Death by Tradition: Fiji Islands Mysteries 2

by B. M. Allsopp

  ‘Oh my word, please take a seat, Inspector Horseman. I’ll come and help you.’ She pointed her chin at the readers’ tables.

  ‘Vinaka, I’m actually more comfortable here at the counter.’ The heavy-duty painkillers he’d got from the hospital enabled him to stand comfortably enough as long as he didn’t stress his two fractured ribs by bending.

  ‘Certainly, up to you,’ she said cheerily. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘As you can see, this copy is rather blurry and some bits of the letters are missing. I can make sense of the narration, but I’m having trouble with the names—these in particular.’ He turned to the page with the highlighted names.

  ‘Io, this is a very poor copy, because the original is handwritten. I think we should transcribe this one. But let me fetch the original for you. Sure you don’t want to sit down?’

  ‘Vinaka, I’ll stay here.’ While the librarian was hunting, he thought about Melissa, who had been sleeping deeply when he left her at nine o’clock. It had been dark by the time they got home from the hospital last night. He told her what he wanted to do today and she readily agreed, admitting she could use a rest day or two before setting off for their island adventure.

  ‘Here we are, Inspector. The original 1875 report by Ernest Smith.’ She turned the pages, spattered with brown fox marks, with gloved hands. ‘The names are much clearer, despite the foxing. Looks like Wau, Matai, and Bati. What do you think?’ She handed him a magnifying glass.

  ‘Io, I agree.’ Horseman jotted the names on his copy of the report.

  ‘I’ll prioritise this document for transcription. The original won’t stand much more handling.’ The librarian frowned as she carefully restored each page to the protective envelope.

  ‘Do you keep records of the copies you make for readers?’

  ‘Io, Inspector, this is a library. Do you need to see them?’

  ‘Just for this document, please.’

  The librarian disappeared again, returning with a single sheet of paper. ‘That’s it, we’ve made five copies so far this year. Readers fill in the details, then at the end of the year we enter the totals onto our spreadsheet. We don’t keep these running sheets, we start off fresh each January.’

  Horseman recognised none of the readers who had requested a copy this year. He thanked the librarian, picked up his crutch, and left, glad of the lift. He grabbed a taxi and headed downtown to the Clan Registry Office. He explained what he wanted to Emeli, friend of the super’s wife. Emeli reminded him of Mere Tora: round, cheerful, efficient, maternal. A lump came to his throat as he pictured how bereft Mere would be today, as shock subsided and reality hit home. The reality that her precious child was murdered and gone forever.

  Emeli beamed. ‘I’m very glad to help you, Josefa Horseman. However, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. It won’t do you any good to start with these three names and try to find a connection to Viliame Bovoro. We must start at the present and work back. Fortunately, I already traced a few generations back with Superintendent Navala on Saturday. Just watch me closely and you’ll soon get the hang of the procedure.’

  The procedure, involving different card indexes and microfiche, bewildered Horseman at first. However, by the time they were back to the early 1900s, he had indeed got the hang of it.

  ‘This is where it gets tricky, Joe. The registration system before 1900 was different. Let’s see how we go.’ She was eager, in her element.

  ‘For 1875, we need to go back to the Evidence Book, compiled from statements, sworn by the chiefs, about genealogy, social status, and land. The first census, if you like. But far from complete in 1875.’

  Emeli spoke to an assistant, who brought several large blue-bound volumes to the table. She seemed to find her way easily through the data, tracking mostly backwards but sometimes forwards, making diagrams like a family tree.

  Eventually she looked up and smiled. ‘We are in luck today, Joe. One of these three names you’ve given me is Vili’s great-great-great-great grandfather. He already had three children when he died in 1875, but only one son is recorded in the 1903 Clan Register. He’s our link.’

  ‘I’m impressed, Emeli. His name?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s Bati—Warrior. His status is also listed as warrior.’

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu. It all fits. Have there been any other enquiries into the Evidence Book for Tanoa?’

  ‘I know I haven’t handled any. Let me get the records and ask around. Do you want to come back in half an hour?’

  Fatigue was catching up with him. ‘I’m happy to wait, if that suits you.’

  He examined Vili’s family tree going back to 1875, then let his mind drift while he waited. The drifting led to dozing before Emeli returned. He snapped awake when she coughed softly.

  ‘Success again! There have been two requests for that volume, both in March last year. Both by Ratu Osea Matanitu.’ She handed him a yellow Post-It with the dates. What a wonder she was.

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu. I’m extremely thankful, Emeli.’

  ‘An absolute pleasure, Joe. Here, take this tree template too. I’ve filled in the direct descent line. Like you, I’m just doing the job I’m paid to do.’ In spite of her demurs, she beamed with satisfaction as they shook hands.

