Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  Dr Krishna nodded vigorously. ‘I’ll see. Give me more time, would you? I’ve only been here five minutes.’

  Singh went back outside, intending to check on Mr and Mrs Tora’s progress with their list, but she saw them ahead, making their way to the rara. The church service must begin soon, and that would be a dreadful ordeal for them, knowing their daughter was lying dead in their church. She hoped the service would bring them comfort, as Pastor Joni had said.

  She turned back to the church and here was Horseman striding along, his limp not so bad today. At the sight of his cheerful smile, she gladly shrugged off the burden she’d shouldered so eagerly. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready for the rank of Inspector yet.

  They shook hands. ‘It’s good to see you, Susie. Is Melissa okay?’

  ‘She was with the VIPs watching the meke fifteen minutes ago. I came back here when the doctor arrived.’

  ‘Great. Had lunch yet?’

  ‘No, sir. Still in my backpack.’

  ‘I’ve got mine too. Show me the scene; we’ll talk with the doc, and then you can brief me over our lunchboxes. I’m sure Melissa will enjoy the traditional spread under the feasting shelters with the Weston descendants. They seemed a very nice bunch when I met them yesterday.’

  43

  Despite the clouds getting blacker and lower, the rain held off throughout the lovo feast.

  The rousing melody of one of Fiji’s favourite hymns, A Mighty Fortress is Our God, signalled the start of the service. ‘They’re taking quite a risk, having the service on the rara,’ Horseman said. ‘Let’s go up. I’d like to pay Pastor Joni my respects. Check that Melissa’s okay, too.’

  Horseman walked discreetly beside the rows of singers towards the front. He spotted Melissa’s back in the front row, among the Weston guests. Ratu Osea, Adi Ana, and Ilai were all there. Horseman stood at the end of the third row and automatically joined in. Not to do so would attract attention. Steadily, the music overpowered the subdued people who gave the final chorus their all, in four-part harmony and full volume. Just as if one of them had not killed two of their own young people in the last seven days.

  When the congregation sat, Horseman went to stand at the back with Singh, beside the media reps. If Melissa turned around, she’d see him. She was safe, he could do no more right now.

  Pastor Joni brought his hands together to pray. Horseman glanced at Singh—they couldn’t leave yet. The pastor’s voice quavered at first, then like the hymn, strengthened as he thanked God for the gift of Kelera, beseeched Him to receive her with mercy, to bless her mourning family and all the people of Tanoa, and to guide the police in their investigations. Horseman pronounced a firm and sincere amen to that.

  At the end of the prayer, Horseman bowed to the pastor and left with Singh, heading down the slope to the church.

  He gave in to a rare urge to share. ‘I think Pastor Joni has restored all our souls a little. With the exception of the killer’s, maybe. The hymn and prayer did me good. Renewed my purpose.’ He stopped, embarrassed.

  ‘Me too. We can rely on God’s help now Pastor Joni has prayed for us,’ Singh replied.

  Was she being ironic? ‘Do you believe in God, Susie? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you such a personal question. You don’t need to answer.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m not sure. I only go to the Sikh temple in Nadi for holy days if I happen to be visiting my family. But on the whole, I think there’s got to be something greater than humans. I believed just now, during that song and the pastor’s prayer. Don’t know how long that will last.’ She smiled.

  ‘Now I’m stronger. Is that psychology or God? I’ll go for God.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let’s see if Dr Krishna can exclude Tomasi yet.’

  ‘Good timing. Here are the first drops of rain.’

  Ash and the SOCOs were fingertip searching the area between the church and the neighbouring buildings.

  ‘Got anything yet, Ash?’ Horseman asked.

  Ash shook his head. ‘We’re bagging everything, just in case. Nothing has struck me as significant yet, I’m sorry to say. Doesn’t mean we won’t pick up on something when we get the lot back to the lab.’ Horseman tried not to look disappointed.

  ‘Any cigarette butts?’ Singh asked.

  ‘One. Everything’s very clean, swept for today. It’s likely that one butt was dropped during the night. My thinking is, even if there’s a print that does match the one we’ve got from the hideout, that’s not conclusive.’

  ‘Not in itself, Ash, but every little piece of circumstantial evidence can help build a case. You SOCOs are invaluable. Is Dr Krishna still inside?’

