by Vas, Mahita;
“Shall we meet here tomorrow evening?”
Uday shook his head. “I’d rather we meet at Sayana’s. With Pri working late, it’ll be just us. I want Shaun to pay for what he did, but I don’t know where to begin. We need to think this through carefully. In private.”
Sayana shrugged. “Sure. I’ll be home by six. I’d apply for emergency leave, but with mid-term exams coming up next month, I owe it to my students to be full-on at school.”
“I understand. Ashwin managed to get leave all this week, so that’ll help a lot. I’ll work from home, but I have to go in tomorrow morning for an hour or so.”
Sayana glanced at the clock on Uday’s bedside table. “Don’t you have that office dinner, Dad? Tonight at seven, right?”
Uday bounced out of his bed. “Oh damn, you’re right! I’ll have to cancel it. No … I can’t. I invited some bigwigs from Shanghai Building Company. They extended their stay just for this celebration. They hinted at fish head curry at Jupiter.”
“What’s with the Chinese and fish head curry? I just don’t get it.”
“Nor do I, but I must get ready. I’m already late. I’ll go for an hour. Please, if you can, pop in to see Lavi before dinner.”
16
That Night
Uday Aurora stepped outside the Jupiter Banana Leaf restaurant for a cigarette. It was his first cigarette since he quit smoking over a year ago. What he really needed was a Scotch. But not here. Not in this ageing restaurant with plastic table covers and pale green melamine plates shaped like mutated banana leaves and certainly not with his employees.
Uday could never understand the appeal of the restaurant’s specialty and one of Singapore’s favourite dishes—a fish’s head swimming in a tamarind gravy, eyes bulging and mouth slightly open, exposing opaque white teeth which looked like the tiny thorns on the stem of a rose in full bloom. Try it, Mr Aurora! The cheeks are plump with succulent flesh, they said. And the curry, so tangy, so addictive. No thank you, he said. I’ll just order myself a vegetarian biryani.
Still struggling to cope with last night’s tragedy, Uday had tried to avoid this evening’s event, but found it impossible to extricate himself without giving a good reason. This was a small price to pay for clients from Guangzhou who had been nothing but honourable since he was introduced to them years ago. He had promised to join them for an hour, before visiting someone. He glanced at his watch. He could leave soon; a few would make the obligatory fuss, but not enough to compel him to stay.
It was nearly 9pm. A gentle breeze cutting through the warm air wafted the faint smell of stale urine from a back alley nearby. Race Course Road was bustling with migrant workers from India and Bangladesh, shopping for groceries, just milling about chatting with each other, or on the phone, presumably with their families back home. Uday felt sorry for them. Having lived in Singapore for nearly fifteen years, he had heard enough horror stories to know that a typical migrant worker’s life was a tale of woe. For a number of men squatting or sitting along the pavement across the street, the unflattering street lights served to deepen the lines of misery on their weather-beaten faces.
Up until yesterday, Uday did not have it in him to hurt anyone. He had turned vegetarian when he was twelve, after going to the meat market near an abattoir in Mumbai with his family’s cook and witnessing a young goat being slaughtered there. He had run towards the butcher and hit him, wailing and begging him to release the goat, it’s ear-splitting bleat sounding like a wailing baby desperate for his feed. Young Uday had been inconsolable for days, before proclaiming his decision to never eat meat again. The thought and sight of blood and violence still sickened him.
Several people were leaving the restaurant. A blast of air- conditioning hit him every time someone opened the door. Despite the artificially cool air around him, Uday felt the heat rising within him. He breathed more rapidly. Watching the migrant workers—some boisterous, most subdued, all probably struggling to make ends meet—Uday made up his mind.
He took a long, deep draw on his cigarette and called his chauffeur to pick him up.
In the living room of his spacious apartment on the twentieth floor, Uday sipped his Scotch as he admired the lights of this vibrant city he now called home. When he had moved to Singapore on transfer in early 2000, he had not planned to live here permanently. As much as his wife and children loved the cleanliness and the orderliness, Uday had found Singapore materialistic, unforgiving and soulless. It was just as his friends in India had described, and as he had read in various uncharitable reports about this city.
