My Island Homicide (18 page)

Chapter 30

At seven the following morning, Jack and I alighted from the car at the base of a concrete staircase of about a thousand steps to Dave's unit. It was part of a duplex owned by Education Queensland, on the side of Millman Hill. Interestingly, it was just around the corner from Robby's house, on the same block. Melissa did not have far to walk for her extra-marital dalliances, especially if she cut through the scrub.

‘I hope he's showered and reading the morning paper,' I said, huffing my way to the top.

‘Definitely don't get the morning papers here. The morning papers arrive on the afternoon flight,' said Jack, ‘but sometimes you don't get them till the next day.'

‘So they'd be yesterday morning's afternoon papers?' Jack was thinking about that so I paused to catch my breath and admire the panorama: a rich green expanse dotted with scarlet flowers and white rooftops, criss-crossed with grey roads, with the gleaming blue sea beyond.

‘Now I get it. Yesterday morning's afternoon papers.'

Dave answered the door quickly, dressed for work and holding a piece of toast. The familiar woody aroma of brewed coffee made my tastebuds smart. I hadn't had time for a coffee this morning.

‘We are executing a search warrant for evidence in relation to the murder of Melissa Margaret Ramu. The search will be recorded on this device here.' Jack held up the field recorder and outlined Dave's rights. He handed him the search warrant, which Dave took but didn't read. He heaved a deep guttural
umph
. It was the same sound a corpse can make when it is moved for the first time and the stale, settled air is suddenly forced from the lungs.

‘What is this, David?' A dark-skinned, thickset woman walked from the hallway, also dressed for work.

‘Leave it, Leilani.' He said it meekly, as if he didn't expect her to listen.

Leilani turned to me. ‘You're the boss, aren't you?'

‘Yes, and we have a warrant to search your house.'

Dave held out the search warrant and she snatched it from him. After a moment's reading, she looked back at me. ‘You got this all wrong, sister.' Her lips curled and she thrust her finger at me like I was a naughty child. ‘Come on, girls. We're leaving.' She grabbed a bag hanging from a chair and pushed past me. Two peanut-brown girls scurried around collecting schoolbags and lunchboxes and followed after her, heads down.

We waited till the car started up downstairs and Dave called us in. Jack explained that Dave would have to accompany him to each room as the search was conducted and repeated the warning that anything he said could be used in court. I went around photographing each room as it was searched. The house was tidy, beds made, dishes washed and draining, no mess on the bench or anywhere, it seemed.

‘What's in this room?' asked Jack.

‘My office.'

‘Who uses it?'

‘Me, mostly. The girls get half an hour a day on the computer to check their Facebook, more if they have assignments.' Dave was standing in the doorway. ‘Oh, no. I've just remembered something. Melissa left her purse and phone here on the last night.'

I was at the doorway in a flash. He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and dug under some papers. ‘Obviously, I didn't want Leilani to see them.'

I took the soft leather wallet with the word ‘Goddess' in a flowery silver scrawl and a basic model Next G Telstra phone.

‘I left early the next morning for the principals' conference.' He held out his hands in defeat. ‘I know this doesn't look good but I want to explain about the scratches. It was quite innocent.'

‘You might want to get legal advice first,' I said.

‘Listen, it was nothing. Melissa became hysterical after we . . . we were still in bed. She was hyped and racy. She said Robby suspected something between us and she wanted to end things. I begged her to wait and she lost it and scratched at me. It was out of character.'

‘Please, Dave,' I said.

‘No, you don't understand. She hadn't been herself. In the last month or two, she had moments of being . . . I don't know how you'd describe it, kind of like a kid who'd had too much red cordial.'

‘Thank you,' I said.

We went downstairs and searched a large steel cupboard as well as the dinghy. The last thing was a shed on the rear boundary of the property. The yard, like Robby's, was devoid of trees, plants or a vegetable garden, and the grass had gone to seed. It seemed a shame that so many public servants on TI, often on temporary contracts, neglected their yards, as if they didn't want to invest their time and energy in a property that they would ultimately leave. Beyond the wasteland of a back garden and low cyclone wire fence I could see the wild green scrub of Millman Hill.

