My Island Homicide (13 page)

‘Like courtesy of the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus,' I said, laughing. ‘Surely there needs to be some logic and planning for things to happen the way you want them to?'

‘Maybe they're not meant to happen the way you want them to. You have to, what's the word, faith, no, trust, yes, trust that things will work out and then the reason, the explanation will come to you. Too many words for the same thing in English.'

‘I'll have to think about that one,' I said. ‘Anyway, what's your story?'

‘I don't have one,' he said, too fast. There was a long silence while he tensed his lips and looked into the sea. He then quickly rinsed his fish over the side, took mine and finished gutting it. ‘It's nearly one. We better go.'

We pulled into Back Beach at 1.30am, me as gutted as the fish by Jonah's response to my question. I must have offended him. Maybe Jenny was right – maybe he wasn't over losing his wife. Perhaps he wouldn't want to see me again. My mother's voice echoed in my head:
That's enough questioning, Ebithea
. I offered to help Jonah with the esky, but he said he was fine.

‘Promise me one thing,' he said when I turned to go.

‘Yes?'

‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night. I'll cook you some of the crayfish.'

I was confused. ‘Sure,' I said before I could remember that I should have politely declined his offer.

‘Tomorrow night,' he said and hoisted the esky over the side of the dinghy.

I was bone-tired. And it wasn't till I walked in and heard the scratching at the back door that I remembered Buzarr was with Sissy. I let them in and when I got into bed, Sissy jumped up and so did Buzarr. Curling up with two dogs, feeling them snuggle against me, went some way to making me less sad about how things ended with Jonah. A bucket of cookie-dough ice-cream would have helped even further.

Chapter 22

I woke to the pale grey of dawn on Friday. I decided I had another hour or so of shut-eye left and I drifted off into that delicious lucid state, between consciousness and sleep. And that's where things turned nasty. I could feel my limbs and the crisp sheets, so I knew I was alive but there was a vile stench, like carrion, suffocating me. I was sucked into wakefulness and faced the mouths of two gently panting hounds, their fetid breaths enveloping me and their beady eyes willing me to take them for a walk. I dragged myself out of bed.

A couple of buff women bolted past as we crossed the road. For a few seconds, there was puffed chatting, the pad of their feet and then silence. The beach was empty so I unleashed the dogs. We walked along the shore, around the hospital, past the helicopter pad and emerged at Front Beach. By the time we passed Georgia's flat and the Boating and Fisheries complex with the massive antique anchor that did, indeed, make an attractive garden feature, the 6.30am ferry for the mainland was leaving and there was a steady stream of people out walking, running and cycling. I passed Maggie, who was jogging with the doctor Carla Dimaggio, and gave them a big wave. Out at sea were dinghies, the Horn Island ferry and the pilot boats, transporting captains to and from the container ships passing through the Torres Strait.

When I got home, Jonah was waiting at the front door.

‘Something has come up about dinner tonight,' he said.

I knew the let-down was coming. ‘That's fine. I've just remembered I've got something else on. And I'm going to the markets with Maggie early tomorrow morning.'

‘Really? I was going to invite you to the cottage on Friday Island for the weekend instead.'

‘I'll come.'

‘What about Maggie?'

‘We can go to the markets next month. What time?' I was trying not to sound too keen, but was rushing the words.

‘I'll meet you here about five.'

‘Great. I'd better head upstairs and get ready for work.' I was holding the door open.

‘You could ask me in for a cup of tea,' he said.

‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'

‘Thanks for asking. White and two,' he said as he walked past me.

‘I just need to have a shower,' I said.

When I came out dressed, he had made two cups of tea and said he couldn't find any cereal or bread for toast. ‘What do you eat for breakfast?'

‘Coffee.'

He tutted and said if we left the dogs in the backyard, they would keep each other company during the day. After our tea he walked me to the station and said he couldn't wait to see me. All I could do was smile and think,
He can't wait to see me and he's taking me to Friday Island!

Just after I got to work Amanda Small, the head of department of the special education unit, phoned me, fearful of reprisals from Dave if she made a complaint about him. At the same time, she wanted to support Robby and do the right thing by the children.

‘When we've drawn up the formal complaint,' I explained, ‘I'll subpoena the information from the department and it'll be out of your hands.'

‘Thank God,' she said.

‘Make sure you advise your union.'

