South Sea Gold: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Seven men and two women, from four mining corporations and two government agencies, met in a private room of the Daikoku restaurant in Harbour City. Collectively, they represented more than nine hundred million Kina in government funds illegally transferred to private bank accounts. They hoped to get more, and met occasionally to assess opportunities and ward off discovery.

After the meal had been served and the private chef dismissed, the meeting was called to order. "It's time we moved our gains out of the country," said one. "Even our separate bank accounts in this country will soon be too big to hide."

"You can't just transfer fifty million Kina to a foreign bank," objected another. "That's a sure way to get some whistle-blower's attention." Others grunted agreement.

"Right. But if we form a 'donor-advised charitable gift trust', we can have a tax-protected pool to park the money in for as long as we like. Then form vague foreign charity organizations to move it out to."

"I don't like the idea of diverting some of it to charity," said one of the women, Linda Zhang. She was a social climber, wife of a senior mining engineer, intent on seeing her husband advance up the corporate ladder, and dissatisfied with the amount of his salary. She inspected her lipstick with a small mirror as she talked. "If I'm taking the risk, I should get the money."

"We could afford to donate, say, three per cent to educate Papua New Guinea's children."

"I'm not Papua New Guinean," said Madame Zhang, "and the children are none of my affair. It's my money now and I want to be the one who says where my money goes."

"But that three per cent brings you under a tax-shelter. You can't personally direct where the money goes, but you can advise that it goes to whatever organization you wish. And we can have our lawyers set up the fund as we like, as long as we make the required annual minimum charitable donation."

"I say we have it smuggled out. Then launder it in Indonesia or someplace. We have that street gang here in Moresby. Make them work for their pay." Linda put her mirror and lipstick back in her purse and snapped it shut.

"Aside from the risk involved in putting millions of Kina into the hands of a raskol gang to invest," said the man, "we have another problem. "The gang leader has failed to make contact for two weeks now. We don't know what's happened to him."

"Well you'd better find him before that do-good newspaper finds him," the woman retorted. "Or the police either."

As Sophia boarded the Air Niugini flight for Madang, she mulled over her conversation with Inspector Kerro. Conversation? It was more like orders, she thought. She sensed that there had been a lot he wasn't telling her. "Learn all you can about Joseph Moran," she had been told. "But don't try to find him. He could be dangerous."

Moran. The Tok Pisin word for python. Or was his name merely Irish? Where to begin? Best to start with the dead wife's mother, she supposed. If the Morans left their children with their grandmother, they must have trusted her. And if Moran had been in the RPNGC, maybe the district commander would know where to find her. So after checking in at her guest house, her first stop was the police station.

She showed her newspaper credentials at the front desk, and after a brief wait she was shown in to the chief's office. "Sir, I am doing a study for The Journal on families of constables who have suffered some sort of danger connected with their spouse's job. I am especially interested in Sergeant Joe Moran's family."

The chief inspected her card and handed it back. "You're the second reporter who has asked about him this week. I heard the unfortunate story about his wife, but if you want information about the family, the proper one to ask is the sergeant himself."

"Yes sir. The difficulty is that the sergeant has gone missing. I was hoping you could help me locate the children's grandmother to help find him."

The chief rubbed his jaw. "I hadn't heard that. He's not in Lae then?"

"No sir, not for the past several weeks. Apparently he arranged for someone to sign for his paycheck." She tried to state it tactfully, and the chief seemed to accept the irregularity as a common way of doing business without the need to use the word "fraud."

"Joe was a valuable man here," he said as he wrote some directions on a note pad. "It's the least I can do for his kids. He handed Sophia the address and was rewarded by her most dazzling smile.

After changing into clothes less likely to label her as a city dweller, she rode a PMV mini-bus out to the grandmother's neighborhood that afternoon. A group of children were gathered near the bus stop watching several boys dueling their spinning wooden tops. A ragged cheer went up as one boy's forceful fling of his top off the end of its string knocked his opponent's top out of the circle drawn in the dirt. Sophia asked one of the children the way to Mama Maia's house, and was led deeper into the grove of palms, followed by a small parade of children curious about this stranger's errand. The village was a random scattering of sago palm-leafed houses raised a meter off the ground on sturdy stilts. Her guide led her to where an elderly woman was tending a small garden. Sophia identified herself, inquiring about the woman's health and that of her grandchildren. Maia invited her in.

