UTube

by Rozlan Mohd Noor

  “Dr. Safia, the forensic pathologist?” Sherry asks.

  Mislan nods.

  “Heard you two are an item.”

  Mislan gives her his best none-of-your-business glare.

  “Sai, can you google Hot Fingers cybercafe’s location?” Mislan asks.

  Saifuddin works his keyboard and reads out the address.

  35

  THEY TAKE THE NORTH-SOUTH Expressway and head for Bangi. Bandar Baru Bangi is a suburb bordering Selangor and Wilayah Persekutuan. The township was built around two public universities.

  Detective Syed and Jeff are waiting for them as they pull up at the Hot Fingers cybercafe.

  “Sir, ma’am,” Syed greets them.

  “Is he inside?” Sherry asks.

  “I didn’t get a good look. It’s quite dark in there.”

  “Syed, cut off the back exit. Jeff, come with us and watch the front door,” Mislan gives instructions. “Hold your positions for ten minutes after we take him out. Stop anyone making a run for the back exit. Any questions?”

  The detectives shake their heads.

  “Syed, you go in first.”

  Syed casually enters the café and walks to the rear as if he’s going to the toilet. Mislan gives him thirty seconds before beckoning Sherry and Jeff to go in before him. Entering the dimly lit café, it takes a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the low lighting. After Jeff sits at a computer nearest the front door, Mislan and Sherry walk toward the cashier. As they approach, Mislan notices the person behind the counter is a Chinese woman. He turns to Sherry.

  “Why don’t you ask her about Wahab? Tell her you’re his sister or aunt.”

  “Aunt!” she hisses at him.

  Mislan steps aside toward a computer and takes a seat as Sherry talks to the cashier. The front door opens. It’s Wahab, carrying a packed meal. Jeff, who’s next to the door, jumps out of his chair on reflex. Wahab, suspecting something amiss, throws his packed rice at Jeff, covering him with fish curry, rice, and vegetables and bolts out the door.

  “Shit,” Mislan swears, dashing to the door. “Stay here,” he yells at Jeff as he flings the door open and gives chase, with Sherry close behind. He sees Wahab about fifteen yards ahead and shouts, “Police! Stop!”

  The suspect looks back at him, quickening his pace.

  “Damn you!” Mislan shouts, trying to catch up. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Sherry runs past him. Mislan chides himself for being so out of shape and vows to stop smoking. Again. The suspect turns and makes a dash across the main street. An oncoming car grazes him, and he’s thrown onto the curb. He falls on his back holding his leg, groaning in pain. Sherry expertly flips him onto his stomach and cuffs him just as Mislan reaches them, panting heavily, and kneels by the groaning suspect to catch his breath.

  “My leg, I think it’s broken,” Wahab growls.

  “Good. That’s what happens when you run from the good guys,” Mislan says, in between his panting.

  Sherry examines the suspect’s legs. “Try and move it.”

  When Syed and Jeff arrive, Mislan tells them to disperse the crowd.

  “Take down the particulars of the driver of the car for a statement later if required.”

  Wahab moves his leg and groans, “It hurts.”

  “You’ll live.” Mislan says. “Sherry, you want to bring the car around?”

  “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” she asks.

  “No thanks, I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” Mislan answers.

  “For him, you fool,” she says.

  “What for? Wasting taxpayers’ money on a piece of garbage? He’ll live, it’s only a bruise.”

  Mislan steps into his boss’s office, beaming, “I’m collecting.”

  “You got him?” Samsiah asks.

  “Room 1. By the way, I smoke Sampoerna Menthol, thank you.”

  “Good job. One month starts today. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Entering the interview room, Samsiah notices the bruise on the suspect’s arm and his torn pants. She signals Mislan and Sherry to follow her out.

  “What happened?” she asks, referring to the suspect.

  “It’s got nothing to do with me,” Mislan instantly replies.

  “He tried to escape and ran into a passing car,” Sherry says.

  “Why is he here and not at the hospital?”

  Sherry looks at Mislan.

