My Island Homicide

by Catherine Titasey

‘How come this place is open on Easter Sunday?’

  ‘It’s open every day of the year. Family business.’

  Jenny and I pulled up at the end of Summers Street where we’d begun our walk the other day. My double pluggers were perfect for wading through the puddles. Jenny was wearing Crocs. Although Sissy had a rope around her neck, she flopped down into the water whenever she could. At the brass plaque, we both stopped.

  ‘Go on,’ said Jenny, moving into the shade of the mango tree. ‘I’ll stay here with Sissy and say, “I told you so” when you find nothing but a million tadpoles in that well.’

  I climbed the short slope and found the well. I also found myself focusing on the bat tatt and the hundreds of tiny black tadpoles that rested on the pale, blotchy skin of Melissa’s swollen legs. She was half-submerged in the shallow well, her face and belly exposed to the elements. Her red singlet had ridden up over her bloated gut, an iceberg rising from the water, and her eyes were staring ahead. Her left temple had been split open, her cheeks bore three lacerations and her throat was a tangled mess of dark grey gristle, much like the suckers of an octopus. Maggots were in every visible orifice, including the wounds, writhing like bodies at a rock concert.

  ‘Okay, we’ve got our crime scene.’

  ‘You’re fucking joking,’ said Jenny, bolting up the rise. ‘Oh, shit. Holy fuck.’

  Before I made the necessary phone calls and while Jenny was coming to terms with our discovery, I thought about Alby and how he would cope with the news that his mother was not coming back. At least he had his father.

  ‘Why are you just standing there?’ asked Jenny. ‘You look so calm about this.’

  ‘It’s a shitty job, sometimes,’ I said and pulled out my phone.

  I called the regional crime coordinator (the RCC), who agreed to dispatch the forensics team of three officers – a scene of crime officer known as SOCO, fingerprint and scientific officers – ASAP on the Air Wing. General duties officers like me don’t get involved in forensic investigations, despite what is shown on TV. The forensics team would arrive on Horn Island at about 10.30am and chopper to TI.

  After a short discussion with the RCC, we agreed additional detectives were not necessary at this point. Jenny would investigate initially, locating witnesses and taking statements, with support from me and Jack. If things became more complex, more detectives would be flown up.

  The bright morning light and still heat told me today would be a fine tropical scorcher. Not the best conditions for a body in the open. And the 18 hours of torrential rain since Melissa went missing meant we could kiss goodbye any biological evidence like blood or human tissue. The well water overflowed the cement levee and dribbled down the embankment.

  I phoned Shay. ‘First response first. We need to secure the scene. Can you get down here with tape and exhibit bags? And the crime scene log. And the camera. And some water. And call Jack in five minutes. I need to talk to him first. And Jenny and I came in the work vehicle. Call Salome. She should be back from her days off. Ask her to get the car and pick up forensics when they arrive.’

  There was a long silence. ‘Anything else?’ Shay asked as if we didn’t have enough to do.

  Jack had just woken up and his girlfriend, Kelly, was making him breakfast. There was yapping in the background, like a young puppy.

  ‘I’ll talk to Shay,’ said Jack sleepily. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  I put my phone away and Jenny and I stood, staring at Melissa. She was expressionless, as if she had been caught in a daydream about whether to make tacos or bolognaise for dinner.

  Apart from the hair and tatt, Melissa looked nothing like the slim, attractive woman in the photo Robby gave me. Swelling meant she was now a few dress sizes larger. The skin on the front of her body was pale, drained of blood, which, thanks to gravity, had pooled on the underside of her arms, legs and back, rendering them a dark, almost black, hue. Her long hair floated dreamlike while the tadpoles played between the silken strands. It appeared someone had crossed her arms over her chest, like she’d been prepared for burial.

  ‘She looks like Ophelia,’ I said.

  ‘Who’s Ophelia?’

  ‘From Shakespeare. My father was an English teacher and had a thing for Shakespeare. He’s not bad.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘No. Shakespeare.’

  ‘I didn’t like him. We had to do Hamlet at high school.’

