My Island Homicide

by Catherine Titasey

  ‘The thing is, Franz didn’t take this last night,’ I said. ‘He had it on his bedside table yesterday afternoon. I told him to come down this morning if he knew something.’

  ‘Oh, he’s here, all right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We picked him up when he got back to Izzy’s this morning. Charged him. Break and enter, and stealing. He got bail this morning. Robby is spewing, saying he should be locked up.’

  ‘Do you think Franz was the one who stole the stuff from Robby and left it at the well?’

  ‘It looks like it.’ Jack put his hand on my arm. ‘Look out, here’s Robby. He’s a cranky camper.’

  Robby marched over and pointed to the photo in my hand. ‘Thea, did Jack tell you about that?’

  ‘Yes, Rob—’

  ‘He should be locked up. Can’t you keep him in the watch house?’

  ‘No magistrate will remand Franz for what he did last night. He has no criminal history and he isn’t a risk to anyone. Well, the bail conditions, that he doesn’t approach you and doesn’t break the law, mean he’s not a risk anymore.’

  ‘It was him stealing all along. He’s completely crazy. He won’t respect the bail conditions.’ Robby marched off.

  ‘This is the last thing he needs,’ I said to Jack. ‘What do you think Franz is up to?’

  Jack said something, but he was drowned out by a sudden downpour. We ran to the undercover area, pushing through the crowd on the stairs. The dull drumming of the rain on the aluminium roof didn’t wash away the question swirling in my head: what was Franz trying to tell me?

  I read in one of Jonah’s baby books that babies communicate by smiling and laughing or crying and screaming until the parent responds. Alby drew a picture of Melissa in the well, her face mutilated, to tell his father he knew what had happened to his mother. What was Franz trying to say by taking Robby’s belongings?

  There was something clawing at my mind as I pushed through the melee towards the courtroom. I needed Uncle because my head was throbbing and I felt a dull ache in my pelvis. A bowler hat with feathers caught my attention. I was pressed up against the well-dressed man who’d come to my office and left feathers on my desk. Next to him was Leilani. A wave of nausea washed over me. In front of Leilani was a tall, thin European man. He turned as he was pushed forward through the doors. I glimpsed the pale grey irises. It was Dave Garland, his features defined by shadows. He was grey, grieving grey. I turned away before he recognised me.

  I finally reached Jack at the bar table, my ears now ringing. I tried covering them but that only intensified the vibrations. Uncle and Jonah were surveying the room for spare seats. I asked two women in the row of seats behind the bar table to leave so Jonah and Uncle could sit nearer to me. They were pissed off, flicked their chins at me and walked away. Uncle gave me the thumbs up, but I wasn’t sure he had things under control because his eyes were darting around like he sensed a predator.

  ‘Ready to rock and roll?’ Jack asked. ‘Robby’s your first witness and the teacher aides are waiting outside. Georgia will be cross-examined by phone.’

  Dave Garland was in the courtroom, sitting next to his barrister, Gregory Crane. In the row of seats behind Dave, Leilani was glaring at me. Next to her was the well-dressed man. He wore a lava lava, the white crocheted edges cascading down his lap like frothy water. The cloth was the colour of fresh blood. He smiled at me, a calm, loving smile.

  ‘Silence, all stand.’ The depositions clerk’s voice rang out above the hum and the chamber door opened. ‘This court is now in session.’

  I took a deep breath. Magistrate Horton, a short, rotund man, walked from the door and settled in the high-backed leather chair. Above him the legal coat of arms proclaimed, ‘My God and My Right.’

  ‘Yes, Senior-Sergeant Dari-Jones,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning, Your Honour. Please take the matter of David Patrick Garland.’

  Horton leaned over and mumbled to his clerk. She nodded and he leaned back in his chair. ‘David Patrick Garland, please stand. You are charged that between the thirty-first day of March and the first day of April, this year, you murdered one Melissa Margaret Ramu. Be seated, Mr Garland. Today begins the committal proceeding for the prosecution to produce evidence to the court that a jury may reasonably convict the accused on the charge of murder. Pursuant to the Evidence Act, I direct that the evidence will be recorded by a mechanical device operated by Cecille Jane Roper. Would you please announce your appearances?’

