DEATH ON PARADISE ISLAND: Fiji Islands Mysteries 1

by B. M. Allsopp

  By the time Sergeant Singh appeared he was waiting for her on the veranda, feeling more comfortable.

  She held up a file. ‘I’ve got most of the statements. Mocelutu’s still at the rec. hall, waiting for a few people to finish up. Ledua’s sending over some afternoon tea soon.’

  ‘We can make a pot of tea in the bure, you know,’ he said. In Oregon, he’d become accustomed to the American police habit of grabbing a paper cup of coffee on the run, from an office dispenser or a street outlet, plus a donut, at best.

  She looked doubtful. ‘Would you like me to cancel the tea, sir?’

  Horseman smiled. ‘No, sorry. When in Rome, you know? I got out of the habit of morning and afternoon teas in the States. A proper Fijian afternoon tea is probably just what I need.’

  ‘Food for thought, sir.’ She seemed quite serious.

  ‘Let’s go inside and sit under the fan.’ Horseman said. They sat on opposite sides of the coffee table. The low hum of the fan blended with the rhythmic murmur of the waves on the beach.

  ‘Before we read the statements, why don’t we go through what we have so far? Akanisi, an eighteen year old maid who’s been working here for a year. Dead, apparently by drowning. Paradise resort has a policy of employing mature women but an exception was made for Nisi. So, she’s different, she’s pretty, full of life, she becomes the resort pet.’

  ‘D’you mean there’s jealousy, sir?’ She didn’t look at all convinced.

  ‘There are young men about the place, but only one pretty girl. What do you think?’

  ‘Adi Litia’s good looking.’ Sergeant Singh’s rising tone sounded defensive.

  ‘I’d say Adi Litia’s at least thirty, and both her chiefly rank and status in the resort put her a bit out of bounds. Not to mention her superior manner.’ Personally, it was this last that put him off. He realised too late what a blunder he’d made; he guessed his sergeant was also in her thirties. Like him. Damn! ‘Just looking at it from a foolish young man’s perspective,’ he added. How lame he sounded.

  ‘What if she doesn’t want to be out of bounds?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Exactly. Potential for jealousy all around. Nisi’s a keen worker, too, Ledua’s protégé. It’s possible she seemed a threat to other staff.’

  ‘Do you think her death’s suspicious, sir?’

  ‘Everything’s open until we get the post-mortem report. But we need to explore the possibilities now. We’ve heard that Nisi was a strong swimmer. If she’d fallen in the water, surely she wouldn’t drown unless she was badly injured or unconscious. She has a head wound, we need the pathologist’s opinion on that.’

  ‘Dr Chakra thought she’d drowned, didn’t he?’

  ‘That’s what Mr McKenzie says. But the way Dr Chakra rushed back to the mainland as soon as the police arrived, without first speaking to them, is odd. I’ve tried to ring him several times, and I’ve only got through to his answering machine.’

  ‘Still, it’s Sunday, sir.’

  She was right. ‘Nisi was in the uniform she’d worn at lunch, torn, but not much stained. Salt water’s great for washing out blood, of course.’ He sighed. ‘But there may be something forensics can pick up. What have we got from the bags?’

  ‘Clothes, a sewing box, a few fans, skin creams, bottles of shampoo and coconut oil, nothing of significance that I could see. We need to go through the trunk properly, though.’

  ‘We’ll do that before we read the statements.’ He shook his head, trying to focus. ‘We need to find out more about Nisi’s life.’

  A soft knock, then the door was carefully shouldered open by a maid who fitted the resort’s preferred staff demographic. She carried an enormous cloth-covered tray. Tall and strong, her dark oval face marked by weather and life, her deep-set eyes warm. She smiled at Horseman and addressed him in Fijian.

  ‘Bula, bula. Josefa Horseman, I am honoured to serve you. My goodness, no wonder all the staff came to the meeting, when they heard Josefa Horseman himself had come to talk to us! Where would you like the afternoon tea, sir? Out on the veranda?’

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu, but we’ll have it here at the table, while we work.’

  ‘Everyone needs a break, sir. I was often telling Nisi that. She went at everything too hard, too fast, in my opinion. Isa, poor little thing.’