  ‘Ophelia was in Hamlet.’

  ‘Really? Which one was he?’

  ‘She. She was Hamlet’s lover, the pregnant beauty who drowned herself in a clear glassy pond with flowers floating on the surface.’

  ‘I don’t remember that part. Would a dirty well full of tadpoles work as a Torres Strait take on things?’

  We sat in the cool shade of the mango tree next to Sissy, our bums squashing into the soft grass, soaked by the overflowing well water, as we chatted. Half an hour later, Shay came round the bend, labouring under a backpack and holding two plastic bags.

  ‘It’s so hot. I parked the car across the start of the track and ran the barricade tape. Jack’s there now guarding the scene and has promised not to fall asleep. What’s that doing there?’

  ‘She. Meet Sissy. Thea’s new flatmate.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t have fleas and ticks and rabies.’ Shay was digging in the backpack.

  ‘She probably has the former two,’ I said, ‘though I haven’t checked. But rabies has never made it to Australia.’

  She wasn’t convinced, judging from her expression. ‘How did you find Melissa?’

  ‘Thea had a hunch and dragged me out.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said, walking up to the well. She peered in, turned and retched. I went up and put my hand on her back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her mouth. ‘This is my first dead body. Apart from my great-grandma and she just died in her sleep.’ She straightened up.

  ‘Do you want a break?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll be right. It’s part of the job, isn’t it?’ She looked at me with innocent eyes and I nodded. ‘I’ll do the crime scene log and secure the scene.’

  After noting each of our names, rank and time of arrival in the running log, Shay secured the area with tape, including across the track near the well. The black and white checked strips ruined what was otherwise a snapshot of picturesque tropical tranquillity: lush vegetation; purple lilies, tall and strong; sunshine beaming through the canopy, illuminating a hundred different greens.

  ‘Come on. Let’s scan the immediate area for obvious evidence like the murder weapon,’ I said and we started searching around the well. After only ten minutes or so, Shay called out that she’d found something. It was a flattened and sandied khaki cap on the grass, just off the track. It bore the logo ‘Townsville Tackle’.

  ‘This might be evidence,’ I said. ‘Can you photograph it, Shay?’

  Within five metres of the well, I saw a thin black snake. Except it wasn’t a snake because it was attached to a pale shiny object, about the size of a matchbox.

  ‘Quick,’ I shouted and used a stick through the O-ring to lift it up.

  It was a pearl shell carving of a dari, headdress, the contours intricate with fine black coral overlays. I couldn’t help admiring the way the sunlight, breaking through the canopy of leaves, reflected like a rainbow off the nacre. This was Franz’s gift to Melissa.

  ‘Look how the leather of the necklace has been stretched to breaking point, indicating a struggle,’ said Jenny. ‘You know, this looks like one of Bobby Arua’s carvings.’

  Shay was already logging our second exhibit.

  ‘Who’s Bobby Arua?’ I asked.

  ‘A talented young artist who carves with black coral, pearl shell and dugong tusk. That’s when he’s not on a bender. I bet he’s a mate of Franz’s. It’s sad. Bobby’s very clever but any money he ea
rns goes on grog or ganja.’

  ‘I have the third exhibit here.’ I pulled it from my hair and handed it to Shay. ‘A carved pearl shell drum I found here on Thursday. I believe it may be the brother of that dari.’

  Jenny and I donned gloves and crouched down in the puddles nearby, trailing our fingers through the slime, hoping to find something. We lasted an hour, then joined Shay and Sissy in the shade. I was wet and sticky and hot but the worst thing was my stale body odour, which mingled with the stink of swamp water. Shay passed Jenny and me a bottle of water to rinse the gunk off our hands and then some antiseptic waterless soap.

  ‘Were you a Brownie?’ I asked Shay. She screwed up her face. ‘A Girl Scout?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here.’ She passed over a plastic shopping bag of rice crackers and four tins of curried tuna.

  ‘My favourite,’ I said. ‘And I’m starving.’

  ‘I thought so. These are gluten-free rice crackers.’