  49

  ‘What are you doing here, Joe? Disobeying orders again?’ Navala glared, but one corner of his mouth twisted up. ‘I’ve been listening to you hobbling up the stairs on that crutch for a whole minute! You’re supposed to be lazing on some island resort!’

  Horseman grinned. ‘Melissa said she’d like a day or so to recuperate here before we go, sir.’

  The super frowned. ‘Oh, how is she? Nothing serious, I hope?’

  ‘Vinaka, the hospital gave her the all clear. She’s just tired. I left her sleeping.’

  Navala nodded. ‘You’re still on leave, Joe, whether you’re in Suva or the Yasawa Islands.’

  ‘Have you read my report, sir?’

  ‘Io, all satisfactory. I spoke to Singh before she left for Tanoa, so no need to debrief.’

  ‘Ah, the warrant for Ilai’s house came through, then?’

  ‘Io, it did, but Singh and the team can handle it. Before you ask, no joy with warrants to search Ratu Osea’s properties. He’s back at his Suva house now.’

  ‘Yesterday evening Singh and I looked through the material Keli got from the USP Library. When I returned it this morning, the librarian showed me the original Weston murder report of 1875. Three Tanoan men confessed to the murder but died of measles before being tried by the magistrate.’

  ‘Oh? And?’ The super managed to look both interested and disapproving.

  ‘I took the names to your friend Emeli at the Clan Registry. What a capable lady! She found that one of the accused, Bati, is Vili’s direct ancestor.’

  ‘Hmm, warrior. Is Bati his name, or is that his class?’

  ‘Both, sir. According to Emeli.’

  ‘Interesting, but why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Ratu Osea is the only one who’s requested that particular Evidence Book volume in the last two years.’

  The super sighed. ‘Where are you going with this, Joe? I’m not surprised. We know the chief has been researching the Weston murder and everything relating to it for the last two years.’

  ‘Sir, Ratu Osea is obsessed. He wanted to burn the club, to sacrifice it, to atone for the murder. What if he wanted to sacrifice the murderer too? This Bati? Or, the next best thing, to sacrifice his direct descendant, his great-great-great-great grandson, Viliame Bovoro? So Ilai kills Vili on the express wishes of the chief. That’s my theory. Probable, don’t you think?’

  The super lifted his eyebrows. ‘I would say possible, not probable. But even if that’s the way it happened, there’s still no evidence. Neither man will ever admit that. The fact that Ratu Osea consulted relevant historical records proves nothing, especially in the context of the reconciliation ceremony planning.’

  Horseman was
winded. Of course, the super was right. He’d allowed himself to get carried away by the look in Ratu Osea’s eyes as he spoke of righting the wrongs of the past.

  ‘You’ve done a good job as IO, Joe. Go home and look after Melissa. Yourself, too. The present and the immediate future. That’s all any of us can do.’ He smiled gently as he shook Horseman’s hand.

  EPILOGUE

  TEN DAYS LATER

  Musudroka and the other volunteers had done a good job while he was away. The Shiners were up against Raiwaqa High School next Sunday, and he estimated they had a chance. Raiwaqa were not nearly as strong a team as Marists. He chatted to his scrawny boys as they bolted their dinners after Thursday training.

  His idyll with Melissa in the Yasawa Islands was over. They had blissfully lazed in the shade for the first few days, made love very carefully. From the fourth day, they snorkelled the beautiful reefs off the resort and were content. Melissa’s inner physio had insisted he begin gentle exercises, however. He had complied, and now he’d given up his crutch and knee brace and was walking normally, more or less. Well, a bit less, but he was nearly there. His ribs still screeched if he forgot to keep his torso straight.

  Neither of them had initiated any discussion of their future together. After all that had happened in Melissa’s first weekend in Suva, he felt he had no right to express his own wishes, much less demand she speak of her own.

  ‘Miss Melissa, bula, bula, bula!’ Tevita yelled out, signalling his unique status as the only Junior Shiner who had been introduced. Horseman turned. Ah, here she was walking across the oval from Ratu Cakobau Road, while he was keeping a look out along Victoria Parade. She waved happily at him, or was she waving at Tevita? No matter, she looked happy. Matt Young was beside her. And a dog on a lead. What had she been up to this afternoon?

  ‘She remembers you, Joe!’ Melissa sounded proud as the dog sat at her command, gazing at Horseman with pricked ears, her head on one side.

  ‘What is this, Melissa?’

  ‘This is Tina, honey. Don’t you recognise the mother dog we fed in Ratu Sukuna Park two weeks ago?’

  ‘Hardly, she must have had a bath! What have you been up to, Melissa?’

  Melissa shared a complicit grin with Matt Young. ‘Okay, I’ll come clean. That Monday you were at work, I told Matt about her. He came back from his island on Sunday to do Kelera’s autopsy, remember? This starving mother was troubling my conscience. Matt advised me to go to the RSPCA. Such good folks there, babe. Anyways, one of them came with me to find Tina and her puppies—four weak little things, eight weeks old. I paid for the RSPCA vet to do what he could while we were in the Yasawas.’

