Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3

by B. M. Allsopp

Brij waved her apology aside. ‘No plodding in Suva CID, then?’

  ‘Sometimes. But we’re racing more often. As each hour ticks over after someone commits a crime, the chances of catching the criminal decrease. After a week, another case will come along and we’ll have less time to pursue the older one. There’s a lot of pressure to crack a case in the first week. Mm, this looks good.’

  A waiter served them stir-fried dishes and rice, then left them to it. Singh’s mood improved as she tucked in.

  ‘Your pace sounds the opposite of mine. No doubt you’ve heard the expression the wheels of the law grind slowly.’

  Singh nodded while she chewed. Wasn’t he being a bit condescending? No, she should stop being so picky and give him a chance.

  Brij continued. ‘I admit it’s true. The law’s not always to blame. Sometimes it’s in a client’s interest to drag out the process.’

  ‘Yes, the wheel turns so slowly that criminals can jump off without getting hurt. That’s what makes the police mad.’

  Brij raised his eyebrows. ‘Really, I didn’t think they cared.’

  ‘We care, of course we do. It’s our purpose, to find out the truth and to arrest criminals. If they’re not punished, what’s the point?’ She stopped herself before she said more. It was obvious, wasn’t it? What sort of a lawyer was he?

  ‘Well, our practice is purely commercial law. I don’t run across criminals often.’

  Singh doubted that—not that his practice was commercial, but that he didn’t encounter criminals.

  ‘Who do you run across?’ She hoped the question didn’t sound like a challenge.

  Brij looked amused as he offered her the last of the prawns, which she accepted.

  ‘Business owners, of all kinds: farmers, traders, manufacturers, importers. Government agencies, too. Anyone who needs help with their contracts with other businesses. We aim to negotiate the most favourable terms for our clients.’

  The waiter cleared their dishes and brought steaming soup.

  ‘Here’s our comfort food. We can relax now.’

  Brij slurped his soup in authentic Chinese style; Singh couldn’t bring herself to follow suit. He was right, the soup was relaxing.

  ‘Are you only doing this to please your parents, Susila?’ He didn’t seem to be offended, just mildly interested.

  ‘They won’t be happy until I’m married. It’s not so much that they’re ashamed of me. I think they feel that they’ve failed as parents unless they secure marriages for all of us. They believe they know what’s best for our lives.’

  ‘Don’t you think marriage is best?’

  ‘When husband and wife are happy, contented—yes I do.’

  ‘But not for you?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say this, as we’ve just met. I don’t know what your parents and the matchmaker have said to you. But I don’t want to mislead anyone. My job is very important to me. I love going to work. I’ve worked hard to be a detective, and for my sergeant’s promotion. I want to keep at it, go for Detective Inspector when I can. If I was married to the right man, I could still do that. My husband would be pleased with my success. Proud, even.’

  ‘Wow, you’re ambitious. I hadn’t realised that. I understand—I’m ambitious too.’

  ‘What’s your ambition, Brij?’

  ‘Win my cases, make a lot of money, put my feet up.’

  He was making fun of her, but not unkindly. She’d let herself in for that. How could she have been so unguarded as to let him see her heart?

  ‘Oh, I forgot! While my feet are resting on that cushion, I want to watch my wife and children chasing higher goals so that I can be proud of them.’

  Singh laughed. He did have nice twinkly eyes. She glanced at her watch.

  He took the hint. ‘Susila, I’d like to do this again, get to know you better. Let’s forget about the plans of our parents and the matchmaker. From now, let’s meet because we want to.’

  Singh suddenly felt shy, felt her face blushing. For heaven’s sake, she was thirty-two!

  ‘Yes, I’ve enjoyed myself, Brij. Thank you for dinner. I’d like to meet again.’

  ‘You do know you have the most beautiful eyes, don’t you?’

  She said nothing, embarrassed. As a child, she hated her light green eyes, longing to be brown-eyed like everyone else. Now, she liked being different.

  ‘How about Thursday night?’

  ‘Oh, so soon? We have to go to the next meeting with the matchmaker on Saturday, don’t we? I wasn’t expecting to see you before then.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, why not? If I can. I’ll call you.’

