My Island Homicide (26 page)

Chapter 44

I woke up, tossing and turning, unable to lie on my back without becoming breathless. The dull ache in my head had returned and my ears were filled with a soft rustle, like the eternal crushing of cellophane. I kept seeing a school of fish, encircled by a shark. A few hours away from Uncle and the
maydh
had returned, its slimy black tentacles tightening around me, suffocating me. Shit, here I was referring to
maydh
as if it were a runny nose or a rash. Jonah reached for me and held me against him. But I was restless. I got up and took some Panadeine Forte and lumbered back to bed. I drifted off to sleep well after the black sky turned pale grey and a rooster's crow pierced the heavy silence of dawn.

I was in labour, thrashing in agony. A Victorinox filleting knife sliced open my gut. The baby slipped from me, a still, slimy, grey lump. I couldn't breathe. I jolted awake. The sheet had ridden up over my face and I was gasping for air. Jonah rushed in and sat beside me.

‘I dreamed we lost the baby.' I sat up, which made my head throb. Outside the window was an opaque grey dawn.

‘Think of it as a dream, not
maydh.
Otherwise you'll give it power.' He sat with me for a while and I was calmed by his embrace and voice. ‘Come on. I'll make you some breakfast while you shower.' He walked out and I heard him flick on the kettle. ‘Just think,' he called, ‘on Thursday, when you don't have to work, we can take Uncle to Friday Island and relax, do nothing.'

It was overcast, not dawn. Clouds billowed on the dark horizon. This was the rain Uncle mentioned. I relaxed under the cold water, but still a dull ache radiated from the base of my skull down my spine and into my limbs. I decided not to take any painkillers so I could test Uncle's presence on the effects of the
maydh
. Jonah had made toast with homemade mango jam, but I couldn't face food.

‘Me and Uncle will come and sit in court with you.'

‘Won't it be a bit boring for you?' I asked, sipping the sweet, milky tea Jonah had made.

‘I've got my fishing magazines.'

What else does a man need? ‘What about Uncle?'

‘He'll have his Bible and his Rosary beads.'

‘A Catholic medicine man? Of course he is.'

‘You're not in a great position to be so sin . . . okay, what's that word you've used? Cynical?'

‘I'm not being cynical.' I could hardly hear myself. ‘I'm scared.'

‘What was that?' Jonah reached for my hand. ‘What did you say?'

‘I'm scared.' I bit my lip and fought the urge to cry.

‘Good. We all are, so trust us.'

While I waited at the ute, Jonah went to fetch Uncle, who came shuffling back, clutching the alligator case to his chest. I held out my hand to feel a warm sprinkle. There was no wind and the heavy cloud acted like a greenhouse, trapping the heat rising from the parched earth.

The tension drained from my neck and shoulders when I saw Uncle. Gone was the pain down my spine, my limbs felt light, and the scratch of the cellophane in my ears gave way to the squawking of sulphur-crested cockatoos in the sea almond trees across the road.

‘Thank you for helping, Uncle,' I said. ‘I feel like a different person.'

‘I feel different, too.' He patted his belly as he held the door and lowered himself into the car. ‘Them girls make me eat too
much
.
'

We drove to the courthouse, a light shower on the windscreen turned the dust to a giant muddy smear as Jonah blasted the wipers. Cars packed the parking area in front of the courthouse so I jumped out and went to find Jack. A colourful crowd, dressed in island dresses and shirts, milled at the entrance and people spilled down the stairs and onto the footpath. Jack, holding out a package, rushed over to me.

‘You won't believe this. About ten last night, Robby called the station. He heard banging and went downstairs to find Franz whacking the fence with a piece of bamboo. Franz bolted and headed up the Millman Hill track, holding something in his other hand. Robby couldn't leave Alby.' Jack paused again to get his breath. ‘I got out there and followed Franz with my torch, thinking I'd go as far as the well.'

‘Did you see him?' I asked, wiping the rain from my eyes and glancing at the crowd, buzzing with conversation.

‘No. But I found this.' He handed me a yellow envelope. ‘It was next to the well. Robby said Franz must have broken in while he was in the shower and stolen this from the lounge room.'

I pulled out the tortoiseshell-framed photo of Melissa. It was coated with fine grey dust, which meant it had been fingerprinted.

