Death Beyond the Limit: Fiji Islands Mysteries 3 Page 7

  ‘We’d like to know if this ring was sold by a stallholder.’

  Maura picked up the ring and examined it.

  ‘Well, I can’t say if it was sold at our market, but it’s certainly the work of a silversmith who regularly takes a stall. Io, it’s definitely one of Bill Peterson’s. Unless someone is copying his designs, I guess. Unlikely in a small pond like Suva.’

  Singh opened her notebook and wrote.

  ‘That’s an idea I hadn’t thought of. Let’s hope it’s the genuine article. Could you give me Mr Peterson’s address and phone number, please?’

  ‘Certainly. Excuse me a minute while I get it from the back room. Oh, I’ll give you my card too.’

  Singh took the card and copied the details into her notebook.

  Nicola was soon back. ‘Here, I’ve written it out for you. I’ve been wondering if the ring was stolen, or lost?’

  ‘We’re wondering too, Nicola. All we know is it’s been found. It could well be a clue in an ongoing enquiry.’

  ‘It must be important to warrant the attention of two senior detectives, I’m thinking.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. We’re both grateful for your help.’

  ‘Come to the market next Sunday week. You’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Vinaka, I will if I can. Moce, Nicola.’

  16

  Today was one of those charmed days. Once an elusive piece of the jigsaw puzzle slotted into the right place, several others followed. The Australian silversmith, Bill Peterson, picked up Horseman’s call on the second ring and agreed to see them at his home studio in Pacific Harbour, an hour’s drive from Suva. They bought some of the ROC’s legendary coconut chocolate brownies for the return trip. Horseman tuned in to the radio news.

  The children’s discovery of the hand near Levuka got top billing. He was glad they’d paused the release about the ring. If Peterson came good, the public need not know about that at all. If Jona’s terrible death was murder, he did not want the killer to know the police were closing in on the identity of the victim.

  It was completely dark when they arrived. The lawns and gardens of the hotel resort on the beach side of the highway were softly lit, romantic. But it was the odd mixed residential and commercial development on the other side that they were headed to. Horseman negotiated the streets of villas winding around the golf course while Singh shone her torch on the small number plaques planted in the lawns.

  ‘Here it is, there’s a sign—W. Peterson, Silversmith.’

  The garden was sparse: the usual hibiscus hedges divided the single-storey house from its neighbours, and tree-fern trunks planted with orchids formed a guard of honour either side of the concrete driveway. As Horseman turned into the drive the front door opened and a man stepped into the pool of light on the veranda. He was short and muscly, dressed in a worn T-shirt and shorts.

  ‘Hey there. I’m Bill Peterson. You must be the detectives, I suppose.’ They shook hands and introduced themselves.

  ‘Come through, come through into chaos.’ He grinned broadly and ushered them into a big living room with a white-tiled floor littered with toys and cane sofas and chairs. A ceiling fan whirred gently. The presumed creators of the chaos, identical girls aged about three, were building a tower of blocks on a pandanus mat. In green spotted pyjamas, their wet hair combed, they gazed up at the visitors with enormous eyes.

  A smiling Fijian woman rushed in, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Bula vinaka, I’m Sala Peterson. Please excuse this mess.’

  ‘Bula vinaka. Sala is my mother’s name, so I’ve always liked it. Excuse our intrusion at this busy time.’ He didn’t want to prolong their visit, but extended pleasantries were compulsory in Fiji before getting down to business.

  ‘Not at all. I don’t see many new faces here. I’ll make some tea.’

  Horseman glanced at Singh. ‘Vinaka but nothing for us. We’ve already eaten and we had coffee just before we left Suva. Unfortunately, we have to get back there as soon as we can, too.’

  A tremendous wail from behind startled them. They turned to see the tower reduced to a jumble of blocks. One small innocent was throwing them at her twin. Connecting, too.

  ‘She knocked my tower down. She broke it.’

  ‘Time for bed, you rascals. Come on.’ Their mother grabbed them by their hands, smiling at the detectives.

