‘So do I, Doctor. I need to speak to Dr Chakra but I can’t track him down at all.’
‘Aha, Dr Chakra, is it? He likes to keep his whereabouts to himself, actually.’ Doctor Pillai chuckled, his black crown of hair waving as he wagged his head from side to side.
‘So it seems. Why is that?’
‘Oh, you know. Once people know you’re a doctor, they consider you public property, on call twenty four hours a day.’
‘Sounds as bad as being in the police.’
‘Touché, Detective Inspector. I’m sure you understand.’ He smiled and wagged his head some more.
‘I understand Mrs Chakra is visiting their children in Auckland. Did he say anything to you about joining her there?’
‘No, but it’s quite possible. He travels frequently.’
He rose from his chair to reach for a card holder near Horseman, presenting him with a close-up of his hair as he did so. It was so dense it would be impossible to part. The smell of some sort of cologne wafted to Horseman’s nostrils.
‘I have a card thank you. Is there another number that he responds to?’
‘I’m afraid I only have those on the card. I’m sorry that I’m unable to help you, Inspector Horseman.’
Once outside the Harley Consulting Chambers, Horseman rang CID. ‘Keli, I think Chakra’s most likely destination is Auckland. Ask the airlines to check their flights to New Zealand first.’
‘Consider it done, boss.’
‘How’s it going with the new DC?’
‘Io, he’s a keen boy. I’ll show him the ropes,’ Taleca replied.
Horseman’s leg was aching now, so he decided to loosen it up by walking back via the tangled streets of shops between the market and the police station. It would only take a few minutes longer and the walk would help him think. Besides, retracing his short-cut route would somehow feel like retreating. He trudged down the hill.
He had just turned into Thomson Street when he heard an insistent rhythmic rapping followed by a familiar voice urging his services on the public.
‘Su-sine, Aunty, su-sine Uncle.’ Knock, knock, knock. ‘Polis like a mirror, like a mirror.’ Knock, knock, knock.
He saw the boy squatting behind his plywood box, which he struck vigorously with his shoe brush, producing a sound as imperative as a lali. He chanted and drummed without let-up, even if there were no takers for his services. Horseman was surprised anew that any shoe-shine trade could be supported by a city where most feet were clad in rubber flip-flops, if at all. But a few men and a fluctuating gang of boys managed to make some sort of living this way on the streets of Suva. He approached the boy from behind, then placed his foot firmly on the shoe box. The boy jumped, startled, then shouted with joy when he recognised his customer.
‘Joe! Joe! Bula, bula! I say you will come back! I tell them!’
‘Bula, Tevita. It’s good to be back, and to see you, even better! How have you been? Tell me while you give my dusty boots your best polish.’
The boy’s smile vanished. ‘Joe, you got black shoes. I no got black polish. Brown okay for you?’
‘No, Tevita, definitely not. Why haven’t you got black?’
‘One ovisa, he been harassing me, Joe. And other boys, too. Twice, he tell me to move along, I can’t shine shoes here. He take my box, my polish, my rags. Lucky I got brush in my pocket, eh? So I borrow my friend’s box. He help me—we work together and take turns with the customers. It take me two weeks to save money for new box and tin of brown Kiwi polish. More customers have brown sandals.’
‘Are you sure you’re telling the truth, Tevita?’
Tevita’s eyes widened in innocent protest. ‘True, Joe, you ask other boys!’
‘Do you know this policeman’s name?’
‘I don’t know, Joe. Ovisa, he don’t tell us his name. He steal our tools and chase us away.’ Horseman knew he must follow this up. But it wouldn’t make him popular with his colleagues in uniform. Too bad.
‘Where are you staying now?’ The boy avoided looking at Horseman. ‘Where, Tevita?’
‘Grandstand in Albert Park, Joe. With some other boys.’