  ‘Look, that’s the Air Wing,’ said Jenny, pointing to the plane silhouetted against the endless blue as it made an arc for landing.

  ‘So the ambulance is on standby, Shay?’ I asked.

  ‘I just need to call Mike’s mobile and he’ll come.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t dealt with a murder since I was in Charters Towers and a wife was thrown down a mine shaft, what, eight years ago,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Haven’t you had a manslaughter on TI?’ asked Shay. ‘A DV gone wrong?’

  ‘Nope. The biggest mystery on TI is Elaine Chappel’s violent assault a few years back. Can’t believe we didn’t solve that one. Other than that, it’s your run-of-the-mill alcohol-related disorganised crime.’

  Chapter 15

  I leaned back into the slope of the hill next to Sissy, not caring if I got soaked. I rubbed her ear absent-mindedly. We still had a 45-minute wait before forensics got from Horn Island to TI. Snatches of blue sky broke through the canopy of thick leaves as they quivered in the faint breeze. But for a fly that kept landing on my face, I would have drifted off to sleep as Jenny and Shay chatted about nothing in particular. I must have nodded off for a while because when I came to, Shay’s backpack was ringing and she was ripping zipper after zipper to find her phone.

  ‘That’s them, forensics, on Horn. They’re about to board the chopper. I’ll call Salome. She’ll meet them and bring them here.’

  ‘They’ll be another 20 minutes,’ said Jenny as she lay back down.

  Sure enough, 20 minutes later a police vehicle came sloshing around the bend.

  ‘Here’s Salome,’ said Jenny as the car pulled up. Several officers with small plastic cases stepped out and immediately surveyed their surrounds.

  ‘Hey, sister,’ Salome said, raising her eyebrows at me. ‘Mipla go yarn bambai.’ I whipped on my thinking cap to mentally translate. We will talk later. I gave her the thumbs up. She had fair skin, lighter than mine, full cheeks and coal black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She drove off and would pick us up if we needed a lift.

  I recognised Danielle Rhymes, the fingerprint officer from Cairns.

  ‘Welcome to tropical Thursday Island,’ I said. ‘Sorry, but I forgot the frangipani leis I usually keep handy for these occasions.’

  ‘I would have preferred a pina colada,’ said Danielle.

  The other officers introduced themselves. Richard, the scientific officer, was short and stocky with the bulging upper arms of someone who works out too much. Simon, the SOCO, surveyed the area with a subtle sneer.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ said Simon, pressing his shoe into a squishy patch. ‘Shame about all the rain. By the way, what’s that smell? It’s not a corpse, that’s for sure, but almost as bad.’

  I took a step back. I was sure he could smell me. ‘We’ve scoured the area and found two items of interest.’ Shay produced the exhibits. ‘The third I found here three days ago and have been wearing in my hair.’

  ‘Murder weapon?’ asked Simon, slipping into a body suit.

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘What a train wreck,’ he said as he stood at the well, holding a steel-framed case. ‘Jesus. We should have got here three days ago.’

  Danielle and Richard smiled at each other, then at me, Shay and Jenny. By then, Simon was kneeling down and opening up his case.

  Danielle and Richard decided that Jenny and I should return to the station. Shay would stay at the scene till the body was removed and the team was finished. They would come back with Jack to my office, which would become the major incident room. So much for my plan of escaping to a more relaxing life on TI.

  At the start of the track was the second police wagon. Jenny slapped the side and the door shot open. Jack jumped out, his eyes puffy.

  ‘Were you asleep?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘Of course not. I was just resting my eyes.’

  ‘You’ll have to rest them for a bit longer,’ said Jenny with a chuckle. ‘We’ll meet you at the station later.’

  Jenny called Salome, who said she’d come and pick us up. I would walk the short distance to Robby’s house and break the bad news. While I was with Robby, Salome and Jenny would go to IBIS supermarket and buy Sissy a lead, collar and some decent food. Then I’d need a lift home so I could have a shower.

  ‘I’ll call you when I’m finished,’ I said to Jenny as I walked off.

