Excerpt from A Disappearance in Fiji by Nilima Rao, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

THE WALK FROM the station to the Sacred Heart Cathedral was all uphill and distinctly lacking in shade. The saving grace was that it was mercifully short. Despite this, by the time Akal was standing on the steps of the grey stone church, he was a sweaty mess. Standing in the shadow cast by the spire, Akal stopped to take a closer look at the church. It was an impressive building. The stone, brought over from Australia, provided a feeling of permanence that the wooden buildings which were the standard in Suva could not match. But even this solid edifice wasn't impervious to the environment. The steps were mossy in places, with grass growing out of any available crack.

Akal held his sticky shirt away from his body and fanned his face with his free hand, trying to cool down the flush blooming all over his face. A trickle of sweat escaped his turban and ran down his back. Akal would not dream of attending the gurdwara, the Sikh temple, in such a sweaty mess, and the thought of entering a Christian church this way felt equally disrespectful. He wiped his forehead and flicked the perspiration off his hand in disgust. Nothing to be done about it. Perhaps Father Hughes would overlook his dishevelled state. He must be used to it, after all.

As soon as Akal walked through the stately wooden door of the Sacred Heart Cathedral, he felt a sense of calming, cooling peace. When the door closed behind him, the room was quiet, far away from the dirt and noise and heat of Suva. The only sound was a rhythmic sweeping, gently echoing up to the high wooden ceiling. Akal paused at the first pew and closed his eyes, absorbing the serenity.

He hadn't been to a gurdwara since Hong Kong, and even then he was never at the temple on his own. Akal was used to religious places being of colour and noise, drumming and movement. Of the ghee and sugar in the desserts offered to Waheguru, to God. Of feeling immersed, overwhelmed by the presence of Waheguru. It was a very communal thing, worshipping at the temple. He always left with a deep sense of connection, not only to Waheguru but to everyone he worshipped with.

This was different. This was sweetly, piercingly peaceful but a little lonely. Akal had glimpses of the English God here, but he thought if he wanted to know Him, he would have to work for it. He wondered if it would be different if he attended a service. Would he even be welcome?

"Can I help you?"

Akal's reverie was broken by this enquiry, made in a suspicious voice. He looked around to find a tiny woman with a mop of curly blond hair. She was looking at him with an air of puzzlement and clutching a broom.

"Can I help you?" she repeated, a little louder and slower this time.

"I am looking for Father David Hughes," Akal, fighting the urge to respond in kind, replied at his regular speed and volume.

"A policeman," the diminutive woman said, relaxing her grip on the broom. "You will be here about the Indian woman. Father Hughes will be pleased." She turned towards the door and gestured for Akal to follow her. "Please do help him. He has not stopped talking about this. I need him to focus on his sermon for next Sunday."

Akal followed her a little reluctantly to another door at the side of the church. He hesitated at the doorway, taking a long breath, trying to instill the sanctity of the place deep within his body. This peaceful state fled when the woman popped her head back inside the door, urging him along. Akal emerged from the cool haven into a small garden, blinking in the blinding sunlight.

When his eyes adjusted, Akal found the priest kneeling in a small vegetable garden and muttering to himself whilst vigorously digging out weeds from between rows of carrots. The weeds seemed to be winning the war, while the carrot tops languished in a torpor with which Akal could sympathise. Father Hughes was, as promised, exceptionally pleased to see him.

Excerpted from A Disappearance in Fiji by Nilima Rao. Copyright © 2023 by Nilima Rao. Excerpted by permission of Soho Crime. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.