I reminded Shay we were going to the hospital, 100 metres away. She reminded me that we had to meet Georgia after the doctor. I reminded her that meant we had just 600 metres to walk to Georgia’s place. She moaned.
‘Fine, let’s take the car,’ I sighed. I wasn’t going to argue with a 22-year-old about driving a few hundred metres.
I waited for Shay in front of the station. The sun had vanished behind sheets of grey cloud that had appeared from nowhere and the temperature had dropped.
Just after 8.30am, Shay and I were in a consulting room at the hospital with Dr Carla Dimaggio, a picture of Mediterranean beauty: thick black wavy hair, smooth olive skin, aquiline nose. I thanked her for meeting with us on a public holiday.
‘The pleasure’s all mine if I don’t have to resuscitate you or operate. I’m on call today, tomorrow and Sunday, so there’s plenty of that ahead of me. Now, about Melissa Ramu, this conversation is off the record and what I tell you is to help you find her without waiting for a subpoena, which wastes valuable time.’
I ran through Melissa’s matter and raised the issue of depression.
‘Yes. Yes. That’s right.’ She was reading from Melissa’s file and after a moment faced us. ‘I’d diagnosed Melissa with depression five months ago and prescribed anti-depressants, as well as diazepam for anxiety. I saw her two weeks later on November 1st, but not since.’
‘How serious was her depression?’
‘Moderate. The therapeutic effect of the drugs wouldn’t have kicked in by her last visit with me, yet there are no notes to show she saw other doctors. I have seen her around, though not socially.’
I told her about Mrs Bintu threatening Melissa on Tuesday afternoon.
‘Oh dear. Melissa is not a confident person at best. If her depression had deteriorated, a verbal attack may have plunged her into severe depression if she had not been taking her medication.’ She closed the file. ‘If you are wondering about suicide, I don’t think she would have gone to elaborate lengths to conceal her death. I’m sorry I can’t help you further.’
Shay and I drove the short distance to meet Georgia. On the way over, Shay told me Isaac had taken her to the Railway last night to play pool.
‘Did you win?’
‘No, I ended up watching him play in the competition they have every Thursday night. He came third. A guy called Jonah came first and Fred, that’s Jenny’s Fred, he came second. Isaac was deadly.’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘You should see him. Tall and handsome with Asian eyes.’
‘Shay, whatever you do, don’t trust men, not at your age. Actually, not at any age. If you do, look after yourself.’ I rushed my lecture to make sure I delivered it before Shay’s attention wandered.
‘Chillax, Thea. I’m just having a little fun.’ She appeared to think. ‘You’re single, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Jonah’s sort of hot for an older guy, even though he’s a bit grey. Do you want to come down next Thursday for the pool comp? Isaac and Fred can introduce you.’
‘Shay, I’m not interested and he might be married.’
‘Shit, I didn’t think of that.’
She parked under the sea almond tree where the old man had sat yesterday. There was no sign of him or the women fishing. In fact, the place was deserted. The sky was a dark boiling mass and the sea, so clear and aquamarine yesterday, was the colour of lead except where frothy grey waves curled into themselves. It took me a few moments to realise the wind was blowing from the opposite direction and had a chill to it.
Georgia’s door was open but I knocked anyway. She called us in. She was studying at the table, without wine. The sliding doors were open so the long white drapes were sucked against the security screens and then blown into the dining chairs with each gust of wind. Georgia stood as we entered, her figure accentuated in a patterned shirt-dress. I would like to say it was a sort of gold-embroidered Indian print but I couldn’t be sure. It might have been Chinese or Incan, who knew? She looked great until I saw the dark bags under her eyes. I didn’t think they were from studying all night.
‘I forgot to tell you something yesterday. Honestly, I didn’t even think about Dave Garland. It was over ages ago.’
‘Let’s start with what you forgot to mention yesterday.’
‘Melissa knows this guy who sort of follows her. She said he’s simple so she gives him money to buy cigarettes, food and clothes.’
‘Have you seen this man?’
