My Island Homicide (10 page)

Chapter 16

According to Robby, Billy Billa, a local teacher aide, contacted him before this school year commenced, claiming violence was authorised by the principal, David Garland, AKA Mr Dave, to control student behaviour. He also told Robby that Mr Dave made the teachers and aides, including Billy, help students in the annual NAPLAN testing. These positive results were reflected on the My School website and earned Dave Garland a high profile.

‘Dave's salary doubled, by the way, at the primary school when he transferred from the high school two years ago under a new program called No Child Left Behind, to address poor educational outcomes. My cousin works in the business unit so it's easy to get that information.' Robby raised his eyebrows. ‘His salary has two components. The first part is standard, a band 8 principal's salary determined by the student enrolment. The second part is Dave supplementing his salary from a sub-account established to hold money transferred from the budgets of other programs like the special education unit, curriculum, professional development, travel and so on. He skimmed off ten per cent of those budgets, which is substantial, and illegal. And he also took ten per cent from any additional funding he sourced, again illegal.

‘Within two years of Dave's appointment, academic outcomes were on a par with non-Indigenous schools. And funds poured in, both federal and state.'

‘Those results are commendable,' I said. ‘Is this why Dave was awarded an Order of Australia Medal?'

‘Of course.' He gave me a dubious look. ‘You've got to understand that Islander children have English as a second or third language, and Broken English and the traditional languages are oral. You would know that literacy levels are low. For Dave to achieve those results in such a short time was, for me, suspicious. So when Billy Billa came to see me, terrified as he was, I approached some teachers. They were happy to confide in me and corroborate Billy's allegations. But they refused to make a complaint. One common thread was that Dave had pressured them to record favourable results in literacy and numeracy even though there were no actual improvements.'

‘How can that happen? Surely there are guidelines for testing?'

‘Exactly. You would have seen in the media about last year's NAPLAN testing and how teachers across the country were being investigated for cheating.'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, it's simple to engineer positive outcomes in standardised testing like NAPLAN. If a teacher helps students produce near perfect answers by coaching during the test or giving the questions the night before, it's called cheating. The four teachers I spoke to said students were being coached. Three other teachers refused to talk to me other than saying they had come to TI to get permanent employment with Education Queensland and they weren't going to jeopardise their careers by exposing Dave's wrongdoing.'

‘It sounds like the whole process is flawed if it can be manipulated so easily.'

‘There were others involved. Interestingly, Dave's DP—'

‘DP?'

‘Sorry, deputy principal. Dave's DP was appointed at the same time as him. He's a mate of Dave's who worked on TI in the late nineties. As was the guidance officer, the GO. Incidentally, the DP and GO both receive higher salaries than the standard. I suspect this goes higher, way up to management.

‘Billy suggested I talk with Amanda Small, the HOD, that's the head of department, of the special education unit. She is quite outspoken and I am hoping she will make a formal complaint. She believes Dave was in cahoots with the GO to falsely verify kids as being intellectually impaired or as having some disability to attract additional funding. But the point is, the special education budget never received the additional funds. It was paid to some teacher aides as bonuses if they made sure students attended school and stayed out of trouble, usually by threatening them with a flogging.'

‘So, it wasn't a case of No Child Left Behind. It was All Children Left Behind?'

‘Exactly.'

‘How did this involve Melissa?'

‘She was a teacher aide in the special ed unit. She told me last year she was suspicious about students being falsely verified with special needs. When I had enough evidence about Dave's fraud, I told Melissa. That was Wednesday evening, before she left for the CWA meeting. I think she confronted Dave about it.' He held out his hands in surrender. ‘Look, Melissa and I were having a hard time. But don't you see? She confronts Dave about what I told her because it backs her suspicions and he kills her.'

‘So, you're saying Dave stood to lose big time if he was exposed by Melissa?'

‘His career, his Order of Australia Medal, his position in the community, his huge salary. He'd sacrifice anyone in his way.'

‘Do you have written evidence from Billy?'

‘Oh, yes and two other aides. I'll also email you a copy of my report to the Minister of Education. You can talk to the aides and the other teachers might speak up if you're involved.' He stood up. ‘I have to get back to Alby.'

At the station I found Jenny reading, her legs up on her desk. ‘Thank God you're here. Dave wants to talk to you.'

‘Where's Shay?'

‘She was so exhausted she begged me to cover for her so she could go home and sleep. I did see the handsome Isaac come and pick her up in that hotted-up Commodore. He's bad news, that boy. He'll break her heart.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘That fella goes from white girl to white girl. He uses them and tosses them.'

‘Do you know him?'

‘Isaac is Fred's nephew.' She paused. ‘I guess it's in his blood. In
their
blood. They're all the same, these island men.'

