partners in crime, Horseman couldn’t know.

  ‘Here’s how you can help me, Pita.’ He extracted papers from the wallet file. ‘Look at these photos. Please tell me which man paid you for the club.’ Horseman laid down the A4 photos one by one. Pita’s eyes fixed on one of them straight away. He squirmed in his chair. Horseman waited patiently, wondering how badly Pita wanted to play for the Junior Shiners.

  Pita’s eyes flicked around the café and then out the window, his gaze settling on the police station.

  ‘Think back to that night, and picture the man again in your mind. Have another look.’ Horseman placed each picture on the table again, one at a time.

  ‘Io, sir. This is the man.’ Pita pointed to the photo of Tomasi.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Io, that’s him.’

  ‘Have you seen him before or since, Pita?’ The boy shook his head.

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Horseman knew much of what Pita said could not be relied on, but he had seen the boy’s eyes fix on Tomasi’s photo the instant he saw it, and now the boy had identified the same picture. Horseman was convinced.

  ‘Vinaka, Pita, I need to write down what you’ve just told me.’ He waved to the servery, making a T with his two index fingers. A pot of tea arrived in a few moments. Tevita enjoyed setting out the cups and pouring while Horseman started filling in an official statement form. The writing seemed to spook Pita. He fidgeted, his eyes roved about as if looking for an escape. Horseman didn’t want to embarrass him if he was illiterate, so he said, ‘I’ll read this out to you, Pita. I want you to listen carefully, and stop me if I’ve got anything wrong, please. It’s very important that every word is true. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll change what I’ve written. No problems. Will you do that for me?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Io, sir.’

  Horseman read clearly, pausing after every sentence for Pita to confirm or correct. There were no corrections. Horseman placed the statement on the table in front of Pita. ‘Would you like to read it through yourself, for a final check?’

  Pita took the paper and appeared to read it. He looked up. ‘That’s right, sir’.

  ‘Vinaka, Pita. Now you and I both have to sign, to promise this is a true statement.’ They both signed. ‘You’ve made a start to correct your very big mistake. If you continue to commit crimes, like stealing, there’s only one future for you—Korovou prison. That’s a bad place to be, Pita.’

  The boy looked scared.

  ‘I’m going to find this man now. If it turns out you didn’t tell me the truth, you’ll be charged for your part in stealing the club from the museum. You’ll go to court and probably to prison. If you’ve told me the truth, I’ll do whatever I can to save you from this fate. But if you do crime, Pita, you have to face the consequences. Do you understand?’

  Pita nodded and rubbed his eyes hard with his forearm. ‘Pita, where can I find you if I need you?’ Pita looked at Tevita, who said, ‘Try Jubilee Arcade, Hibiscus Court, or Government Buildings, Joe. I can help.’

  ‘Vinaka, boys. Like an ice cream?’ No need to ask. Horseman paid for the lot and returned to the station, licking his own ice cream, coconut ginger.

  He really needed the new radio equipment to prove itself, and now.

  ‘Sergeant Singh, this is HQ. Over.’

  Nothing but dead air.

  ‘Sergeant Singh, this is HQ. Over.’

  He went to check on progress with the constables and the super. No one had anything positive to report. He rang the lab. By now there must be a clue from Vili’s clothes, the bits and pieces the team had found at the church and at the lantana hideout at Tanoa. Nothing yet. Back to the radio room to try again.

  ‘Sergeant Singh, this is HQ. Over.’

  Nothing, then— ‘HQ, this is Singh. Over.’

  ‘Susie, thank goodness. What have you got?’

  ‘Nothing yet, sir. Three search parties are in radio contact, so there’ll be no delay if any trace of Kelera turns up.’ She sounded despondent. Understandably.

  ‘Can you speak in private?’

  ‘Just a moment, sir. I’ll go outside. Over.’

  A little later, her voice came over the airwaves again, miraculously clear. ‘Okay, no one can overhear me now. What’s new?’

  ‘A boy’s identified Tomasi as the man who took delivery of the club from the museum theft. Where is he?’

