Young women drifted in to clear the table and serve tea and the colourful Indian sweets she loved. She smiled at her care-worn mother, whose anxious frown loosened the glittery tikka on her brow. Singh prayed it wouldn’t fall off—her mother would feel humiliated in front of Brij’s parents. She put her finger on her own tikka, pressing it in. Her mother noticed and did the same, flashing a grateful smile.
The stilted conversation died away as the families sipped tea. Brij’s parents could not be faulted on their manners, but they were rather aloof. They thought her parents beneath them; they who had bred a lawyer.
Brij put his cup on its saucer, glancing round the table for attention.
‘Mr and Mrs Singh, Mrs Biswas, Ma and Baba, I’d like to say a few words of thanks to all of you.’ Instantly, he had their attention. Singh read on their faces their unspoken question: dare they hope?
‘I’m grateful to all of you for the opportunity to meet Susila. Against tradition, she and I have met twice in Suva during the week and started getting to know each other as individuals, as well as possible marriage partners. It’s good to know that we have our parents’ approval if we decide to continue that process. But we are hardly sixteen-year-olds, in need of our parents’ protection. Susila is a detective sergeant in the Fiji Police Force, trained in combat. She could see me off with a flick of her wrist, I suspect.’ Singh’s father beamed with pride, the others looked appalled.
‘I assure you, she will never need to demonstrate her martial skills against me. As for me, I know my parents despair of me. I have evaded marriage again and again. Here I am, getting on for forty.’
His mother looked indulgent, his father annoyed. ‘I can see I’ve made a bad start on my little speech. But the point is, Susila and I are adults and can look after this matter by ourselves from now on. We both would like to get to know the other better, and that takes time. We’re career people, we’re busy. We may lose interest in each other as time goes by, or we could become friends. It’s even possible we might decide to marry. What would make us both happy now is that you forget about more formal family meetings. We want to do this in our own way, in our own time and in Suva where we both live and work. You can trust us to make the right decision about our lives.’
Mrs Biswas pressed her lips together in a thin line. Brij’s mother rolled her eyes at her husband, who drummed his fingers on the table. Singh’s parents’ eyes widened in amazement. Singh herself looked around the table with what she hoped was a pleasant but neutral expression. Brij winked at her. He really was quite handsome. Bright, too. She couldn’t understand why a lawyer would be interested in her.
Her mobile rang. Goodness, she’d forgotten to switch it to silent. She fumbled it from her bag, saw it was the boss and dashed from the room.
‘Susie, we’ve got a lead on Jona. The ring belongs to Semisi Inia, known as Jimmy. His parents are staying with his sister in Lautoka. I need a photo, and any comb or clothes he might keep there that might give us a DNA sample. I’ll text you the details. Can you handle that?’
‘Of course. I’d love to help.’
‘Jimmy’s a fishing observer. He was on a longliner a week ago. The boat docked in Suva yesterday but his girlfriend hasn’t seen him. I helped her report him as a missing person this morning. Break the possibility that he’s Jona to his family but stress that we just need to rule him out at this stage. Got it?’
‘Sure, I’ll do that.’
‘I’ll get a police car to pick you up and drive you there. Give me your address.’
Happiness surged through her. This was what she loved. She returned to the dining room and resumed her seat. Enquiring faces looked at her.
‘I’m so sorry about that interruption. I’m afraid that’s what my life as a detective is like. My senior officer in Suva has just asked me to interview a family in Lautoka.’
Mr Mishra straightened in protest. ‘But we have police officers in Lautoka, CID too. Surely they can handle whatever it is.’
‘They could, and the boss would have asked them to handle it except he knew that I was here today. But it’s an ongoing enquiry and it would take some time to brief them. I know the case inside out. Lautoka station will send a car for me, so it’s no bother.’
‘Sounds like top-secret business to me, Susila,’ Brij said, chuckling at his parents’ frowns.
‘Not at all. The driver will take me back to your place afterwards, too, Baba. So, there’s no need for you to change your plans.’