  Horseman brightened. A talkative maid could be a detective’s goldmine. She put the tray on the table, pursing her lips at the files and papers.

  ‘I’ll boil the water and make you a fresh pot here, Ovisa. Makes no sense to be carrying heavy teapots about in this weather.’ She busied herself at the kitchenette bench. Horseman looked at Singh apologetically and shrugged. The maid was rudely excluding her—unless Singh came from the sticks, it was unlikely she’d know Fijian well. But the maid would be more forthcoming in her own language.

  ‘Fine,’ he continued in Fijian. ‘I prefer a fresh pot myself. I remember your face from the meeting ma’am, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Eseta Naisiga, from Beqa Island. Don’t ask me how I ended up here. Married, two children. Maybe this is my escape, eh? But the money’s good, considering you don’t need to spend a cent, and I go home for a week after three weeks here. Not bad, eh? I couldn’t save much if I worked in Suva. Oi le! Too expensive!’

  Horseman glanced at the staff list on the table. Eseta Naisiga was forty and had been working at Paradise for six years.

  ‘How do you find the staff quarters, Mrs Naisiga?’

  ‘Call me Essie. Very nice, sir. Ledua keeps the men up to the mark. She says the maids have enough to do in the resort without cleaning for the male staff. The women respect her for that. There are two married couples. We all get on okay. It’s like a village, but without the children.’ She looked past him, her focus faraway. ‘Isa, I just can’t believe she’s dead,’ she whispered. Two tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her wrist.

  The electric jug clicked off. She turned away, filled her capacious teapot and brought it to the table.

  ‘Vinaka, Essie. Were you close to Nisi?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘Yes, I was. We were room-mates, but she was like my kid sister. I showed her the ropes when she first arrived. She was a good kid—fun. Keen as mustard about her job.’

  ‘So you’ve had to move out of your room?’

  ‘Just to the room next door. One of the girls there is having her week off. I won’t mind moving back when you lot have finished your job. It’s not like Nisi died in her room.’

  Essie frowned at the cups and saucers Sergeant Singh had already set out. She pointedly shifted each a few centimetres and laid beside them gleaming plates, knives and starched turquoise napkins.

  ‘Why do you think Nisi liked it here so much?’ Horseman asked.

  The maid didn’t speak at first. She arranged a jug of milk, plate of dainty triangular sandwiches, a bowl of fragrant sausage rolls, dipping sauce, sugar, jam and cream in blue glass bowls, and a cane basket holding a white linen bundle. As she unfolded the cloth, steam rose from the still-hot scones. Horseman’s mouth watered.

  Then Essie spoke up decisively. ‘Because she’d escaped from her parents, of course. All Nisi’s sisters have married and moved away from Delanarua. Nisi was the youngest, and they wanted to keep her. They were very strict. They only let her come here to stop her running away from their village of grandparents and children. She just wanted to see the world, to live.’

  ‘Essie, when did you last see Nisi?’

  ‘We both served lunch on Saturday, the day she died. It was a huge buffet, a real feast for the Ratu and all the special guests for the day. We don’t normally have more than thirty guests, but we had eighty yesterday. We couldn’t sing in the choir because the clearing up took so long. Nisi was there all that time. At two o’clock I went straight to
the beach to watch for Ratu’s boat. I didn’t see her again.’ Her mouth quivered and she wiped tears away with the back of one hand. ‘I don’t think she was well on Friday, sir, she took a break, sat down and had a cup of tea while we were doing the decorations. That’s not like her, not like her at all. I thought she’d come back from her week’s sick leave too soon. So I thought she might have gone back to the room for a rest.’

  This was news. ‘She’d been on sick leave? Why?’

  Essie sniffed. ‘Not sure, didn’t tell me. The boss sent her home to Delanarua Island and she only came back a week ago. I only found out after she’d gone.’

  ‘Didn’t she say anything when she came back?’

  ‘Not much at all. Just that she was feeling better. But I know she wasn’t well on Friday morning.’

  ‘Vinaka vakalevu, Eseta. You’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘Io, Josefa Horseman. I hope you like your tea. I’ll be back to pick up the tray.’

  Once the door shut, Horseman relayed the information in English. ‘Susie, Eseta just told me Akanisi only returned from sick leave on Delanarua a week ago.’