  ‘We’ll leave you in peace. Say goodnight, girls.’

  The reluctant pair, shy now, looked at their feet and mumbled their goodnights before their mother bustled them from the room.

  Their father looked both amused and proud as he watched them go.

  ‘What lovely little girls,’ said Singh.

  Peterson’s fair skin flushed pink.

  ‘The terrible twins are healthy and bright enough. That’s all that matters, isn’t it? Come and sit down. Let’s see the ring you’ve brought.’

  He looked at the inside of the ring. ‘Yeah, definitely mine—here’s my mark. It’s not unique, though. This is my most popular design—customers like Wave. That’s its name. The customer specifies the size and enamel colour. Still, they’re hand-made, so each piece has small differences. This blue’s the most popular.’

  ‘Can you remember who bought this one?’ Singh asked.

  Peterson examined the ring closely and shook his head.

  ‘No. It’s a man’s size, but that doesn’t mean a man bought it. Most customers buy pieces as gifts. Whoever owns it, I’d say he wears it most of the time and does manual work. It’s really bashed about: the enamel’s scratched, there are nicks in the rim, here’s a dent.’

  ‘Can you tell how old it is?’ Horseman asked.

  ‘No. It looks old, but it’s had a tough life. Because of the damage I can’t tell. Could be quite recent. I wish people would look after their jewellery; it’s not meant to be lived in.’

  Did he resent those who liked his work so much they wore it constantly?

  ‘How long have you been selling this design?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Three years. Just after the twins arrived. I retreated from their squalling to my workshop and came up with this. My inspiration was the famous woodblock print The Wave by the Japanese artist Hokusai. That and living here by the sea.’

  ‘It’s very attractive,’ Singh said. ‘I assume you keep records—a receipt book, for example?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. Can I ask what this is for? You’re going to a lot of trouble for a lost silver ring, even a stolen one.’

  ‘It could be vital in identifying someone who has died,’ Horseman replied.

  Peterson’s eyes widened. After a few moments he said, ‘You mean the hand they found today was wearing this? Really?’

  ‘I can’t say any more. I’d be very grateful if you didn’t tell anyone.’

  Peterson sprang up. ‘Of course, you’ve got my word. Let me go and get my books from the workshop.’

  He returned with two books, as well-worn as the ring. ‘I sell a lot at outdoor markets, so old-fashioned paper works best for me. I hope you can read my writing.’

  ‘Can you explain your system?’ Singh asked.

  ‘Yeah. This big one’s my order book, and the little one’s my receipts, carbon copies and all. See here. I number each order sequentially, describe the item, customer details and so on. The same number is repeated on the receipt, which has fewer details. Take a look.’

  Singh leafed through a few pages of the order book, then checked the receipt book. ‘Great, Mr Peterson. It’ll be easy for us to find what we need in these.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’ll need to copy them,’ Horseman added. ‘I’ll get them delivered back to you tomorrow afternoon. I hope that won’t disrupt your work too much.’

  ‘Not at all. Sala transfers the figures to her computer bookkeeping system. But I do need my books back. I work from my order book every day.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll look after them.’

  Singh handed the books to Horseman. The deft sketches and neat notes impressed him. The wo
rd Wave appeared quite often. They might have a longer list to check through than he’d hoped. He flipped through the receipt book and a name popped out at him—Salome. A common name in Fiji, although he’d never understood why the betrayer of John the Baptist should be so popular.

  *

  Singh took the wheel for the return trip. Horseman offered her a brownie from the paper bag.

  ‘Here, I’ll take one for myself. You can have the paper bag to rest yours on while you drive.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m ready for it now. Good result, don’t you think?’

  Horseman chewed his dense, sticky bite of brownie. ‘Excellent. One of those orders will give us the name of our victim, or the name of the person who gave him the ring. Not only that, but their phone number and address too.’

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock. We can get the books photocopied as soon as we get back and I’ll—'

  ‘No, Susie. We both need a good sleep. Someone on night shift can do the photocopying. Tomorrow, I’ll be in bright and early and start sifting through them. Tani or young Apo Kau can help. A good training exercise. We’ll get a list of all the blue Wave ring buyers and work the phones. We’ll find the right one well before the day’s out. And you never know, the DNA results might arrive too.’