  ‘Sure is. Not what I was expecting, sir.’

  Horseman was puzzled. ‘Why?’

  Ash shrugged. ‘You’ll see.’

  When they entered, the doctor was packing her equipment away. Kelera lay on a stretcher, wrapped in a green sheet.

  Horseman offered his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Dr Krishna. I’m grateful you were on the spot at FSM up at Tamavua Heights. That saved forty minutes travel time, at least.’

  ‘Call me Lucky, Inspector. A shame we meet in these circumstances but what a pleasure to meet Joe Horseman! I’ll call you Joe, shall I?’

  He was a bit put out. He really preferred to keep things formal at work. But it would be churlish to reject her friendly gesture.

  ‘Of course, um, Lucky. You know the time of death is our top priority with Kelera. Can you help us with that?’

  ‘Well, I really don’t want to pre-empt Matt Young, Joe.’

  ‘I understand, but we need something now. If it turns out to be way off the mark later, so be it. I know you can only indicate a time range at this stage.’

  ‘Well, as long as you won’t hold a mistake against me. I’m not fully qualified as a pathologist yet.’ She looked up at him over her gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Well, considering the appearance of lividity and the degree of rigor mortis, I would estimate she died more than twelve hours ago, say between mid-afternoon and midnight yesterday.’

  ‘Not twenty hours ago? Before 11:00 a.m. yesterday?’

  Dr Krishna rolled her eyes. ‘Well, now you’re pinning me down, Joe! Not in my opinion.’

  ‘Vinaka, that’s very helpful.’

  ‘Just hope I’m right! I need to impress Matt Young to wangle the registrar’s position!’ She winked at him. Horseman looked at his watch to cover his surprise at her open sharing of her naked ambition with a stranger.

  ‘Susie, can you get two constables to carry the stretcher to Dr Krishna’s vehicle, please?’ Singh hurried out.

  ‘Can you escort me to the truck, Joe?’ Dr Krishna asked.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Lucky. DC Musudroka can give you any help you need. I’ve got to get back up to the rara right away. You take care now, and drive safely. Many thanks.’

  ***

  ‘Susie, let me go through my conclusions again. For each point, tell me if you agree or not.’ They sat on the floor at the back of the empty church.

  ‘If Lucky’s time-of-death estimate is right, Tomasi has a watertight alibi for Kelera’s murder. It’s highly unlikely there are two murderers in Tanoa, so that means there’s next to no chance Tomasi killed Vili.’

  ‘Agreed, sir.’

  ‘That leaves us again with the chief and Ilai as our only suspects. The only ones with a possible motive.’

  ‘As far as we know, sir.’

  ‘Sure. As for means, Tomasi claims he delivered the club to the chief’s house, but it was Ilai who came out to the porch and received it. Wherever it was stored, both Ilai and Ratu Osea could get it whenever they wanted, presumably.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Opportunity. The chief claims he was in Suva when Vili was killed, but we only have his staff and Ilai to confirm it. I don’t trust him. The pastor says the chief returned here last night, within the time frame Dr Krishna indicates. Ilai freely admits he was here both Saturday nights.’

  ‘They both smo
ke, too,’ Singh added.

  ‘Ah yes. Our watcher. Not necessarily the murderer, but probable. Was it Vili or Kelera he was spying on, or both?’

  Singh continued. ‘And why? Was the plan always to kill Vili? In which case, was he simply waiting for the right moment? Tomasi stole the club three weeks before Vili’s murder.’

  Horseman pondered. ‘If he was fixated on Kelera, the watcher might have killed Vili to get him out of the way.’

  ‘True. But Kelera?’

  ‘As I’ve said before, the chief strikes me as obsessive about today’s ceremonies. So he could nurse other obsessions, too.’

  ‘I agree. sir. But somehow I think he’s less likely than Ilai to carve out a hideout in the lantana and keep watch for hours on end. However, that could be due to my prejudice that such behaviour is the opposite of chiefly.’

  ‘True, Ilai gives away even less than the chief. My gut feeling is he’s the better bet.’

  ‘Mine too. We can go in hard, but I wonder if either will tell us anything after the ceremonies. My guess is they won’t.’ Singh sighed.

