My Island Homicide (4 page)

Just as I was going to warn Shay about men and the perilous journey ahead, she motioned to cross the road. ‘This is where Georgia lives.'

Chapter 5

We entered a unit complex with a grassy courtyard at its centre. There was a plastic playground set and a large green plastic scallop paddling pool. The yard was littered with colourful plastic toys.

I followed Shay to unit one and the door was answered by a woman, about my age, wearing a mini-skirt. ‘Hi, I'm Georgia,' she said.

She could have been the It Girl for a surf brand's over-35 range. I didn't know much about fashion but I knew Billabong was a company that made surf clothes. It helped that Georgia's chocolate brown ribbed singlet had Billabong plastered on the front in white letters and, when she turned around, on the back of her camel-coloured skirt. Lucky woman: shapely, smooth legs; skin the colour of burnt honey and a thick mane of golden hair. Shay and I introduced ourselves as we followed her into the icy unit. After the warm air, the air-conditioning stung my throat.

Georgia asked us to sit down as she floated, like a princess, into a chair. I flopped down, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. I found myself tucking my lank hair behind my ears, thinking about how a stranger would describe me:
Thea had a thick girth and slouched to conceal her great height. She gave the impression of one who had neither the time nor the inclination to improve her appearance. There were patches of moisture under the armpits of her lime-green shirt, popular circa the 1970s, and a limp flower behind her left ear.

Then I noted with a sense of victory that Georgia's hair was coloured. Strands of grey sprouted close to her temples.

‘We are hoping you can shed some light on Melissa Ramu's whereabouts.'

Georgia rose and glided to the fridge.

I shivered and faced the tropical sea beyond the windows. A grey-haired man sat on a plastic chair in the shade of a sea almond tree and two women, wearing colourful island dresses, fished in the aquamarine shallows. There was something unsettling about watching the grey-haired man mop his sweaty forehead with a handtowel while I froze in the arctic air-conditioning.

‘Water? Chardonnay?'

Georgia put a large Mexican wine glass and a bottle of wine on the table in between the jumble of foolscap paper and textbooks.
Educational Inclusivity in the Twenty-First Century
and
Inquiry-Based Learning P-10: A Practical Guide
. Such monotonous-sounding titles made me want a drink.

‘Water's fine,' I said.

I followed Shay's gaze to two boxes, one filled with empty wine and alcopop bottles and the other with crushed yellow XXXX beer cans. While Georgia shifted papers and books to one side, I scanned the room for clues about her personality. The walls were covered with black and white photos of a young Georgia, with big hair, shoulder pads and high-waisted pants. They looked like professional modelling shots. In close-ups, her skin was flawless and her expression confident as if she'd achieved the modelling equivalent of Nirvana. And she had: a
Vogue
magazine cover, Georgia in a high-cut bikini, poster size. In later images she posed with two little blonde girls, a rocking horse and bales of hay in studio-style photos.

Georgia filled her glass with chardonnay and sat down, staring out the window. The tight lips, glazed stare and white-knuckled grip on her wine glass suggested there was less Nirvana going on and more Hell.

‘Melissa hasn't been seen since seven o'clock last night. Do you have any idea where she could be?'

Georgia shook her head. ‘I have no idea. We see each other most days and talk and text on the other days.'

‘It sounds like you're close.'

‘We're best friends.'

‘How has she been in general?'

Shay was taking notes.

‘Not good. Up till first semester last year she was getting credits and distinctions. Since then, she's just scraped passes in her assignments. She had to sit a supplementary exam at the end of last year, poor thing. All because of Arsehole.' She drew out the word before opening the sliding door nearest to the table. She stepped onto the deck and lit a cigarette. ‘Robby, that is. He's a controlling prick.' She sucked so hard on the cigarette I thought her face would cave in. Then she twisted her mouth sideways to exhale. ‘You know, he checks up on her every time she goes somewhere, like he's a goddamn detective. And he's always asking her what she's spending, even though she has to work to get her own money.'

‘Did she tell you that she and Robby were trying for another child?'

‘Bullshit. I don't believe it. She would've told me. And Stella and Paulina.'

‘Who are Stella and Paulina?'

‘Excuse me, Mrs Finucane,' said Shay, ‘may I have their surnames and occupations?'

‘Stella Maine is a hairdresser and Paulina Ambrose is a high-school teacher. We get together here when my husband is away, which is all the time.'

‘How long have you been on the island, Georgia?' I asked.

