One Blood

by Graeme Kent

  The sound of ragged chanting came from one of the huts. A few minutes later a line of men and women straggled out into the cluttered village square. Sister Conchita saw that Mary Gui was among the twenty islanders who had been praying indoors. Conchita knew nothing about the pathway-sending ceremony except that it was designed to send the soul of a dead leader to the island he had chosen, where his spirit could roam freely during the everlasting afterlife. In reality, Dontate’s body was now mouldering on a leaf bed on a treetop on Skull Island. When the appropriate time came, it would be taken down and buried, but not before his skull was added to the cache of great Roviana chiefs there.

  The mourners stood in a straight line facing the custom priest. Only the women were singing, expressing their loss and asking the spirits what would happen to them now that their protector had gone. When they fell silent, an old man stepped forward and began talking in a reedy voice. No one had made any attempt to wear custom dress. Even the priest wore only a pair of shorts and a singlet.

  ‘On behalf of the village, that old man is asking the gods for protection, support and guidance now that Joe has gone,’ said a familiar voice at Conchita’s side. ‘These were all the things he gave to his line while he was alive.’ Mary Gui had slipped away from the line of mourners to join her. ‘Some of the men have gone into the bush to cut down an almond tree in his memory. Then there will be a feast. After that, Joe’s friends and relatives will stay in his hut for three nights, praying for his spirit. Will you stay for the feast, Sister? You are welcome to do so.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid that I must be leaving,’ said Conchita. ‘Actually, I came up here because I was hoping to find you. May I talk to you for a few minutes?’

  Mary looked across at the village square. The islanders were making preparations for the feast. A pig had been killed and roasted on a spit. There were piles of fruit and vegetables on banana leaves on the ground. The rest of the villagers were beginning to assemble.

  ‘As long as I’m back in time for the three mourning nights,’ she said. ‘No one will miss me at the feast. I’m a stranger to most of the villagers anyway. I seldom came up here when Joe was alive. Between you and me, it’s a dirty, unhygienic place. Let’s walk down the hill and get away from it.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you about Andy Russell,’ said Conchita as they started strolling back down towards Gizo. ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘The VSO?’ asked Mary. ‘I hardly knew him. I’ve only been back from Australia for a few weeks, if you remember. He seems quite nice.’

  ‘Didn’t he help you with the independence party?’ asked Conchita.

  ‘Not really,’ said Mary. ‘He might have come to one or two meetings. I don’t remember. He hardly ever said anything if he did come.’

  ‘That’s strange. I had an idea that he helped you with the administration, writing letters and so on. Didn’t he even have anything to say about the logging operations?’

  ‘I don’t know; I can’t remember if he did.’

  ‘If you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Sister Conchita, ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ asked Mary with a flash of anger.

  ‘I think,’ said Sister Conchita in neutral tones, ‘that you are a pretty and charming young lady who has discovered quite early on in life how to adapt these attributes to her own advantage. In short, Miss Gui, you know how to use people.’

  ‘That’s a dreadful thing for a nun to say,’ said Mary.

  ‘You used Joe Dontate because you thought he would have the power in the West to help you fulfil your own ambitions, whatever they may be, and I suspect that somehow or other you have also used Sergeant Kella because you thought he might also be of help to you one day.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  ‘But most of all,’ said Sister Conchita inexorably, ‘you have seduced and used a young boy in Andy Russell, again for your own selfish ends.’

  ‘This is all rubbish,’ said Mary, stopping. ‘I won’t listen to any more!’

  ‘I’ve almost finished,’ said Sister Conchita. ‘You set up this spurious organisation called the Solomon Islands Independence Party and you persuaded a few of the disgruntled local islanders to join it, but you have really been using it as a front for your own ends.’

  ‘What ends?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but you played on the enthusiasm of a credulous young man like Andy and persuaded him to make a couple of efforts to sabotage the logging company on Alvaro island, convincing him that it was in the interests of the people of the Solomons.’

