by Vas, Mahita;
Ashwin nodded and reached for the phone next to him. “I guess I should call her.”
“She lives here. She must have picked up enough English to be able to understand what you want.”
In a mock American accent, Ashwin asked, “Is this Sharon? Freelance chef?”
“Ya. You call from where? You speak Chinese?”
“Sorry, no, but I hope you can understand me. I’m calling from Indonesia, but I’m from Singapore.”
“You speak slow slow, can? I no cook ang mo food. Chinese only. No free until April.”
“Yes, Chinese food only. Tomorrow, Wednesday?”
“Tomorrow cannot! I working! Eh, your phone on speaker, is it? Why you do like that?”
“It’s my father. He’s on his computer and doesn’t trust me to make the arrangements. He wants to listen, even if he’s busy doing something else.”
Uday smiled as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Hello, Miss Sharon!”
“Thing is, my father has very important guests from Jakarta and they only like Chinese food. They are rich and powerful people who don’t want to be seen at restaurants. We thought a private chef would be perfect.”
Sharon sighed and muttered under her breath. “Why so last- minute? Tomorrow cannot.”
“I’m sure you can arrange a day off if I pay you extra?”
“If you want tomorrow, I must charge one thousand two.”
Ashwin whistled. “What? A thousand two hundred dollars? That’s four times your normal fee! I heard you charge three hundred per evening, excluding ingredients.”
“That one last year. But I now best private chef to cook Chinese food, so my friend all tell me charge more. Now is six hundred. I still got many booking. You want me cook on off-day, you pay extra. You want or not?”
Ashwin glanced at Uday, who pursed his lips and nodded.
“Yes, we’ll pay you a thousand two hundred.”
“Okay. Tomorrow. I early morning come your house. Eight o’clock. We settle menu. You give me money, I go market. You SMS me where you stay.”
Uday whispered to Ashwin and suggested a bus stop near a condominium several kilometres away.
“I’ll pick you up at the bus stop outside Balmoral Plaza, along Bukit Timah Road. Be there at ten. Is that alright?”
“Late, but can. Also, cash only. No cheque, no bank transfer.”
Uday felt victorious as Ashwin disconnected the call. “Now give me some time to think about my plan. Be back here in an hour.”
18
Later That Morning
Uday handed Ashwin a four-page document, printed in monochrome on both sides and stapled.
“Whoa, is this a man or a woman?” Ashwin snickered as he took a second look at the picture of a woman with a masculine face and heavy make-up. She wore a bikini top barely holding up breasts too big for her frame, splashing in the sea. “Ah, it says here. Indonesian transgender killed by Australian husband. Oh dear. Poor thing.”
“He was a chef. Cut her up and boiled her in chemicals. Neighbours complained about the stench and the police raided his place. He escaped and was found in a bin with a slit throat and a knife in his hand. Suicide, apparently. He got found out because he attracted attention with the foul smell. Stupid man, sloppy work, clearly unplanned. Happened late last year in Australia. Now go to page three.”
Ashwin’s eyes widened as he scanned the summary. “Six discharged in Curry Murder case. Not amounting to an acquittal.” Turning to Uday, he asked, “Really? Curry murder?”
Uday spoke softly. “It goes back to 1984, when a woman reported her husband missing. Apparently, it had been six days since he had gone to Genting Highlands and not returned. The police filed a case of a missing person. A few months later, the wife took a job as caretaker of a church and moved into the premises with her three kids. Three years later, in January 1987, a police detective from the Criminal Investigation Department heard from a contact who insisted on meeting him to tell him face-to-face about a murder. They met at a quiet hawker centre where the contact told him about three men killing an Indian caretaker of an Orchard Road church—”
“The cute little white church across the street from Cathay cinema? A murder in a sacred place? Wow!”