  I stood and announced my name and position then sat. One of the buggers about addressing the magistrate is that it can only be done standing. So, there is a lot of standing up, sitting down and so on. Usually it’s just a drag, but today, with my pounding headache, I was absolutely dreading it. Then it was Gregory’s turn.

  ‘Crane, C-R-A-N-E. Initial, G. Barrister for Mr Garland.’

  A committal hearing is, in my opinion, the most monotonous procedure in the criminal justice system. And the opening statements and tendering of documents are the most monotonous parts of the most monotonous procedure. I stood again and a rush of blood from my head made me sway. A poisoned heaviness had infused every cell in my body. I’d gone from being fatigued with a headache to feeling like death on gallons of Red Bull.

  ‘Your Honour,’ I said, ‘I make application under the Justices Act to tender a number of original typed statements, which have been signed in accordance with the Oaths Act, in lieu of oral evidence. Copies of these statements have been provided to my friend, Mr Crane, and I understand that he is consenting to this procedure providing there is some cross-examination of certain witnesses.’ I’ve said this blather many times before and usually have to stifle a yawn. This time, I had to concentrate on staying upright.

  Jack leaned in and whispered, ‘You look terrible.’ I flicked my hand to show I had everything under control. Not.

  Mr Crane stood. ‘I consent to this procedure and I’ve indicated to my friend which witnesses I’d like to cross-examine. Thank you, Your Honour.’

  I went through the ritual of tendering the prosecution statements and they were admitted into evidence along with the exhibits relating to the investigation: Karen Jane Wakeham’s pathologist report, photographs, the life extinct certificate, and the subpoenaed records from Education Queensland. ‘Your Honour, that concludes the written evidence of the prosecution and I now call Robby Stevan Ramu.’

  I motioned to Robby to take the witness stand. He swore on the Bible to tell the truth and then sat down. I ran him through the protocol of announcing his name and occupation and confirming it was his signature on the copy of the written statement I showed him.

  ‘Are the contents of your statement true and correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  That was it from me for the time being and I sat down, relieved to be off my feet.

  As Mr Crane rose to cross-examine Robby, a high-pitched squeal exploded from the rear of the courtroom. I recoiled in fright and I wondered if this was another symptom of maydh, the onset of insanity. But no, the noise came from Franz, emaciated and unkempt, gesticulating and growling like a feral creature as he approached the witness box. If I hadn’t felt like I was dying, I would have given him a big hug and asked the magistrate to stand the matter down while I took Franz home to give him a glass of milk and some cookies. But something else was going on, that thing clawing at my memory. Franz hadn’t tried to verbalise anything for over ten years and now he was moaning like an animal being bludgeoned to death. I pulled myself up.

  ‘Your Honour, this man, Franz Josef, is mute. He is trying to tell—’

  ‘I know very well who the man is, Senior-Sergeant. He was in my court this morning on serious charges. He is very close to breaching his bail conditions. Mr Josef, you need to leave the courtroom immediately.’

  Franz faced me, as if imploring me to do something. There wer
e mumbles from the audience.

  ‘Officer,’ barked the magistrate to Jack, ‘remove Mr Josef.’

  ‘Me?’ Jack jumped to his feet.

  ‘Of course, you.’

  Jack took a step towards Franz, who growled and took a step back. ‘What should I do?’ Jack whispered to me.

  ‘He knows more than we think . . . I can’t think . . . I can’t. He knows who killed Melissa.’ I was distracted by a novel sensation, like my pelvic floor muscles were about to give way. I grabbed my stomach with one hand and steadied myself with the other. I turned to Uncle for help. He was holding his Rosary beads, apparently praying. Jonah had a couple of fishing magazines on his lap, but he was watching me, as if he was about to bolt from his seat. The sensation of being disembowelled passed so I gave him the thumbs up.

  ‘You look like shit. Go home, now,’ Jack said to me as I sat down. Then Jack turned to the magistrate. ‘Your Honour, Ms Dari-Jones has taken sick. She needs to . . .’