Horseman took a deep breath. ‘Tevita, before I left for America, you were living in the Flagstaff hostel with Father Francis. You were playing rugby for the Junior Shiners team. Father Francis accepted you for the vocational school to learn carpentry. Now you’re back at Jubilee Arcade, and you can’t even make your own shoe-shine box, you need to buy one. What happened, Tevita?’
‘Joe, if you lend money for black Kiwi, I sine your shoes like a mirror for free and I will tell you what happen. I buy Kiwi at shoe shop in arcade here.’ He switched to the ingratiating whine of the professional beggar. ‘Because you’re my friend, Joe.’
Horseman detested this undignified wheedling, but what could he do? ‘Tevita, you’re amazing. Wait here, I don’t want you to lose a customer. I’ll be back with the polish.’
When he returned, the boy was vigorously polishing the brown sandals of an office worker. Since the huge feet they protected precisely matched the sandals in colour, it wouldn’t really matter that the polish smudged the skin between the straps. The customer handed a fifty cent coin to the boy, who regarded it with disdain.
‘Tevita, you don’t encourage customers to come back when you look like that, you know. Be cheerful, say vinaka.’
The boy whacked the side of the box once with the wooden back of his brush. Horseman obediently placed his right foot on it. The boy brushed off the dusty shoe, then touched one end of the brush lightly to the surface of the black polish.
‘He should give more, Joe. He can afford,’ Tevita muttered sulkily.
‘Then you should say upfront a good shine will cost them a dollar.’
The boy was silent for a few moments as he brushed all surfaces with a meagre ration of polish, then took up his polishing rag, the front of a cotton T-shirt.
‘But sometimes customer give me two dollar,’ he objected.
Horseman gave up reasoning. ‘Up to you, Tevita. I’m sure you can work out which way is best. Now, what’s been happening with you this last year?’
‘Joe, Father Francis, he okay, but some boys at the hostel, they pick on me, they don’t like me or any new boys. They steal my things.’ His rag worked at lightning speed. He stopped and critically assessed the result. ‘Like a mirror, eh Joe?’ He rapped the box again and Horseman switched feet.
‘Great job, Tevita. Tell me more.’
‘Father Francis take me and two others to the vocational school near Korovou in February. Tough, Joe.’
‘Why?’ He knew it would be the same old profoundly depressing tale.
‘Not much doing up there, Joe. And we must stay at school all the time. I got bus to Suva on Saturday and back to school Monday morning.’ He looked up, full of aggrieved hurt. ‘Big trouble, Joe, they say I run away. Boys must work all Saturday at school, clean kitchen, do garden. No one tell me. Like slave.’
Horseman tried reasoning again. ‘Don’t you think it’s fair to work in return for your training, Tevita? The school’s what you make of it. I thought you’d like carpentry. I see I made a mistake.’
‘Carpentry okay, but not easy, Joe. No way! Teacher make us do everything again, if not right. I don’t know why my work not good enough. Why do dove-tail joint? Way too hard. Just put the glue and nail is okay. I think car mechanic is better, eh? So I come back to Suva for a while and wait for next car mechanic course. True. Joe.’ The boy smiled happily.
Horseman decided to get Father Francis’s version of these events as soon as he could. He’d hoped the boy was set on a future. It offended him to see Fijian boys living on the city streets; every one of them had a clan, even if not parents, and through the clan, the right to land. They escaped the authority of village
and school and threw their inheritance away for the dangerous freedom and dubious bright lights of Suva. Few were literate and some, like Tevita, spoke their native Fijian like four year olds. Some were escaping violent abuse masquerading as discipline; Tevita’s limbs were scarred and his nose broken, but he’d never told Horseman the story of his life. He’d grown a lot in the last year and must be fourteen at least, perhaps too old to adapt to the discipline of school.
The brush rapped hard again. Horseman removed his foot from the box. ‘Vinaka, Tevita, they look wonderful now.’
‘Like a mirror,’ the boy agreed, satisfied. ‘Eh Joe—when you going start Shiners training?’
‘Soon as I can, Tevita. I’ll ask my colleagues at the station what happened to the team.’