After first making sure that Maia already knew about her daughter's death, and expressing her sympathy over her loss, Sophia explained her errand. "I am writing for the newspaper in Moresby about when children lose a parent," Sophia explained. "In many cases a death comes slowly from disease and there is time for the children to, well, not get used to it, but at least to adjust more gradually. When it comes suddenly, like with your daughter, it must be a terrible shock."

"Naina's children are still small, a year and three years old. They know their mother and father are away. Joseph is a good man; I think he will come home soon and comfort them. It will help to know they still have a father. Have you talked with him?"

"I'd like to. Do you know when he'll be home?

"Soon, I hope. He doesn't write many letters. It's been a month since one came."

"I couldn't get his address from the Constabulary. I suppose that's usual. Is there any one else around here who might know it?"

"I have a daughter in Moresby. Let me write her address for you." Maia carefully printed a number and street in a section of Port Moresby. Sophia talked briefly with the two shy little children, who had just come in, and then she left.

"I found Joe Moran's two children and their grandmother in a little village outside Madang a couple of kilometers, Tobi it's called," Sophia reported to Inspector Kerro and Tom. "But are you sure we're tracking the right person? Everybody I've talked to gives him high marks, both personally and professionally. Competent cop, community leader, likes his kids. Granted he's been acting weird lately, but he did see his wife killed before his eyes. What about that street gang in Lae by the way?"

"They got away, the Lae commander told me," said Tom. "Joe fired three shots after them, but then he turned his attention to his wife. I remember when Kim and Morrie were threatened last month, I almost lost it myself. I can understand how a man can change like that."

"Post traumatic stress disorder is what they call it nowadays,"said Kerro. Plus a whole lot of guilt at not being able to do anything for his wife. Strong desire for revenge. Revenge on anybody, no matter who. But he has to be stopped before he turns deadly.

"Let me try to find the sister-in-law," suggested Sophia. "Sometimes it takes a woman to approach another woman. Even a woman social worker can look kind of threatening."

Sophia introduced herself to the girl who answered the door. "I work for the Moresby Journal and I've just been interviewing your mother, Maia, in Madang, about Naina's death last month." She explained her story assignment about police families' problems and Joe's disappearance from his new job with the Lae police department.

The girl, Barbara, look surprised. "Joe is here in Moresby," she said. "I met him on the street just a week ago. He said he was on a special assignment that he couldn't talk about."

"Oh? Your mother didn't mention that."

"She may not know about it."

"That may be," Sophia said, "I talked with Joe's two children; they are staying with her, you know. Nice little kids. The older one asked me when his Papa is coming home. I had to tell him I didn't know."

"Joe never says much about his work," Barbara said. "I've learned not to ask."

"It must be hard to have both parents gone," Sophia sympathized. "Did Joe seem changed in any way since his wife's death?"

"Well, sure. They were close. He seemed to have other things on his mind the day I saw him."

"I'd like to talk with him, if it wouldn't upset him."

"You're not a police reporter?"

"No, I just work for the Journal," Sophia reassured her."I do family articles and women's stuff."

"Well he didn't say where he was staying," Barbara said, "but he had just come out of the Southern Cross Inn when we met. If I meet him again I'll tell him his children want to see him."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Please don't tell him a reporter was asking about him. I've found that that's a turn-off for some people when it comes time for an interview."

"Some men have that problem, don't they," said Barbara.

Sophia flashed a parting smile. "Exactly my opinion too!"

Sophia reported back to Inspector Kerro. "He's here in Moresby. His sister-in-law met him coming out of the Southern Cross Inn a week ago. She doesn't know if he's staying there, but it might be a good idea to put a watch on it for a few days."

But Joe Moran had done enough surveillance work in his career to spot the watcher at his hotel. Within four hours he had paid his bill in cash and disappeared.