‘Oh, forever.' Then came a litany of angry regrets of a woman trapped: Georgia not wanting to come to TI six years ago when her daughters were seven and eight, now at boarding school in Cairns; her husband, Tim, promising they'd stay for only two years; Tim refusing to leave; him fishing every weekend and drinking with his mates, Georgia trying to hold the family together for her daughters, but giving up. ‘I'm leaving when I get my degree next year.'

I wondered why she didn't just leave now. ‘Is there anything else that might have made Melissa take off suddenly?'

‘Possibly.' Georgia's face lit up. She grabbed another bottle of wine from the fridge. ‘I don't usually drink during the day, but lectures were cancelled today. This is only my second glass. Sorry, what was your question again?'

‘Did anything happen that might have made Melissa take off suddenly?'

‘Oh yeah. She was pretty shaken up when that Bintu woman threatened her.'

‘Shay, is Mrs Bintu that tall woman? From this morning?'

‘Same one,' said Shay.

‘The giant with a hundred children.' Georgia giggled and took a mouthful of wine. ‘Her boy, Mikey, has been bullying Melissa's boy, Alby. They're both in prep. There was a mediation a while back that didn't go well. Anyway, on Tuesday, it all blows up and Melissa shows up here a complete mess.'

Eventually we got the story. Melissa picked up Alby, who had come out of class crying, complaining that Mikey choked him. He had red marks around his neck. Melissa was furious and, without thinking, grabbed Mikey and shook him, screaming at him. The principal pulled Melissa away from him and he ran home.

‘What else could Melissa do, poor darling?' Giggle. ‘They're a huge clan, those Bintus.' Giggle.

‘So, how did Mrs Bintu come to threaten Melissa?'

‘Threaten?'

‘Yes, you said Melissa was pretty shaken up when Mrs Bintu threatened her.'

‘Oh, yes. Well, Mikey ran home, told his mother, who went to Melissa's house and threatened her. The usual racist stuff: “cheap white slut”, “white cunt”, “you're dead”. Melissa came here straight after.'

‘Did you tell her to report it to the police?' I asked.

‘Of course not. Melissa shamed Mrs Bintu by getting into her son. Mrs Bintu took revenge. That's how she is.'

‘Well, why was Melissa so upset?'

‘For one, her son was getting bullied. Secondly, have you ever seen Mrs Bintu?' She didn't wait for me to answer. ‘She's three times the size of Melissa.'

‘Georgia, your best friend has been missing for almost 24 hours. And only now you mention that Mrs Bintu threatened to kill her?'

Georgia fixed her glazed green eyes on me. ‘Look, you obviously haven't lived here. Mrs Bintu is big and scary, but she's not a killer.' She said ‘big and scary' like she was telling a fairytale to children. ‘What she said to Melissa was nothing. Last year she pulled a barmaid across the counter at the Railway and punched her in the face. I saw it. She thought the barmaid was flirting with Mr Bintu. As if anyone would flirt with Mr Bintu! He's hideous.' She shuddered and gulped the remaining wine as if to erase the thought of him.

‘Thanks for your time, Georgia.' I stood up.

Georgia didn't seem to notice. She was staring out the window. ‘I reckon she's gone to see her dad in Cairns. She said she was going this month. Strange she didn't take Alby, though. She must have been desperate to get away from Arsehole.'

Shay and I moved towards the door.

‘What, are you going, already?' Georgia stood up.

‘We'll let ourselves out,' I said. ‘Thank you.'

‘Oh my god. I have to pick up my girls from the ferry. Where's my bag?'

‘You may want to consider a taxi if you've been drinking.'

She shot me a terse look. ‘I'll call my husband.'

We left and I thought about Georgia's beauty and the energy she must devote to looking good even though she was bitterly unhappy. For about ten seconds, I considered colouring my hair and shaving my legs. Nah, if I was going to do something about my appearance, I'd need a bloody good reason.

I sucked in the warm air as we crossed the road to where the old man sat under the sea almond tree. Shay turned on her mobile and the zing, zing, zing of fresh texts sounded. She chuckled and punched the key pad. There was a loud squeal. One of the fisherwomen was swinging a fish, still attached to the line, at the other woman and they were jumping around in the calf-deep water, laughing.

‘Okay, we need a criminal and domestic violence history on Mrs Bintu and to talk to her now. And contact Stella and Paulina and see what they know.'

Shay moaned. ‘You're not going to make me walk to the back of the island, are you?'

‘Not this time. What did you think of Georgia?'

‘She's frustrated with TI, drinks a bit and she doesn't like Robby.'

‘Very good. And?'

