Devil-Devil

by G. W. Kent

  ‘That’s about it, sir,’ said Kella.

  Grice brightened up. ‘On the other hand,’ he said, ‘we’ve broken up an artifacts smuggling racket. We’ve arrested Solomon Bulko and Mendana Gau for the smuggling. We’ve also recovered Professor Mallory unharmed. All in all, not bad work, not bad at all.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Kella humbly.

  ‘Although,’ frowned the chief superintendent, ‘we can’t prove that John Cho was involved in the Honiara end of the smuggling, and above all, we haven’t recovered the havu.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’

  ‘So there you are,’ said Grice sententiously. ‘It’s rounding off the details of a case which is important. Tidying matters up. Bear that in mind in future, Sergeant Kella.’

  ‘Oh, I shall, sir,’ said Kella. ‘Thank you very much.’ To his right Lorrimer was unable to suppress a snort of derision. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ the sergeant went on. ‘Do you know what’s going to happen to Father Pierre and Sister Conchita, now that Father Pierre is no longer a suspect?’

  ‘The old priest was never a suspect,’ said Grice quickly. ‘He was just giving us the benefit of his considerable experience on Malaita. I understand that he and Sister Conchita will be returning to Ruvabi in the near future.’ The chief superintendent paused for effect. ‘So you’ll be able to see them both when you return to Malaita,’ he concluded with a flourish.

  ‘Return?’ asked Kella, his pulse quickening.

  Grice waved an embarrassed hand. ‘You didn’t do such a bad job over there this time,’ he conceded gruffly. ‘I suppose there’s something to be said for local knowledge. You’re being put back in charge of the Auki sub-station – strictly for a probationary period, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Kella contentedly. ‘Thank you, sir; that’s good news.’

  ‘Incidentally,’ said the chief superintendent, changing tack, ‘this Sister Conchita, could she be described as eccentric?’

  ‘Sister Conchita could be described as many things, sir,’ replied Kella, his heart beginning to sink. What sort of trouble had the nun got him into this time?

  ‘Extraordinary woman. She stopped me in the street the other day to praise you to the skies.’

  ‘I’m sorry she bothered you,’ said Kella.

  ‘No, no, it was no problem. Bit of a surprise, that’s all. Still, we need all the good public relations we can get. Well done, sergeant!’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Kella.

  It certainly was good news about going back to Malaita, thought Kella, still luxuriating in a warm glow as other guests, white and Melanesian, began to enter the thatched church and fill up the benches. Sister Conchita may have overdone it as usual by teasing Chief Superintendent Grice in public, but by her standards it had been a relatively minor riposte, and as such one to be thankful for.

  Someone slid into place next to him. It was the rotund Sergeant Ha’a, glistening with sweat and looking unusually excited.

  ‘That Mallory,’ he said wistfully in an undertone. ‘Shacked up for days with three Sikaiana women. Do you think he’ll ever recover?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s bothered much whether he does or not,’ whispered Kella. ‘Bound to have some good memories though.’

  ‘Even if only from a wheelchair with a rug over his knees as he sips his cocoa.’

  ‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ asked Kella. ‘Do you want to talk about Sikaiana women, or are you thinking of turning Catholic?’

  ‘I know which of those two I’d prefer,’ said Ha’a promptly. Reluctantly the plump police sergeant tore himself away from his erotic reverie and returned to business.

  ‘We’ve cracked the artifacts smuggling business,’ he said with an air of triumph.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ asked Kella.

  ‘One of the sisters from the mission was down at the wharf the other day. She noticed that a box of schoolboy carvings from Ruvabi contained genuine custom carvings. She came to HQ with the news. Luckily she met me there, and I took over.’

  ‘Was that Sister Conchita?’

  ‘As a matter of fact it was. How did you know?’

  ‘I guessed,’ said Kella.

  ‘Right. Anyway, there’s more. I flew back from the Western District this morning. Joe Dontate has given up his job as a troubleshooter for the Cho family. He’s returned to Gizo to open another trading store.’

  ‘He told me he was going to do that,’ said Kella, recalling his conversation in Chinatown with the broken-nosed bartender. ‘What about it?’

  ‘As you know, the Cho family already own stores around Gizo and Munda in the West. They’re trying to give Dontate a hard time.’

  ‘Big mistake.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ chuckled Ha’a. ‘Joe wants to reciprocate and provide the Chos with some grief before he squeezes them out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘When the custom carvings reached Honiara, one of the Customs inspectors in Cho’s pay took them out of the box from Ruvabi and and smuggled them out to Cho. From what I can make out, Cho has a network of suppliers all over Malaita – traders, planters, teachers and the rest. Dontate told me that he knows where John Cho keeps those carvings. The Chinaman hasn’t had time to ship the last lot out yet, with all the fuss over Bulko’s arrest and the heat being on. The crates are in a warehouse behind the Lantern Bar.’ Ha’a paused for effect. ‘Dontate thinks that the havu is probably stashed among the loot.’ Ha’a hesitated and then said tentatively, ‘Seeing as it’s your case, I thought you might like to lead the raid on the warehouse.’

  ‘You do it,’ said Kella, his happiness intensifying. ‘I have a modicum of faith in you.’