  ‘Look,’ I said to Jack. Franz was pointing with a trembling arm at the witness box. Robby was looking from me to the magistrate. He shrugged and went to exit the box.

  Shit, I thought as the loose threads of Melissa’s case were woven, in a split second, to form an entire detailed tapestry. It gave me the energy I needed to hoist myself up. ‘Your Honour, the prosecution offers no evidence on the charge of murder against Mr Garland.’

  ‘Thea, what the fuck are you doing?’ Jack was next to the microphone and his voice was broadcast throughout the courtroom.

  I checked Franz. His dark, sad eyes met mine. I nodded to him. His mouth quivered, not a smile, but as good as. He knew I finally understood what he had been trying to tell me for months: Robby murdered Melissa. Franz had probably been roaming around that night and followed Robby when he went to dump Melissa’s body in the well.

  ‘Senior-Sergeant,’ said the magistrate, ‘what on earth do you mean?’

  Jack snatched the microphone from me. I snatched it back. ‘Jack, not now. Your Honour, the prosecution is withdrawing the charge of murder against the accused.’

  ‘My dear, I have 33 years’ experience in the law. I know what a NETO is. What I don’t understand is why you are doing this now, at such an advanced stage?’

  Jack was tugging at my arm.

  ‘Sorry, Your Honour.’ I turned to Jack and said, ‘I know who killed Melissa.’

  Gregory Crane and Dave Garland stared at me as if I had started lap dancing for Jack. It’s not every day that a committal proceeding disintegrates into theatrical chaos.

  ‘Senior-Sergeant, I don’t have all day,’ said the magistrate.

  ‘Thea, you’re making a huge mistake,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve been sick. You can’t do this.’

  I got in Jack’s ear. ‘Robby did it. Franz saw him do it or watched him dump the body. He stole those things from Robby and put them by the well and on my driveway to tell me he’d seen it. Franz knew the dog, so he could get into the house without the dog barking. Franz cut his face in sympathy with Melissa.’

  Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Thea, this is ridiculous.’

  The magistrate was slapping the bench. ‘Senior-Sergeant!’

  ‘Robby knew about the affair and the pregnancy, which he thought was Dave’s. He killed Melissa and framed Dave, who he knew was in the shit for fraud. Robby probably never told Melissa about the fraud so she wouldn’t have known. She was a mess, snorting, screwed up, sneaking around. Dave was the perfect scapegoat for murder. Plus Robby wanted to get revenge for being framed all those years ago. Leilani was right. Dave’s corrupt, but he’s not a killer. I missed it all.’ I grabbed Jack’s arm. ‘Detain Robby, go to his house, go through everything, get the evidence. He keeps papers, receipts, you name it, all filed in date order. He told me. Don’t stop looking till you find what we need.’

  The magistrate barked my name. Franz screamed. Robby was shaking his head and walking towards the rear door. Jack pleaded with me to stop.

  ‘Jack, shut up. Go and detain Robby and search his house. The evidence is there.’ I spun around and pointed to Robby. ‘Robby Ramu. You are now detained while police officers conduct a search of your residence. If they wish to question you, you don’t have to say anything but if you do it will be recorded and may be used against you in a court of law.’

  ‘Thea,’ said Robby, ‘you’re making a mistake. And you’re not well. You can’t let this simple mute dictate—’

  ‘Jack!’ I screamed. ‘Handcuff him. And remember what I told you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, bala,’ said Jack as Robby turned and put his wrists behind his back. ‘It’s just a job.’ Jack turned to me. ‘I hope you’re right, Thea. You do need evidence, you know. Remember, the 729 sections of the Queensland Criminal Code?’

  The metallic click of each cuff filled the deathly silent court.

  ‘Very well,’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr Garland, the charge of murder has been withdrawn and you are free to leave the court.’

  Chapter 45

  That’s when things started to fall apart, well, fall further apart.

  I am sure the ground moved from under me because I grabbed at the chair to stop myself collapsing. I caught sight of Leilani and the well-dressed man sneering at me. I don’t know if it was coincidence, but at that precise moment, I felt like a knife cut through my gut. My pelvic floor muscles did, indeed, give way and a warm oily liquid flowed down my legs. I panicked, thinking that at 32 weeks pregnant, it was too early for my waters to be breaking and if they were, they shouldn’t be the colour of fresh blood. The room turned. The coat of arms proclaimed, ‘My God and My Right’ over and over. The wiry bottle-green carpet rushed up to meet me.