  ‘If we’re right about Ilai, why did the chief want the club? It can’t have been to kill Vili, unless his murder was masterminded by the chief. Always possible. But if Ilai was acting alone…’

  ‘Tomasi talked about the village shame, and wanting to remove the club from public view. Don’t you believe that was the chief’s suggestion?’ Singh asked.

  ‘I think it’s what the chief told Tomasi. But I’m sure there’s more. The timing of the theft is relevant—plenty of time before today for another try or two if the plan didn’t work the first time. The chief is fixated on the apology ceremony. That club has a role to play today, I’m sure of it.’

  Horseman got up, propped open the nearest shutter, and looked out. ‘That sprinkle of rain is getting heavier. People are moving off the rara now. They must have decided to use the school for the reconciliation ceremony.’

  ‘Do we go up there now?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Yes. That’s where the action’s going to be.’

  She looked at him, her green eyes clouded. ‘I don’t know how the Tanoans can keep going with all this.’

  ‘They’re the same as us. They keep going because they have to. Duty.’

  Singh looked down. ‘I keep seeing Kelera, strangled. I’m afraid,’ she whispered.

  Any response would be crass, but he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard her fear. He touched her shoulder. ‘That’s because you don’t know what’s coming. None of us does. Let’s go up to the school and face it. Then you’ll be fine, Susie.’

  44

  Horseman and Singh grabbed umbrellas and hurried to the school. Butting up against a classroom, the shelter shed was open on three sides. The rain machine-gunned the corrugated iron roof. Mist crept in, enshrouding the garlands of yellow allamanda and purple bougainvillea. It was damp and chill.

  In the front row of the seated audience sat Pastor Joni, Sasa the teacher, and Melissa. She flashed Horseman a happy smile as he entered with Singh. Uniformed constables hovered at the back and the sides.

  The Weston descendants stood in a line at right angles to the wall. Facing them about two metres away was a line of Tanoan elders. In between the rows stood Ratu Osea, in tailored sulu, white shirt with Fiji Regiment tie, formal pinstripe jacket. In front of the chief stood a metre-high wooden bracket, its fascia carved with the word Destroyer in Fijian. On the bracket rested an old war club. It looked like the club which crushed Rev Weston’s skull a hundred and thirty years ago, and that of Viliame Bovoro eight days ago. It was the same shape, but Horseman couldn’t see the detailed carving. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t seize the club and wreck the ceremony. What if it was a balsa-wood mock-up like the meke props?

  Two older boys came in, carrying a firepit made from a 44-gallon drum cut in half and fitted with wooden carrying poles. It contained smouldering coals. The boys added kindling, then more wood as the fire got going. The warmth was welcome. A thoughtful, hospitable gesture.

  Ratu Osea began to speak, but he was hard to hear above the hammering rain. Horseman only caught snatches. The chief spoke in English, addressing the Weston descendants directly.

  ‘…tradition to name the finest chiefly clubs…when Destroyer killed your worthy ancestor, it also destroyed…my village…never again…our children…the sins of our ancestors…God to forgive us…your forgiveness. To prove our sincerity…witness the end of Destroyer.’

  ‘What? That was what the fire was for?’ He turned to Singh. ‘Tell the nearest uniform to be ready to seize the club if it goes in the fire.’ Horseman had a word with the other constables. So he missed what the chief said next. Ilai approached Ratu Osea and knelt. The chief solemnly picked up the club and laid it in Ilai’s spread hands. The atmosphere was electric. Ilai approached the fire, lowered the club.

  Horseman and two constables edged in. Ilai froze for just a beat, then straightened up and held Destroyer aloft.

  ‘No, no, Destroyer shall not burn! Never!’ Ilai’s bull’s roar cut through the drumming rain.

  ‘Stop, Ilai, I command you!’ the chief ordered.

  ‘Our ancestors are angry! Hear their drums of war! I obey our ancestors!’ the headman shouted. He whirled the deadly club around his head, suddenly lunged, grabbed Melissa, and knocked Sasa flying as he tried to pull her away. The arc of the whirling club was huge, rising and falling at Ilai’s will. Stunned, people reeled away. Those on the fringes ran, those in the middle dropped to the mats and rolled. Women and children screamed. A constable tackled Ilai from behind, but the club whacked him as it whirled, leaving him sprawled on his face. Ilai cleared a path with the wildly looping club, headed out the side of the shed, dragged Melissa down the slope, one arm pinning her to him from shoulder to waist. She stumbled and lost her foothold. Ilai cuffed her, lowered his arm to her waist, half-carrying her. Melissa did not cry out.