‘It's not just island men. It's
all
men. It's in their genes,' I said. ‘Speaking of men, I've just finished meeting with Robby. We've got fraud and possibly aggravated assault against children at the primary school . . . allegedly.'

‘Well, Dave is in more than one pickle. He broke the news to his wife and she's wild. He's at the school while she calms down. Give him a call.'

I told her about Robby's allegations but that we couldn't confront Dave till Robby made a formal complaint.

‘Shit, man. This is starting to sound like an episode of island-style CSI,' said Jenny. She grabbed a pen and held it like a microphone. ‘We've got the hot chick cut up, the handsome lover, the jilted husband and fraud. We don't have millions of corporate bucks embezzled for flashy cars, but we do have taxpayers' money for disabled kids disappearing. Don't miss it. Every Sunday night, 8.30pm.'

I was doubled over laughing before I had told my joke. ‘Talk about sex, lies and bureaucratic tape.'

‘That is not bad, Thea.'

I phoned Dave, who answered on the first ring. ‘What happened? You've found her, haven't you?'

‘Yes. On Millman Hill. Her body will be sent to Brisbane tomorrow for an autopsy.'

‘Oh, my God. Are you sure? I mean, of course, you are. God. I'll help you with your investigation in any way possible.'

‘I'll be in touch.' I replaced the handset.

‘I just can't imagine Dave killing someone,' said Jenny, shaking her head. ‘Even if he is into all that shit at the school and was about to be busted. I think underneath it all, he's a genuinely good bloke.'

‘Just because he's a good bloke who catches fish and gives them to less fortunate souls, doesn't mean he can't orchestrate a scam and kill someone who threatens to expose him.'

Jenny was keen for another walk, but I said I'd done enough exercise on Millman Hill this morning. I told her I was going to hang out at the far end of Back Beach to watch the sun set and take photos for my mother while Sissy played. What I didn't tell her was that it was all part of my clever plan to catch another glimpse of the mysterious fisherman. I convinced myself I would be bold enough to strike up a conversation and impress him as an intelligent, interesting and irresistible woman.

As I walked home, I thought about how Mum had asked me to take some photos of the sunset from Back Beach for her. In the month before my departure, she told me about a friend, Lily, whom she'd worked with at the hospital's kitchen. After they married and had children, they used to meet at Back Beach and fish while their children splashed in the water. I wish I'd heard about her stories growing up.

Chapter 17

When Sissy jumped up on me, I was still thinking about the handsome seafarer. I wanted to change into something attractive, not plain, and certainly not advertising Simpsons Sandblasting, established 1973, or Harmony Day 2008, the shirts on top of the two piles. I put on a grey singlet, which was the most attractive thing I could find. At least it went well with my new red sarong. With my camera, I headed off with Sissy to the sandy cove of Battery Point, which was marked by slanted wooden posts, ghostly grey and pitted with age. Mum had said there used to be a net strung between those old posts so nurses or army personnel could swim in safety, from crocodiles, she thought. Now kids paddled in the shallows and two women in floral island dresses fished with small handlines. There were dinghies anchored further out, one of which was half-submerged with only the bow above water.

I nestled my backside into the soft powdery sand and relaxed against a massive log. It didn't take long for me to be overcome by a delicious lethargy as the build-up of tension drained away. The sun was falling behind the dark hills on Friday Island and, in minutes, the sky faded from blue to pale cream. Like a revolving kaleidoscope, the pale cream was absorbed into the frothy magenta clouds, a stunning contrast to the gold that glowed on the glassy surface of the sea. I took enough sunset shots to supply a travel magazine for a year. The derelict swimming posts provided a haunting silhouette from an era past. Some images included the profiles of swimming children and fisherwomen, though nearly all contained my manic dog, splashing in the water, digging up sand or running in circles. Sissy was exhausted by the end of the shoot and flopped down next to me. Once the lingering rays of the sun vanished, I sat beneath the first stars and listened to the lap-lap-lap of the rising tide. The quiet was broken only by the hum of a passing car or the occasional mosquito.

With no sign of the ponytailed man, I heaved myself up to head home. Sissy opened one eye as if to say, ‘I am not moving', and returned to sleep. Her ear twitched as the putter of an outboard engine grew louder and cut out. The dull clink of gathered chain sounded before the splash of an anchor, the links grating against the aluminium hull. My heart went from relaxed to a hundred miles an hour when, in the glow of a streetlight, I spotted the ponytailed man in the dinghy. He jumped out and lifted the fat dog onto the sand.

I chickened out and started to slink away to the safety of my unit, but Sissy bolted towards his dog. They sniffed each other's backsides while turning in a slow circle, their tails stiff. Without meaning to, I held my breath and was rocked by my thudding heart. On a positive note, the dogs were now wagging their tails so a violent attack was out, as was my breath, finally.

‘Ah, you been find one friend,
bala
,' said the man, as he leaned down to pat Sissy. ‘Nice one, Buzarr.'