  ‘How could I possibly do that?’ asked Mary.

  ‘As I said, you have a talent for making the most of people and situations. The local District Commissioner, who I am afraid is a lazy and inefficient official, sent Andy to Kasolo for some work experience, and then forgot all about him, in effect stranding an inexperienced young boy on a small uninhabited island in the lagoon.’

  ‘That doesn’t have anything to do with me.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. But you, on the other hand, did realize that Andy had not returned to Gizo. You asked around and discovered that he had been sent to Kasolo. You went there by canoe on your own and found him in a state of some distress and extremely resentful at the way he had been treated by the authorities. With your particular talent for turning events to your own advantage, instead of taking him back to Gizo and looking after him, you persuaded him to remain on the island, knowing that this would give him a cast-iron alibi if anything untoward were to happen anywhere else. You had a potentially lethal weapon on Kasolo, and in Andy’s current state of simmering resentment, you were able to launch him practically anywhere you chose.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ snapped Mary. ‘Why would I send the boy to destroy timber on Alvaro of all things?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ said the nun. ‘Neither do I know how this led to the death of Ed Blamire, but I’m sure it did.’

  ‘I hardly know the VSO,’ repeated Mary.

  ‘I think you had more to do with him than you claim,’ said Sister Conchita. ‘He’s a normal, susceptible eighteen-year-old and you led him on. You got him involved with the Solomon Islands Independence Party and persuaded him to wreck some of the timber at the logging camp. He let me have some writing paper with the SIIP’s heading on it. I think you had been encouraging him to write to the logging people complaining about their activities on Alvaro. Then, when they ignored him, you suggested that he launch raids on the island as a form of protest, since he had the alibi of being stranded on Kasolo.’

  ‘Can you prove any of this?’ asked Mary. ‘Because if you can’t, I would be very careful, Sister Conchita. You are a guest in the Solomons. If you start making accusations against innocent islanders, you could find yourself in very serious trouble. I should take care if I were you. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to mourn the man I loved!’

  Sister Conchita watched the girl walk angrily back up the hill. The nun did not move. She felt inexpressibly sad. She had no right to talk to Mary as she had just done. Her unwavering pursuit of the truth had made her go too far again. She was using the authority of her office to follow what was little more than a private hobby. If the church authorities heard what she had just done, she would be in trouble once more. Even so, she had felt impelled to harass Mary Gui in an effort to get something out of her. She had certainly stirred the girl up. Who knew? It might lead to something.

  She resumed her progress back to Gizo, hurrying this time. Sergeant Kella would probably be cross with her when she revealed the forthright approach she had just taken with Mary Gui. He was waiting impatiently for her by the canoe on the beach. He forestalled her when she tried to tell him what had happened after the pathway-sending ceremony.

  ‘Talk to me about it on the way,’ he said, pushing the canoe into the water and starting the outboard engine. ‘We’ve got to get to the logging camp in a hurry. I’m afraid that Andy Russell mi
ght be about to do something silly!’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘WELL, DON’T KEEP me in suspense. What did you hear about Andy?’ asked Sister Conchita as the canoe bumped across the lagoon, its engine opened to capacity.

  ‘They told me at the village that he had borrowed a canoe an hour ago and said that he was going to the logging camp,’ said Kella, his eyes fixed on the coastline of Alvaro as it grew closer. ‘Apparently he had business to finish there.’

  ‘I hope he’s not going to do anything silly,’ said Sister Conchita.

  ‘The point is,’ said Kella, ‘what silly things has he already been doing over the last couple of weeks?’

  The policeman was looking uncharacteristically sombre. Sister Conchita had never seen him so tense and on edge.

  ‘Whatever it is, he’s probably been egged on by Mary Gui,’ she said. ‘Just like she talked Joe Dontate into joining up with Imison and his friends. That girl has a genius for preparing bullets for other people to fire, if she thinks it will do her any good.’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ said Kella.