“Yes, that one. The informant went on to say that the caretaker was chopped up and cooked in curry and rice before being disposed of in various rubbish bins. The constable was sickened by what he believed to be a tall tale, but the informant gave him the name of the victim and urged him to investigate his disappearance. Of course, when he returned to the CID and told his superiors what he had heard, they were sceptical. But as someone had come forward, the detective was required to conduct inquiries and to report to a senior policeman in the Special Investigation Section. The ball was rolling now!
The constable matched the victim’s name with the one on the missing person report. He learnt that the victim was in debt, having borrowed six hundred dollars from his employer for his kids’ books and school uniform. It was unlikely he would have gone to Genting Highlands, a gambling resort.”
Uday flipped to the second page.
“That’s a lot of information there, Dad.”
“Yes, it’ll take you too long to read the details, so I’m summarising the story for you. The policeman knew he was onto something and started digging. Within two weeks, he chased his first lead—a mutton seller at a market. Covert investigations continued. There was a team of senior officers on the case. They found three more suspects, two men and a woman. Within two months, the police got several teams to conduct an island-wide raid. They nabbed eight suspects—the victim’s wife, her mother, her three brothers and their wives.”
“The family must have hated him! I wonder why.”
“There were reports that he had a terrible temper and was abusive, beating his wife regularly, especially when he had been drinking. The suspects were detained and questioned but it took two weeks before the police got any information. One suspect said the victim was bludgeoned to death with an iron rod at the Orchard Road church. Another suspect told the police that the victim was chopped into pieces and cooked in spices with rice. They then put the parts in bags and threw them in bins.”
“Wow! I’d never imagine Singapore would have such gruesome criminals! How did you find this?”
“Didn’t take long. I Googled ‘Unsolved Murders Singapore.’ About nine or ten came up. Most were violent. This was the most feasible one to copy.”
“You can find more information on the internet when you’re in the mood for something macabre. This, right now, is part of our plan. Just listen, okay?”
Ashwin rubbed his arms. “I’m getting goose bumps, Dad, but go on.”
“The victim’s widow and her three brothers, one of whom was the mutton seller, were charged with murder, which carries the death penalty. Their mother, and one of the brothers’ wives, were charged with abetting the others in the murder. Two months later, on the day of their trial, the judge released all six of them—”
“No! Not with those confessions …”
“The prosecutor agreed he didn’t have enough evidence. They had nothing but confessions, which were not enough for a murder trial. They got a discharge not amounting to an acquittal, which meant they could be tried on the same charges if new evidence surfaced. The day they were released, the three brothers were re-arrested under the Criminal Law Act and imprisoned for four years before being released. I don’t have details on why they were re-arrested, but apparently the three challenged their imprisonment and were released unconditionally.”
“They sound guilty as sin.”
Uday shrugged. “Maybe they really were innocent, but I wouldn’t be surprised if many people believed they were guilty. The point is, there was no evidence. We’ll never know why the informant came forward, or how he knew about the murder. But if the six had kept the murder a secret, just between them, had they not been caught, had they not confessed, the dead man would still be just anot
her name on a missing persons list. The key thing is to make absolutely sure we don’t get caught.”
“But what if …?”
Uday wagged his finger. “Not an option. Besides, you think anyone will bother making a missing person report against Sharon or Tamara?”
Ashwin smiled. “We’re about to commit the perfect crime.”
“Except we’re not getting our hands dirty.”
“But how, Dad? Do you know any church caretakers?”
“Not funny, Ashwin. I have some people in mind. For the venue, I think we should use your apartment.”
“What? No! Angela would probably tip off the police. She can be so annoyingly self-righteous. As bad as Sayana. No, Dad. Please, not my place. Why not here? Sharon hasn’t been here. She probably has no clue Tamara lives here. Has Tamara even mentioned Sharon since she arrived?”
“No. But Tamara may have told her where we live, the name of the condo. There’s just one Rose Gardens.”
“With more than two hundred apartments! This could be sheer coincidence.”