Her father straightened his back, lifted his chin. He glanced at Mr Mishra. ‘I didn’t realise how important you were, Susila!’
She was amused but wouldn’t let him get away with it. ‘Baba, every police officer is important.’
He wagged his head a bit. ‘Yes, well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.’
*
Jimmy’s sister lived halfway up a hill in the old part of Lautoka, overlooking the port. She climbed the steep steps beside the uniformed constable, glad she wasn’t managing a sari. As she knocked at the door the constable asked, ‘Would you like me to come in with you, ma’am?’
‘Vinaka, I can manage, Constable. If you’d like to observe, you’re welcome to sit in. Otherwise, you can wait in the car.’
‘I’ll wait, ma’am.’
Horseman had rung ahead, so she was expected. A pretty woman in her late thirties answered the door. Her dark skin was set off by a calf-length dress patterned in yellow and white—much too old for her. Her Afro hairstyle was old-fashioned too. Three primary school-aged children clustered around her, the boy almost as tall as his mother.
‘Come in, Sergeant Singh. I’m Kiti, Semesi’s sister.’ She cast a surprised glance at Singh’s fancy clothes but made no comment.
‘We were so delighted when the great Josefa Horseman telephoned us, weren’t we, kids? Come in and meet my parents.’
Singh wondered what Horseman had told them since Kiti didn’t seem at all apprehensive. Jimmy’s parents stood to greet her, then sat down at a plastic table set with mugs. They were quite elderly, probably around seventy. She joined them while Kiti busied herself making the inevitable pot of tea.
‘Did you know that Semisi’s ship returned to Suva yesterday?’ Singh asked.
Mr Inia chuckled. ‘Oi lei, we don’t get that sort of detail from Semisi. Free as a bird, that one is. He works hard, mind you. But now he’s a fishing observer, he’s one week on one boat, a month on another, two days on a third. Not regular at all. We don’t know when he’s coming and going. He drops in to stay for a bit now and then, or sometimes just for a day, then he flies off again.’ His hand mimed a looping flight before dropping to the table.
‘Mind you, we live north of Savusavu, on Vanua Levu, most of the time. We like to visit Kiti and help with the grandchildren, but mostly we’re at home. So, it’s hard for Semisi to come to see us. The big longliners he works on don’t bother with any other port but Suva.’ He looked at his wife, who nodded her agreement.
Kiti put the teapot on the table, rolling her eyes at Singh in a sisterly way. ‘Eh, Dad, you’re always making excuses for Semisi!’
Kiti’s mother joined in. ‘He’s alright. He earns good money nowadays. He brings us a fat envelope when he visits.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that, Mum.’ Kiti stirred sugar into the pot and set about pouring the tea through a strainer.
Singh waited until everyone had a mug in hand. She took a deep breath. If she wanted promotion, she must take difficult situations like this in her stride.
‘Jimmy has a friend in Suva who has reported him missing. The ship he was working on docked yesterday morning. The friend says he always calls her before the ship docks and she goes to meet him. She’s heard nothing from him this time. She visited the ship but the crew are avoiding her questions. She’s worried.’
‘Maybe he’s gone off her,’ Mr Inia smiled.
‘Well, that’s possible and that’s what we hope. That’s what his friend hopes too.’
‘Eh? Why?’
Kiti answered his question. ‘Because, Dad, another explanation is that Semisi has had an accident.’
‘Surely not, he’s experienced at sea.’
Singh continued. ‘Last weekend the police recovered some remains of a Fijian man from a fisherman who found them. Semisi’s ship was at sea at that time. We want to eliminate the possibility that the remains belong to him.’
There was silence. They all stared at Singh. Kiti was the first to speak. ‘You don’t mean Jona! You really think Jona is Semisi? No!’
The children were wide-eyed. Their grandparents looked blank.