  Brij wasn’t put off. He still looked amused. ‘Let me drive you home.’

  ‘I live at the sergeants’ barracks, but I need to go back to the station for a bit. You can drop me there if you like.’

  THURSDAY 14th September

  9

  It was four days since Fireti Kaba released the human head from the shark’s belly, and Horseman was disappointed. Still, a fresh direction might emerge from the review meeting. The super wanted to attend, which was unusual. Maybe he was disappointed, too.

  Knowing the super’s preferences after all these years, he ordered Musudroka and the new constable, Kau, to make tea in the big aluminium teapot using loose tea leaves. The big man had never taken to teabags, dismissing the product as expensive sweepings from the factory floor. Horseman inspected the white cups and saucers the two DCs had washed. He opened the packet of Monte Carlo cream biscuits he’d bought and arranged them on a plate.

  ‘Where’s the milk and sugar?’ he asked. Musudroka hurried out. ‘Bring some teaspoons, too,’ he told Kau. When all was ready in the meeting room, Detective Superintendent Navala entered as if on cue. He wore a long-sleeved business shirt and a sulu, the wrap-around skirt worn by Fijian men. The big man, due to retire in just a few months, never departed from the standards of more formal times.

  He glanced approvingly at the tea things. Musudroka dashed to pour him a cup, but the boss waved him away. ‘Vinaka, vinaka, Detective Constable, but I’ll wait. I like my tea strong, I’ll wait until last. Please serve yourselves and we’ll begin.’

  Horseman summarised. ‘Let’s review progress on our lines of enquiry. First, the hunt for more body parts. Fireti the fisherman finished his trolling near the FAD yesterday. His cooperation has been rewarded by good catches for himself, including another two tiger sharks, but no more human parts. Ash and the two divers have sifted through the bits and pieces clinging to the FAD material. Ash thought some might be human flesh, but they turned out to be crustacean.

  ‘Second, forensics. As far as Dr Young can determine from the head, the individual was healthy, probably a man aged between the late twenties and forty. Petechial haemorrhaging in the eyes could indicate drowning but doesn’t exclude several other causes of death.

  ‘We can’t know whether death was accidental or murder. Dr Young sent photos and X-rays to Dr Ferguson, a Kiwi forensic anthropologist. She thinks our victim is probably a Melanesian or Polynesian man. We’re waiting on the DNA analysis. Dr Young is applying all the pressure he can.

  ‘Our third line has been to cross-check our victim with reports of missing persons. DS Singh, can you brief us, please.’

  Singh uncovered the whiteboard she’d prepared earlier and rolled it close to the table. ‘Sir, you can see in the table columns the number of file checks and phone calls. There’s a separate row for each command area. None of the official reports could match, due to the narrow window of the estimated time of death for our victim, that’s last Friday or Saturday. One man we initially thought was possible has since turned up alive and well.

  ‘Knowing that relatives may be slow to notify police of overdue fishermen, we’ve telephoned every police post in the area, not only for reports from the last few days. We’ve also asked officers to visit villages and businesses in their area and check with the village headmen whether anyone’s whereabouts is unknown.’

  Singh smiled a
regretful smile. ‘I really thought we’d turn up our victim’s identity this way, but we haven’t.’

  The super clapped once in appreciation. ‘Thorough work, DS Singh. Well done. I think it’s safe to dismiss this sensible theory that our victim’s a local fisherman. Do you recommend extending the telephone appeal to all police posts in the country?’

  ‘It could certainly be done within a few days, given extra personnel, sir.’

  ‘Do you support that extension, Detective Inspector?’

  Horseman hesitated. He hadn’t been presented with a crystal ball when he was promoted to inspector. But he trusted Singh to leave no stone nor stick unturned.

  ‘I’m happy to. If you can release the resources, sir, we can start today.’

  The super nodded. ‘I’ll arrange it.’

  ‘Sir, as I flagged to you yesterday, I want to propose a public appeal through the media. It could start today and run simultaneously with the national police post callout.’