  ‘But—'

  ‘You’ll be on leave, remember. There are times when family matters like yours must come first. You can take this vehicle. It’s signed out to the case so you can return it Sunday afternoon. You’ll get to the west in half the time the bus does. If the purchaser of the ring lives in the west, I could get you to go and see them. How about that?’

  ‘I appreciate the leave, sir, but I won’t take the vehicle. No one can understand it but I like the bus even though it’s slow. I like stopping at the Coral Coast resorts and the villages. I don’t have to pay attention to the road, I can just think.’ Or daydream.

  ‘And what will you be thinking about tomorrow?’

  ‘The Jona case. See, I can’t help calling it that name now.’

  ‘We may as well adopt it. It’s a good name, after all. Anything else?’

  ‘Well, as both you and Matt have asked me what’s bothering me today, I think you probably should know. The thing is…um…I mean.’ She took a deep breath.

  ‘My parents won’t be happy until I’m married and they’ve tried several times to make a match for me over the years. Now they see me as an old maid and they’re pinning their last hopes on a professional marriage broker. There’s no way I can get out of lunch tomorrow in Lautoka with both sets of parents, the prospective suitor and the matchmaker.’

  So that was it! None of his business, but the system of arranged marriages among the Indian population intrigued him. People said the marriages succeeded in about the same proportion as among those who married for love. What should he say to her? Probably nothing. She was the most dedicated detective he had ever met. He imagined the conflict she must be going through.

  ‘Thanks for telling me, Susie. I’ll keep this to myself.’

  ‘I know I can trust you. But I don’t mind if you tell Matt. He seems worried about me, too.’

  ‘Have you met this suitor yet?’

  ‘Yes, I met him last weekend at my parents’ house. I’ve met him twice more this last week in Suva. He’s a lawyer. He’s like me in that he’s managed to evade his parents’ plans until now.’

  ‘You might suit each other, you never know.’ He brushed the brownie crumbs off his front.

  ‘But none of my business! I won’t say another word and I definitely won’t advise you. I’m just as hopeless. Sorry, I didn’t mean you were hopeless…um, forget I said that.’

  They both laughed. ‘It’s alright. Brij and I are going to tell our parents and the matchmaker that we’re happy to get to know each other at our own pace and we’ll let them know what we decide. But tomorrow will be our last formal meeting with the families.’

  ‘If you decide to marry this lucky man, you’ll be missed, Susie. Greatly.’

  Singh sputtered crumbs over herself and the dashboard. ‘I thought you’d understand. I’d never marry anyone who wanted me to give up my job!’

  She looked across at him. Even in the dimness, he could see the disappointment in her lovely eyes. He’d let her down.

  ‘Of course not. Neither should you. Forget I said that. You’re a born detective, Sergeant Singh.’

  They drove back to the station in silence, but a comfortable one. At least he thought it was. He now knew what was troubling her, and it was nothing to do with him.

  SATURDAY 16th September

  17

  Bill Peterson had sold twenty-three blue-enamelled Wave rings, the majority made to the customer’s specifications. Of these, nine customers gave overseas addresses, or Fiji hotel addresses. Horseman pictured visitors to Fiji going home wearing on a finger a striking souvenir of their holiday.

  ‘Musudroka, we have fourteen people who bought a blue Wave ring to speak to today. After introducing yourself politely, you have just two questions to ask.’

  ‘Io, sir.’ If Musudroka had a tail it would have been wagging furiously.

  ‘The first is: “Did you buy a sterling silver Wave ring with blue enamelling made in Fiji in”—and you state the month and year.’

  ‘Got it, what’s the second question?’

  ‘What do you think it should be, Tani?’

  ‘Have you still got the ring?’

  ‘Exactly. If they have, note that and cross them off the list. However, if the purchaser gave it to someone, ask for the recipient’s number and you’ll need to phone them too. Can you take a break from the hotline and handle this job on your own?’