‘Well, he’s more like a boy, really, in a man’s body. Yes, he’s come over to us a couple of times when I’ve been with Melissa at the JCU campus. He has a German name but looks Japanese. I’ve seen her give him ten or twenty dollars. Earlier this year, he gave her a necklace with a small pearl shell carved pendant of a dari, you know, the headdress. And on Tuesday, when she came around after Mrs Bintu had a go at her, she told me she’d seen him on her way home from school.’ She leaned forward. ‘The weird thing is he never speaks.’
I turned to Shay, who shrugged.
‘Georgia, has Melissa ever mentioned that he’s behaved aggressively to her?’
‘Never. She says he’s harmless and she treats him like her son.’
‘Thank you. We’ll look into it,’ I said. ‘Now, please tell us about the relationship between Melissa and David Garland.’
‘Well, he’s the principal of the primary school and . . . I know what you’re thinking but I never gave it any thought yesterday.’
‘Could you give it some thought now and tell us how long he and Melissa had been having an affair?’
‘I don’t want to get Melissa into any trouble.’
‘That’s the point, Georgia. Melissa is in trouble and what you tell us might get her out of trouble. That’s why police rely on people like you to be completely honest.’
She looked down and took a deep breath. ‘It began halfway through last year,’ she said in a whisper, lifting her eyes, ‘but it ended before uni started this year and that was the end of February.’
‘How did they manage to pull off an affair on such a small island?’
‘Sometimes they’d meet here when Tim was away for work or on fishing trips so I’d go for a few drinks at the Railway. Melissa always told Robby she was studying, going to CWA meetings or working. She also went to Dave’s house when his wife was away. The affair worked wonders for Melissa’s self-esteem. She needed that to cope with . . .’ she paused and grimaced, ‘. . . Robby.’
I thanked her and we left.
‘Oh, shit,’ said Shay as she stopped the car at the station. I thought she had forgotten to ask Georgia an important question. ‘This weather’s crap. My sister sent up a new bikini that I was going to wear tomorrow. Jack is supposed to be taking his girlfriend, Kelly, the nurse who punched the molester of Millman Hill, and me and some friends out wakeboarding.’
‘You could stay home, eat pizza and play Twister.’
‘Twister? Never heard of it. Hey, do you wanna come with us if it clears up?’
‘That’s sweet, Shay, but I’ve got too much to do. Can you organise a meeting with Dave Garland and track down the mute and arrange to talk to him? Second thoughts, you won’t be able to talk to a mute. Just sort Dave Garland. Ask Jenny to locate the mute. And, is there anywhere close by that does food? On Good Friday?’
‘I’ll be heading out to get something. The Cultural Centre cafe is always open.’
‘A hamburger and chips? I’ll fix you up later.’
‘Sweet.’
I’ve a soft spot for hamburgers. The thing about the great Australian hamburger is that it is always the same. There is a beef patty, sliced tomato, shredded iceberg lettuce and tomato sauce (never barbecue sauce, thank you). With luck there would be beetroot, pineapple, cheese and an egg fried on one side. That’s if Shay thought to ask for the works, which I should have mentioned. Oh
well, even the standard great Australian hamburger is delicious.
Chapter 9
My stomach was gurgling with hunger as I made a list of tasks. The media release was the top priority. Once it was cleared through the Media Unit in Brisbane, it would be broadcast on Torres Strait and Cairns AM radio stations and printed in the weekend Cairns Post. The dam would need to be searched. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been working when Jenny wandered in, nibbling at a carrot as if it were doused in insect repellent.
‘Shay said you wanted to know about Franz Rigel Josef. He’s about 25 and is well known on TI. He has never, repeat never, come to police attention. Story is he was brain damaged at birth and has never talked. His mother was half-Japanese and half-Islander, and his father a German builder, both deceased. He lives with his much older sister, Izzy Josef, and her husband, Cedric, in the family home. She provides a bed and meals and leaves him to his own devices, which is why he cruises the streets. He’s usually outside the IBIS supermarket or Triple F.’
‘What’s Triple F?’