  ‘Inspector, you know I don’t like public media appeals. We get swamped with useless calls, the lines and the networks jam. People needing immediate police help can’t get through. Thieves and burglars have a field day during every public appeal.’

  ‘True, sir. On the other hand, they often lead to results, especially in cases of unidentified corpses.’

  The super emitted a low growl which sounded noncommittal. A good start.

  ‘Sergeant Singh and I met with Sergeant Taufa Smith in public relations. She’s prepared press release mock-ups and a conference and interview schedule for your consideration. We briefed her fully and she’s willing to handle radio and TV interviews. I hope you’ll consider chairing the media conference. For maximum reach, Sergeant Smith suggests the conference be held at half past four so television channels can put together decent coverage for the six o’clock news.’

  The super considered this for a few seconds. ‘I don’t think that’s enough time for us to prepare. Not enough time. We can’t be ruled by what’s good for television. However, let me look at the material in detail. Knock on my door in an hour, Horseman. We’ll discuss it then.’

  ‘Vinaka, sir.’

  ‘It was good to sit in, Inspector. Good work, everyone. Keep up your best efforts. I can’t see how you could have bettered what you’ve done so far.’

  Superintendent Navala pressed his hands on the table to push himself up and left the room.

  ‘The super ate five biscuits, did you see?’ Musudroka spoke softly.

  ‘It doesn’t hurt to know what your superior likes, Tani,’ Horseman said. ‘Back to calling the police posts. That’s all we can do until the super decides about the public appeal. Start turning those stones over. Your next call may give us the answer.’

  *

  ‘I need coffee,’ Horseman said to Singh after he told her the super’s decision. ‘How about Arabica?’

  They dived into the midday crowds on the narrow streets. Tucked away in a quieter back lane was Arabica, an ideal refuge for a coffee fiend like himself. The business bought and processed beans grown in Fiji’s highlands, packaged and sold them to American specialist outlets whose customers were seeking single-source organic coffee that their friends hadn’t yet discovered. But in a tiny café in one corner of the former spice warehouse, locals could taste the best coffee in the world. He was patriotic but would never admit to prejudice.

  The roasters were on. He inhaled the heavenly scent like a desperate addict, waved to the waiter and made a beeline for his usual table in the corner.

  ‘This place always cheers me up. I feel let down, I must say,’ Singh said.

  ‘Well, you know how cautious the super is. Rightly so, there’s not really enough time to prepare for a four-thirty media gig. He wants the force to appear as a well-oiled machine the public can trust.’

  Singh widened her eyes in mock horror. ‘I thought we were a well-oiled machine the public can trust!’

  ‘Of course, but in the super’s opinion we’ll be even more convincing tomorrow morning. Another thing, he wants to delay the deluge of calls until the day shift is set up and trained. He’s right there. Before the midday news will do,’ he said.

  ‘Good for radio and TV, I guess. The papers won’t like it.’

  The waiter served their standard order of a latte and espresso, together with water. They nodded their thanks.

  ‘They’ll go bananas whenever it’s released. What’s the bet they’ll dub our victim Jona?’

  ‘Safe bet, I’d say. Who’s in front of the cameras?’ she asked.

  ‘Our super hates being on TV, so he’s entrusting the gig to the Deputy Commissioner, which will be fine as long as he keeps to the script. Taufa from PR will introduce him. I’ll be there so he can pass questions about operational details to me.’

  Singh sipped her latte and smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll draw the crowds, sir.’

  Horseman was taken aback. Singh never referred to his rugby stature—one of the things he liked about her.

  ‘You’d do a better job, Susie. Would you like to be on TV? Useful experience for you. I’ll toss a couple of questions to you.’

  This time, her horror was sincere. ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’

  He downed his coffee and grinned. ‘Okay, drink up, let’s get operational!’

  10

  After Shiners training Horseman plodded up the steep road behind Albert Park with Tina. He was determined not to limp, willed his tired body into a balanced posture, concentrated on equalising his stride as Melissa had taught him. Tina looked up at him, as if curious about his odd gait. Walking the streets, like when he’d first started as a constable on the beat, helped him think.