  ‘Leading a party in the outer plantations. Shall I call him in?’

  ‘Yes. Treat him as dangerous. Don’t reveal he’s under suspicion yet. Tell him we need his help and bring him to Nausori station as soon as possible. I’ll arrange to interview him there to save time. Bring the best constable with you, please. Kelepi can take charge of the search. Got that? Over.’

  ‘Romeo that, sir. See you in around an hour. Over.’

  ‘Susie, please be careful. Radio silence while Tomasi is with you. Stay safe. Out.’

  33

  Horseman waited on the Nausori police station verandah. He tried to plan his interview strategy with Tomasi, but he had no idea how the retired cop would react to his accusation. He’d just hang on to the ball until he reached the line.

  It was noon when the new vehicle pulled up. Tomasi looked unconcerned, which was good.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ Horseman said, and led Tomasi and Singh into the interview room. A constable brought enamel mugs of sweet milky tea, then left.

  Tomasi sipped his tea, then said, ‘Vinaka for inviting me, Inspector Horseman. I’m happy to help you in any way.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that, Tomasi. You can help a lot. We have evidence that you employed some boys to steal a nineteenth century war club from the Fiji Museum on the night of 15th April. It was the club used to murder the Rev. Weston near Tanoa in 1875. They delivered the club to you that same night and you paid them fifty dollars for their services. Why did you do that?’

  The blood drained from Tomasi’s face, leaving it sallow. He looked from Horseman to Singh as if they were mad. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Some kind of joke?’

  Faced with the detectives’ silence and serious faces, Tomasi slowly shook his head from side to side. He noticed his tea and took a gulp.

  ‘Tomasi, how did you get the key to the museum?’ Horseman asked. Tomasi continued to shake his head.

  ‘Did you get the key from one of the staff?’

  ‘Sir, I don’t know what you are talking about! Believe me!’

  Horseman did not believe him. ‘What did you do with the club, Tomasi?’

  ‘I repeat, I don’t know anything about a war club in the museum. Where did all this come from? You said boys. Did some juvenile thieves tell you this? Nothing but lies. Maybe they’re rascals I’ve come up against during my service. Probably they got a kick out of accusing me falsely. What on earth would I want with a war club?’

  ‘You tell me, Tomasi. I’m still waiting.’ Horseman nodded to Singh.

  ‘Tomasi, shall I tell you why you may have wanted the war club?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Yes, go on. But this is the first I’ve heard of this theft!’

  ‘The stolen war club was the weapon that smashed in Viliame’s head last Saturday night, Tomasi. It’s the murder weapon.’

  Tomasi’s jaw dropped. He stared at them, open-mouthed.

  Singh continued. ‘This isn’t a theory, Tomasi. We have proof. Why did you choose this weapon to kill Vili? It was a lot of trouble to go to. Such a lot could have gone wrong at the Fiji Museum. I find it hard to understand.’

  Tomasi shook his head. ‘I know nothing of this! I’ve been framed!’

  Singh turned to Horseman. ‘Sir, I think it’s more likely Tomasi stole the club for another reason. Then, when he decided to kill Vili, the club was simply the most convenient weapon to hand. Isn’t that right, Tomasi?’r />
  ‘No!’

  ‘That’s a possibility, Sergeant Singh. Which one of us is right, Tomasi?’ Horseman asked.

  Tomasi still stared.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat today, Sergeant?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Not since breakfast before six, sir. How about you?’

  ‘Me, too. We’ll get ourselves some lunch while you decide to tell us the truth, Tomasi. With your long police service, you know that’s your only option. A constable will bring you something to eat. You can chew things over.’

  Singh rolled her eyes at Horseman. They left Tomasi and walked out onto the verandah.

  ‘I think he’s genuinely shocked, Susie, don’t you? Whether because he thought his crime wouldn’t be detected or whether…’

  ‘Do you think he might be innocent, sir?’

  ‘There’s that possibility. But you know, I watched Pita closely when I laid out the pictures. He immediately recognised Tomasi, even though he said nothing until I pushed him to look a second time. Sure, Pita may be fudging the truth, minimising his own role in the theft. But I’ve no doubt Pita recognised Tomasi.’

