by H. Y. Hanna
“Hello?”
“Leah! Thank God, I got you at last! What’s going on? First you leave me hanging with that crazy phone call the night before last, and then yesterday, you send me that weird email. I didn’t even know you were planning to come back to Singapore. Twelve years! You haven’t been back for twelve years and you never even told me you were coming! And what’s all this about Toran James? I was so worried, thinking—”
“Julia, I’m sorry.” Leah sat up in bed. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I think I was just a bit too tired and jet-lagged that first night and… um… I got my wires a bit crossed.”
“So that man you met… it wasn’t Toran?”
Leah hesitated. If Warne’s men could break into her father’s study, what was to stop them planting a bug on her hotel phone? “N-no.” She cleared her throat. “I made a mistake.”
“What do you mean you made a mistake? What made you even think it was Toran in the first place? Did you get in touch with him again? I always thought that he never—”
“No!” Leah took a deep breath. “No, we haven’t been in touch. Look, Julia, I’m really sorry, but I can’t talk now. I need to call the police station and make an appointment,” she lied.
“Police station?”
Quickly, Leah explained about her father’s death and the hit-and-run. She was relieved when it seemed to distract Julia from the subject of Toran.
“Oh, God, Leah, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard about your father’s accident. I must have missed the report in the papers or something.” Julia sighed. “What a way to come home. Although I thought that you and your father… well, you know… Oh, shit, we can’t talk about this over the phone and anyway, I want to see you. Are you free for lunch today? I’m having lunch with some friends at the Raffles. Come and join us.”
“No, I—”
“Aw, c’mon, Leah… These friends are visiting Singapore for the first time and the Long Bar is on their bucket list, so we’re having a drink there first before lunch. Remember how hard we tried to get into that place when we were in our teens? That time we dressed up and put on loads of make-up and sneaked some of my mother’s jewellery to make ourselves look older—”
“And you tripped in those ridiculous high heels and fell flat on your face.” Leah chuckled, suddenly remembering.
“You weren’t that steady yourself,” retorted Julia. “C’mon, Leah. Don’t you want to finally get in and see the place?”
“I’m older and wiser now. Besides, I’ve heard that it’s just a tourist trap, with overpriced cocktails and stuck-up waiters.”
She giggled. “It is. But it’s still the Long Bar—and the Raffles is still probably the most famous hotel in the world. You know it’s de rigeur if you ever come to Singapore—you have to visit the Long Bar at the Raffles and have a Singapore Sling.”
“Julia, I used to live in Singapore.”
“Well, then! All the more reason to say that you’ve finally been! We can shell the famous peanuts and throw them at the stuck-up waiters instead of on the floor.”
Leah rolled her eyes, but she laughed. Julia’s bubbly personality had always been infectious and she had to admit that it was nice to hear her friend’s voice, remember the mad escapades they had been on together as girls. This was the most light-hearted she had felt since arriving back in Singapore and it was a nice feeling.
“Okay,” Leah said, relenting. “What time?”
“We’re meeting at twelve.”
“I’ll see you then.”
It didn’t take Leah long to shower and dress, then she sat down on her bed and switched on her laptop. It’s just to check email, she told herself brightly, then wondered who she was trying to kid as her fingers automatically moved over the keyboard, bringing up the browser with her Facebook page. A red notification icon popped up. A new private message from Toran.
Leah hesitated. What if he asked to see her again tonight? She remembered his easy assumption of her involvement and the humiliating thought of how she had gone running as soon as he had called, even after all these years.
No. No more. Ignoring the red icon, she resolutely navigated away from her Facebook page. Instead, she loaded Google and started a new search for “Bentley Warne”. Several articles flashed up. She saw Toran’s name in the bylines among them. Leah clicked on a few articles and looked at various pictures of Warne. One had been taken as he was entering one of Singapore’s biggest churches, with his wife, in pearls and twinset, at his side. He was wearing a dark, pinstriped suit with a plain white shirt, and the only hint of colour came from some kind of decorative case attached to his belt, which seemed to be made of gold and precious jewels. Probably some fancy alternative for a wallet. Pretentious, Leah thought, making a face.