‘You use this shed?' asked Jack.

‘Only to store the whipper snipper, which hasn't worked for over a year. I use the school one occasionally.'

Jack spoke into the recorder. ‘Aluminium shed, three by three metres, no lock on the door, broken hinge, door ajar. Not much inside.'

Dave and I waited outside the tiny shed while Jack searched inside. He was listing his observations into the recorder: jerry can, whipper snipper, toolbox, spare cord, broken child's bike. My ears pricked when he mentioned a lady's shoulder bag hanging from a hook. I stuck my head in and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Like all sheds, there was the omnipresent smell of petrol, stale air and rotting grass.

‘What's this, Dave?' Jack asked as I photographed the dirt-smeared bag.

Dave stepped in. ‘Oh, it probably belongs to one of my daughters. I hope there are no cigarettes in there. The oldest, she's twelve, we've caught her sneaking out to smoke with her friends.'

Jack had lifted the bag to the floor using a screwdriver; the dark brown stains on the bag looked suspiciously like blood. I put on some gloves, lifted the flap of the cloth bag and pulled out a large black-handled knife, crusted in a film of dark brown. The remaining contents – a plastic wristwatch, a pair of brown thongs, a small hair brush full of blonde hair and a broken gold neck chain – were covered in the same dried substance.

Dave
umphed
again. ‘I don't know anything about this stuff.'

‘David Garland,' I said, ‘I am arresting you for the murder of Melissa Margaret Ramu. You don't need to say anything, but anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law.' Dave
umphed
once more. ‘Please hand me your mobile phone. I'll accompany you upstairs so you can get a toothbrush and change of clothes before we return to the station.'

‘This is all a mistake. A terrible mistake. You can't possibly—'

‘Come on, Dave,' said Jack. ‘You'll need to spend a night or two in the watch house, so let's go get your things.'

Back at the station, Dave called his lawyer and I left the room so they could talk privately. Jack and I then recorded Dave's refusal to participate in a record of interview, charged him with murder and fingerprinted him. He waited the next few hours in the interview room and at 2.30pm was escorted by Shay on the water taxi to Horn Island, where he'd catch the afternoon flight to mainland. He'd spend a night or two in the watch house and then be brought before a Supreme Court judge in Cairns. The judge would hear a bail application and determine whether he should be released pending a trial in the Supreme Court.

To reward myself for this breakthrough in Melissa's case, I hoped to flex off at four. But Jack rushed in, saying there was a woman in reception who was being harassed by her neighbour, Enid Bucket. I looked through the one-way glass. It was Liz Gardner, the woman with the striped hair who had demanded Jenny do something about her neighbour making faces at her.

‘Enid Bucket left feathers at the base of Mrs Gardner's stairs,' said Jack.

‘What sort of feathers?' I asked, thinking if they were the soft, fluffy kind, no one would worry about them.

‘Bird feathers, obviously.' Jack was frowning.

‘Okay, you got me there. Whiz over and check it out? It'll take you 15 minutes.'

He was back half an hour later. ‘It's not good, Thea. The feathers had been placed in a circle. The wind had blown them by the time I got there, but I could see they had been put there on purpose. That means only one thing.
Maydh
.'

I held up my finger. ‘Go back, please, and tell Ms Bucket that if she sets foot on Mrs Gardner's property, she'll be charged with trespass. And possibly animal cruelty if she got those feathers by foul means.' I laughed at my unintended pun.

‘What's so funny?'

‘By fowl means. Get it?'

‘You don't get it, Thea.' He walked off.

The next morning, Jenny, long-faced, came in while I was waiting for a call from Prosecutions in Cairns. She was holding a container of sushi.

‘It's a treat,' she said. ‘I've lost another three kilos. I'll share it with you because I am not hungry.'

‘What's wrong? You've lost weight, you look fantastic and you're running like you were born to. I've seen you with your running buddy. She looks like a Scandinavian goddess.'