There was damning evidence against Dave for fraud, but as far as Melissa's murder was concerned, we had to wait till forensic results were back.

‘
Ya gar
,' said Lency, breaking my train of thought and handing me a piece of paper. ‘This came in the mail.'

The note was addressed to
The head policeman
and written in a childish scrawl.
There are drugs coming into this community and youse are not doing nothing about it. Our children are in danger. You need more policeman to do the job properly. This is very serious matters.

‘We got one like this about six months ago. Mick Buckrell said he was keeping an eye on someone.'

‘Did he say who?' I had a flashback to the mysterious Post-it note Mick had stuck in an unrelated file.

‘
Uh
, no.'

‘Did he say whether it was dope or something harder?'

‘He reckoned something harder.'

‘And which file would he have kept his suspicions in?'

‘This file.' Lency tapped her head and smiled. ‘I gotta go to the post office.'

I asked her to check if my parcels had arrived. I needed that underwear, for tonight. Just as Lency was about to leave, she put through a call from a lawyer in Cairns whose name she didn't catch. I was confused, but when I answered the phone it was Mark. ‘Would you think about coming down for the Anzac Day long weekend?'

‘Mark, listen very carefully. Our relationship is over, but you don't seem to get it because you keep calling, texting and emailing me. I am becoming fearful.' I was trying to remember the exact wording of section 359C of the Criminal Code. ‘You don't practise in criminal law, but persistent and unwanted contact that causes fear is defined as stalking in the Queensland Criminal Code and I—'

‘Okay, okay. I get it, but you are over-reacting. You're not in court, you know?'

‘Don't contact me again. Do you understand? I've met someone.' And I wanted to squeal like a teenage girl,
He's taking me to Friday Island!
But I hung up instead.

Lency came in and asked if I was okay because I was yelling.

‘Was I? Well, I am fine.'

She shook her head and left for the post office.

While I was going through paperwork for the inquest and considering which witnesses would need to give evidence, Shay appeared at the door.

‘Lency asked me to give you these,' she said as she placed four parcels on my desk. She tapped the top one and said with a cheeky smile, ‘Lingerie from After Dark is
deadly
.
Yu got man, uh
? You got the
ginar
now
,
that's for sure.'

‘
Ginar
?'

‘The style, the outfit, to look the part, you know,
ginar
.' She winked. ‘Hope you got the moves, too.'

Shay's Broken English lessons appeared to be going well. That aside, I was faced with a pleasant dilemma: which set of knickers do I wear?

I was all packed and ready and waiting for Jonah at five. Then I remembered I'd have to cancel going to the markets with Maggie. I trudged next door with a note. As I pegged it to Maggie's screen door, she walked up her drive.

‘You look like you're going boating,' she said.

‘Camping actually. I'm sorry, but I won't be able to make the markets.'

‘If your camping trip has anything to do with the dashing Jonah, good luck.' She gave me a big wink.

The dinghy slowed at a small arc of beach nestled into a hill. I clambered over the side and made an ungainly splash into the calf-deep water. Jonah passed me the esky and some bags, which I struggled to carry ashore. The wind had picked up and I shivered in the cool late-afternoon breeze. Such a contrast from yesterday. The dogs embraced the wide open expanse of sand and took turns chasing each other. I watched Jonah as he took the dinghy out, threw the anchor and reversed in. I had no idea what he was doing. He stood and assessed the anchorage while I assessed his physique. He took off his shirt and I had a quick opportunity to admire the way the sun reflected off the contours of his dark muscles. To my complete surprise, he dropped his jeans and dived naked into the deep water. He swam to the rear of the boat, reached into the hollow at the stern and picked up another anchor. He swam the 40 or so metres to shore and dug it into the sand so now the dinghy was facing the wind. I didn't know where to look when he walked towards me. I picked up the bags, fixed my eyes on the sand and hurried up the beach.

‘Welcome to my cottage,' said Jonah. ‘A friend called it that. Sounds better than shack.'

I immediately thought of one of his other women and felt a sting of envy. Stop it, I told myself. Jonah's fibro cottage was ringed by a wooden deck and had glass windows and a sliding door. I was pleasantly surprised. I had been expecting a shack made from corrugated iron and a sand floor. The prospect of spending a weekend in a quasi-luxurious dwelling on a private beach with a gorgeous seafarer seemed the most adventurous and romantic thing I'd ever do.