  ‘Absolutely. Vinaka, sir.’

  ‘When will you be finished, Tani?’

  ‘Two hours. Tops. If not sooner.’

  ‘Excellent. Here’s your list, and your script prompts.’

  ‘Vinaka.’

  It meant the world to Musudroka that he’d identified the source of the ring. When he found the owner he’d be keener than ever.

  After reading his own emails, Horseman checked all the incoming messages passed on from the station switchboard since yesterday afternoon, read the notes by the hotline staff and filled in his own diary. He dealt with the faxes, scrolled through the internal emails. Satisfied he’d missed nothing demanding action, he set about updating the case file. This was a task Singh attended to, but he didn’t want her to return to an incomplete file. He flipped through it. It went without saying that Singh had already logged her actions in Levuka the previous day. Dr Young’s post mortem report on the hand should arrive on Monday. He added the press conference material, the ring photo, the Bill Peterson interview and the resulting list of possible purchasers.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ It was Musudroka. He put a mug of tea on Horseman’s desk. ‘A fax just came in for you.’

  ‘Vinaka, Tani.’ The cover sheet showed the sender was the DNA lab. He ripped the page in his haste.

  ‘The head and hand match, Tani! The lung pieces are definitely human but that DNA analysis isn’t complete yet. What we wanted and expected. Now science confirms it.’

  ‘Oi lei, boss! Great news. I’ll tell the others.’

  ‘Go ahead. Then come back and tell me who owned the ring. I’ll call the super.’

  He read the pages of details and diagrams. Jona was male, with Melanesian characteristics. Chances are he was Fijian. He was not on the police DNA database, which had only been in existence for two years. What with a population of under a million and a low crime rate, he knew that would be unlikely. So, no surprises, but they were edging closer.

  He passed on the news to the relieved super, then sent a text to Singh who was on the Lautoka bus and possibly out of mobile range. But she’d check for texts when she arrived.

  ‘I need your advice, sir.’ Musudroka was back, holding out his list.

  ‘Sit down, Tani. Let’s have a look.’

  ‘It’s gone pretty well. I’ve
eliminated eleven on the list. Seven still had their rings. Four gave them as gifts but I got onto the recipients and all of them still had their rings. I’ve called the remaining three purchasers a few times and left messages. They’re not picking up. What should I do now?’

  ‘Great work. I’ll follow up with the three remaining buyers. One of them should have the answer we need. You’d better get back to the hotline. Give Kau a short break.’

  ‘Io, sir.’ The lad shifted from one foot to the other, clicking his biro, excitement lighting his eyes.

  He thought the DNA result would be a breakthrough, but he felt a bit let down, to his surprise. The match didn’t come close to identifying the victim, torn to pieces in the most savage way. But the CID investigation was getting closer now. This afternoon they could know the victim’s name. All three elusive blue Wave ring buyers were women, so all three must have bought them as a gift for a man.

  After he found out Jona’s true name, the next question was whether that shark had killed Jona or preyed on a cadaver. He’d been pondering that from the beginning.

  18

  Horseman looked at the remaining three names on the list of ring purchasers. The first was Salome—no surname recorded. He hoped this Salome was not the girl who’d cleaned his university dormitory way back. He called the number. When the familiar low voice answered he felt nothing but sadness.

  ‘Bula, Joe! My goodness, I don’t see you in over a year and then you pop up twice in a week! I’m in town now, shopping.’

  He couldn’t do this on the phone. ‘Can you come to the station, Salome? Something’s come up that you might be able to help me with.’

  She laughed briefly, an embarrassed, hesitant laugh. ‘That sounds mysterious. Um—I’d rather meet you somewhere else.’

  ‘No problem. I need an early lunch today. How about the Hare Krishna? I’ll be there in five minutes.’ He found Musudroka and told him he’d be back in half an hour.

  Salome must have been close by the station when he called because she was waiting beside the café door when he crossed the road. She was clearly not working—her long cotton pants and loose bula blouse let her merge with the crowd of Saturday shoppers.