‘That's why I'm sad. Read this. It's Astrid. She's not Scandinavian. She's Austrian.' She handed me a complaint form.

The manager of the Railway Hotel was accusing an Austrian bar attendant of stealing 2,000 dollars from her employer. She claimed the manager had been ‘touching me up', and that the money had been subsequently stolen from her by persons unknown. Of course, she had done nothing to stop herself being caught on the security camera stuffing the cream-coloured cloth money bag up her shirt. Stupidity has no limits.

‘She's so lovely and she was hoping to get residency through work, so she can stay in Australia.' Jenny was shaking her head as Lency called out that the Cairns police station was on the phone. I motioned to Jenny to wait, while I grabbed the handset.

Dave was granted bail subject to the usual bail conditions. He was also required to pay a 500,000 dollar surety, reside in Cairns and attend daily at the Cairns police station.

I related the terms to Jenny.

‘I still can't believe he did it,' she said. ‘He's facing a life sentence.'

Chapter 31

On Friday afternoon Jonah and I carried Phoebe in her box to Yenah's house, with kitten formula in UHT containers and fresh mince. Yenah took hold of Phoebe and kissed her before placing her on the floor. She rushed towards two identical striped ginger fluffballs.

‘Are these Phoebe's brothers?'

‘Didn't I tell you?' asked Jonah.

‘Yenah, did Jack get you to look after these two?'

‘It's only for a while, not forever.'

The three striped ginger fluffballs tore around the house, under the lounge and into the rooms, miaowing playfully. Each time there was a squeaky whine, Gapu, who was now an inside dog, opened one eye, listened, then went back to sleep.

We spent another weekend at Friday Island with Buzarr and Sissy. There was something wholesome about eating straight from the garden and pulling fish from the sea, walking along the beach, swimming naked and making fires from driftwood or fallen branches. There was no rush except to fish on the tide before it turned or to shower before the sun set otherwise we'd freeze in the strong south-easterly, which Jonah insisted I call
sager
.

‘
Lego
Broken English
. Sa
,
only way for learn.'

‘But I feel stupid when I make mistakes.'

‘No worry. Only me for mock you.'

As usual, we arrived back on TI early Monday and collected Phoebe from Yenah's place. At work, while I was wading through Melissa's file and thinking about her pregnancy, I had a sudden and unusual thought – a pregnancy of my own. If I died, no-one would remember me or the work I did, solving, no, merely processing endless offending. I wouldn't have solved the crime of the century nor rescued a child abducted from its bed. I'd be a name on a wooden cross until my parents erected a tombstone and then I'd be forgotten . . . unless I had children. If only I could have babies, I'd go and live on Friday Island with Jonah forever. I imagined myself holding a brown cherub, walking beside Jonah as he collected firewood. I was pointing out the names of the trees and birds to the baby. What was I thinking? Weren't fantasies supposed to involve numerous muscled men, clad in nothing more than black leather chaps and studded collars? But I couldn't have babies. I had to get a grip.

Thankfully Karen Jane Wakeham rang. ‘It was Melissa's blood. Sorry, no fingerprints on the knife or any of that stuff, except a few of Melissa's on the brush. The links of the gold chain were torn apart, say, in a struggle. And the knife was sharp, a Victorinox.'

‘A Victorinox?'

‘It's the company that makes Swiss Army knives,' she said with the enthusiasm of a salesman. ‘Popular with butchers. I know because I had a deceased, a butcher, whose femoral artery was severed by a Victorinox. His boss did it. The deceased had been knocking off the boss's wife.'

‘You're a well of information, Karen Jane Wakeham.'

‘My pleasure.'

All right, give me drunken fights, street riots and allegations of sorcery any day.

Later that afternoon Robby called in with Alby.

‘I need to know the facts, not the fiction flying around the island. Has he done a runner?' Alby clambered onto Robby's lap. ‘Look what that man's done to him.' He motioned to Alby. ‘Constantly c-l-i-n-g-i-n-g.'