  ‘And she didn’t tell her room-mates before she left!’ Singh said with a smile.

  ‘Aha, so, you do understand Fijian. I did wonder.’

  ‘Io, pretty well actually. My parents leased a small farm inland from Lautoka. It was close to a village so I went to the Fijian primary school there and played with the village kids.’

  ‘You’ve got an excellent poker face.’

  A small but satisfied smile lit her eyes. ‘Comes in handy for the job. Eseta reveres you and dislikes me—no, don’t deny it, it’s true. She’d never have been so open with you if she suspected I could understand what she was saying. In fact, I’m sure she only went on for so long because she thought she was irritating me.’

  Horseman chuckled. ‘Maybe so. Let’s do justice to this afternoon tea. It’d be a crime to waste it!’

  They ate and drank in silence. It was only five hours since they’d met but they sat comfortably together without talking. Singh had already shown herself efficient. She must also be determined, or she’d never have made detective sergeant. How many women detectives were there—no more than half a dozen? And he could hardly be blamed for being floored by her fabulous eyes, which could be a real asset in an interview, come to think of it. Liars would be too distracted to remember their concocted stories.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked after he poured her a second cup.

  ‘I certainly am.’ She smiled and passed the sandwich plate. ‘Here, have another.’

  ‘I’m saving myself for more scones, but if you insist. . .’ He took a sandwich and made short work of it. Ham and cucumber.

  ‘We need to check up on Nisi’s sick leave with the manager as a priority. And that’s another good reason for finding Dr Chakra pronto.’

  He helped himself to another scone, smothered it with blackberry jam, then topped it with a generous dollop of cream. Food for thought? He’d better test his sergeant’s claim.

  Singh held up a sausage roll. ‘These are fantastic. Chilli and coriander—yum! You know, if Ledua’s in charge of the women staff, she could probably tell us more about what was wrong with Nisi.’

  ‘Sure, but let’s wait till we’ve read the statements—more than one of the staff might have mentioned her illness,’ Horseman replied. ‘Mr McKenzie sent across Nisi’s trunk earlier. Let’s check through that first.’

  ‘Righto sir.’ The tin trunk, painted a cheerful bright blue, wasn’t heavy. They lifted it into a clear space. Sprays of hibiscus and orchids decorated the lid.

  ‘D’you think she painted this herself?’ Singh asked.

  ‘It’s done by hand, so possibly. Whoever did it has an eye. The colours, everything—it’s so joyful.’

  ‘So sad now.’ Singh opened the lid.

  The contents of the trunk were neatly arranged in two piles. As Horseman took each item out, Singh noted it on her clipboard. There were some books: her black hardback Bible in Fijian, with half a dozen flowers pressed between the pages; three Fijian Methodist hymn books with music as well as words, the soprano line highlighted in orange; a thick volume of illustrated Bible stories for children. Underneath these were two warm waterproof jackets, which might occasionally be of use outdoors at night in July.

  Horseman flipped through a large photo album. ‘This could be interesting. I’ll go through it in detail later, but quite a lot of photos feature flowers and arrangements. The others are of people—we’ll ask Ledua or Adi Litia to identify them. They might know if she had an email account, too.’

  He shuffled a small bundle of letters. ‘The envelopes are all addressed to Nisi. Let’s have a quick look—you check these.’

  He handed half the envelopes to Singh. They removed the letters and scanned the contents. ‘These five have all been sent by two of her sisters.’ Horseman said.

  Singh folded her last letter and returned it to its envelope. ‘This one’s from her father, written when she was at boarding school. I’ve got two from her sisters and two from school friends, sent to her on Paradise Island.’

  ‘We’ll read them in detail later. There’s no diary or personal writing. All that’s left is a stack of magazines.’ He lifted them all out, perhaps twenty. They both leafed through them. They were travel magazines, full of luxury hotels in remote destinations.

  Singh said, ‘I suspect they’re old issues from the resort’s supply. There’s a couple of similar ones on the desk in my bure. Interesting that she’s kept them. Maybe she was a daydreamer— Paradise resort was only stage one of Nisi’s escape plan.’