  ‘No. Thea, Thea,’ said Jonah, who was immediately at my side. ‘She needs an ambulance. Someone, call an ambulance.’

  Uncle placed a hand on my forehead. In his other hand were the Rosary beads, which he trailed across my face as he muttered ‘Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death’. The reference to death worried me when I lifted my wet hand and saw it was covered in blood. I patted the floor around me and it seemed I was lying in a pool of my own blood. I would have freaked out about bleeding so much and losing the baby I never expected to have in the first place, except I couldn’t move and I was thirsty and icy cold and I couldn’t stop shivering.

  ‘Out of the way!’

  ‘We’ll take it from here.’

  I needed to check out for a while.

  And when I came to, I had no idea where I was. It occurred to me I might be dead, except there was a dull ache in my pelvis and I couldn’t move, except my tongue. My mouth was dry and my lips stuck together. I must have fallen asleep.

  ‘How are you travelling, Jonah?’ asked Carla from behind me.

  ‘She’s still asleep,’ said Jonah. ‘Why won’t she wake up?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. She’s lost a lot of blood, but she should come around soon.’

  I was fitting the pieces together, remembering how I got here. I was at court. I must have fainted. So I wasn’t dead.

  ‘I’m around,’ I said but it came out like a croak.

  Jonah leaned over and kissed my cheek. Through the window, the sky was swirls of pink and purple.

  ‘I feel like I’ve been drugged,’ I moaned.

  Carla laughed. ‘You have been, actually. Since about ten this morning.’

  ‘Well, what about gutted?’

  ‘That too,’ said Jonah.

  ‘I have? You mean I’ve had the baby?’ I raised my arm, which felt weighted with lead, and touched my belly. Sure enough, most of it was gone. ‘The baby? Where’s my baby?’ I tried to sit up and only managed to lift my head a fraction.

  ‘I’ll get Dorothy to bring him in soon,’ said Carla. ‘She’s in the labour ward at the moment.’

  ‘I have a baby boy?�
�

  ‘I’ve held him. He’s perfect,’ said Jonah, teary-eyed. ‘But he has to stay warm.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘You haemorrhaged,’ said Carla.

  ‘What caused it?’

  ‘Placental abruption. The placenta had pulled away from the uterus. Do you remember being in pain?’

  ‘Yes, but it was more panic than pain.’

  ‘Well, you were almost on a medivac down south, but you pulled through. Hang on.’ She dashed out.

  Jonah and I looked at each other and he gripped my hand. He bit his lip and I thought he was going to cry.

  Then Carla was back. ‘I found this embedded in the placenta.’ She held out a specimen jar, which contained a small grey thing, like a claw.

  ‘What is it?’ Jonah took it and rolled the thing around in his fingers as a fleeting expression of fear crossed his face. He took a deep breath and gave me a heavy look.

  ‘It’s a fetolith. In medical terms, it is ossified fetal tissue from a past unviable pregnancy. Which is a fancy way of saying it’s a miscarried foetus that remained in the uterus and turned into bone over time.’ She beamed. ‘It’s the first one I’ve ever seen. I remember studying fetoliths at uni. We were told that we’d never see one in our careers. It really looks like a bird’s claw, don’t you think?’

  ‘So, you’re saying that this is actually the bony remains of a baby I was pregnant with in the past?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I’ve never been pregnant.’

  ‘You must have been, but didn’t know. It’s not unusual for a woman to fall pregnant, not know, and miscarry, thinking it was a heavy period.’

  ‘Can we keep it?’ asked Jonah. ‘As a souvenir, sort of.’

  ‘Of course. It’s yours. Funny you say that, though. On one part of the Burmese border, fetoliths are not uncommon. It is the only part of the world where they are not as rare as hen’s teeth. Parents keep the fetolith because they think it has spiritual significance.’ She paused. ‘I’ve taken some photos. Would you mind if I write an article about it?’