When his wife begged him to apply for citizenship a few years later, Uday was forced to admit that of the many places they had lived in before moving to Singapore, including London and Berlin, none had made him feel quite as safe, nor quite as successful, as this city. Not even Mumbai, where he was born and raised.
At the citizenship ceremony—a solemn event held at a community hall with a hundred and eighty other new citizens—Uday had sworn to be a good citizen. The guest of honour, a Member of Parliament, had urged the eager new citizens to be compassionate, to contribute to their new country and to build a society with character and competence. Uday and his family had no trouble living up to such expectations. His older son, Ashwin, had veered towards delinquency a few times in his teens, but National Service forced him onto the right track and he has since been a model citizen.
However, now, things had changed. Uday knew he was not a bad person; sometimes a man is forced to do one bad thing for the greater good. He downed the rest of his Scotch. He missed Julie, his late wife, terribly.
Uday settled into his favourite chair, a gift from his sons for his birthday—an Eames lounge chair and ottoman, the leather worn from providing years of comfort, and switched on his laptop. Within an hour, he was convinced that he could orchestrate the perfect crime. Money buys everything these days.
Even absolution.
17
The Next Morning
Uday woke up to find Ashwin standing over him. Groaning as he sat up slowly, he asked, “What time is it?”
“Seven forty-five. You’re going to be very late for work!”
“I’ve decided not to go in and have cancelled my meeting. I’ll work from home all of this week.”
“Good, because we have a lot to do and I’ll need to be able to contact you all the time.”
Ashwin sat at the edge of the bed, facing Uday, who propped himself against his pillow and three gaudy cushions Tamara had bought recently. Ashwin opened the pale green paper folder where a four-page report was punched and filed. On top of the report sat a plastic folder with a copy of the report, the pages held together with a paper clip. He handed the copy of the report to Uday. “I picked up this file ten minutes ago. It’s from one of the best private investigators in Singapore. Thirty years with the police force, former Station Inspector. His son and I were in the army together.
“That was quick. When did you brief him?”
“Yesterday afternoon, between visiting Lavi, and coming over with what I’d found on Google search. It wasn’t hard, considering we gave him photos and Shaun’s work and home addresses. My friend’s still digging up information. We’re paying double for the urgency. I wish Sayana was here. I messaged him, but I don’t think he can get away from his class. The first six pages are all about Shaun. She’s a woman, Dad! Her real name is Sharon Lin Zhang Min.”
Uday put on his reading glasses and glanced at a pixelated close-up shot of a spiky-haired young woman in a tank top and a leather choker, standing next to an older woman. Uday pulled the document closer and studied the picture of the older woman in huge sunglasses and long hair with curls cascading past her shoulders. He traced over the necklace she wore with his finger, a short, thin gold chain from which hung a stylised starfish. He handed the document to Ashwin, pointing at the older woman. “That … that’s Tamara—”
“No! Dad, surely not! The picture isn’t very clear, so you can’t be sure.” As
hwin looked at the picture. “That doesn’t look like Tamara. You’re imagining things, Dad.” Ashwin was holding a glass of water near his mouth. “Have a drink. Breathe slowly.”
Uday pushed the glass away and stared at the ceiling. He spoke softly. “I’d recognise her even if she were cloaked in a burqa. That’s definitely Tamara. That’s the gold necklace and pendant I gave her soon after I started … you know … seeing her. Also, the more I see the picture of that vile spiky-haired creature, the more I recognise her as Tamara’s daughter. I only met her once, briefly, when I was in Shanghai. I thought she looked familiar when I first saw the pictures on Sayana’s phone, but I just couldn’t process the information at the time, as Shaun was supposed to be a man.”
Uday waved his finger as he pointed at the document. “It’s them. Tamara and her daughter.”