  He’d almost forgotten to give Bindi Chopra the heads-up about tomorrow’s media conference as he promised. Lucky he remembered before he left the station. Bindi was happy to get the press release even just a few hours before her rivals. Just as she had earned his trust, he needed to justify her trust in him. A friend in the media could sometimes help.

  As he’d failed to get either of the two big Suva sports stores to stump up the price of rugby boots for his tearaways, on Tuesday he approached Prince’s, a department store with a prominent sports section. He invited the manager, Larry Tung, to this afternoon’s training session. Tung was friendly and interested and both Horseman’s assistant coaches and the boys rose to the occasion.

  Tung said afterwards, ‘I congratulate you on your work with these boys, Joe. Most laudable. You’re making a difference here. I’ll think about your invitation to sponsor rugby boots for the boys. I hope we can do it, but I should warn you that some on the board will oppose the idea.’

  Horseman knew Tung was trying to let him down gently. ‘Why?’

  Tung counted on his fingers. ‘One—cost. Two— the boys have Sonny Khan’s logo loud and clear on their jerseys. Three—rugby boots aren’t big enough for retail branding, so what’s the advantage to Prince’s? Four—we want to match Prince’s with top-class winning teams, even at junior level.’

  ‘Don’t you agree that a reputation for helping needy kids could be an advantage to Prince’s?’

  ‘Indeed, community giving is a priority with us. Let’s wait and see.’ Tung smiled warmly and pumped Horseman’s hand. ‘It was wonderful to meet you, Joe. Many thanks for the opportunity. I’ll be in touch.’

  Horseman wondered how he might have succeeded with Tung. It couldn’t be true that the man turned up only to shake his hand, could it?

  As he cut around the corner by the Anglican cathedral, Tina whined, looking into the old fig tree that shaded an area the size of a house lot. A tall figure emerged from the shadows—a woman wearing a striking crimson sulu and matching tunic.

  ‘Bula, oh, it’s you, Joe.’

  Tina tensed. Horseman reassured her with a pat. ‘Bula, Salome. How are you?’

  Salome was unique among Suva’s street prostitutes in wearing respectable Fijian dress to ply her trade. Not for her the sad, skimpy tops a
nd barely-there shorts of her younger sisters. Or were they her competitors, perhaps?

  ‘Vinaka, I’m well. Have you come to arrest me, officer?’ She was teasing, but she couldn’t keep a professional flirtatiousness from her voice.

  ‘And how’s your daughter?’

  Salome gave him a sharp look, wary. ‘She’s very well. She’ll be going to secondary school next year.’

  ‘Already? Then it won’t be too long before she finds out about her mother’s occupation, will it?’

  She looked disappointed in him. ‘Oh, Joe, don’t say it.’

  ‘I must, Salome. You know I respect you. You’re better than this. You should stop, earn your living in a legal and safe way.’

  ‘You’re one of the good guys, Joe. When I cleaned the dormitories, you were polite and respected me as if I was a fellow student. But boys like you were a minority. It was hard.’ Her face softened at her memories.

  He remembered a skinny maid with scared eyes, no more than fifteen or sixteen, who kept glancing over her shoulder as she mopped and scrubbed. By the time he left university, she’d disappeared. A few years later he met her in what was now her regular spot near Holy Trinity. He was in uniform, as was she, he supposed. She told him how her family had cast her out when she returned to her village with her baby daughter. That was when she took to the streets.

  ‘But I might surprise you, Inspector Joe.’ She was being provocative again.

  ‘In a good way, I hope,’ he replied.

  ‘Io, I have a pal. He’s a rough diamond, I know. He’s away a lot. We both make good money and we’re fair savers. I plan to settle down soon, start a little dressmaking business. Maybe. As you say, before my daughter gets much older.’

  She always intended to give up her work but somehow she never did.

  ‘That sounds like a wonderful plan, Salome. Please put it into action, and soon. You don’t realise how you risk your life every time you come here.’

  ‘I understand that better than you, Joe.’ Her face softened again; her eyes weary beneath their kohl. ‘I’ve got scars to prove it.’