  ‘Good enough for me, sir. Maybe he organised the club theft at the request of the chief, but had nothing to do with Vili’s murder.’

  ‘Could be. If that’s so, we’ve just got to keep pushing him hard on the murder and he’ll eventually cave in on the war club. When we go back, we’ll record the interview. Now, just around the corner is the main street. There’s got to be a good roti seller there.’

  ‘I want to check at the library first. Kelera occasionally visited it on Saturday. Her friend told me they’d met there three weeks ago. One of the staff should be able to tell me if she’s been in since then. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she was studying there, right now?’

  ‘You never know. We’ll do that before we eat.’

  ***

  The librarian knew Kelera, but she hadn’t visited in the last three weeks. Horseman guessed Singh had let hope get the better of her. She said nothing but looked close to tears as they emerged from the busy library. Then she sighed and straightened her shoulders.

  ‘I know a curry shop near the bus station. The goat’s pretty good. It’s only five minutes’ walk. If you feel like it, that is. You won’t find any decent coffee or posh panini in Nausori, sir.’

  ‘Lead on, Sergeant Singh.’ However, before they got to the bus station, a seductive scent broke through the dust-diesel mix. They followed their noses, lured by salty, yeasty baking.

  ‘I’ve never seen this pizza place before. Must be new,’ Singh remarked.

  They went into a basic room furnished with trestle tables and benches. They ordered at the counter and sat near the window.

  ‘Tell me how it’s going in Tanoa,’ said Horseman.

  ‘Depressing. Half the villagers have joined the search, the other half are flat out getting everything ready for tomorrow. I think each group is starting to resent the other, too. People are bringing supplies in from other villages, Tanoans from all over Fiji are returning for the big day. Looks like the population has doubled already, lots of unfamiliar faces. It doesn’t help the search.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. How are you managing?’

  Singh flashed him a challenging look. What had he said? ‘Fine, sir. As well as any other detective, if I may say so.’

  Horseman was puzzled. ‘Goes without saying.’ He smiled.

  ‘It’s not a question of managing. The problem is we haven’t found Kelera, or any trace of her. The searchers are more and more alarmed, even feeling defeated already.’ She sounded irritated. He understood her frustration.

  Horseman nodded. ‘Yes, it’s the same at the station. None of Kelera’s friends and relatives have heard from her, all they can do is suggest others who might have done, so the list grows. With no useful feedback, the checking becomes just a mechanical exercise for the constables. They don’t really expect to discover anything. The danger there is that they’re no longer alert and can miss a clue, or not recognise it. That’s what needs to be managed.’

  Their pizza arrived. They tucked in while Horseman pondered. Had Singh resented his question about how she was managing? He certainly had not implied any criticism, but she seemed to have taken it that way. He wanted to correct her mistaken impression.

  ‘Did you know that false blips are inserted every so often for radar spotters, to keep up their alertness levels?’ he asked.

  Singh took another slice of pizza. ‘Come on, sir, I can hardly race ahead of the searchers planting false clues for them to discover.’ She gave him a severe look.

  Horseman laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Good idea, though. Pass it on to Kelepi, now he’s in Training Division.’

  He was relieved when she laughed too. ‘It’s great to have him at Tanoa today. He’s in charge, maybe he’ll manage better than me.’ She smiled, so he hoped her resentment was over. He took another slice of what was a very tasty pizza.

  ‘Speaking of clues, false or otherwise, there must be something from Ash, surely?’

  Horseman shook his head. ‘I checked before I left. Nothing from Forensics either. I’ll call again before we go back to Tomasi.’

  ‘Do you think Kelera’s alive, sir?’ Her green eyes were desperate.

  ‘I don’t know, Susie. She may be, the second day’s not over yet. All the more reason to push Tomasi. If he didn’t murder Vili, Kelera’s disappearance might just give him the strength he needs to tell us who did. Let’s nudge him to prevent another death.’