Singh spoke directly to Jimmy’s parents, trying to be gentle. ‘It’s possible, that’s all. You’ve probably heard that more remains were found near Levuka yesterday morning. The DNA results have just come through, so we know all the remains belong to the same man. We found a ring on the corpse’s hand, a distinctive silver ring hand-made in Fiji. The craftsman’s records confirm that Semisi’s friend ordered this ring. This lady has seen the ring and identifies it as the one she gave your son.’
‘Oi lei, it can’t be true!’ Mrs Inia whispered. Tears sprang from her eyes.
‘We need a photo of Semisi to circulate to all police posts as part of the missing person enquiry. Have you got one in the house here?’
Semisi’s father seemed baffled. In a few heartbeats, he had aged into a confused old man. ‘But we live in Vanua Levu. We have photos in our home. We don’t have any here.’
‘I might have one or two,’ Kiti said. ‘I’ll fetch the album and check.’
Kiti returned with a fat album which she placed on the table and started to flip through. ‘Here’s one from a few years ago when he came to see us. Is it good enough?’
The photograph included Kiti, the three children and two men. ‘This one’s my husband, and this is Jimmy.’ They were standing on the house porch, their faces in shadow. The focus wasn’t sharp, but what the police photography specialists could do with photos was pretty impressive.
‘Have you any others?’
Kiti searched right through the album. ‘There are some others from many years ago, but they’re not as clear as this one. I’m sorry.’
‘Please don’t apologise, Kiti. You’ve been very helpful. The police photographer will be able to enlarge the shot and crop the rest of you out. May I borrow this? I’ll return it to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, may I take a photo with my phone and send it to Inspector Horseman?’
‘Io, we’ll do anything to help you and Inspector Horseman.’
‘Does Jimmy store any of his possessions here with you? What we need for proof is a sample for DNA analysis, which we could get from a toothbrush, hair comb or even clothes.’
Kiti shook her head. ‘No. As Dad says, Jimmy’s the free-and-easy type. I don’t think he has a lot of stuff. The things you mentioned would be in his cabin on the ship, wouldn’t they?’
‘We hope so, Kiti. Inspector Horseman will be checking the ship as soon as possible. But we always ask families in identification cases.’
‘I know my son’s hand, and his face. I can go to Suva and see these—remains.’ Jimmy’s father had recovered some of his strength. He was now resolute.
‘I’m sorry Mr Inia, you wouldn’t recognise what we’ve found. Because of the sea, and the shark—I’m afraid DNA is the only way.’
More silence. She hated bearing such shocking news. It would only get worse for them as they felt the full impact of their son’s horrible death. For Singh was sure they had found Jona, DNA or no DNA. The evidence of the ring was conclusive. And she had found the ring.
SUNDAY 17th September
21
Dr Young wandered into the kitchen. It was nine o’clock. Horseman had taken Tina for her usual waterfront walk, then made himself breakfast. Now he’d migrated to an armchair, propped his feet on a stool, his computer on his lap.
‘Good morning, Matt. What do you know about fishing observers?’
His landlord yawned. ‘Too early in the morning for brain teasers, mate.’
‘Not a brain teaser. It’s a real job. Hundreds of Fijians are fishing observers, working all over the Pacific, not just in our waters. And I need to know what they do because the man who owns that silver ring—Semesi aka Jimmy Inia—well, that’s his job.’
‘A fishing observer? Aren’t they like inspectors, checking commercial fishing boats, that sort of thing?’
‘That’s what I assumed, too. Not that I ever gave it a thought before yesterday. But the internet is educating me. Some observers work onshore, reporting on the catches the commercial fishers off-load. Numbers, size, species—that sort of thing. Their reports go to the fisheries scientists in the region. If the evidence shows the stocks are in decline or even endangered, they recommend that fishery be restricted or even closed.’
‘I’m a bit cynical, mate. Does that actually happen?’
‘Apparently. The example I’ve just been reading about is the gemfish in Australia—used to be in huge schools and really cheap. That species was declared endangered in 1994 with strict limits imposed on catch size. Naturally the price of gemfish soared. Stocks are now recovering and the limits may be relaxed down the track.’