‘And I've got a skirt like hers. She looks pretty good, even though she's kind of old.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘To be wearing a short skirt. I mean, not old old . . . just not young old.'

‘She looks fantastic, and once you hit late-thirties or so, you'll understand.' Shay was rushing to keep up with me as I raced to get to the station, grab the car and get around to Mrs Bintu. ‘How old are you?'

‘Twenty-two.'

I remembered thinking my grade 12 history teacher was old and she was 24. Of course, Georgia and I would seem ancient.

‘Anyway, what do you make of Georgia and her story?' I asked.

‘I dunno. She's angry with her husband. She should just leave him.'

‘Well, things aren't right between Georgia and her husband, nor Melissa and Robby. That's part of being in a relationship.'

Shay turned to me with a serious expression. ‘I would never let a man push me around.' Her smooth skin and saucer-shaped hazel
eyes exuded an innocence that told of inexperience in love and
relationships. It was obvious she had yet to face heartache.

I'd experienced more than my fair share of heartache during my disastrous three-year liaison with Mark. It all started with ‘that dress' I wore to the courthouse Christmas party where I met him. My friend and fellow cop, Gio, a curvy Italian who looked gorgeous in uniform and had a sophisticated sense of fashion, put me up to it. She turned up at my place as I was getting into a pair of hipster jeans and one of Mum's hand-me-down tops. Smart casual was the dress code. Gio convinced me to wear a slinky white dress that was more like a shirt.

‘Gio, this isn't me.' It wasn't me because the dress fitted like a glove, was way too short and the silky fabric was sensuous. Despite my concerns, I straightened up with the confidence the dress gave me.

‘Whatever fun you have, court is in recess for Christmas so you won't have to face anyone for ten days. Anyway, everyone will be too pissed to remember anything. Let's go.'

When we walked into the room, a man turned to me and I was stopped in my tracks by his gaze. It was the first time I had ever commanded, for want of a better word, the attention of a man. It wasn't so bad.

It didn't take him long to appear at my side, his hand against my lower back as we went to the bar. My skin tingled. What wonderful cheek this man had. I was drawn to his confidence, his knowledge, his smooth voice and the intensity of his gaze. He had a cynical sense of humour that had me chuckling continuously. He was a barrister, commercial law, which explained why I'd never seen him. I did something I'd never done before: I went home with him that night, inspired by too much champagne. Over the next few months, we hooked up and eventually I moved in with him. The company was good and the attention was great. In the beginning, I liked the thrill of him adoring my body. He loved ‘that dress' and insisted I either wore it or something equally short and tight. But that just wasn't my style.

I don't know when because it was so insidious, but Mark started suggesting improvements I could make to myself. I should work out more, wear more make-up, dye my hair. Nothing about me was good enough for him.

For the last six months, I kept asking myself why I stayed with him. And I kept coming up with the same excuses: he wasn't that bad, I wouldn't find anyone else, I needed to make more of an effort to socialise and spruce up my appearance, he was the clever one, relationships are never perfect, it could be worse. In the end I tried not to think about it and threw myself into work where I was successful. Obviously my self-esteem wasn't healthy but it wasn't so bad that I would tolerate infidelity. And now, at forty, I was certain I'd end up a spinster.

Chapter 6

‘Hello? Anyone home?' Shay cooed into the station foyer. ‘I'll get those checks on Mrs Bintu before we see her.'

As I was checking my emails, Shay brought me the computer printouts. ‘Bit of history for the Bintus. Nineteen years of DV between them.'

I skimmed the fine print. ‘This one looks interesting. Mrs Bintu got probation for an assault at the Railway Hotel in 2009. That must be the one with the barmaid Georgia told us about.'

‘Here is the QP9 for that one.'

‘Defendant, Mrs Alia Bintu, hauled complainant bar attendant at Railway Hotel across counter, threatening to “drill her pretty face”. Defendant headbutted complainant, splitting her eyebrow, which required three stitches. Defendant hit defendant's husband with a pool cue.' I looked at Shay. ‘Strange, Mr Bintu didn't take action against his wife for assault.'

‘She would probably hit him for that,' said Shay without humour, but I laughed. ‘What's so funny?'

‘He didn't charge her with assault because she would have assaulted him if he did?'

She gave me a look suggesting I was demented.