‘Just stick that stuff in the kitchen,' said Jonah, sliding the door open. He grabbed a towel hanging on a line strung between wooden posts and said he was going to
swim
, meaning wash. I glanced at him entering the shower, a corrugated-iron enclosure beneath two 44-gallon drums suspended on metal frames, and wondered if I should follow him in. Then I chickened out.

The cottage was a square design with the kitchen opposite the front sliding door. There was a regular gas stove, a fridge, a good-sized bench beneath suspended cupboards, and a wardrobe. A double bed covered in a patchwork quilt of floral material, like a giant island dress, was in the corner. I noted with smug victory it was the only bed. The coffee table was made of a large wooden cabling spool and surrounded by three unmatched lounge chairs. I thought of designer recycling.

Jonah came in wearing a towel, his ringlets glistening with droplets of water. ‘What do you think?'

‘It's paradise.'

‘That's what I think. I built it from scraps I'd collected over the years working on building sites. That's why nothing matches.' He went to the wardrobe, dropped the towel and pulled on some shorts. Like his forearms, there were swirls of dark hair on the base of his spine. I had that urge, again, to reach across and trail my fingers along his spine and keep trailing my fingers . . . I thought of long division and gutting a fish.

I offered to help him put the food away, start dinner, anything, but we needed to collect firewood while it was still light.

‘Are you out of gas?' I asked, wondering why we'd need firewood.

‘I'm roasting our crayfish and sweet potato on a beach fire of casuarina wood.'

‘Sounds like something out of a travel magazine.'

I had thought the dogs were still outside racing around but as we walked out, they were lying on their sides on the deck. Jonah whistled and both dogs opened and then closed their eyes.

We walked along the sand, talking. He pointed out a massive container ship moving past Goods Island and told me about the shipping channel through the Torres Strait. He wished, one day, to get his Coxswains Certificate so he could drive the pilot boats taking the captains to and from these freighters.

‘I want to drive boats for a living. I love the sea.'

At times I felt the warm pressure of his arm against mine as we negotiated the sloping sand, collecting bits of driftwood. We turned around at a small estuary and walked along the top of the sand where tufts of grass and a vine with purple flowers grew, dragging back fallen casuarina branches, their leaves hanging in clumps like green paintbrushes.

While Jonah made a fire, erecting a semi-circular sheet of corrugated iron to protect it from the wind, I explored the property. Behind the cottage was a vegetable garden packed with basil plants and cherry tomatoes, the bushes straining under the weight of the fruit, and eggplants, their purple skins shining even in the dull light. I scrunched a spiky razor-like leaf in my fingers and recognised it as the pungent herb Jonah brought on Tuesday night. There was a separate bed of sweet potato and pumpkin, the vines embracing like lovers' limbs. There was a forest of banana and pawpaw trees and other plants I didn't recognise. The bases of all the plants were covered in paper shredding and seaweed.

I was reminded of a garden Aunty Emma put down while she was visiting. I was about ten. For a short time, we had sweet potato, cassava, and banana and pawpaw trees. Only the banana and pawpaw fruited, the root vegetables withered and died. Later I remember Mum buying frozen cassava imported from some Pacific island. I asked her why she didn't maintain the garden Aunty planted.

‘Too easy to buy stuff,' she said, reaching for the plastic bag of boutique-type red-skinned potato.

Jonah appeared beside me, crouched down and dug into the ground. ‘Wanna have a shower?
Bambai
, later it will be more colder.' He pulled out some gnarled root vegetables. ‘
Kumala
. Sweet potato.'

The wind had stiffened. At Back Beach, we were in the lee of the south-easterly,
sager
, wind, but here we were unprotected. I shivered as I headed back to the cottage. I dug around in my backpack for my clothes and new underwear – soft, shiny and the colour of precious jewels.

I made my way to the shower enclosure and stripped off, suddenly self-conscious about being naked when there was no door or ceiling. The water, heated by the sun, was a salve to the cold wind that blew through the large gap under the iron wall. As I dried myself, my skin became pitted with goosebumps, and I couldn't get my clothes on fast enough. A decent set of undies made a huge and instant difference to my self-consciousness. My Cairns Tropical Bank polo shirt didn't complement the lingerie, but I could deal with that because I hoped it wasn't going to be on for long.