‘The thing is, Franz didn't take this last night,' I said. ‘He had it on his bedside table yesterday afternoon. I told him to come down this morning if he knew something.'

‘Oh, he's here, all right.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘We picked him up when he got back to Izzy's this morning. Charged him. Break and enter, and stealing. He got bail this morning. Robby is spewing, saying he should be locked up.'

‘Do you think Franz was the one who stole the stuff from Robby and left it at the well?'

‘It looks like it.' Jack put his hand on my arm. ‘Look out, here's Robby. He's a cranky camper.'

Robby marched over and pointed to the photo in my hand. ‘Thea, did Jack tell you about that?'

‘Yes, Rob—'

‘He should be locked up. Can't you keep him in the watch house?'

‘No magistrate will remand Franz for what he did last night. He has no criminal history and he isn't a risk to anyone. Well, the bail conditions, that he doesn't approach you and doesn't break the law, mean he's not a risk anymore.'

‘It was him stealing all along. He's completely crazy. He won't respect the bail conditions.' Robby marched off.

‘This is the last thing he needs,' I said to Jack. ‘What do you think Franz is up to?'

Jack said something, but he was drowned out by a sudden downpour. We ran to the undercover area, pushing through the crowd on the stairs. The dull drumming of the rain on the aluminium roof didn't wash away the question swirling in my head: what was Franz trying to tell me?

I read in one of Jonah's baby books that babies communicate by smiling and laughing or crying and screaming until the parent responds. Alby drew a picture of Melissa in the well, her face mutilated, to tell his father he knew what had happened to his mother. What was Franz trying to say by taking Robby's belongings?

There was something clawing at my mind as I pushed through the melee towards the courtroom. I needed Uncle because my head was throbbing and I felt a dull ache in my pelvis. A bowler hat with feathers caught my attention. I was pressed up against the well-dressed man who'd come to my office and left feathers on my desk. Next to him was Leilani. A wave of nausea washed over me. In front of Leilani was a tall, thin European man. He turned as he was pushed forward through the doors. I glimpsed the pale grey irises. It was Dave Garland, his features defined by shadows. He was grey, grieving grey. I turned away before he recognised me.

I finally reached Jack at the bar table, my ears now ringing. I tried covering them but that only intensified the vibrations. Uncle and Jonah were surveying the room for spare seats. I asked two women in the row of seats behind the bar table to leave so Jonah and Uncle could sit nearer to me. They were pissed off, flicked their chins at me and walked away. Uncle gave me the thumbs up, but I wasn't sure he had things under control because his eyes were darting around like he sensed a predator.

‘Ready to rock and roll?' Jack asked. ‘Robby's your first witness and the teacher aides are waiting outside. Georgia will be cross-examined by phone.'

Dave Garland was in the courtroom, sitting next to his barrister, Gregory Crane. In the row of seats behind Dave, Leilani was glaring at me. Next to her was the well-dressed man. He wore a
lava lava
, the white crocheted edges cascading down his lap like frothy water. The cloth was the colour of fresh blood. He smiled at me, a calm, loving smile.

‘Silence, all stand.' The depositions clerk's voice rang out above the hum and the chamber door opened. ‘This court is now in session.'

I took a deep breath. Magistrate Horton, a short, rotund man, walked from the door and settled in the high-backed leather chair. Above him the legal coat of arms proclaimed, ‘My God and My Right.'

‘Yes, Senior-Sergeant Dari-Jones,' he said.

‘Good morning, Your Honour. Please take the matter of David Patrick Garland.'

Horton leaned over and mumbled to his clerk. She nodded and he leaned back in his chair. ‘David Patrick Garland, please stand. You are charged that between the thirty-first day of March and the first day of April, this year, you murdered one Melissa Margaret Ramu. Be seated, Mr Garland. Today begins the committal proceeding for the prosecution to produce evidence to the court that a jury may reasonably convict the accused on the charge of murder. Pursuant to the Evidence Act, I direct that the evidence will be recorded by a mechanical device operated by Cecille Jane Roper. Would you please announce your appearances?'