  He loved her for her practical kindness, but feared where this story would end. ‘Melissa…’

  ‘Great news today, Joe. Three of the puppies survived and are thriving. The RSPCA will place them in good homes. It turns out they have some favoured genes—border collie, Australian kelpie, probably labrador, among others. Intelligent, loyal, and placid when they grow up. Tina’s been spayed and had her shots, she’s filling out. Isn’t she looking gorgeous?’

  Tina held Horseman’s eyes, thumping her tail and wriggling in anticipation of his orders. He thought gorgeous a gross exaggeration, but her black and grey stippled coat was glossy and thickening, her eyes shone with intelligence and devotion.

  ‘Did you know Tina is the Fijian word for mother?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t, the vet told me. What a surprise, my second name is Cristina. A lovely name in any language, don’t you think, Joe?’

  ‘And the RSPCA will find her a home?’ he asked.

  She looked rueful, shaking her head. ‘They say middle-aged dogs like Tina are hard to place, honey. I want to give her to you. She’ll look after you for me.’

  She knew he didn’t want a dog, couldn’t look after one. Was all this about the dog, or him? He wished he could penetrate the intricacies of her manoeuvres. ‘I can’t, darling. As you know, I’m staying with Matt for now, and with my hours, I can’t exercise her, feed her at the same time every day, all of that.’ He trailed off feebly.

  Matt Young butted in. ‘Mate, I’ve been thinking for a while I’d like a dog, but never got off my arse to get one. We can share looking after Tina, and she’ll have the maid for company in the mornings. I reckon she’ll work out great.’

  Horseman recognised a conspiracy when he saw one. He shrugged. Tina kept on beating her tail on the grass, her gaze steadfast. She was Horseman’s dog and no one else mattered.

  ‘You can think of me every day, honey,’ Melissa said lightly, handing him the lead.

  ‘Emotional blackmail,’ Horseman complained. He rubbed Tina on the head and smiled at Melissa as he took the lead.

  Enjoy this book? You can make a big difference.

  As an indie author, I don’t have the financial muscle of a major world publisher behind me. What I do have is loyal readers who loved my first book and took the trouble to post reviews online. These reviews brought my book to the attention of other readers.

  If you enjoyed Death by Tradition, I would be most grateful if you could spend just five minutes posting a short review on Amazon, Goodreads or other book review site.

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  Acknowledgements

  This book could not have been written without the willing help of many people. First I owe many thanks to Mr Waisea Vakamocea, retired senior officer of the Fiji Police Force, who patiently answered my questions. Responsibility for errors relating to police procedure in this book is all mine.

  Second, I am most grateful to the expert professionals who transformed my manuscript into a real book. Editor Irina Dunn gave me much perceptive advice. Proofreader Deborah Dove found hundreds of errors in what I considered my polished final draft. Polgarus Studios designed and formatted the interior with flair and Maryna Zhukova of MaryDes drew the map and once more created the cover of my dreams.

  I am humbled by the generosity of so many readers of my first book, Death on Paradise Island, who volunteered to give me feedback on my final draft. Not only did their enjoyment of this story reassure me, but I have implemented many of their suggestions.

  Finally, I thank Peter Williamson for his advice on radio protocols, his enthusiasm for my story and constant support.

  Also by B.M. Allsopp

  Death on Paradise Island

  A Fiji paradise saved. A girl’s body torn on the reef. To find the link, Detectives Joe Horseman and Susie Singh must drag to the surface secrets that have no place in paradise. Dive into the fragile beauty of the Fiji islands today!

  Buy: http://www.bmallsopp.com/books

  About the author

  B.M. Allsopp is the author of the Fiji Islands Mysteries series. She lived in the South Pacific islands for 14 years, including four in Fiji, where she taught at the University of the South Pacific. She now lives in Sydney with her husband and tabby cat. Please visit her at her online home: www.bmallsopp.com

  First published in Australia in 2018

  by Coconut Press

  Copyright © B.M. Allsopp 2018

  www.bmallsopp.com

  Contact the author by email at bernadette@bmallsopp.com

  Print book ISBN 978-0-9945719-3-9

  Kindle ISBN 978-0-9945719-2-2

  Epub ISBN 978-0-9945719-5-3

  The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry (pbk)

  Creator: Allsopp, B. M., author. />
  Title: Death by Tradition: Fiji islands mysteries 2 / B. M.

  Allsopp.

  ISBN: 9780994571946 (paperback)

  Series: Allsopp, B. M. Fiji islands mysteries

  Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.

  Fiji—Fiction.

  Dewey Number: A823.4