DEATH ON PARADISE ISLAND: Fiji Islands Mysteries 1

by B. M. Allsopp

  Horseman disliked inspecting the dead, but he’d got used to it over time. Still, he’d not had to do it for well over a year. He glanced at Sergeant Singh, wondering, but she at once stepped forward, almost eagerly. Perhaps she was simply glad to have something to do after trailing around with him since they’d arrived. He fumbled with the neat knot uselessly, then cut the sinnet cord with his Leatherman, and opened the mat. Inside was another mat, finer and lighter. As he carefully unfolded it, a heavy sweet smell wafted up. He jerked his head back.

  Sergeant Singh bent forward and sniffed. ‘Mokosoi, sir?’

  She seemed to be quite unflappable. ‘Yes, unmistakable, isn’t it?’ he replied.

  Dull yellow flowers of the mokosoi tree were packed beneath the second mat, the spidery petals exuding their penetrating, sweet scent. Like the taste of the banana on the beach, this pressed a ‘home’ button in him. The scent permeated all his memories of feasts in his childhood on the sleepy island of Ovalau. Whether funerals, weddings, homages to God or chief, the unique scent was there.

  Singh piled the flowers at the edges of the mat, revealing a shroud of fine white masi, the Fijian tapa cloth. Horseman brought his hands together and bowed his head. The girl’s parents had brought all these beautiful things with them, so their daughter could arrive on her own island for the last time with grace and dignity. Every detail prescribed by custom, carried out faithfully. He was sorry that he had to undo their handiwork. He wiped away a tear on his cheek as old memories resurfaced.

  The masi was decorated with a border of brown crosses. He swallowed hard as he unwrapped it. She was wearing a white cotton dress, a church dress, typical Fijian Sunday best in the islands since Victorian times. But more ancient customs had dictated the anointing of the girl’s slim body in scented coconut oil and turmeric. The golden sheen on her honey skin softened but did not hide the grazes, cuts and bruises. He imagined hard coral grating the skin of her limbs and face as the waves thrust her against the reef, but these injuries looked superficial. He hoped the pathologist could determine whether the bruises developed before or after death. There were some on her arms which could have been caused either when she was pulled from the water or earlier, by a violent attacker.

  Her short crinkly hair had been combed with oil. He lifted her head gently, felt a depression and open gash on the left beneath her hair. He carefully laid her head back on the pillow of flowers. He glanced up at Singh, who was watching him intently. It was an oddly intimate moment.

  ‘There’s no point in us doing anything more here. Her body’s been hopelessly contaminated. It’s bad enough to have been in the sea, possibly for hours, but this. . .’

  Between them, they restored the wrappings and eased the girl into an official government plastic body bag.

  Constable Mocelutu reappeared. ‘The mortuary van will be at Navua at three o’clock sir.’

  ‘Vinaka. Sergeant, could you go to the office and make sure a boat will be available by two-thirty, or earlier if advisable.’

  ‘Sure, sir.’

  ‘Where are Akanisi’s clothes and belongings, Constable?’

  Mocelutu was more confident now. ‘All bagged and tagged, sir. Don’t know if it’s everything, sir.’ He retrieved a bulging garbage bag from the corner of the room.

  ‘What did you find in her room?’

  Mocelutu again bent his head. ‘Not much, sir. Those bags are in the garbage bag too. It’s possible someone took things away before we arrived.’

  ‘You’ve sealed the room?’

  ‘Io, sir. The two other ladies sharing the room had to move out, with their belongings. I’ll show you the room now.’

  ‘No need constable. I’d like you to stay here on guard. When the sergeant returns, ask her to join me in the staff quarters. I’ll send Constable Waqatabu to relieve you in about half an hour. Come over to the owner’s bure and have some lunch. We’ll all be sleeping there tonight.’

  ‘No hurry, sir. Mrs Marama has been very generous with our refreshments. We had a big breakfast, then full Fijian style morning tea at eleven. You know sir.’

  Horseman did know. Most Americans he’d met would consider a Fijian morning tea to be a generous lunch.

