Free Killman by Graeme Kent

had first been sent to Ruvabi at the beginning of the year as a young novice, after four years’ postulant training in the USA, unsure of herself and her new vocation and already the subject of several inadvertent brushes with the church authorities. The wise and compassionate old priest had taken the impulsive new sister under his wing, treated her as an adult, allayed her fears and calmed her doubts. He had also worked her harder than she had ever been used in her life before.
    Conchita had enjoyed almost every moment of her time at the mission, and knew that she would never find a better or wiser mentor than Father Pierre. She was not sure whether it was she or the mission who needed him the most. With the news of the imminent arrival of Father Kuyper on a much-heralded tour of inspection, the trick was going to lie somehow in keeping the veteran missionary, and now her close friend, in charge of Ruvabi, despite his age and lack of strength.
    Sister Conchita tiptoed out of the bedroom and walked back along the corridor to the large room that served as both a lounge and a makeshift office for the mission. She sat at her desk and tried to organize her thoughts. She had a great deal on her mind. There was the mission to run during the continued incapacity of Father Pierre, and now the sudden influx of frightened islanders looking for protection from some undefined menace. There was also the death of Papa Noah to be considered.
    Forget it, girl, she told herself sternly. That’s none of your business. The most you can be expected to do is to act as a witness when Sergeant Kella gets back from Honiara to resume his investigations.
    All the same, she thought, going through the pile of paperwork before her, it was an intriguing affair. Who could possibly want to murder such an apparently harmless old man as Papa Noah, and why select such an incongruous method of death as drowning the sect leader in a pool of water close to his ark? And who was the large Polynesian she had twice seen running out of the ark? Sister Conchita shook her head. Father Pierre had been right. This was going to be a task for Sergeant Kella to pursue with his usual mixture of logic and spurts of custom-based intuition. She must resist all temptation to become involved.
    It would be nice to see the local policeman again, though, she thought. Lately Kella seemed to have spent more time globetrotting on his courses than supervising the investigation of crime on Malaita. Sister Conchita would never have admitted the fact, but she had missed the tough and shrewd but hard to fathom
aofia
.
    There was a commotion in the entrance hall of the mission. Sister Conchita rose and hurried to the front door. Two harassed local nuns were supporting a screaming pregnant girl into the house.
    ‘Put her in my room,’ said Sister Conchita decisively, following them along the corridor.
    She helped the young nuns place clean sheets on the floor and situate the frightened girl on her side. When the contractions started coming rapidly, she slipped a pillow under the girl’s back, then watched as the young, local novices washed their hands in water from a large ewer and went to work. They were probably younger than the mother-to-be, but already had introduced many more children into the world than Conchita had.
    The delivery went smoothly, and soon the lungs of a healthy baby boy were being employed at a piercing full throttle inside the mission house. A dozen female
wantoks
of the new mother who had been straining eagerly at the door now broke into the room like a cattle stampede and noisily surrounded the newest addition to the family.
    Sister Conchita considered trying to maintain some form of order but decided against it. There was no point in spoiling the moment of exhausted delight on the part of the new young mother. Already the nun’s clinically tidy bedroom looked as if a tidal wave bearing all manner of detritus had broken over it. The two sisters, holding the baby