After Toran’s words last night, she wasn’t sure what she had expected to see—a slimy, snake-like man, perhaps, with “monster” written all over him. What she saw instead was a large, heavy-set man with strongly tanned skin, pouchy cheeks, and small eyes that crinkled at the corners. With his leonine mane of white hair and easy smile, he looked a bit like an avuncular children’s TV character. Leah shook her head. It was hard to believe that affable exterior hid the calculating mind and ruthless streak which had helped him rise up from humble beginnings as a small-town boy in rural Queensland to become one of Australia’s top property billionaires.
And it was even harder to believe that it hid the heart of a murderer.
The taxi dropped Leah right outside the front entrance of the Raffles Hotel and she stood for a moment, looking up at the grand, historic building with its dazzling white, colonial-style architecture. There were few hotels in the world with such a magnificent presence and it was easy to see why it was a “must-see” for any visitor to Singapore—in spite of the hint of snobbery that still lingered. When Leah tried to enter the lobby, she was met by a tall, imposing Sikh doorman in a pristine white turban and military-style uniform, who informed her that she could not enter the hotel itself unless she was a guest and politely directed her past the ornately carved columns and wide, arched verandas, around the side of the hotel to the Long Bar.
Leah paused in the doorway of the iconic bar, for a moment stepping back in time to her fourteen-year-old self as she felt the thrill of finally getting in. It was a large, rambling space that carried on the colonial-era decor of the hotel—chequered tiled floors, woven rattan chairs, and dark mahogany timber furniture. Rows of mechanical ceiling fans in the shape of giant palm leaves waved back and forth, and empty peanut shells crunched underfoot. It was tradition, Leah remembered, to help yourself to the boxes of roasted peanuts on the tables and toss the empty shells to the floor—something that many famous writers like Kipling and Hemingway had done as they whiled away hours in the bar.
She wove her way between the tables to one in the far corner. She’d recognised Julia as soon as she’d come in. From a distance, it looked like the Singaporean girl had hardly changed in the twelve years since they’d last seen each other. The only difference was that her long black hair had been chopped off and was now styled in a short bob, with a quiff at the front that was pushed off her face by a pair of diamanté sunglasses. She looked around as Leah approached and jumped up with a squeal of delight.
“Leah!”
Leah found herself enveloped in a tight hug and a cloud of expensive perfume. Then Julia released her, laughing and babbling with excitement. Leah looked at her old friend with curiosity. She knew that Julia had “married well” and was what the locals labelled a tai tai—Singapore’s version of “ladies who lunch”—wealthy wives who spent most of their time agonising over choices in designer boutiques, posh restaurants, or luxury spas. Not surprisingly for an Asian woman, Julia had retained her slim, girlish figure—unlike Leah, who had added on a few pounds since her teens. Julia’s face was a bit thinner, her high cheekbones more pronounced, and her breasts jutted out at an angle that seemed improbable by nature, but otherwise she had hardly changed. She was wear
ing a dress that looked like it was made of nothing more than carefully arranged silk scarves and a pair of high-heeled sandals that had obviously came from the workshop of Jimmy Choo.
“Here, I’ve ordered you a Singapore Sling,” Julia said, pushing a tall pink cocktail towards Leah. “And I hope you don’t mind, but my friends have already gone down to the courtyard restaurant and we should go join them. Well, it’s such a nice day and I thought since you slagged this place off so much on the phone, you wouldn’t mind not sitting up here once you’d seen it. C’mon, this way.”
Leah smiled to herself. Julia hadn’t changed at all—as bossy as ever! She picked up the cocktail and followed her friend down to the courtyard where white wrought-iron tables and chairs were scattered around a gazebo bar, all surrounded by a lush tropical garden. Julia was right—the humidity seemed to be lower today and it was actually quite pleasant in the shade of the palm trees. They joined a table close to the bar and Leah settled quietly into her chair, sipping on the straw of her drink. The famous cocktail had a sweet, cherry flavour that went down smoothly.