‘Dave's in Cairns on bail and cannot return to TI.'

‘He might disappear.'

I reached over to the printer and took some blank paper from the tray. I slid it across to Alby with some red and blue pens. He moved into the chair beside Robby.

‘No judge would have refused Dave bail. Our case is not water-tight, he's not a flight risk, and it's unlikely he'll commit another offence. And he's paid a 500,000 dollar surety.'

Robby's breathing was laboured. Alby was scribbling away, his tongue moving back and forth along his lower lip. Robby had wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself together. ‘He should not have the luxury of freedom. He has denied that freedom to my wife.' He pointed to Alby. ‘He has denied him a mother.'

I was worried about Alby hearing our conversation, but he was oblivious.

I explained in 50 words how the legal system works, that Dave has been charged, was subject to a committal proceeding, and would probably be sent to trial before a jury. ‘That's how the system works. You have to trust it.'

‘It doesn't sound like the system works at all. This is torture for me and Melissa's father. It would be more appropriate for some island justice, fast and final, none of this committal and trial business.'

I knew nothing about island justice and wondered what it would involve. Robby's anger vanished as fast as it had erupted.

‘What do I do now?' He slouched. ‘This is the second time that man has tried to break me.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Don't tell me you haven't heard? The way people talk here?'

‘No,' I lied. Alby had covered the page in wild scrawls. I made a note to buy some crayons and pencils for other children.

‘It happened in the late-eighties. I was teaching with Dave at the high school. We were mates, did lots together, helping each other with lesson plans, hanging out, that sort of thing.

‘I knew that education is the key to better outcomes for health, employment and offending. Oh, this was long before all the Closing the Gap rhetoric. But I was mocked by my people for my own education.

‘
Yu proper kole man
, they told me, accusing me of being like the white man. Nothing has changed. Look how many Europeans are in jobs in the Torres Strait – teachers, nurses, doctors, managers, even bar staff, checkout operators and au pairs – all because our people won't work or get an education. Islanders are often criticised by their families when they start studying, for behaving like Europeans. Or if they are studying and encounter an obstacle, like needing money or failing an assignment, they often give up. When I was studying, I saw white people living hand to mouth and working two or three jobs to keep studying. That's what happens. Then when Islanders become educated they often find it unbearable to work here because of discrimination and jealousy from their own people. They are ostracised for being educated, being different. Have you heard about the crabs-in-the-bucket syndrome?'

‘Yes, I have.'

He told me about how, as young teachers, Robby and Dave decided to do something to encourage Islanders to study. The two friends, and some other white public servants, established the Torres Strait Education and Employment Committee, TSEEC. The aims of the organisation were to source funds to provide tuition to Islander students, both primary and secondary, and to provide academic and emotional support to students who attended mainland secondary or tertiary institutions.

Alby was onto his second page, using the pen in a slow and exact manner now.

‘Did it work?'

‘Very well. Look at Noah Jabiri, the head of the Department of Housing. He was the first Islander from here to do an MBA following an arts degree. He worked down south for five years to get experience, which was a condition of the grant, then he returned and became a manager. Magdalene Kerwin studied nursing and is now the director of nursing. They are just two examples. Thanks to the work of TSEEC, those positions are now filled by our own people.'

‘What happened?'

‘I was 27 and naïve. In the fifth year of TSEEC's operations, I was voted treasurer. I was the “token black guy” on the committee.' He gave an ironic smile.

Robby trusted his all-white fellow committee and did not have the business nous to know money was disappearing.

‘After three years of TSEEC operating, money was pouring in following the graduation of our first seven uni students, not to mention the improvement in TE scores of high school-kids gaining their senior certificates. Similar organisations were set up in Aboriginal communities, modelled on our success.

‘Then the organisation was subject to a spot audit by the tax office and 9,000 dollars in cash cheques couldn't be accounted for, cash cheques with my signature on them. The cheques required two signatures from the committee members but the bank cashed these without a second signature. Of course the cheque vouchers had vanished because someone made them vanish. I was charged with fraud.'