  As soon as I knocked on Robby’s front door, frenzied barking erupted and I stepped back. Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  ‘Bear, stop it. Out the back,’ I heard Robby say. After a moment he opened the front door. His skin hung from his face, as if he’d lost weight. ‘I locked him out the back. Poor Bear. He knows something is not right.’

  ‘I am so sorry, Robby.’

  ‘You’ve found her, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s not alive.’

  ‘Was it suicide?’

  ‘No, no it’s not. She was murdered.’

  He steadied himself on the doorframe. ‘I thought you must have found her when I saw the police cars go past.’ He looked into nothing. ‘I can’t imagine her not alive.’

  I asked if he would come to the morgue later and identify the body, which would be flown to Brisbane tomorrow morning. I dreaded this part of the job and had done it more often than I could count. But it was slightly more bearable than explaining to a parent their child was still missing, like Christine Romario. Robby had some closure, at least. I have found that when a loved one has gone missing for days and it’s out of character, the family are almost always prepared for the worst. Really, the most awful situation is fronting up to someone’s door at three in the morning to tell them their husband or kid has just been killed in an accident.

  ‘Wouldn’t the rain have washed away the evidence?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes, but we will not stop till we find Melissa’s killer.’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘We need to wait for the results of the post-mortem.’

  Footsteps clicked on the floor above us and a shaky voice called out for Robby.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. It’s the police. I’ll be up in a minute,’ he said, his voice echoing in the stillness.

  ‘Daddy,’ said a young voice. ‘Where are you?’

  This was a good time to go since I’d said what I needed to. I arranged to meet Robby at the morgue at 4pm. He bid a faint goodbye and, as I turned to go, he closed the screen door and pressed his forehead against the grille.

  I called Jenny. She and Salome were about to go through the checkout at IBIS. By the time I reached the main drag, they were driving up. On the way home, Salome asked about my family and I quizzed her. She was a big girl, voluptuous, with soft curves and wavy hair in a ponytail that cascaded over her shoulders and down to the seat. She reminded me of a Polynesian princess.

  ‘Grandfather Edward was white and cam
e to TI to work for the DNA in the late forties.’

  ‘The Department of Native Affairs?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah. He married my grandmother, Aka Sula. She was a Malay Islander girl. They were soulmates. They died within six months of each other eight years ago. Ya gar. They couldn’t live apart.’

  Jenny pulled into my driveway. ‘Your stop, Thea.’

  ‘Hey, ladies,’ said Salome. ‘The Boys from Badu are playing at the Railway tonight. Wanna come down? Bertie the builder’s boys’ll be there. My fella, a sparky, can introduce you to some new blokes who have just started.’

  ‘Not another one, Salome,’ said Jenny.

  ‘He’s a naughty boy, this one. Gotta go to court this month, but he’s really nice. They all are.’

  ‘Salome quite likes the tradesmen, especially the bleached-blond type.’

  ‘Too right. They don’t order me around like those island boys, expectin’ dinner on the table and a beer in the fridge. And they don’t stay on TI for too long so there’s always new blokes on offer. Whaddaya say?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got some unpacking to do,’ I lied.

  ‘I’m helping Fred look after his grandchildren. Again.’

  ‘Well, Jenny, this new chippie has just started work with Bertie. He’ll be at the Railway tonight, without any grandkids. Why don’t you come down for a drink?’

  ‘It’s okay, Salome.’ Jenny turned to me. ‘Meet you back at the station after a shower.’

  My first job was to feed Sissy. Within five minutes she had gobbled down three bowlfuls of Komplete Krunchees. It was probably the first nutritionally balanced meal she’d had in her life. I fitted her bright red collar and couldn’t wait to use the matching lead.

  It was sweet relief in the shower, scrubbing at my skin till it was red. The stench of rotting compost was gradually replaced by lavender and ylang ylang homemade soap. Sissy and I went back to the station to wait for Jenny, Shay, Jack and the forensics team.

  The first thing Danielle, Richard and Simon did when they got back was to shower in the station bathroom. While they were changing, I asked Shay to order a selection of counter meals from the Railway Hotel.