“Do you like it?”
Leah turned to find a young man smiling at her. He was seated beside her, next to a couple who were obviously Julia’s friends from overseas, judging from the Singapore Slings in front of each of them. Her male companion, however, had a beer in a tall glass. He also had the confident manner of a man who was good-looking and knew it.
He nodded to her cocktail with a grin. “Don’t tell me—you love it.”
“And you don’t?” Leah smiled.
He shuddered. “Sickly sweet cough syrup.”
Leah laughed. “It’s not that bad. I think it’s quite nice.”
“Ah, well, you would,” he said, smiling. “It’s pink and you’re a girl. My name is Steve, by the way, Steve Birkin.”
Leah offered him her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr Birkin.”
“Call me Steve,” he said, taking her hand in a grasp that lingered slightly longer than was necessary. “So you’re Julia’s old school friend, Leah. Hmm… I was thinking of refusing when Julia called me to join her for lunch today, but boy,” he waggled his eyebrows, “am I glad I came now.”
Leah laughed. His flirting was outrageous. But it was harmless and, in a way, she welcomed it after the storm of tumultuous emotions that Toran had awakened. In fact, Steve was the complete opposite of Toran in every way—his hair was a sun-streaked blond, cut short above a pleasant, square-jawed face, and his eyes were a warm brown. Slightly too warm, perhaps, as he looked at her now.
Leah shifted slightly. “So what do you do, Steve?”
“I’m a photographer.”
“Really?” Leah said with polite interest. “What sort of things do you photograph?”
“I’d love to photograph you if you give me the opportunity,” he said, leaning closer and flashing his teeth in a brilliant, white smile.
Leah shifted back in her seat. She forced a laugh and shook her head. “I’d make a terrible subject.”
“Oh, no, I think you’d make a fascinating subject. Aside from the fact that you’re obviously wildly photogenic, there’s something in your eyes… some kind of vulnerability… and your hair…” He reached out gently with a hand towards her head.
Leah jerked back sharply. The move was too reminiscent of Toran’s gesture in the cable car last night and felt like a violation of something intimate that was only shared with him. She gave Steve a bright smile to cover her reaction. “What do you photograph when you’re not trying to chat up unsuspecting women?”
“Mainly portraits and still-life,” he said, more seriously. “Very occasionally, I’ll take on some special projects of personal interest. For example, I was recently asked to photograph an exhibition of Malaysian kris daggers.”
Something stirred in Leah’s memory. “Oh, I think I saw a magazine article about that.” Her eyes widened. “Did you take those photos? They’re fantastic.”
He showed his teeth again in a dazzling smile. “Thanks. Actually, the daggers were a blast to photograph. Such amazing pieces. I’ve been fascinated by traditional weapons ever since I was a young boy so that commission was a dream come true.”
“Are they at the Asian Civilisations Museum?”
“Oh, no, most of them were actually from private collections in Singapore. The most valuable dagger belonged to Bentley Warne. That was the gold one inlaid with rubies.”
Leah sat up straight. “Bentley Warne?”
He tilted his head. “Yes, you’ve heard of him? He’s an Australian property tycoon; took up residence in Singapore several years ago. Apparently, he collects kris daggers, although the gold one featured in the article is his personal favourite. Always carries it with him—wears it on his belt at all times. He even came and stood by me, watching while I photographed the piece, and then put it straight back on as soon as I was finished.” Steve laughed. “Maybe Warne believes the old superstition that a kris dagger can ward off evil and protect its wearer.”
Leah thought of the picture of Warne she’d seen on her laptop earlier. So that was the multicoloured gold thing attached to his belt. The jewelled sheath and hilt of a kris dagger. Somehow, knowing that the man wore a killing weapon on him at all times made him fit better into Toran’s description of a ruthless murderer.