Tevita shook his head. ‘No, just start fresh, Joe, all boys want to play.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Tevita, do you know Dr Vijay Chakra? His surgery’s up the hill in Bua Road—Harley Consulting Chambers.’
‘Sorta, I set up outside chemist shop on the corner, one hour before lunch. People wait so long for their medicines then, I get good business.’
‘Have you seen him lately?’
‘On Friday. He leave the surgery at lunch time, driving white Mercedes. I don’t go there this morning.’ His sunny smile returned. ‘Joe, you want me to ask around for you?’
The boy’s eager loyalty dissolved Horseman’s disappointment in him. ‘Vinaka but no, Tevita. If you see him, come to the station and tell me, or leave a message for me.’
The boy saluted. ‘Sure thing, Joe!’
The fading rapping and chanting accompanied Horseman through the Jubilee Arcade to Victoria Parade.
20
DELANARUA ISLAND
Rarely had Susie failed so completely to put a witness at ease. Steve hesitated and stumbled as he described his movements on Saturday, but his account did not advance her investigation: he hadn’t seen Nisi since the official lunch. Experience had taught her that the most terrified usually had nothing at all to hide; that the most fluent and persuasive stories could prove to be a pack of lies. True, she’d like to know why Steve was scared, maybe prod Bill Burgermeister about him. But after ten minutes of getting nowhere she said, ‘I’d like to see Ratu Ezekaia and Nisi’s parents before we go back, Steve. Is the chief in the village at the moment?’
Again he hung his head and muttered at the porch floor. ‘Could be, but I don’t know. . . Look, I can take you to Reverend Mosese’s house. He’ll know. I—I think it would be better if he took you to the chief.’
‘That’s an excellent idea, Steve. Can you show me the way, please?’
When they came to the school they cut diagonally across the lush green square to the church, which seemed far too big for the population of the village. Steve strode along as if now on friendly territory, and even volunteered the opinion that Reverend Mosese would be very helpful. Steve led her to a neat white house with a red roof. Outside, a well-built man, his crinkly black hair spattered with white, was tinkering with an outboard motor clamped to a workmanlike wooden frame. An overturned boat squatted on wooden chocks nearby, looking like a turtle. Steve went up to him eagerly.
‘Bula, Reverend Mosese, I’ve brought you a visitor.’
The minister calmly put down his pliers and wiped his hands on an oil-stained rag. His friendly smile crinkled his broad face and his eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. Susie wished she could do that—just smile and make even a sceptic like her feel wanted.
‘Bula, Sitiveni. Bula, Detective Sergeant. Oh yes, word has already reached me about our beautiful visitor.’ He shook hands with them both. Steve made his excuses and hurried away.
‘Sir, I wonder if I could have a word with you about Akanisi’s death.’
‘Yes, of course. Let’s take a seat on the longboat here. May I offer you tea? My wife will bring it in a jiffy.’
‘Vinaka but no, Reverend Mosese. I hope I won’t keep you from your work very long. At this stage we’re trying to develop as complete a picture as possible of Akanisi herself, and her last days. You must have known her well.’
‘She was just a small girl when I came to Delanarua ten years ago. She was like most small Fijian girls—lively, playful, a bit shy with adults. Nisi was more cautious than most at that stage, but I think she changed as she grew older.’
‘How?’
‘Oh, nothing significant at all. She grew up and became more adventurous, particularly after she went to boarding school on the mainland. But her parents wanted to keep their youngest child with them. Understandable, but she did resist that. I approved of her resistance and helped to persuade her parents to let her work on Paradise, with Adi Litia and her Uncle Jona to keep an eye on her. Now I pray God to forgive me for being an interfering idiot. If she hadn’t gone to work on Paradise she wouldn’t be dead now.’ He bowed his head in sorrow, or perhaps prayer.
‘Why didn’t her parents want her to take a job at the resort?’