  He went through the bamboo gate to the staff quarters and asked an elderly woman pegging out washing to direct him. She smiled and escorted him to one of several rows of single storey rooms fronted by a common veranda, lifted her chin towards the end nearest the rocky beach and left him. Yellow and black striped police tape enclosed the steps, veranda rail, the end door and two louvered windows. He peeled back the tape and went in.

  Three neat single beds, with shelves above, faced the door, dormitory style. A rail was fixed across one end of the rectangular room, in lieu of a wardrobe. A few dresses and blouses hung from plastic hangers. The other end had a partition two metres high with a curtained doorway leading to a bathroom with tiled floor, toilet, shower and hand basin. Above the basin was a good-sized mirror and a plastic shelf cluttered with containers of shampoo and cosmetics. A small window of six metal louvers provided good ventilation.

  Funny there was no place where private possessions could be kept, or rather, could be kept private. Then he remembered—the staff probably all had their own padlocked tin trunks, just as he had at boarding school and various police barracks. Nisi’s roommates would have taken theirs to their new room, although on their shelves they’d left behind photos, books, nick-nacks and an audio player. What had happened to Nisi’s trunk? He got down on the floor but could see nothing under the beds. It was an easy room to search but the yield was disappointing. He was bagging the meagre contents of the two waste bins when Sergeant Singh knocked and entered.

  ‘The speedboat will be ready at two-thirty, sir. They have a stretcher and there’s a flat luggage trolley you can use.’ She paused, looking around the room. ‘Any luck, sir?’

  ‘Not really, Sergeant. Either the constables have done a great job or there wasn’t much to find. I’ve still got to go through Mocelutu’s bags. There’s no private storage here, so the staff must have trunks, right?’

  ‘I’d imagine so. Shall I check?’

  ‘Yes, but let’s have a look around outside first. Two pairs of eyes, you know.’

  The sergeant pulled on gloves and fingertip-searched the narrow garden bed bordering the veranda edge. Horseman ignored his protesting knee, crawled into the cramped space underneath the building and shone his torch around. Ants and small crabs scurried, quickly disposing of anything of interest to themselves. A few leaves had blown in, and a plastic bag. He elbowed forward and retrieved it. Maintenance of the staff quarters was certainly well supervised; the crawlspace must be raked out regularly.

  A woman’s scream killed his speculations. Alarmed, he backed out fast. Sergeant Singh was crouched beside the veranda steps, perfectly still. He rushed to her, leaned his weight on the railing post before his knee could collapse.

  ‘Look,’ she whispered, standing up with extreme caution. ‘I touched it.’ She was petrified.

  The coiled rope of a lustrous black and white serpent seemed lifeless. Horseman smiled his relief. ‘It’s harmless, fast asleep, dead to the world,’ he said quietly. And you have your gloves on, so you didn’t really touch it. Just step away now.’

  After a moment she did so, in slow motion. ‘Sorry sir, I got a scare. Are you sure it’s harmless?’ She was still whispering.

  ‘Yes, but don’t disturb it. I read in your most helpful printouts that these banded sea kraits come ashore here to sleep when their stomachs are full. Have you finished this garden? There’s no garden round the back and it looks like the compound’s well swept every day, but I’ll check quickly. Then we need to get back to the bure for a bite to eat and prepare for the meeting.’

  She was clearly shaken. He hoped she wouldn’t need to be looked after, bu
t she’d seemed level-headed so far, especially with the dead girl. Dealt with that better than he had, and it was hardly unusual to fear snakes.

  ‘Okay, sir, nothing so far. I’ve still got to do under the steps and a strip of garden the other side.’

  As he expected, the area behind the building was clean. The bathroom windows were on the back wall, but the fixed mosquito netting meant nothing could be thrown out through the louvers.

  When he returned, she held out a small evidence bag. ‘Under the steps, sir. Swept off the veranda and between the steps. Foil wrapping from tablets or capsules. Probably nothing, but. . .’ Her eyes shone. Their clear green startled him again. ‘I’ll check with the housekeeper about the trunk and other things and join you at the owner’s bure.’