“What are you two gossiping about?” Julia turned away from her other friends and faced them.
“Bentley Warne, amongst other things,” said Steve, smiling.
Julia’s eyes lit up. “Bentley’s giving this fantastic party this Friday night at his house. They say it’s going to be the biggest bash of the season.”
“Do you know him well?” Leah asked in surprise.
Julia shrugged. “Arnold, my husband, has some business dealings with him. And I know Bentley’s wife, Susan. She’s at my tennis club. We meet at parties and charity do’s and things.” She looked eagerly at Leah. “How long are you going to be in Singapore? Because I can get an extra invite for Bentley’s party, if you’d like to come with me? You should come just to see his house. It’s fabulous—and he always goes the whole hog with his parties. Live band, food sculptures, and everything!”
Leah thought hard. Friday. That was three days away. Would Toran have found his evidence against Warne by then? She felt a stab of guilt as she remembered his plea for help the night before and the way she had ignored his Facebook message earlier. Would he be able to achieve his goal if she didn’t help him? And if he didn’t find a way to expose Warne? Would the Australian tycoon eventually hunt him down? Leah shrank from the thought of something happening to Toran.
She realised that Julia was still talking:
“…and I can’t remember what the dress code is—I have to check the invitation again—but I’m sure I can lend you an evening gown, if you don’t want to buy one.” Julia gave her an assessing look. “You’re only a bit bigger than me—”
Leah choked on a laugh. “A bit bigger? Julia, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m a lot bigger than you.”
Julia made a face at her. “Well, anyway, it might be themed, in which case, we’d need costumes. Oh, I love Bentley’s themed parties… although it would be a shame because I just got this new dress from Dior’s latest collection. It’s gorgeous—I must show it to you! I got it last week, but I had to get it dry-cleaned because the stupid shop assistant spilled some perfume on it. That reminds me—I must stop by the dry-cleaner on the way home…” Her voice became muffled as she bent over and dug into her handbag, pulling out keys, lipstick, compact, purse, miniature perfume, mobile phone, hairband, and finally something which she brandished triumphantly. “Aha! I thought I lost it, but I just found the tag.”
Leah stared at the small piece of paper in Julia’s fingers. Suddenly, she was seeing a similar piece of square, pink paper, with perforated edges along one side and faint numbers printed on top… the pink paper tag she had found in her father’s concealed safe.
CHAPTER 11
; “What’s that?” Leah asked faintly.
“This? It’s my receipt—you know, to claim my dress from the dry-cleaner,” said Julia, waving the little piece of paper airily.
Leah felt a surge of excitement. She wanted to go back to her hotel immediately and examine the pink tag from her father’s safe. Why would he keep a dry-cleaner’s tag in a safe? Unless it was much more than just a dry-cleaner’s tag. Was this the evidence that Toran was talking about? What Warne’s men were searching for?
“Hello? Earth to Leah.”
Leah blinked. She realised that Steve was smiling at her and waving a hand in front of her face. “Sorry.” She stood up decisively. “I’m sorry, Julia, but I’ve got to go.”
“What?” Her friend gaped at her. “But you’ve only just got here! And we haven’t had lunch yet—and besides, I haven’t even had a chance to talk to you. What’s going on with that whole Toran James business? Have you—”
Leah gripped her friend’s hand. “Julia, I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you another time—I promise. I’ll be in Singapore until this weekend so there’ll be other chances to catch up. There’s… there’s just something I need to go and do now.”
Julia gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. What about Bentley Warne’s party on Friday? Shall I get you an invite to that?”
Leah hesitated. “I’ll let you know.” She bent down and kissed her friend quickly on the cheek. “Thanks, Julia.”
“You’re going to have to do a lot of explaining later.” Julia wagged her finger at Leah.
“I’ll walk you to the taxi stand,” said Steve, getting up and falling into step beside her as she walked away.
“No, I…” Leah looked towards the street entrance of the courtyard. “I’m not going to take a taxi. I think I’ll walk a bit. But thank you.”