  “It’s superficial, nothing serious,” he answers lamely.

  “You want a police brutality case on your head as well? Send him to the hospital now!” Samsiah orders them. Turning away, she says, “Both of you, in my office in ten.”

  Sherry frowns at Mislan. “This is on you.”

  “Does that mean you’re handing over the lead to me?” he kids.

  “Arrrgh.”

  Mislan instructs Syed and Jeff to take the suspect to the hospital for treatment, and to bring him back immediately.

  “Find a friendly doctor and whisper to him, ‘no admission for observation.’ Got it?”

  The detectives nod.

  Sherry shakes her head.

  In the office, Samsiah makes herself a cup of tea, saying, “It’s been a long day, so let’s make this short.” She walks back to her seat. “Lan, if the doctor so much as calls me, I promise you, I’ll make you regret your actions today.” She takes a deliberate sip, her eyes fixed on Mislan. Sherry shifts uneasily in her seat. Samsiah turns toward her slowly.

  “Big mistake,” Mislan whispers to Sherry.

  “And you, Sherry, I expected better from you. There’s a reason I assigned you as lead.” She pauses, and takes another deliberate sip of tea.

  It’s the longest sip Sherry has ever witnessed. Mislan takes out a packet of cigarettes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Samsiah asks, with the teacup still at her lips.

  “Cashing in on my reward,” he answers, beaming.

  “I said your office. This is my office,” she snaps at him, startling Sherry.

  Mislan grins sheepishly and puts the cigarettes back in his pocket.

  Turning her attention back to Sherry, she says, “You let Mislan walk all over you. This case is going to be won or lost in the media. How do you think this will come out if the press gets wind of how the suspect was treated?”

  Sherry starts to reply but stops when she feels a sharp kick on her shin.

  Samsiah notices Sherry wince and thinks it’s remorse in response to what she has said.

  “Good, now you understand. For the victims’ sake, I hope you take your role as lead more seriously and use extreme prudence.”

  Sherry nods.

  “Lan, I expect you to lend her support and not make her fight you every step of the way.”

  Johan appears at the door, “Evening, ma’am. I need to speak to Inspector Mislan,” he says excitedly.

  Samsiah returns his greeting, “You looked like you’re bursting to tell him something. Can we share the good news, too?”

  “Inspector Mislan asked me to do some background checks on the Shah Alam victim. I talked to the neighbors, and they say she’s one of them.”

  “Sexual orientation?” Samsiah says.

  “Yes, that.”

  “By ‘that,’ you mean she’s gay?”

  The officers laugh at Johan’s difficulty in saying it.

  “Yes, the neighbors said she was discreet about her … you know … but they all knew.”

  “If she was discreet, how did the rapists know?” Sherry wonders aloud.

  “You know how it is … Malay neighborhood … busybodies. Even at the mosque, the imam and the rest were talking about it. I stopped by her workplace at Subang Parade and talked to her coworkers. They confirmed it, too.”

  “This changes everything,” Mislan says. “Three rape vics, all gay. That’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “If Johan can find out about the victim’s sexual orientation so easily, I’m sure the press will, too. If this comes
out into the open, we’ll lose any advantage we have,” Samsiah muses.

  “Can we get a gag order?” Sherry asks.

  “We can, but the public has the right to know, especially the targeted group. If the information isn’t made known and there’s another incident, it’ll be on our heads.” She sips her tea. “I need to take this upstairs.”

  “The OCCI?” Mislan says derisively.

  “Yes, that’s if you don’t mind,” Samsiah replies sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect, but consulting him is a sure way of making it public.”

  “Then we’ll just have to solve these cases with that handicap, won’t we?”

  36

  THE SUSPECT IS LED into the interview room by Syed and Jeff, bandaged and holding a plastic bag of medicine prescribed by the hospital. Syed gives him a glass of warm water and tells him to take his medication.

  “It says here, ‘after meal,’” Wahab says, holding up the medicine wrapper to Syed.

  “So?”