As soon as he spoke, the dogs took off, chasing each other and rolling in the sand. The man squinted in my direction. I moved towards him, trying to think of something witty and clever to say.

‘Sergeant,' he said.

How did he know I was a sergeant, and why was I sucking in my stomach?

‘Hi,' I said and held out my hand.

‘Ebithea,' he said. I blushed when he took my hand.

‘How do you know my name? I mean my island name?'

‘Well, my mother, who lives in that house across the road . . .' he pointed to the house I'd watched him walk into, ‘. . . she knows your mother from young days.'

‘Really? But how does your mother know that my mother is my mother . . . I mean . . . how does your mother know I am my mother's daughter . . .?'

‘Because I am my mother's son.' He smiled, the light reflecting off his white teeth but not off any gold band on his fingers.

At that moment, both dogs barrelled into me and I fell in an ungraceful heap.

‘Buzarr,' scolded the man, but they had raced off. He held out his arms and pulled me up. ‘They should be charged with speeding. How do I know your name?' His voice was smooth and deep as he explained that his mother, Yenah, had known my mother, Masalgi, years ago. ‘Mum heard that Masalgi's daughter was at the police station. There are no secrets on TI. You
sabe
how Islanders yarn.'

I said I understood, but I didn't. I was certain my mother had never mentioned the name Yenah. He whistled and his keg-shaped dog came trotting over, Sissy following.

‘This is Buzarr. I found him on P.O.W., Prince of Wales Island, abandoned, skinny, no fur. I thought he was dying. I fed him
buzarr
, you know?' I shook my head. ‘Turtle fat. I wanted to fatten him up but I went
overmark
.'

‘Nice to meet you, Buzarr. This is Sissy.' She was sniffing his bottom again. I asked a few banal questions and learnt that he worked at QBuild managing apprentices and working on the outer islands, though he would have preferred to be driving boats or fishing all day. He lived on Friday Island but spent nights at his mother's house if she needed help with something or he had to fly to the outer islands for work in the early morning.

‘Or if I feel like a good feed,' he said, patting a flat stomach, ‘or Mum wants a fish.' He reached into a large white flour bucket and produced a flopping orange one. The streetlight bounced off its shiny scales. ‘Here, for you.'

‘What do I do with it?' I preferred fish in a tin and flavoured at that.

‘
Ya gar.
You don't know how to cook fish? This is a coral trout. One of the best restaurant fish. How about I come and cook it for you Tuesday night?'

‘Yes.'

‘Seven o'clock, Tuesday.' He put the fish back into the bucket.

‘Yes.'

‘
Yawo
.' He whistled for Buzarr as he walked off.

‘Goodbye. I mean
yawo
.'

He reached the edge of the road, followed by Buzarr, who was followed by Sissy. I called her back and my mind kicked into gear again. ‘I don't even know your name.' My voice was shrill, like a fishwife.

‘Jonah.'

It was 7.30pm when I walked into my unit. I wasn't hungry. I felt strange, light-headed and dizzy. In fact, it started when Jonah offered to cook dinner for me. Oh God. I needed to focus. Yoga. I rolled out my mat and stood in tadasana, the mountain pose. I inhaled, raised my hands over my head, and then exhaled and bent in a swan dive. But I couldn't stop thinking about Jonah. If he lived on Friday Island, was he a recluse? Was he with someone? Did he have children? How old was he? It was no use. I lost the will to bend and stretch. I rolled up the mat and stood it in the corner of the lounge room.

I made myself a dinner of tinned chilli tuna with salad. Thinking about Jonah got me thinking about my mother. She'd never mentioned Yenah before. There were a few distant family members living in the Torres Strait, but the bulk of the family, whom I'd never met, were scattered all around the country. When the family left Warral to find work on TI after the war, they realised there were better opportunities down south. They headed to the cane fields or worked on trochus boats along the east coast of Queensland. When the railway was being built in Western Australia in the sixties, some headed over there, most settling permanently. I had met Mum's older siblings, three brothers and two sisters when they visited from Mackay, Brisbane and Broome, although one sister lived in Cairns. Occasionally, extended family members had stayed with us over the years. Because Mum never talked about her early life, as a kid I was always asking relatives for the information.

‘You'd make a great policeman, sis,' said a much-older cousin without answering my questions.

‘
Yu tu mas
ask question,' said Aunty Emma.

‘Ebithea, you can't force people to answer questions.' Mum gave me a pointed stare. ‘Even if you ask those questions through other people.'

But even though she had recently started to yarn about her childhood, I was still certain she'd never mentioned Yenah. Anyway, I was reminded of Yenah's son. And his big smile and the smooth skin of his hands when he pulled me up and the way he held them for a few seconds longer than he needed to and,
Thea
,
stop it
.