  Constable Mocelutu’s stocky figure appeared on the back veranda. The double doors were wide open, so he tapped on the reed wall.

  ‘Come in, Mareka. You’ve got the last statements, I see. Good, good. Anything to report?’

  ‘No, sir. Some took their time, but they’re all done now.’

  ‘Did they all write in English?’

  ‘No sir. A few wrote in Fijian and there’s an Indian kitchen hand who wrote in Hindi.’

  ‘Take a break and help yourself to this wonderful afternoon tea. Eseta will be back soon to take it away. You’ll find cups in the bar cupboard. There’s plenty of tea in the pot. Sergeant Singh and I will look at the statements on the veranda.’

  Again, Horseman rang Dr Chakra’s home and surgery in Suva and again left messages. His mobile was out of range.

  ‘Mareka, when you’ve finished, go over to the office and ask for all telephone numbers for Dr Chakra, please, especially how they contact him in an emergency. He could have another mobile we don’t know about. Speak to the manager if the staff can’t help.’

  Mocelutu already had a mug of tea and was wolfing the remaining sausage rolls. Cheeks bulging like an Oregon chipmunk, he stood up, swallowed hard and gulped at his tea. ‘I’ll go now, sir,’ he said.

  Horseman smiled. ‘Don’t rush, Mareka. You’ll get a belly ache!’

  The veranda was deep and caught a faint air from the beach. ‘Take a seat, Susie,’ Horseman said. She hesitated, looked about, then settled herself on a cushioned timber recliner. He pushed a low table next to her, pulled up another recliner and gratefully put his feet up. He handed her half the bundle of statements and they worked in silence. Singh found plenty to highlight and to write in her notebook.

  ‘What do you think?’ Horseman asked when he’d finished his batch.

  ‘I’ve got two more to go. Of those I’ve read, I think we should interview Adi Litia, Maika Tavua and Jona Vaturua, the uncle. We’ve already met them. They’re all from Delanarua, and should be able to tell us a lot more about Nisi. Funny none of them mentioned she’d been on sick leave so recently.’

  ‘Hm, I would’ve thought the question about any recent
changes in Nisi would elicit facts like that. Ledua’s the only one in my lot who’s mentioned it. It’d be good to talk to her too, Patricia McKenzie and Guy Dawson, the dive instructor. I understand Mrs McKenzie often works in the bar, so why don’t you see her before it gets busy. I’ll talk to Adi Litia before I’m due to meet the professor. Ah, there’s Mareka.’

  The constable, sandals in hand, was walking up the path from the beach. ‘Any luck with those numbers?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘No sir. The receptionist confirmed the numbers you gave me for Dr Chakra were correct.’

  ‘I’ll keep trying then. Do your best to polish off the afternoon tea—and that’s an order, constable.’

  The sky darkened and the temperature dropped. Horseman looked to the horizon, now obscured by sooty squalls moving steadily north-west. The breeze here was still slight, and the storm might yet bypass Paradise. How pleasant to sit in comfort on the veranda, watching the weather drama play out, if one were on holiday. But he wasn’t. He needed to stay awake and get on with the job.

  8

  PARADISE ISLAND

  Singh waited at the bar for Pat McKenzie, who had insisted on providing drinks and nibbles for the interview. The rain clouds were almost overhead now. Already the first large drops were flattening the water and pockmarking the sand. Guests on the bar terrace smiled, turning their faces to the wafts of air. Those inside the bar and sprawled on lounges under the thatched veranda got up and rushed to the edge of the beach, arms akimbo, flapping their T-shirts, all looking up, unrolling folds of flesh, exposing as much surface area as possible to the bliss of coolness. The two barmen, Sai and Tui, now deserted by their customers, ran to the beach, raised their arms to the glowering heavens and danced. The younger and fitter guests joined in, cavorting in primal celebration of the rain. Fascinated, Sergeant Singh looked on. Pat McKenzie emerged with a tray and smiled.

  ‘There are moments like this when I love Fiji.’

  Singh inferred such moments were few and wondered why. She had never set foot on an island resort before. It was a world apart from the chaos of Fiji’s overcrowded towns and the stifling labour of rural life, even on picture-perfect small islands. As far as she could see, life on Paradise was a far better one, even for the staff. No, especially for the staff.