‘Did you have a lawyer?'

‘Yes, but each month it was a different visiting lawyer, and I had to go over the same story each time, protesting my innocence. One of the lawyers came from Western Australia and kept saying he wasn't familiar with Queensland law.'

‘What did the lawyers say?'

‘The last one said there was cogent evidence against me and if I pushed on to trial, I could end up in prison. He said a plea of guilty, even at that late stage, would be viewed favourably and I'd end up on probation or, at worst, a suspended sentence. All I heard was that the matter would be finalised.'

‘Couldn't you have talked to another lawyer?'

‘What was the point? They didn't believe me. The last lawyer told me that it was the word of the other committee members against mine and if they lied convincingly, I was done. I could tell he didn't believe me.' He sighed. ‘All I wanted was for it to end. So much for education! Where I had believed I was equal to those white people, I wasn't. The system, the racism, was much bigger than me and I couldn't fight it.'

Robby pleaded guilty and was sentenced to six months' jail. He appealed and was released after six weeks because the sentence was manifestly excessive.

‘Those guys did the dirty on me. It really turned me against the white public servants here, the people who make decisions for Islanders, without their best interests at heart. Those men stole from that organisation and I was blamed.'

He vowed never to get caught out again. Had he kept records of cheque vouchers, he would have been able to argue a case of corruption against him and the organisation.

‘I've kept every letter, receipt and document I've received since then, filed so I can locate it easily. I watch my back and trust no-one.' Robby turned to Alby. ‘What have you got there, little
bala
?'

‘That's Mummy in the water.'

‘What are those things?'

‘The cuts on Mummy's face.'

‘How do you know about that?'

‘You said.' Alby gazed at his father.

Robby turned to me. He slapped the desk. ‘Look what that man has done to me. A second time. He can try and hurt me, but not my son. I've got to go. Thank you for your time.' He chose some of Alby's drawings, dated them and folded them up. He ruffled his son's hair. ‘Want to get some dinner from the Railway?'

‘Then can I have an ice-cream?'

‘If you eat your vegetables.'

‘Can I have a double one, like you?'

‘If you share it with me.'

Alby was thinking about the offer as Robby took his hand.

I watched them walk out and hoped Alby would forget about the details he shouldn't, but was bound to, hear.

I headed home to find Jonah had dumped a box of green twigs by the door, which I guessed were cuttings for the garden.

‘You're just in time,' said Jonah. ‘I am about to pan fry these tuna steaks I caught this afternoon.'

‘Tuna? This afternoon? What do you mean?'

‘Well, I got home at four, figured you'd be busy, so I took the dogs for a quick run on Goods Island and threw a line in when I saw tuna boiling near the wreck. Phoebe and the dogs love tuna.'

‘What's with the box by the door?'

‘I made heaps of pesto from the basil in the garden. It freezes really well. Taste this.' He ran his finger inside the food processer and held it to my mouth.

It was divine, though I felt the first sting of resentment that work was keeping me away from Jonah. We curled up on the couch and ate in front of the TV. Jonah wanted to watch a food program about French cuisine.

I cuddled up to Jonah, not interested in the show. Whatever the guy was cooking, it had a hell of a lot of butter and cream. Then he made something I'd never seen before. He poured steaming milk onto dark chocolate to make hot chocolate. If I had to make hot chocolate, I'd use Milo and hot milk or whack a carton of Breaka in the microwave. Jonah insisted on making it and dug out some Lindt from the back of the fridge.

‘
Matha nice
,' said Jonah. ‘Which way?'

I didn't want to hurt his feelings and tell him the French way of making hot chocolate tasted like Milo and warm Breaka. Fortunately, Mum called just as I was about to mumble a response. She was coming Monday week to stay for a month.

‘I'm seeing someone, Mum.'

‘Good. I thought you'd be working all the time. What's his name?'

‘Jonah. He was born just before you left, I think. He's into food like you.'

‘Don't know any Jonahs. I just hope you learn something about fine food. I can't wait to meet him.'