“What about Conchita and Wati? We don’t want them talking to a detective three years down the line. Plus, I have no idea when Aaron might be back. We don’t want him walking in on us, do we?”
“That’s easy, Dad. We’ll just change the locks and have the management office deactivate his lift access card. As for Wati and Conchita, I can easily ask them to spend the day at our place, cooking and cleaning. I’ll arrange it with Angela. She’d be delighted. Besides, they’re never out here except for the mornings when Conchita’s cleaning and in the evenings when they’re serving dinner in the dining room. We’ll use Charlie’s room.”
“We’ll need the kitchen to cook. They can’t be here until we’re completely done, including cleaning up what will be a huge, disgusting mess, and are out of the flat. Also, there’ll be a record of Sharon being here. Not that anyone would be looking for her, but just in case.”
“Record? Seriously, Dad? Our security guards would let any of these six killers in, even if their faces were plastered all over today’s papers. They’re useless. They let every visitor’s car or taxi through the barrier, they don’t check which unit they’re visiting, and they certainly don’t bother filling out those little slips for people to place on their dashboards when using the visitors’ carparks. I’ve heard that there are a few women who drop by regularly with their kids to use our pool. They don’t even live here! Security here is a joke, Dad. All the more reason to get rid of Sharon before she gets rid of you.”
“So, here’s my plan and I need your help.”
19
The Following Morning, Wednesday
Uday stared at his breakfast. He barely touched the muesli Wati had perfected from a recipe Priyanka had given her some years ago. He fiddled with the little wooden teaspoon dunked in the matching bowl of gula melaka syrup. The thought of having to call Tamara while pretending all was well nauseated him.
Yet he needed to call Tamara. Besides he didn’t want to agitate her when he probably had to lure her back within a few days. Uday picked up his phone. The children smiled at him from the screen. It was a picture taken last year while they were at Marina Bay. But he slid his phone into his pocket. He had no desire to start his day engaged in a conversation with the devil.
At nine in the morning, Ashwin called Uday to say he was meeting a man named Wilson, a real estate agent who had found tenants and buyers at Rose Gardens for the last fifteen years. According to Ashwin, landlords liked dealing with Wilson because he was personable, accessible and well-connected to the expatriate community.
“What’s wrong with my place? Wati and Conchita plan to go over to your place soon. The coast will be clear all day.”
“Too risky. Trust me on this, Dad.”
“What makes you think Wilson will give you the keys?”
“I told him that you’re having a party and we really only needed the space for the extra kitchen. He looked suspicious, but I told him that we were supposed to use my kitchen and yours, but Angela’s pregnancy is making her sensitive to smells. He scrunched up his nose and nodded, said he understood, because Indian food really stinks. I wanted to thump him—”
“Still, why would he give you the keys? Why would he trust you?”
“He owes me, Dad. There are at least six tenants who are here because I recommended Wilson. Besides, the market is soft, and some apartments around here have been vacant for months. This one hasn’t even had a viewing in two weeks. It’s on the seventh floor, and the balcony faces the main road, so it’s not easy to find a tenant. Too noisy. The landlord lives in Indonesia and refuses to lower the rent. Wilson won’t get found out for letting me use it for a day, while putting a pretty decent amount in his pocket. Money for nothing, really. He’s the exclusive agent, so no one else has the keys.”
“It appears that you know too many people who are not exactly … incorruptible.”
“You know anyone who is?”
Uday breathed deeply. “Yes. Your sister and brother. Without a doubt. Must have taken after their mother.”
Uday waited at the vacant apartment while Ashwin went to Serangoon Road to get what he needed—a large aluminium pot and charcoal burner, the same equipment as used by hawkers to cook biryani; curry powder; a large ladle which looked more like a paddle; and a pack of fifty oversized, extra-strong bin liners. He called Shaun to delay the pick-up time by half an hour.