Shay didn't get it. I wondered flatly where the humour really was. If I hadn't toughened up and seen the lighter side of crime in almost two decades of policing, I would have been crushed by the volume of violent and evil offending I saw, including the endless spiral of domestic violence. Over the years, I'd attended many call-outs to DV incidents. I'd seen the psychological bind victims found themselves in, like Mr and Mrs Bintu. It occurred to me that
maydh
could be explained in the same way:
maydh
victims allowed their partner, the sorcerer, to overpower them and their mind, a form of submission.

There was no way I was going to entertain any notion of
maydh
to explain Melissa's disappearance, but I did wonder if Mrs Bintu was morally responsible for it. If Melissa was depressed, could Mrs Bintu's threats have been so intimidating or forceful that Melissa was traumatised to the point of suicide? If so, could Mrs Bintu be charged with manslaughter?

I remembered the eggshell skull cases I'd studied in criminal law lectures for my undergraduate degree. One man punches another man in the head, who crumples to the ground. The autopsy shows that the dead man had an abnormally thin skull and died as a result of a blow that would have simply knocked anyone else off balance. The defendant argues that he shouldn't be guilty of manslaughter because the victim had a rare condition, a skull as thin as an eggshell. But the jury finds him guilty of manslaughter because an offender must take his victim as he finds him. And so, Mrs Bintu takes her victim as she finds her.

Shay was jangling the car keys next to me.

‘Hang on,' I said. I'd just received an email from Jenny, the subject ‘Jackson Taurus, AKA Molester of Millman Hill'.

I hoped Mr Taurus had no alibi on the night of Melissa's disappearance. Unfortunately, according to Jenny's email, last night he'd been rolling around on his sister's lounge, complaining of his aching jaw and smoking marijuana to dull the pain.

Damn it. We needed to see Mrs Bintu.

Shay and I hopped straight into the car. In the main street near the Royal Hotel, a black and white dog bolted from the footpath and raced us until it was distracted by a poodle walking with its owner. I shook my head. This place was overrun by dogs.

As soon as Shay pulled up in front of the Bintus' property, I was struck by a heavy sadness. The house appeared to be newly renovated with a shiny roof and fresh pastel-green paint. But the yard was littered with broken toys, a pram frame, a white plastic chair with only two legs, two-minute noodle and chip packets, soft-drink cans and quite a few Sunnyvale Special Selection Fruity Lexia wine cask boxes. The grass was overgrown and a woody vine, which I assumed was a weed, strangled the shiny cyclone wire fence. The fence was almost parallel to the ground, the result of, perhaps, an errant vehicle.

We climbed the steps to a porch. Scurrying past us and under the house was a bony brown puppy. A toddler, wearing a sagging disposable nappy, waddled to the open door. A child of around four, with thick snot forming two green streams, appeared behind the toddler. Although the back door was directly opposite the front door, the living area inside was so dark everything appeared as dull grey shapes. I could just make out clothes, toys and mattresses on the floor.

‘It's bad feng shui having the front and back door opposite each other,' said Shay quietly. ‘Energy comes into the house and escapes straight out the other door.'

Oh, great. It seemed that Islander sorcery wasn't enough for this investigation. Chinese superstition had a place now too.

‘Which way?' I asked the children, Islander-style.

The older child let out a terrific, ‘Muuum', which echoed in the small, dark room. ‘Police man wanna look you.'

Seconds later, the huge form of Alia Bintu appeared before us, wiping her hands on her island dress. ‘
Wanem?
'

Even though I'm tall, I was intimidated by her size and angry, narrowed eyes. I would not attempt speaking Broken English.

I introduced myself. ‘Are you Alia Bintu?'

She crossed her arms and raised her chin to me as if she was on the defensive. ‘Are you
blong
them Dari people
lor
Warral?'

So my name did link me with my mother's family from Warral. Since Mrs Bintu spoke to me in Broken English, I was going to brave a response back. ‘
Wa
, my mother
e Masalgi Dari
.' Bugger, I should have said, ‘Mother
blong
me.'

‘I thought so.' She pointed to the small deck. ‘Sit out here. Power got cut off yesterday. My husband been drink the electricity money after saying he was off to the post office to pay the bill. Nothing new.' She sat in one of the plastic chairs around a plastic table. In the light, I could see the print of her dress was as faded as weathered bones. ‘Is Teddy in trouble again? He's 19 now. I been telling youse I don't want to know nothing 'bout him. He can sort out his own problems. 'Nother assault, I bet.' She shook her head and cursed her son.

But when I told her we wanted to talk to her about Melissa Ramu, who had not been heard from for almost 24 hours, she burst out laughing.

‘Cheap white slut.' She clapped her hands. ‘Good job after what she did to my Mikey.'

‘What did she do?' I asked.