  Conchita’s instincts told her that this would be a good time to keep quiet. ‘I can’t believe that Andy murdered Ed Blamire,’ she heard herself saying. ‘What reason would he have?’

  The beach was only a few yards away. Kella cut out the engine, jumped over the side and dragged the canoe out of the water. He ran up the slope to Jake Michie’s office, with Sister Conchita at his heels. Work seemed to be going on as usual around the camp, although one or two of the Melanesians threw curious looks at the police sergeant and his companion as they hurried past. At the beginning of the coral road leading inland, a large truck with a cargo of logs had been driven into a ditch, jettisoning its load. Kella ignored it and ran across to the company office. He threw the door open and they went in.

  Andy Russell was standing being supported by the two Australian security men. His head drooped dispiritedly. When he looked up, Conchita saw that there was a livid bruise on his right cheek, and that his nose and mouth were bleeding. Jake Michie, the logging boss, was sitting behind his desk.

  ‘Let him go,’ said Kella, indicating Andy. At first the big Australians merely glowered at him and did not move. The sergeant advanced on them. ‘Let go of him now, or I’ll arrest the pair of you for assault and obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty,’ he said. ‘I don’t think either of you’d fancy six months in an island prison, and that would be before your trial even began!’

  Michie growled something at the Australians. Reluctantly the security men released their grip. Sister Conchita took Andy by the arm and led him over to a washbasin against the wall. She filled the basin with water, soaked a corner of her habit in it and started bathing his damaged face. Andy submitted dazedly to her treatment. All the fight seemed to have drained out of him.

  ‘The kid went crazy,’ protested Michie, standing up. ‘He came running up the beach and tried to get in one of the giant trucks with a load of timber on it. He was going to turn it over and block the road inland. It would have taken us days to get it right, and the silly sod could have killed himself. Luckily he only drove it into a ditch. Mitch and Quincy here dragged him out before he could properly get started. I want him arrested. I’ll prefer charges.’

  ‘Did they have to beat him up?’ asked Sister Conchita, glaring at the Australians.

  ‘Too right they did!’ said Michie. ‘We had to subdue him. The kid went berserk when we got him out of the truck.’

  ‘You’re ruining this island, you and your kind!’ said Andy defiantly. His nose had started to bleed again. ‘You cheated the islanders out of their custom land and you’ve ruined the habitat! Somebody’s got to try and stop you.’

  ‘You two can leave now,’ Kella said to the security guards before anyone else could speak. ‘Don’t go far away. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  The two Australians slouched disconsolately out of the office. Kella looked at Andy. ‘Do you deny that you trespassed on this island at night on two separate occasions, and damaged supplies of logs here by setting fire to them?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ muttered Andy, holding a reddening handkerchief to his nose. ‘I’d do it again, too!’

  ‘Who put you up to it?’

  ‘Nobody,’ said the VSO. ‘It was all my idea.’

  ‘Like hell it was,’ said Kella. ‘This was all part of Mary Gui’s plan, wasn’t it? She talked you and Joe Dontate into helping her.’ He did not look at Sister Conchita, who suppressed a smile. The sergeant had not been completely blinded by lust, then.

  ‘This is how I see it,’ went on Kella. ‘When she discovered that you were stranded alone on Kasolo, apparently without transport, she realized that this would provide you with an alibi if you raided the logging station. You could hardly be a castaway and a saboteur at the same time. She provided you with a canoe, so that you could land on Alvaro twice at night and set fire to the logs. She even put you up to crapping on the beach to make it look as if it was an old-time custom raid undertaken by a group of local freedom fighters.’

  ‘But what was the point of damaging the logging operations?’ asked Sister Conchita.

  ‘Mary knew how ingenuous Andy was, and that he was upset by the way in which the Alvaro Company had ruined this island. She also knew that he was young and foolish enough to take risks to put an end to the company’s operations.’