  “I’ve not eaten yet. I threw my lunch at him,” Wahab says, indicating Detective Jeff and grinning.

  “Funny. My new shirt’s coming out of your next pay from the café,” Jeff growls at him.

  “Can I have something to eat? I’m starving.”

  “You got money?”

  “In my wallet.”

  Syed looks in the suspect’s wallet and finds a five-ringgit note.

  “What do you want?”

  “Rice, of course, with chicken, salted egg, and some vegetables.”

  “With five ringgit! Where do you think you are … Kedah?” Syed laughs.

  “If you guys had done your job properly, that’s what I’d be having for lunch,” Wahab sneers at him. “Check his shirt if you don’t believe me.”

  “You’re a smartass, aren’t you?” Jeff hisses, taking a step toward him.

  Syed steps in between them, pulls out his wallet, and gives Jeff a ten-ringgit note. “Here, go get him his lunch.”

  Jeff snatches the money, glares at the suspect again, and heads for the door.

  “Fried chicken. Drumstick please, and don’t forget the salted egg,” Wahab calls after him.

  “Cut it out, and wipe that grin off your face,” Syed snarls at him.

  Mislan and Sherry enter the interview room just as the suspect is finishing his late lunch. Sherry takes the lead and reads the suspect his rights. Mislan switches on his digital recorder and places it on the table in front of the suspect, and waits patiently as Sherry goes through the formalities. He knows she’s being extra cautious, doing everything by the book.

  “Do you understand the caution I just read you?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Sign here and here,” she says, pushing the caution form toward him.

  “What am I being arrested for?” Wahab asks.

  “For making me run,” Mislan says. “Why did you run?”

  “He startled me,” the suspect replies, motioning at Jeff standing against the wall. “I thought the place was being robbed, so I took off.”

  Mislan and Syed laugh. Sherry cannot hold back a smile. Jeff fumes.

  “You thought he was robbing the café? Does he look like a robber?” Sherry says, still smiling.

  “Can’t be too careful. You don’t know how many times the café’s been robbed. We’re popular. I dunno what a robber looks like. These days, crooks wear ties and jackets, drive luxury cars, and sit in fancy offices. Who knows what they look like anymore?”

  “Why didn’t you stop when I shouted ‘police’?”

  “I look like a fool to you? Anybody can shout ‘police.’”

  Sherry gives Mislan a look that says “Let it go.”

  “Where’s the Apple laptop you stole from KLCAC?”

  “What laptop? I dunno what you’re talking about.”

  Sherry shows him one of the photos from the college CCTV recordings. “Recognize these two guys with the person in the blue cap?”

  Wahab shakes his head.

  “Funny, because they remember the blue-capped guy.”

  “OK, it’s me. So?”

  She picks up the other two photographs and pushes them toward him.

  “I’m sure you’ve played spot-the-difference before. Now, can you spot the difference in these two photos?”

  Wahab takes a closer look at the photos, leans back, and grins, “There’s a prize?”

  Mislan sees a flicker of resignation in his eyes.

  “Who are your partners?” he barks. “You cooperate and, maybe, we can convince the DPP to turn you into a prosecution witness.”

  “I dunno what you’re talking about. What partners? What’s DPP?”

  “Deputy Public Prosecutor.” Sherry answers. “Your partners in the rapes.”

  “Rape?!” he yelps, clearly taken aback. “Did the cashier put you up to this? There was no rape, it was consensual. Shit. Last night, before she knocked off from work, she got into the toilet while I was taking a leak and wanted it in there. If anyone has to make a report, it should be me for sexual harassment.”

  Seeing the two officers gawking, the suspect shuts up.

  “We’re not talking about you and the cashier,” Mislan says angrily.

  “We’re talking about rapes that you posted on UTube,” Sherry says.

  “You’re forgetting murder,” Mislan adds.

  “Rapes, murder! What you people talking about?” the suspect screams. “OK, I admit to stealing the laptop … In fact, I admit to stealing three laptops, but no way in hell I’m gonna admit to rape and murder.”