Ashwin shook his head. “I really don’t think it’s her. Her floppy hat and sunglasses cover most of her face, but even so, looking at what’s left to see, her lips look artificially plump—”
“That’s what she calls her photo look, a skill acquired from when she was Miss Shanghai. She pouts, and it does look exaggerated, silly even, but she likes it. Don’t bother studying the picture, Ashwin, it’s her.”
“I’m saying don’t get so upset because I believe it’s not her. I can think of a number of my friends with mothers who look similar. The ones we call tai-tais, the ladies of leisure. Immediately identifiable from the results of hours spent in the beauty salon, and a Filipina helper at their beck and call. The pendant is probably the most copied amongst Tiffany’s designs. Lavi has one exactly like that in silver from a Bangkok street market and another that’s gold-plated. Very common! By the way, why does Sharon look so Chinese? Wasn’t Tamara’s husband English? Her son Charlie looks mixed race.”
“Sharon is Tamara’s daughter from an assault by her father’s friend. For the family to save face, Sharon was raised as Tamara’s adopted sister. I’m not even sure Sharon knows the truth.”
“She looks really ugly. But I still believe this isn’t Tamara and her daughter. Besides, why would Tamara want to kill Lavi? Even if she had some bizarre reason, surely she’d expect you to find out?”
“If all had gone according to plan, whether hers or Sharon’s, we’d never have found out. Lavi would be just another missing person and I’d be married to a devil woman.”
Then Uday shuddered. Perhaps Ashwin was right. Perhaps he was imagining things. He was at such a loss as to who could have harmed Lavinia, refusing to believe Rohit could be spiteful to such a monstrous extent.
Ashwin flipped through the report while Uday lay in his bed. “Sharon is suspected to be gay, which probably means the young girl with the bleached hair is really her girlfriend. There’s something here about the restaurant where she works being owned by a relative. Sin Hoe Hin lists two Singaporeans and a Chinese national as directors. This one here sounds like a Chinese National’s name—”
“How can you tell?”
“The other two names sound Singaporean Chinese. The older folks usually have dialect names. There’s a Tan Kian Lian and Low Teck Wee. They sound like men’s names. Do they mean anything to you?”
Uday shook his head.
“What about Wang Yan? Heard that name?”
Uday froze and shivered. He breathed rapidly before letting out a piercing wail. “It’s her! That’s Tamara’s Chinese name! No! There’s absolutely no more doubt! This is hundred percent proof, Ashwin!” Uday turned away from Ashwin and sobbed into his pillow. “Why? Why, why, why? What did Lavinia ever do to her to deserve this?”
“No, Dad, maybe not. It’s a common name. A billion and a half people in China, even if one percent—”
“Ashwin, please! It’s her! What more proof do you need? She planned it all. I’m a fool, such a fool!” Uday wailed. “Call Sayana.”
Sayana took an early lunch break between his classes and drove to Uday’s apartment. Uday had showered, shaved and was sitting in the upholstered fan-back armchair in his room. He sat with the bottom part of his right leg resting on his left thigh. He held his glass in his right hand—Baccarat crystal, one of a set of four which Julie had given him one Christmas—and ran his left finger along the perfectly cut patterns down the side. His composure betrayed the seething rage burning every organ, every cell, in his body.
Uday felt barbarous—in a somewhat pleasing way, if that were possible. Conjuring up her image sickened him. There was a time when he had adored Tamara, when all he had wanted was her. He could never have known what she was capable of. The beauty queen from Shanghai—intelligent, elegant and dainty—had morphed into a cunning, manipulative woman. Succubus personified, that’s what she was.
He cursed the day he met her and heaped more curses on the day he proposed to her and insisted she move to Singapore as soon as she possibly could. How could he have been so blind to the signs, and allowed himself to be fooled? He had dismissed his children’s suspicions as expressions of loyalty to their late mother. Now that he knew what really happened last night, Tamara Wang must pay for what she did.
Ashwin and Sayana sat next to each other at the foot of the bed, facing Uday.
“Boys, I want them both dead.”