I stood and announced my name and position then sat. One of the buggers about addressing the magistrate is that it can only be done standing. So, there is a lot of standing up, sitting down and so on. Usually it's just a drag, but today, with my pounding headache, I was absolutely dreading it. Then it was Gregory's turn.

‘Crane, C-R-A-N-E. Initial, G. Barrister for Mr Garland.'

A committal hearing is, in my opinion, the most monotonous procedure in the criminal justice system. And the opening statements and tendering of documents are the most monotonous parts of the most monotonous procedure. I stood again and a rush of blood from my head made me sway. A poisoned heaviness had infused every cell in my body. I'd gone from being fatigued with a headache to feeling like death on gallons of Red Bull.

‘Your Honour,' I said, ‘I make application under the Justices Act to tender a number of original typed statements, which have been signed in accordance with the Oaths Act, in lieu of oral evidence. Copies of these statements have been provided to my friend, Mr Crane, and I understand that he is consenting to this procedure providing there is some cross-examination of certain witnesses.' I've said this blather many times before and usually have to stifle a yawn. This time, I had to concentrate on staying upright.

Jack leaned in and whispered, ‘You look terrible.' I flicked my hand to show I had everything under control. Not.

Mr Crane stood. ‘I consent to this procedure and I've indicated to my friend which witnesses I'd like to cross-examine. Thank you, Your Honour.'

I went through the ritual of tendering the prosecution statements and they were admitted into evidence along with the exhibits relating to the investigation: Karen Jane Wakeham's pathologist report, photographs, the life extinct certificate, and the subpoenaed records from Education Queensland. ‘Your Honour, that concludes the written evidence of the prosecution and I now call Robby Stevan Ramu.'

I motioned to Robby to take the witness stand. He swore on the Bible to tell the truth and then sat down. I ran him through the protocol of announcing his name and occupation and confirming it was his signature on the copy of the written statement I showed him.

‘Are the contents of your statement true and correct?'

‘Yes.'

That was it from me for the time being and I sat down, relieved to be off my feet.

As Mr Crane rose to cross-examine Robby, a high-pitched squeal exploded from the rear of the courtroom. I recoiled in fright and I wondered if this was another symptom of
maydh
, the onset of insanity. But no, the noise came from Franz, emaciated and unkempt, gesticulating and growling like a feral creature as he approached the witness box. If I hadn't felt like I was dying, I would have given him a big hug and asked the magistrate to stand the matter down while I took Franz home to give him a glass of milk and some cookies. But something else was going on, that thing clawing at my memory. Franz hadn't tried to verbalise anything for over ten years and now he was moaning like an animal being bludgeoned to death. I pulled myself up.

‘Your Honour, this man, Franz Josef, is mute. He is trying to tell—'

‘I know very well who the man is, Senior-Sergeant. He was in my court this morning on serious charges. He is very close to breaching his bail conditions. Mr Josef, you need to leave the courtroom immediately.'

Franz faced me, as if imploring me to do something. There were mumbles from the audience.

‘Officer,' barked the magistrate to Jack, ‘remove Mr Josef.'

‘Me?' Jack jumped to his feet.

‘Of course, you.'

Jack took a step towards Franz, who growled and took a step back. ‘What should I do?' Jack whispered to me.

‘He knows more than we think . . . I can't think . . . I can't. He knows who killed Melissa.' I was distracted by a novel sensation, like my pelvic floor muscles were about to give way. I grabbed my stomach with one hand and steadied myself with the other. I turned to Uncle for help. He was holding his Rosary beads, apparently praying. Jonah had a couple of fishing magazines on his lap, but he was watching me, as if he was about to bolt from his seat. The sensation of being disembowelled passed so I gave him the thumbs up.

‘You look like shit. Go home, now,' Jack said to me as I sat down. Then Jack turned to the magistrate. ‘Your Honour, Ms Dari-Jones has taken sick. She needs to . . .'

‘Look,' I said to Jack. Franz was pointing with a trembling arm at the witness box. Robby was looking from me to the magistrate. He shrugged and went to exit the box.

Shit
, I thought as the loose threads of Melissa's case were woven, in a split second, to form an entire detailed tapestry. It gave me the energy I needed to hoist myself up. ‘Your Honour, the prosecution offers no evidence on the charge of murder against Mr Garland.'