  Sherry and Mislan look at each other.

  “Three laptops! Where’re the laptops?”

  “Sold. Why else would I steal them?”

  “Who did you sell them to?”

  “Anyone willing to buy!”

  “The Apple laptop … who bought it?”

  “Can’t remember. It was months ago.”

  Mislan slaps the table hard. “Think hard or I’ll hang the murder rap on your head.”

  Wahab looks terrified. “I dunno him. He paid me seven hundred for it. I don’t ask for their names. It’s not good for business.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “Where we all usually hang out. I mean traders like me. The famous nasi lemak place at Sultan Sulaiman.”

  “You mean beside the sports club?” Mislan asks.

  The suspect nods.

  “What does he look like?” Sherry probes.

  “Have you watched Planet of the Apes? He looks like the head apeman, Thade.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, big boxer’s nose, beady eyes,” Wahab illustrates with his fingers, “stone-cold piercing stare, like he’s looking for any reason to beat you up. I’m telling you, you can’t make that shit up…. No way can you learn to look that mean. You gotta be born with it. He must have scared the shit out of the doctors and nurses in the delivery room,” Wahab says laughing heartily at his joke. “Maybe even his mama.”

  Grinning, Mislan says, “So you can recognize him?”

  “With a face like that, who wouldn’t? I’ve seen him there several times, but in my business, I can’t be too nosy. I’m telling you, he’s not someone I’d wanna mess with. Ask too many questions, and I’ll be lying in a drain with a knife in my back.”

  37

  THE SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS AND Sexual & Child Abuse Investigations team position themselves at the nasi lemak stall across the Dewan Sultan Sulaiman and at both ends of the street. Johan, Deena, and Wahab sit at one table, and Mislan and Sherry are a few tables away. The stall is crowded with long queues for the nasi lemak. It has been here since Mislan can remember. From humble wooded shed it has grown into a large concrete structure with a large open sitting space. To him, the nasi lemak or fragrant rice and the side dishes taste ordinary, but from word of mouth the place is packed with customers. Deena asks the others what they want to have and joins the queue.
>
  “Anyone you recognize?” Johan asks.

  Wahab scans the restaurant. “Some.”

  “Like to enlighten me what they do?”

  Wahab chortles. “You guys think I’m dumb? I’m no snitch. So, what’s this rape and murder about? What has the laptop got to do with them?”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation. I can’t talk about it.”

  Deena comes back with a tray of banana leaf–wrapped nasi lemak and three glasses of iced coffee.

  “These’d better be good, it’s one sixty a packet,” she groans.

  “You see that guy in the black T-shirt joining the queue?” Wahab says.

  Johan nods. “Is that him?”

  “No, but he used to sit with the Ape-Man.”

  “Did he come in with anybody?” Johan asks.

  “No, I saw him coming alone, probably to get takeout.”

  Johan makes a call to his boss to pass on the information. Mislan walks toward the queue pretending to examine the food, eyeballs the guy, and relays his description to his team. Returning to his table, Mislan instructs one member of the team to move to the front entrance.

  “Do not apprehend. I want him followed. Get the address.”

  “Roger that.”

  Looking at the clock, Sherry asks what his plans are for Wahab.

  “It’s past ten. What’re we going to do with him? We can’t check him in now, seven hours after his arrest. His lawyer is going to scream.”

  “What’re we charging him with?” Mislan inquires.

  “Theft of laptops. He has admitted to three counts, but only from KLCAC. God knows how many more he has nicked from elsewhere.”

  “Where’re the reports? The students didn’t make police reports. We’ve nothing on him. On record, I’ve already released him, and he’s just sticking around to assist us voluntarily as a concerned citizen.”

  “Does he know he’s free to leave?”

  “It must have slipped my mind to tell him,” he says, grinning.

  “You’re going to get us into trouble again. Didn’t you hear what ma’am said?”

  “She says many things. It’s impossible for an old man like me to remember everything.” He tilts his head toward the man in the queue. “He’s leaving.”