  What had he done? Lured the woman he loved to her death? He had failed her. But Ilai could not harm her, would not win.

  Was Ilai making for the bridge and the car park? Perhaps the murderer didn’t know himself. He could only give chase. ‘Tanielo, get ahead and cut Ilai off at the bridge. He mustn’t cross. Constable, go with him. Singh, radio the SOCOs and get them on the chase. Then arrest the chief. I’m going after Ilai.’

  Fear drove him, fear for Melissa. His body must obey. His knee must work. He hurtled after Ilai, who was slowed by dragging Melissa and wielding the weighty club. Musudroka was already ahead of them. Go, Tani, man!

  Damn the wet grass! He slipped, ended up scrabbling, then rolling. He managed to stop, pushed up to his feet, gave chase again.

  Tani and the uniform reached the bridge. Ilai read their tactic and veered off to the right well before the bridge. How terrified was Melissa? Ilai gripped her so tightly she must be in pain. He hoped she could faint—she wouldn’t feel the pain and Ilai would have to carry her full weight. The chasers and the quarry were equally handicapped by the infernal downpour and slick, treacherous surface. Where could Ilai go? He knew every clod of his land. Horseman had no chance of predicting his destination, if he had one.

  Ilai forced Melissa along a route roughly parallel with the river bank. There were no more structures, only pig pens further up the hill. Horseman glanced behind. Some of the villagers had picked themselves up and joined the chase.

  Ilai suddenly veered again, stumbled but regained his balance, sweeping Melissa up and tossing her over his shoulder. Had she tried to trip him up? Do not be brave, Melissa; he could kill you if you anger him!

  But Ilai had veered on purpose. He now headed back to the river, to the steep cliffs past the bridge. Would he jump off? Throw Melissa onto the rocks far below? No, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. She was a hostage, a means to an end, a lever.

  Horseman gradually closed the gap. He was about ten metres behind Ilai when he understood. Ahead of them was the ruined fortress. Ilai intended to hold out in his ancesto
rs’ bloody keep. He would hold the high ground, literally.

  Horseman paused to take in the field. Now he could see Musudroka and the constable moving quickly along from the bridge, keeping below the top of the cliff. The SOCOs were still way off, running along the main street, but they’d catch up in a few minutes. Did they have a few minutes? Horseman gestured to Musudroka, now just a few metres behind him. Pointing up at the fort, he signalled him to approach the fortress from the river. Just like attackers in the days when Destroyer was young. Was the club the original Destroyer, then? Ilai must believe so—he wouldn’t defy the chief to save a mock-up.

  Now Ilai climbed up to the fortress, the stones black and streaming with rain. His bare feet were sure. Destroyer was his prop now. Melissa no longer struggled.

  ‘Ilai, there’s nowhere else for you to go. Stop there and let’s talk.’ Hard to sound calm when shouting.

  Ilai gave no sign he’d heard. Louder. ‘Ilai, where are you going? Stop, we can talk.’

  When Ilai was at the top, beside the topmost boulder, he turned. He let Melissa down from his shoulder, pinning her to his body with one arm, so tight she gasped.

  ‘Ilai, have sense, man. Melissa can hardly breathe. Let her go. She hasn’t offended you. Please, let her go.’

  Now Singh was beside him. ‘Ratu Osea wants to speak to Ilai, sir.’ Horseman couldn’t take his eyes off Ilai. ‘A few seconds, Ratu. That’s it.’ Ilai had defied his chief, why would he listen to him now?

  ‘Ilai, please release my guest, Melissa. Remember your duty as my headman, as a host. I command you, as your chief.’

  ‘You betrayed me, all of us. How could you cast Destroyer into the furnace? You are the destroyer, Ratu!’ He raised the club, held it aloft, shaking it before the gathering crowd below. Horseman inched closer while Ilai eyed his audience.

  ‘Ilai, God will forgive your sins if you repent. You know that. Do not harm this innocent. Please, in Jesus’ name, let our guest go,’ Pastor Joni said. Horseman was at the top of the earth rampart now. He smiled at Melissa. Her eyes implored him, but she managed a faint smile.