‘Fabulous Fried Fish, the fast-food fish and rice shop. It’s an Islander family business and I can tell you, Islanders know how to cook fish. You can have it grilled, battered or crumbed, which is what white people like, but the Islanders go crazy for zura, fish soup, and wings, the side bits with the fins. The fried heads are my favourite, with soy sauce and fresh chilli. I love sucking the eyeballs out and . . .’
‘So when are we seeing Franz?’
‘As soon as.’
‘Should Salome come with us, since she’s the police liaison officer?’
‘She’s still on days off. We’ll be right. Franz has seen me around, but it’s more likely we’ll have to talk to Izzy, his sister. She’s sort of related to Fred, generations back, but I’ve never been able to work it out.’
‘Kai kai,’ said Shay, marching in with two brown paper bags bearing the green triangle recycling logo. ‘Matha nice.’ She smiled coyly at Jenny and me. ‘Isaac is teaching me Broken English.’
‘Ain’t love sweet,’ said Jenny, chewing her carrot.
The aroma of heated food sent my tastebuds into a frenzy. As Shay turned to leave, I unwrapped a burger that was so small it was more like a scone.
‘Hang on, Shay. What is this?’ The patty was the colour of slime and stuck to some green leafy stuff with a substance similar to mortar.
‘It’s a burger with tahini and garlic yoghurt cream.’
‘It doesn’t look like a burger. For one it is too small and two, it’s green.’
‘It’s a vegan lentil burger.’ She sort of humphed as if I had asked what the first day of the week was.
‘There is no meat in it. Or pineapple, beetroot or egg.’ What was a burger without the essential ingredients? Like low-fat milk and sugar-free cordial. It ain’t milk or cordial or a burger!
‘That’s why it’s vegan. It’s got rocket.’
‘What are these?’ I pulled out a limp orange strip from the paper bag.
‘Kumala, sorry, sweet potato chips. They’re low GI and cooked in cholesterol-free vegetable oil. Sven, he runs the cafe, says that canola oil can cause macular degeneration, whatever that is. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Isaac at Front Beach for lunch.’
Jenny apologised for not warning me about Shay’s health-food fad and announced with great pride that she had hidden a bottle of tomato sauce in her bottom drawer. ‘She’s only been on this health kick a month. She’s trying to get rid of the cream biscuits in the tearoom and make this a healthy workplace.’
‘You know, she’s right. We both want to lose some weight and could do with healthier food. I mean, look at her and then look at us.’
‘She’s also in her early twenties. Eat that and we’ll go and find Franz. I might grab a fried head from Triple F on the way.’
‘No. Eat these.’ I held out the paper bag of sweet potato things. Better she eat them than me.
Jenny and I ate in silence at my desk. I don’t know about the orange things but the burger had the texture and taste of damp shredded paper.
‘It’s no wonder vegans tend to be miserable, I mean thin,’ I said.
Although it was just after midday when we left, the sky was like dusk in a thousand shades of grey I’d not known existed. The mango and sea almond trees lining the wide main street thrashed as the angry wind whipped the tiny island. There were no workers walking to or from lunch, no mums pushing prams, no kids cycling with unclipped helmets. The black and white dog that chased us yesterday was curled up under a shop awning but the skinny mutt wasn’t outside the council chambers.
The air was like a low-pressure vacuum, pressing insidiously against me. I imagined the barometer plunging and hoped there would be some relief with the first downpour, however violent. I would have been very worried about a cyclone hitting the island but, fortunately, according to my mother, the Torres Strait rarely suffered cyclones. Mum told me she was 12 when the last one blew through and knocked her school down on Warral. I was shocked, but she laughed and said it hadn’t been that bad; the school was an old traditional building made of mangrove wood, with walls of plaited coconut fronds.
After several laps of the main street and waterfront without sign of Franz, we headed to the Josef family home at the back of the island. Jenny pulled up at a Federation-style house and I marvelled at the downward curled roof edges, the wrought-iron verandah and the heavy vertical wood panelling.
‘They don’t build houses like this anymore,’ I said, but something wasn’t right about it.
‘On TI, they just pull them down and build 47 units to ease the housing crisis, even though people end up living on top of each other.’
‘Does something look strange to you?’