‘She been flog
em
. At school! Mikey,
em
five,
em
small boy. Her poofter boy, he need the flogging. Might toughen him up.'

‘We understand you threatened her on Tuesday.'

That sent Mrs Bintu into another fit of laughter, the fat of her gut rolling in waves. She quickly became breathless. ‘I get it. Youse think I killed her or something cos she hurt Mikey?'

‘No-one said anything about you killing Melissa.'

She tried to straighten. ‘I'm not talking to youse without one of them lawyer people Teddy always has.'

I told her I would be more than happy to take her to the station to be formally interviewed in the presence of a lawyer from the legal service.

The self-assurance drained from her face and she scratched at cigarette burns, like melanomas, on the tabletop. One of the children cried out from inside, ‘Fuck ya.'

‘Shuddup,' she yelled back and then continued in a whisper, ‘I wouldn't hurt anyone. I'm not stupid. I know youse lot would be onto me.'

‘You assaulted a bar attendant at the Railway Hotel last year.'

‘It's not like that.' She looked at me; her full jowls made deep canyons down her face, turning her lips downwards. ‘I did go to the Railway to take Moses home before he spent the last of the family allowance but the barmaid told me to piss off and to leave him alone. I got wild.' I saw hopelessness and helplessness in every fold, crease and pore of her face.

‘What exactly did you say to Melissa?'

‘I just told her I would . . . kill her. I wanted to scare her, make her feel
nathakind
, bad, like the way Mikey did when Melissa been drill
em
.' She went back to scratching at the cigarette burns. ‘I got nothing. Melissa,
em
got everything: clever husband, nice house, plenty money.' She looked up. ‘
Em
act the good wife but
em
not. You know?'

‘Know what?'

‘She's been getting it on with the principal of the primary school, Mr Dave, visiting him when his wife's away.
Em
got island wife, Leilani Isi. If Melissa been go
, em
probably been go into hiding. Leilani,
em
one for
maydh. Yu ilan
woman
, yu mas sabe
?'

I nodded, not letting on that I had no idea about
maydh
. I thanked Mrs Bintu for her time.

Just as we drove off, Lency rang to say Georgia Finucane had phoned the station wanting to talk to me. I jotted her number in my notebook and called her back.

‘I remembered something. I am not sure if it's important,' she said in a slow drawl.

‘Is it about Melissa and the principal of the primary school?'

There was a pause. ‘No.'

‘Is it a matter of urgency?'

‘No, it's not urgent at all.'

‘We'll be over tomorrow morning, 9.30am.'

‘Okay,' she said in a faraway voice.

I slipped the phone into my shirt pocket. ‘Georgia can have the night to think about anything else she has forgotten or failed to mention.'

‘Cool. I love a mystery. Work can be a bit boring.' Shay broke into song, something about a fun house and evil crowns. Perhaps she meant queens. ‘Do you like Pink?'

‘No, I prefer earthy tones.' I chuckled and pointed at my shirt. ‘I don't mind lime-green, either.'

‘What are you talking about?' She was staring at me with sheer incomprehension.

‘Watch the road,' I shrieked as she veered towards the edge.

‘Chillax,' she said.

By the time I worked out what ‘chillax' meant, her eyes were back on the road. ‘You asked me if I liked pink. I don't and never have, even as a little girl.' Shay started tapping the steering wheel, impatiently. She could just wait till I finished answering her question. ‘I prefer browns and ochres. Red is quite nice, which is close to pink, you could say.'

‘No,' she said, with a good-natured roll of her eyes. ‘I meant Pink, the singer.'

Oh. I didn't know how to wriggle out of that one without sounding middle-aged and out of touch. ‘You know, once I started working 60 hours a week, I stopped listening to music so that's been the better part of ten years. Your Pink, whoever she or he is, was probably in primary school then.'

‘Oh, right.' Her tone suggested I was a lost cause. ‘Hey, I might download you some music so you can relax. You obviously put too much time into your work and not enough into yourself.' I'd pegged Shay for a space cadet, but that statement cut like a razor. ‘There's a great hairdresser here who does massage and beauty therapy. It's not a crime, you know, to treat yourself to something nice.'

Shay, despite her youth and naïveté, had worked me out.

‘Well, come on,' she said, jumping out of the car. ‘I've got an appointment with the beautician.' She winked. ‘Isaac's coming over tonight.'

‘Isaac?'

‘The guy I'm dating.'

Before I could deliver that lecture about dangerous men making heart-fluttering promises, her bloody phone beeped.