  ‘Well done, Susie.’

  She’d invited him to use her first name and now he’d done it. The intimacy of wrapping the dead together had helped. Thank God he’d managed that breakthrough. His friends in the States would never believe it, but he hadn’t worked with a woman detective before. He was finding it tricky to treat her with the usual masculine matey familiarity. Anyway, he wasn’t sure she wanted to be one of the boys.

  6

  PARADISE ISLAND

  When Horseman, Singh and Mocelutu entered the recreation hall, around two dozen people were there, seated on plastic chairs around several white folding tables. Most of them were Fijians, with a few Europeans and two Indians among them.

  After McKenzie introduced the police officers, Horseman addressed them in English.

  ‘I’m sorry my first visit to this beautiful resort is to carry out such a sad duty. As you know, my team and I are here to investigate the sudden death of your colleague Akanisi Leletaku. As she was young and healthy, there needs to be a post-mortem examination to find out what caused her death, so Akanisi has been taken to Suva for that. All of you can help to solve this mystery too, by telling us what you observed. To find out how and why someone has died, we often need to piece together small pieces of information from different sources. Do you have any questions?’

  Amid a low buzz of voices, a man spoke up from the furthest table. ‘You’re most welcome, Inspector Horseman, but surely there’s no mystery here? Nisi must have drowned.’ Murmurs of support followed.

  ‘That is certainly a possibility, my friend. But there are other possibilities too. Before we get the results of the post-mortem we want to find out all we can about Akanisi and the circumstances of her death.’

  A middle-aged woman raised her hand. ‘I can tell you she was a very strong swimmer, sir. Everyone knows that. She swam as well as anyone here on Paradise Island, better than most. How can she have drowned?’ Her opinion met with approving nods and murmurs of ‘Dina, Dina, true, true’.

  ‘Thank you for that important fact, madam. That’s exactly the sort of thing we need to know. Let me explain what we’re going to do now, to save your time. I’d like you to write down your name, your position here at Paradise, and your answers to three questions. The first is, what did you do yesterday, including where and when you saw Akanisi? The second is, how well did you know her?—that’s where information about how well she swam comes in. And the third, did you notice anything different about Akanisi recently?’

  Singh wrote the questions clearly on a whiteboard and wheeled it to the front.

  ‘Constable Mocelutu will now hand out paper and pens. Please don’t consult anyone. I want each of you to think back carefully and write down whatever you remember. Take as long as you like and use as much paper as you need. It’s good if you write in English, but if you’re more comfortable writing in Fijian or Hindi, that’s fine too.’

  ‘What will happen to our papers, sir?’ Maika, the deckhand from the launch, asked.

  ‘Good question, Maika. Sergeant Singh and I will read your statements carefully and decide who we need to talk to. Then they’ll be filed so all the information about Akanisi’s death is kept together and may be reviewed.’

  More low conversations broke out. Horseman added, ‘I’d be grateful if you could work in silence—that way you’ll finish more quickly.’ Not all the staff would have excellent writing skills, he knew, but when they read through the statements, it would be pretty clear who they needed to talk to.

  ‘Mr McKenzie and I will leave you now. I thank you very much for your statements and I’m looking forward to reading them soon. If you have any problems, please ask Sergeant Singh or Constable Mocelutu for help.’

  Everyone hushed and after glancing around at each other, settled to their tasks.

  Horseman turned to the manager. ‘I’ll need a statement from you too, Mr McKenzie, but you don’t need to sit in the meeting and write it now. I thought now would be a good time to ask you a few more questions about yesterday’s events.’

  ‘Sure, let’s go to the office.’

  McKenzie led the way back to the resort buildings and through the gardens to the small thatched office. He ushered Horseman through reception to a sparsely furnished room and threw his hat on top of a filing cabinet. His pink scalp, visible through his thinning red hair, was running with sweat. He indicated a small table with four cane chairs. ‘Please take a seat Inspector.’

  The cool of the air-conditioning was blissful.