  ‘Up yours too,’ said Ha’a equably. His loud remark caused disapproving heads to turn from the benches around them. Ha’a started to slide away. He had been gunning for the Chos for a long time. ‘I’ve had the place staked out since noon.’ A thought occurred to the fat policeman and he slid back towards Kella.

  ‘By the way,’ he muttered, ‘Joe Dontate says that if it will help, he’ll be willing to give evidence in court that Cho tried to bribe you and that you turned him down. Can’t be bad, eh?’

  ‘Better than a slap in the belly with a raw bonito,’ agreed Kella, thinking of the beating he had undergone on the beach. He looked up. ‘By the way, does Superintendent Grice know anything about your plans?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Ha’a, looking puzzled. ‘Should I have told him?’

  Kella thought for a moment. Then he decided that he and the superintendent were never destined to be bosom friends anyway.

  ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘What the hell! Why should we break the habit of a lifetime?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ agreed Sergeant Ha’a. The plump policeman sketched a salute and walked away, deliberately stepping on a number of well-shod expatriate feet as he did so. Kella returned to his thoughts. If he could return the havu to its waterfall temple, and persuade the bush people that it had been the long-gone American Mallory who had killed Hita, he might find himself accepted in the Kwaio territory again, especially as Pazabosi should now be well disposed towards him.

  Kella thought that he ought to be able to persuade the bush people that the recent events were all part of a bargain negotiated with the ghosts. That should bring at least a temporary peace to the area, especially when it became known that Solomon Bulko was going to serve a long term of imprisonment for the theft of the icon and the attempted murder of Sister Conchita.

  Kella was looking forward to returning to Malaita. For one thing, there was every chance that Elizabeth would still be waiting in Auki for a rare and hopefully long-delayed trading vessel to Sikaiana. He would also have to think hard about John Deacon. Kella considered the traces of yellow powder he had discovered in Lofty Herman’s hut. It must have been the residue of the gold prospected by the beachcomber from the river nearby. No islander would have entered the tabu hut to steal anything. Mendana Gau had fled from the threat of t
he Japanese long before Herman’s death.

  That left only Deacon. Kella had been wrong in suspecting him of trying to kill Sister Conchita, but there were too many other black marks on the plantation owner’s record in the islands. Kella would have to find out exactly when the Australian had sailed from Malaita to join in fighting the Japanese on Guadalcanal in 1942. The police sergeant was prepared to bet that he had not gone until after the death of Lofty Herman.

  Almost certainly, Deacon had stolen the deposits of gold stored in Herman’s hut. He had then left in his vessel to harry the Japanese, having recruited Kella and Pazabosi and a few others as his crew members. After the war he must have sold the gold to pay a lump sum for the first few years’ lease on the plantation.

  By buying the plantation lease with anything stolen from a dead man, Deacon had breached custom law, so now all bets were off. Perhaps, thought Kella, it would be a fitting punishment to seize the land back from the Australian and at the same time please his brothers by letting them take over and work the copra when the current lease ran out at the end of the year. Kella would have to consult the spirits about the matter.

  In the meantime, there was the white man’s church service to enjoy, he thought, relaxing. Again, he wondered who had invited him. He hoped that it had been Sister Conchita. He did not yet know her well, but her doughty reaction to the dangers of the swamp had mightily impressed him. It saddened Kella to think that because of his slowness in solving the crimes on Malaita, Sister Conchita and Father Pierre had been forced to spend time away from their beloved mission at Ruvabi.

  Perhaps it had all been for the best though, he thought optimistically. He had heard about Sister Conchita’s pilgrimage up Mount Austen to meet the dream-maker. Father Pierre must have thought highly of the young nun to send her up into the high ground in an effort to start to add the Lau truth to her existing Christian beliefs. She still had a long way to go, but it would not be dull in the Solomons with the Praying Mary around, and it would certainly be interesting to observe her progress. Although, thought Kella ruefully, with the nun’s apparent predilection for stirring up trouble, it would be best, whenever possible, to do so from a safe distance.

  The voices of the island choir swelled. A procession entered the church from the back, led by the bishop. After a coterie of priests, Sister Conchita and other white-robed teachers followed him in a demure line, eyes cast down. As she passed his row Kella looked up at the sister. Her face was calm and contemplative, almost rigid in its concentration. Yet as she glided by her eyes flickered up for a moment in the police sergeant’s direction and Kella could have sworn that the nun had winked at him.

  In the same moment, Sister Conchita started to mouth something. The sergeant leant forward to catch the breathed words before they were borne lightly away.

  ‘We’re going home, Kella!’ whispered Sister Conchita joyously.

  About the Author

  G. W. Kent has been a soldier, an editor, a headmaster and a BBC producer. For the last fifteen years he has been a full-time writer. As well as working as a freelance journalist for national newspapers and magazines, he has written fourteen novels, a number of critically acclaimed non-fiction books and several prize-winning television and stage plays, as well as many plays for radio. For eight years he ran a schools broadcasting service in the Solomon Islands and was Education Consultant to the South Pacific Commission, travelling extensively about the islands of the area. His books have been published in over twenty countries.

  Copyright

  Constable & Robinson Ltd

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  www.constablerobinson.com

  First published in the UK by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2011

  Copyright G. W. Kent 2011

  The right of G. W. Kent to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978–1–84901–780–0