The pathologist ran his hands through his hair. ‘Come to mention it, that fits. I remember gemfish. It’s what you used to get as the fish part of fish-and-chips when I was young. Well, I’ve always been Young, but you know, of tender years. Suddenly, there was no gemfish anymore, and I forgot it completely.’ He yawned again. ‘God, why can’t I wake up this morning?’
‘Late night?’
‘Not too late, drank way too much beer with some guys from the medical faculty board. Can’t seem to take it as I get older.’ He rubbed his head again.
‘Physician, heal thyself! Isn’t that what they say?’
‘Bang on. But I’m a surgeon to the dead. Not so good at healing. No practice. I’d better put the kettle on.’
‘Sure. Fill it up. I’ll make a plunger of coffee.’
‘Tell me more about our tragic fishing observer while you do it. Did he work here in Suva?’
‘Sometimes, but mostly he worked at sea. I gather these guys are employed by their own governments but they can be placed on fishing vessels from any country, just for one trip. Often they’re sent on the tuna longliners you can see parked down at the wharves.’
‘So, what does the captain do, when he sees the observer recording illegal catches?’
‘Exactly. My question exactly. If I ever saw certain conflict, it’s here.’
‘Poor bloody guy. You reckon it was murder?’
‘Don’t know. But you wouldn’t rule it out, would you?’
‘Hell, no. If what you’ve told me is the case, and your rugby-damaged brain hasn’t got it arse-about.’
‘D’you want coffee or not?’
‘I hope that’s not a threat, mate!’ Dr Young feigned moral outrage well.
‘Not at all. I don’t bother with threats. If I wanted revenge for your insult to my brain, you’d be on the floor now. It was merely a general enquiry.’ But Horseman couldn’t keep a straight face and burst out laughing.
He returned to the armchair with his coffee. ‘I’m spending the rest of my Sunday morning finding out more about this conflicted occupation. After lunch I’ll go to the station to do the file before Susie gets back.’
His landlord was already deep in the latest edition of Forensic Pathology Case Studies and didn’t hear.
The more Horseman read, the more unanswered questions popped into his mind. He needed an expert he could talk to about this. He must know someone. Then he remembered Waisele, the young nephew who had convinced Ratu Tabualevu to initiate a marine reserve on Vula lagoon. At the time Waisele was a postgraduate biology student. He remembered someone mentioning the young man was now in the Fisheries Department after completing his master’s degree. He should know all about fishing observers.
&n
bsp; He looked up Waisele on the Department’s website and sent him an email. Two hours later, he received a friendly reply agreeing to see Horseman at nine o’clock on Monday morning.
MONDAY 18th September
22
The last time Horseman met Waisele Tabualevu he was a postgrad student with dreadlocks, cut-off jeans and a Greenpeace T-shirt. Less than a year later he had his degree and an appointment as a project officer in the research section of Fisheries—fitting for the nephew of a maritime chief. His hair was short, he wore khaki cargo pants and a crisp blue-and-white bula shirt. His confidence and charm were just as Horseman remembered. His enthusiasm too.
‘You know how I feel about conserving our reefs and lagoons, Inspector. I’m just as concerned about the bigger fishing picture—beyond the 12-mile limit and even beyond the 200-mile EEZ—our exclusive economic zone. It’s all very well to have an international law of the sea and protocols, but how can it be enforced? Whatever nations might sign up to, the giant purse-seiners and longliners can flout the rules. Those vessels may have transferred their catch to carriers time and time again during their voyage of more than a year. Unless there’s a fishing observer on board, there’s no way breaches can be detected. Those brave guys are crucial.’
‘How many vessels take on observers, Wes?’
The young scientist frowned. ‘It used to be higher a decade ago, but the huge increase in the number and size of fishing vessels working on the high seas means that observer coverage has dropped. Our current goal is to achieve five per cent coverage for longliners, but it should be at least twenty per cent, just for statistical validity.’
‘Tell me about a breach relevant to Fiji that I can latch onto.’
Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3 Page 9