Sayana gasped. “Dad, you can’t be serious. I know we said we’d handle this ourselves but we’re not killers.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that devil woman arranged her husband’s murder. I could be next.”
Sayana shook his head. “No, Dad. We can’t go around killing people. Let’s just go to the police now. She’ll be locked away. We’ll all be safe!”
Ashwin turned to face Sayana. “You really believe that? Someone like her could harm us even from jail.”
Uday’s voice was flat and determined. “They must die.”
“I want them dead, too. I’m sure we can arrange it,” said Ashwin.
Sayana patted Ashwin on his back. “Yes, of course. You, my brother, are going to plan the perfect crime, I suppose?”
“No, I am.” Uday took a big gulp from his glass of cold sugarcane juice. “Listen carefully. Imagine if all had gone according to plan—Lavi killed and burnt, her ashes flushed away like body waste, her unburnt bones dumped into a bin. Gone without a trace. No motive, no clues, no suspects, no evidence, no weapon, no body. Do you think the police would have solved the case?”
“Probably not,” answered Sayana. “They would just keep Lavi on the missing persons list for seven years and then declare her dead.”
“Rohit would still be a suspect, though,” said Ashwin.
“For a day, that’s all. They wouldn’t be able to pin anything on him.”
“Any updates on their investigations?”
Uday shook his head. “It’s only been two days. Maybe they haven’t been able to reach him, or maybe they need more time before contacting us with significant information.” leaning back in his chair and with his palms together pointing in front of him, he repeated, “So, once again—no motive, no clues, no suspects, no evidence, no weapon, no body. The perfect crime. We’re going to do something quite similar, but with a twist.”
Sayana glanced at his watch. “I don’t like where this is going, Dad. I don’t want any part of this. Sorry, I have to run.” Sayana stopped at the door and turned back, pulling out a piece of paper folded into four. “We should get security for Lavi, now that Tamara knows she’s alive and Sharon is out there. I’ve got a shortlist of security agencies from a friend who runs a huge event management company. These fellows are used to protecting VIPs. There won’t be guns, of course, but we should always have at least one guard in her room.”
Uday nodded. “Go ahead, Sayana. I’d like twenty-four-hour protection for her, two guards at a time. It needs to be discreet. So far, we’ve been kept out of the news, so it looks like we can keep this quiet after all.”
Ashwin whispered while Sayana was on the phone. “What about Sharon? Now that she must’ve heard from Tamara that Lavi’s alive, we sh
ould at least try and keep her from trying to harm Lavinia or any of us. Security at the hospital will help, but who knows?”
Sayana announced that to avoid attention, one security guard was better than two, and he would be at the hospital in two hours. The hospital had been informed. Sayana made no effort to leave the room and sat on the bed while Uday spoke of his plans. “We’ll start with Sharon and deal with Tamara later. She won’t be back for another week. Call Sharon, Sayana.” Uday handed him an old phone. “I use this for calls when I’m in Bali. Bought the SIM on the street. It can’t be traced to anyone.”
“Not a good idea. Sharon knows my voice. Ashwin should call her. Or you, Dad. Besides, if you’re going to lure her to ultimately torture her, then I’m out of here. This is the point at which we should hand things over to the police. That’s what you wanted to do in the first place, Dad. Go back to that plan. Justice, not vengeance.” Sayana stood up, tossed the phone towards Ashwin and without another word, left the room, closing the door behind him.
Uday turned to Ashwin after Sayana left. “If you feel the same as your brother, that’s okay. You can opt out if you wish. I’ll get this done somehow.”
“I’m in, Dad. Just very scared of something going wrong and us getting caught, but I feel vengeance is the only way we’ll get justice for Lavi.”
“We have to make sure it doesn’t go wrong. Think of the thousands of crimes around the world that remain unsolved, not because of police incompetence—there’s that, too, for sure—but mostly because someone didn’t leave any trace. I hadn’t realised it then, but throwing away those towels outside Dr Dubash’s was just the beginning of doing things without leaving a trace. I now have a plan in mind, but I’d like to think about it for a while before discussing it with you.”