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Akal chuckled, remembering how long he had agonized over his first report. Taviti opened the envelope and scanned through the report, then frowned.

"Oh. It's fine. Usual stuff. He has requested some supplies. Reports some small disputes over yams, a stolen chicken." His face brightened as he came to the end of the report. "Oh, here we are. Apparently, a shopkeeper just outside of Levuka reports that some Germans have been coming at night to buy supplies from him."

Akal raised one eyebrow. "Germans?" he said incredulously.

"Germans!" Taviti guffawed. "Can't wait to tell the fellows about this one. Maybe Kumar thinks it's all part of their strategy. The Germans thought if they take out Fiji first, the rest of the British Empire will crumble."

"Yes, you should put it that way when you let the inspector-general know about it," Akal responded wryly.

Taviti groaned. "Why do you want to ruin it for me, Akal? Let me have a little fun first before you mention Thurstrom."

"Sorry. No fun for either of us."

"Fine. I better get through the rest of the mail and then go give him the report. Thanks for nothing."

Akal laughed and returned to his own frustrating exercise of looking for a new angle on a case that was going nowhere.

Taviti returned from delivering the report from Levuka with the unwelcome information that Akal was to attend the inspector-general's office forthwith. He didn't know any more than that, and when quizzed by Akal on the inspector-general's mood, his response had been, "Normal. Grumpy."

Akal made his way up the stairs slowly, footsteps loud on the concrete.

 

He walked along the corridor lined with dirt-encrusted louvres looking out onto an unlovely laneway marred by potholes, a motley stray dog nosing about. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was back in Hong Kong, walking through the elegant wooden police headquarters to a meeting with the inspector-general there, who had valued him above all others. But that was before he had made a fool of himself and earned an exile to Fiji in disgrace.

Akal knocked on the inspector-general's door and waited with trepidation and some anticipation. He ran his hands over his turban to check everything was in place, tugged on his uniform shirt to make sure there weren't any creases forming, and checked his shoes were well polished, without the ever-present dust from the Suva streets marring the shine. None of this would improve Thurstrom's opinion of him, but anything less than perfection in his turnout would be pounced on.

Perhaps the inspector-general was feeling generous after Akal's outstanding performance yesterday, when he had bowled three of the civil servants out for ducks. Perhaps he had another case for Akal, something he could actually make some progress on. Probably not, though. Probably, there was going to be more bad news.

"Enter."

Akal's stomach took another lurch, and he paused to tug his shirt down once more before opening the door and entering.

The inspector-general's office was unchanged from the last time Akal had been there, with paperwork haphazardly piled everywhere. The desk that dominated the middle of the room was covered in piles of paper, and on the sideboard, the crystal whisky decanter and glasses had been pushed precariously close to the edge to allow for more piles of papers. The police force continued to lose more men to the war in Europe, and the inspector-general wanted a European sub-inspector as his right-hand man. There were none to be had. So he waded through the paperwork himself. Or didn't wade through it, as it seemed from the general disarray.

Akal approached the inspector-general, who was seated behind his desk signing papers. He didn't look up. The sun was streaming through the louvres, causing stripes of sunlight to fall across the table and across the inspector-general's red-gold shock of hair as he bent over the file, pen in hand.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Akal asked.

Inspector-General Jonathon Thurstrom held up a hand, still not looking up. Akal waited patiently, familiar with this habit from his commanding officer. He didn't know quite what the inspector-general thought he was achieving by calling Akal in before he was ready to talk to him, but it made no difference to Akal. He wasn't achieving anything, anyway. He may as well stand here, rather than sit at his own desk, not achieving anything. This small disrespect paled against the other insults.