  ‘How, sir?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Appeal to his conscience, appeal to his fear of the murderer. For a start.’

  ‘What if Ratu Osea is the murderer?’

  ‘As our super said, God help us. Tomasi won’t give up the chief. He’d probably die first. But there’s one thing—what a cop convicted of murder would suffer in prison could be even more terrifying. We can remind him of that.’

  34

  Tomasi straightened when Horseman and Singh entered the interview room. His colour had returned, his bafflement had worn off. He now looked both frightened and wary.

  Horseman’s follow-up call to the labs yielded nothing, so all they had was Pita’s identification. And bluff, which often did work. Even the formalities helped: setting up the sound recording equipment, the bland statement of the time, date, place, and names.

  ‘Tomasi, did you plan Viliame’s murder?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t murder him!’

  ‘Maybe you argued, he made you angry, and you struck him with the war club. Where were you? At your house?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Where did you keep the war club you stole, Tomasi?’

  ‘Nowhere. I didn’t kill Vili. I liked him. I had no argument with him.’ Tomasi was vehement now.

  ‘Two boys stole the war club from the Fiji Museum and delivered it to you on 15th April, behind the Suva post office. The same club killed Viliame Bovoro, at or near Tanoa village, on Saturday 12th May. These are the facts. The upshot is that you arranged the theft of the club to kill Viliame.’

  ‘No, this is not true!’

  ‘How long have you known about the identity of the stolen club, Tomasi? I mean, how long have you known that it was the club used to murder the missionary Mr Weston in 1875?’

  Tomasi opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  ‘Who do you know on the staff of the museum?’

  Tomasi shook his head. Horseman glanced at Singh.

  ‘It will all come out. You know that. Better to tell us now.’ Singh’s voice was pure sympathy.

  Horseman lowered his voice too. ‘Why, man? You served in the police force most of your life. We know you organised the theft of the club. What I want to know is why.’

  Tomasi leaned forward. ‘Sir, I did it because I was ashamed. The presence of that club in the museum was deeply shameful to me.’

  This was not what Horseman expected. ‘Tell us the story from the beginni
ng,’ Singh urged softly.

  ‘One of my colleagues retired and was lucky enough to get a security job at the museum. I ran into him on a visit to Suva and we had a good yarn. He took me back to the museum. I’d never been inside before. He showed me the war weapons display. He told me about the club from Tanoa, how it killed the missionary Mr Weston. He was joking, but I was ashamed. To think the people of Tanoa are notorious everywhere for the good missionary’s murder! Everyone knows this, my friend said. I couldn’t bear to hear that. I decided to take our club away so Tanoa’s sin would no longer be on show in a glass case.’

  ‘Did you ask permission from Ratu Osea to steal the club? I believe his ancestor sanctioned Mr Weston’s murder.’

  ‘Of course not, how could I implicate my chief in what I knew to be a crime, technically? But I knew he felt the same. Ratu Osea has spoken to us of this shame and how the sins of our forefathers have passed down to our present generation. Tanoa is not prosperous, we work hard just to feed ourselves and have a little to sell to pay school fees. We pray our reconciliation with the Weston descendants will lift this sin from us. God will bless us again.’

  Horseman felt an urge to argue against Ratu Osea’s proposition. He managed to stop himself, knowing it would do no good. His job now was to keep Tomasi talking, to drive in the wedge until the wall of lies split open.

  ‘Perhaps the Director of the Fiji Museum would have removed the club from public display if Ratu Osea had simply asked. What do you think, Sergeant?’

  Singh shrugged. ‘Very possibly. I hear Ratu Osea has influence, he’s respected.’

  Tomasi butted in, impatient. ‘Of course he’s respected.’

  Singh continued. ‘The museum may even have restored the club to Ratu Osea’s custody if he had only asked. I’ve heard of many such cases overseas. Why didn’t you discuss this with your chief if you felt so strongly?’

  Tomasi didn’t reply at once. ‘But I believe that the club was not the property of the Fiji Museum. It was not up to them to grant permission for this or that. Taking it away was not theft, it was restoring the club to Tanoa village.’