  ‘Thank you,’ Horseman said. He took the Fiji Times article from his file and placed it in front of the manager. ‘This is all I know about your celebrations here yesterday, Mr McKenzie. I’m quite intrigued by the mishap with your boat. Can you tell me more?’

  ‘Ah yes, I’ve seen this. Accurate enough, I suppose. The day went very well until then. Like clockwork and everyone happy. The staff went to town with the decorations. Actually Nisi was in charge of decorating the boats and the buildings and she did a wonderful job. All with palm fronds, vines and flowers—so creative! You could tell the visitors appreciated all of that.’

  ‘Did you see what happened with the boat?’

  ‘Certainly did. I was waiting at the end of the seawall for the speedboat with Ratu Ezekaia and Reverend Mosese to round the point. Everyone was there waiting—kids up in the trees and the water, adults on the beach and sitting around on the bar terrace. A festive atmosphere. Hot, though, no breeze. Anyway, the boat turned up on time, canopy all decked out in purple bougainvillea and Jona came in as close to the beach as he could, to give the crowd a good view. Then he turned and steered parallel to the beach and slowed right down. Well, the rush was on. A lot of people waded into the water to see and hear better.’

  ‘Could you still see what was going on?’ Horseman asked.

  McKenzie nodded. ‘I stayed where I was so I was pretty close. Reverend Mosese raised his arms and the crowd hushed, even the foreigners, while he prayed in Fijian. Then Ratu Ezekaia spoke, all benevolent authority. I wished I could understand.’ He looked wistful.

  ‘Next, the chief did a sort of demonstration of the purpose of the reserve, to repopulate the lagoon with all the species that are getting scarce now. They had specimens in containers of seawater on the speedboat. He lifted two crabs, bigger than dinner plates, mind you, showed them to the crowd, then released them into the water. He did the same with sea urchins, a parrot fish, an octopus. I found it quite moving, even though I couldn’t understand the words. Then, just as he was holding up a turtle, the boat lurched violently towards the shore.’

  ‘Could you see what caused that?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. Jona was steering broadside to the waves, barely making headway. Not the most stable position. Next, the boat lurched sideways and the gunwale dipped under the water. Both the chief and the minister lost balance, toppling forward, but they both managed grab onto the rail. I saw Maika jump onto the stern deck, throw the anchor out and try to pole off with an oar. Then Ratu Ezekaia was on his feet again, holding on to the canopy frame. But the boat lurched again, I thought it would cap
size. This was all in a matter of seconds.’

  McKenzie paused, as if reliving the scene.

  ‘What happened next turned out to be the highlight of the day. Dozens of men, women and children rushed forward, wading and swimming to the boat, which looked about to capsize with each wave despite the crew’s best efforts. The first to reach the boat braced their backs against the hull and heaved it back.

  ‘At this point I did lose sight of what was happening. I dashed back along the sea wall behind the onlookers. Then people in front of me leaped into the water and I could see again. Ratu Ezekaia and Reverend Mosese were riding on the shoulders of some very hefty fellows. Ratu Ezekaia’s sulu was hitched up over his thighs, his formal jacket was soaked, his white Afro like a shining halo. Everyone was laughing and whooping.’

  Horseman smiled. He could picture the scene too. ‘So you don’t think the incident spoiled the celebrations?’ He was thinking possible sabotage, but wouldn’t suggest this so soon.

  ‘Not at all, to my surprise. It was like a triumphal procession!’ McKenzie shook his head in wonder.

  ‘Did you see Nisi among the crowd?’

  ‘No, Inspector. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that I didn’t see her at all after lunch. Of course, she was serving then.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr McKenzie. I’d be grateful if you could complete your written statement by the end of the day. And thank you so much for putting us up and for all your assistance. I do appreciate it.’ He hoped that would make up for snapping at McKenzie earlier.

  7

  PARADISE ISLAND

  Although clouds had rolled over and rain smudged the grey horizon, it was no cooler when Horseman left the office. He was bone-weary, had only dozed fitfully on the flight and the fact that he hadn’t washed for 24 hours wasn’t helping either. Better go back to the bure, have a shower and change into fresh clothes before the others returned with the statements.