He rubbed his eyes and looked at her. ‘I really don’t know. I thought they selfishly wanted to keep her for her company and help as they got older. It’s a common attitude here, and I think in most cases purely selfish. God has a purpose for each life, and parents should encourage a child to seek that purpose. But their urge to keep Nisi at home was sound. I see that now.’
‘I’d like to speak to them this afternoon, if possible. I understand it’s a terrible time for them, but there are some things only they can tell us.’
‘I know the investigation’s important, Detective Sergeant. I’ll take you to their house after our chat. But I can’t promise they’ll be happy to answer your questions. They were very upset that their daughter’s body was taken away against their wishes.’
‘I understand. But what did they think would happen? Everyone knows about the police certificate.’
The minister nodded sadly. ‘Ah yes, we all understand when it happens to others, but when it happens to ourselves? That’s different, isn’t it?’
Susie nodded. He was quite right. ‘You said Nisi was cautious, sir. Was she scared of the water?’
The minister’s bass chuckle was somehow reassuring. ‘Perhaps when she was tiny, but fear of the water can’t last long here. No, she’s been a competent swimmer since she was ten or so. Oi le, what a diver she was! Graceful as a bird. And once she realised she was better at it than the others, she did like to show off.’
‘How did she seem when she was home last week?’
‘Was it only last week? Isa, poor little thing. I didn’t see much of her, she stayed with her parents. I saw her walking around sometimes, and she seemed quiet at church that Sunday. That’s all I can say.’
‘What was wrong with her?’
‘I’m not sure. I can’t pry, and no one told me.’
‘Tell me about when you saw her last Saturday, sir.’
‘I was in the official party, and Nisi and another young lady garlanded us with salusalu. My goodness, she did that gracefully. I noticed her serving at lunch and remember thinking how well she looked, and happy too. The last time I saw her was when we were circumnavigating the island praying for the creatures of the sea. She waved to us. How could I know that I’d never see her again?’
Susie hoped her face didn’t betray her excitement. The pastor was about to advance the timeline. ‘Where exactly did you see Nisi that last time, sir?’
‘I don’t often visit the resort—let me visualise it. I remember Ratu Zeke pointing out the scientific camp behind the long beach, it was after that. We rounded the point but we didn’t go into the next bay, as no one was waiting there. Yes, it must have been the last stretch before the staff compound beach.’
Susie opened her backpack and produced a map and a pencil. ‘Could you mark the approximate place on the map, sir?’
The minister raised his eyebrows in assent and considered the map carefully before making a wavy line about two centimetres long. ‘I can’t be precise, but they were within this range,’ he said before handing the map back.
‘They?’
Yes, she was with two men, I don’t know who they were.’
‘Are you sure it was Nisi?’
‘Yes, we were perhaps fifty metres away, but I recognised her at once. She called and waved, seemed excited.’
‘What was she wearing, sir?’
‘The same uniform all the staff wore that day. Black sulu and bula shirt in Fiji’s rugby colours. They looked terrific.’ He smiled fleetingly.
‘Were the men in staff uniform too, sir?’
‘No, no, they didn’t. . . although one might have had the shirt—he had a black sulu and white shirt and Nisi’s shirt just looked plain white from the boat, come to think of it. The other. . . I think just shorts and a T-shirt, I didn’t take any notice. They looked like a couple of guests she’d brought around there for a better view.’
‘Why did you think they were guests?’
The pastor smiled and shrugged. ‘I didn’t think about it at all, it’s just my impression looking back, and I could be quite wrong. We were only a few minutes away from the main crowd at the resort beach. I suppose my impression must have been based on the fact that they were foreigners.’
Susie kept her poker face and spoke neutrally. ‘I see. Can you describe them?’
‘One looked European—he was thin, a bit taller than Nisi, wore a cap. That was the one in the sulu and white shirt—it might have been the uniform. The other was shorter, but I don’t have a clear memory of him.’
DEATH ON PARADISE ISLAND: Fiji Islands Mysteries 1 Page 13