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

"Yes, yes, hello," Father Hughes exclaimed, leaping up and offering Akal his hand, still clad in a dirt-covered glove. When Akal hesitated, the priest looked down and snatched his hand back, grabbing the glove off his hand before offering the hand again.

"Good to meet you, wonderful," Father Hughes said, pumping Akal's hand and not letting him get a word in edgewise. "Come in, this way, let me get you some tea. Hetty!"

In a flurry, Akal was ushered up the garden path and into the sitting room of a modest residence on the church grounds. The priest all but pushed him into a seat before disappearing off to procure the promised refreshments. In Akal's short time in the colony, nobody else—European, Indian, Fijian alike—had offered him a simple cup of tea. The Europeans always wanted a European officer and the Indians resented him for not being more like them. The warmest reception he got was from the Fijians, who seemed to consider him, with his turban and his police uniform, a curiosity. This was a welcome change.

Akal sat for a few minutes, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, before standing to look around the small, sparsely furnished sitting room. The room had a lived-in feel to it, floorboards polished by decades of familiar footsteps. Akal stopped in front of a picture of Jesus, the Christian holy man he had heard much about. Jesus was holding his heart in his hands, hands which were faded by time, with rays of light escaping through the fingers. He seemed to be looking at Akal with a compassion and wisdom that was both comforting and eerie. Akal turned his back to the picture and hastily returned to the sturdy wicker chairs.

Akal sat back down in one of them and immediately stood again, removing the lumpy cushion. There was a proverb stitched into it in blue cotton, frayed strands draping limply across the coarse beige linen. "Give, and it shall be given unto you; Luke 6:38." He was contemplating this adage, cushion in hand, when Father Hughes returned.

Akal rushed his introduction in before the priest could open his mouth, concerned that he might never get the opportunity otherwise. "Father, I am Sergeant Akal Singh of the Fijian Constabulary, Suva Division."

"Of course, yes, very pleased to meet you," Father Hughes replied. "Please take a seat. Hetty is bringing tea."

Akal sat once more, moving the cushion out of the way.

"So, somebody is paying some attention. Who sent you? The governor?" the priest asked, triumph evident in each word.

"No, Father, Inspector-General Thurstrom sent me."

"That will do, I suppose. I had hoped to get the governor's attention."

"Well, yes, you certainly did get his attention. This has become extremely sensitive ..." Akal paused for emphasis. "As you went to the newspaper rather than the police." The priest glared at him in disbelief. "I did go to the police first. All you did was call Henry Parkins and accept his story that she had run away. That is when I went to the newspaper. This way you could not just ignore it."

Father Hughes had stoked the political fires and now it was up to Akal to put them out with a thimbleful of water while trying not to get too severely burnt himself. He had not heard that the priest had initially approached the police with his concerns, but it did not surprise him that those concerns were ignored, given the dismissive way the inspector-general had spoken about the case.

"Please tell me what you know of the alleged victim."

"Kunti. Her name was Kunti."

Father Hughes looked at Akal, eyebrows raised. He waited. Akal realised the priest was not going to continue until he acknowledged her name. What difference her name made to Father Hughes, Akal did not know.

"Yes. Kunti."

The priest's narrowed eyes caused a cascade of wrinkles to appear across his face. "Just ... wait here a moment please, Sergeant."

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.