‘Keep looking. You’ll work it out.’
I tilted my head to the left and right several times. Each side of the house sloped downwards from the middle and it was slowly subsiding into an A-frame design. We entered the yard and a large Rottweiler-cross bitch leapt out from beneath the house, barking. Puppies fell off her pendulous teats. I froze, my eyes fixed on the dog’s bared teeth.
A double-chinned woman appeared at the top of the staircase and roused at the dog. It tucked its tail between its legs and retreated under the house.
‘Come,’ said the woman as she waved with the broom and made for the doorway.
I let Jenny tackle the pitted steps and shaky railing first, not sure if it could hold both our weights. Up close, paint flaked off the tongue-and-groove walls and the decking timber had rotted through in places. The front entrance, minus a door, opened into a large living area and by the time we entered, the woman was sweeping. Jenny introduced me to Izzy.
‘Yu blong the Dari pamle lor Warral, I bet.’ She made the same lifted-chin gesture Mrs Bintu had made.
‘Yes, my mother is Masalgi Dari.’ Best I stick to English till I found someone to teach me Broken English.
She grunted, which I took to be a non-threatening response, and continued sweeping, her island dress billowing with each thrust of the broom. ‘Your great-grandfather and my great-grandfather were cousins. Been dive pearl shell together.’
I wasn’t sure how to respond to the news that we were related. A welcome hug was clearly out of the question.
‘We’re looking for Franz,’ said Jenny.
‘You’ll have to go to the hospital. Cut his face with Cedric’s filleting knife. He’s spewing.’
‘Franz is spewing?’ I asked, thinking he must have a stomach bug.
Izzy paused and gave me a death stare. ‘Cedric is spewing. Franz used his best filleting knife.’ Then she went back to sweeping.
Jenny put a finger to her mouth and I knew to shut up. ‘What happened, Izzy?’
Even in the dull interior I could see the sheen of perspiration on Izzy’s skin.
‘Never know with th
at kid. I been wake up early morning. There he was covered in blood. Woulda drilled him, ’cept for the blood. Cedric been take him go hospital.’
‘Has he hurt himself before?’ asked Jenny.
‘Yeah, just scratching himself when em get wild.’
‘Was he upset about something?’
‘Who knows. Em got small boy sense. You sabe em been brain damage, wat. Mama said he got a blood clot when he was born. Something like that, anyway.’
Jenny followed her into a hallway, asking questions. I followed Jenny. ‘Was he behaving unusually Wednesday night, when he left?’
‘Em always behave unusual.’
‘Do you know where he went Wednesday night?’
‘I never know. Em stap haus to sleep and eat.’
‘Do you know who he was with Wednesday night?’
‘Other wasters.’
The charade was killing me but I could see an end, a wall.
‘Izzy, a woman, Melissa Ramu, has been missing for almost two days and we want to talk to people who saw her before she disappeared.’
Izzy stopped at the end of the hallway. The wind forced itself through gaps in the old frosted louvres in one long, agonising moan. ‘Em been maydh, that one.’
‘Well, we are following that up, but we know Melissa used to give Franz money for food and he had given her a pearl shell pendant.’
‘Look in room blong em,’ she said and gestured with the broom to a doorway. ‘Em more worser since Mama been dead. Before, em been talk with hands blong em and help me with chores. Em nathakind now.’ She walked off and her words faded. ‘Ten years, em been like this. I been give up with that kid.’
Franz’s room contained a single wrought-iron bed, a bedside table, an antique wardrobe and a large tin chest with a dent on top and chipped brown paint. A yellowed print of a black Madonna and Jesus hung above his bed, which was draped in a faded blue towelling bedspread with tassels that sucked me back to my childhood. I hadn’t seen one for years, and without thinking, I sat down and ran my fingers over the raised contours of the swirling patterns, just as I had done as a child. My two brothers and I had been given them as Christmas presents when I was about eight. The boys got the blue and green ones and I got the pink. I begged them to swap but they laughed at me. I complained for days until finally Mum dyed mine dark blue. It ended up a dull grey purple, much better than pink.
My Island Homicide Page 6