  ‘So it was all part of the Solomon Islands Independence Party’s campaign?’ asked Sister Conchita.

  ‘There is no Solomon Islands Independence Party, and there never has been any campaign,’ said Kella, shaking his head. ‘All Mary had was a few pieces of headed notepaper printed up to fool someone as credulous as Andy and make him think that he was striking a blow for the freedom of the islands. All the talk of meetings and motions being passed was just a smokescreen, the SIIP is a phantom, a figment of Mary Gui’s imagination.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ asked Sister Conchita.

  ‘When I was in Gizo, I went to see the one man who would know,’ said Kella. ‘His name is Raesohu. He works at the radio station. If ever there is an uprising in the Western District, he will be behind it. He had never heard of the SIIP, and neither had four other leading independence fighters I questioned in the district centre.’

  ‘This is all very interesting, but I’ve got a company to run,’ said Michie suddenly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and see how much damage Little Lord Fauntleroy here has really done.’

  The logging boss lumbered towards the door. For a moment Sister Conchita thought that Sergeant Kella was going to stop him, but the policeman thought better of it. He followed Michie outside. At a loss to understand what was going on, but with implicit trust in Kella and determined not to miss a moment of what was going to happen, Sister Conchita went after them. Still dabbing at his nose, Andy brought up the rear.

  The small party walked across the compound to the coral road. At the sight of the logging boss, those Melanesians in the area bent studiously over their tasks. Michie gave a grunt of exasperation and started examining the wrecked truck.

  ‘So what was the point of Mary Gui claiming that there was an independence party?’ asked a bewildered Sister Conchita.

  ‘Money,’ said Kella. ‘Isn’t that right, Mr Michie?’

  Michie stopped checking over the truck and turned back to the others. ‘How the hell would I know?’ he asked.

  ‘Because you were in on it with her,’ said Kella.

  ‘Now what are you talking about?’ asked Michie warily.

  ‘Mary Gui had the original idea, but she needed someone on the inside of the company to help her. Mary always needed a man for her operations. You were the only man on Alvaro in a position to help her. She discussed her plan with you, and you fell in with it.’

  ‘I’ve never heard so much garbage,’ said Michie.

  ‘Using the guise of the SIIP, Mary Gui wrote to you claiming tha
t the freedom party would destroy the logging camp unless a donation was made to its funds,’ Kella went on. ‘To underline the point, she had persuaded Andy to make his raids. You were able to contact your head office and inform them that it was your considered opinion that unless they released the money to pay off the SIIP, the freedom fighters would step up the intensity of their attacks and slow down the production of logs. You told me once that the company would do almost anything to ensure that their operation here kept going. A couple of thousand dollars to keep the local independence movement off their backs would be nothing to such a wealthy company. They were probably making similar payments out of petty cash all over the world. You knew that it wouldn’t be long before you were replaced by a local logging boss, so you thought you’d make a little extra cash while you could. They authorized the payment, and you and Mary Gui split the money between you. You used Andy, the pair of you.’

  ‘That’s a load of balls!’ protested Michie.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Kella. ‘I discovered over a thousand dollars in a box in Mary Gui’s hut. She would never have saved that sort of money as a student in Australia. That was her share of the extortion money you persuaded your company to part with. I imagine that if I search hard enough, I shall find a similar amount in your possession somewhere.’

  ‘Prove it!’ said Michie.

  ‘I’m getting there. The part that really troubled me was where Ed Blamire came into all this. What did he do to merit being killed?’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to accuse me of that as well,’ said Michie.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Kella. ‘You murdered Blamire in the mission church on open day and threw his body on the bonfire. Neither Andy nor Mary would have had the physical strength to do that.’

  ‘You were certainly at the mission that day,’ said Sister Conchita, casting her mind back to the day of the killing. ‘I saw you supervising the logging exhibition. You could have slipped away from the demonstration at any time and gone to the church. You found poor Mr Blamire there and killed him!’