There was a sofa and a dining table with six chairs, left behind by the previous tenant who did not want to ship them back to England, and could not sell them before having to leave. The apartment was the same size and layout as Ashwin’s and Sayana’s, two bedrooms with en suite bathrooms. It was less than half the size of Uday’s beautifully renovated four-bedroom apartment, all en suite, plus a powder room and a spacious utility area with a comfortable air-conditioned room for two domestic workers.
In contrast, this apartment was in its original condition, with all the bathroom and kitchen fixtures from the early nineties. It looked dated, with bathtubs, sinks and toilet bowls in hideous shades of pink, blue and yellow. Uday could not imagine a time when such fixtures were ever in vogue even in low cost housing. It baffled him that anyone, even back then, would have selected such colours for a luxury development.
Walking around the apartment, Uday noticed that all the rooms had windows facing towards other apartments. He could not see clearly through the open windows of other apartments because of the shadow, nor could he see through the closed windows because they were tinted and had highly reflective glass. Uday drew the curtains closed, only to realise that they were black-out curtains and there were no lights in the room. The previous tenants must have used floor or table lights; where there once might have been a pendant light hanging from a ceiling was now a fan. Uday went to his apartment and took the floor lamp from Charlie’s room. After considering the logistics of all that needed to be done, he chose the second bedroom, seeing that it would be easier to clean it up. He switched on the air- conditioner, left the light on and closed the door behind him.
The flat was now ready to welcome Sharon. Uday sank into the plush velour sofa and checked his phone. Three missed calls and four text messages from Tamara. Uday snorted, before deciding it was best to send her a short message in the hope that she might stop calling. “Crazy day, darling. Going to be swamped with work all day and night. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Uday added the usual few emojis: heart, smiley face and cool guy.
Ashwin called from the car park at Rose Gardens to alert Uday that he was on his way. Uday dashed down to the fifth floor and pressed the lift call button. He jammed the door with a folded piece from a cardboard box, causing the lift to remain on that floor until he removed it. As soon as he heard Ashwin’s deliberately slow, clunky footsteps from the stairwell, Uday released the cardboard bits and sent the lift back to the basement, where the carpark was.
Uday walked quickly back to the apartment and hid in the master b
edroom, the door slightly ajar, in case Sharon recognised him from pictures Tamara might have shown her. It was fortunate that Ashwin did not look like Uday.
He heard Sharon huffing, puffing and cursing as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I’m so sorry that you had to walk up six floors. Every now and then, the lift seems to get stuck on the fifth floor. You must be so thirsty. I definitely need a drink. What would you like?”
“Water. No ice.” She sounded like Tamara. It took months for Uday to get Tamara to say please and thank you, and she was still incapable of saying sorry. Now that he could see what Tamara was really made of, he was not surprised.
Ashwin yelled from the kitchen. “I have a lovely elderflower cordial. “Very nice, from England. Want to try some?”
“Okay. I try.” Uday heard Sharon walking towards the balcony only to walk back to her chair. “Eh, why your flat so empty? Look like storeroom.”
Ashwin spoke as he walked towards the dining table with exaggerated heavy-footedness and placed Sharon’s drink on the table. “My father’s investment flat. For rental. We’ll cook here but take the food to his apartment next door. It’s going to be a big feast and the kitchen in his apartment is being used. You have everything here, utensils, stove, fridge and freezer … whatever you need for cooking. If there’s anything else that you’d like, I’m sure you’ll find it in my father’s kitchen.”
Sharon took several big gulps of her drink. “Okay. What you want to eat?”
“Firstly, thank you very much for coming over at short notice.”
“You pay me, I come.”
Uday flinched at her mercenary admission, delivered in the same frosty voice her mother had used yesterday.
“My father’s paying. I can’t afford a private chef,” Ashwin laughed. “What are you planning to cook tonight? There’ll just be the four of us: my father, his two business associates and me.”
“My restaurant specialty suckling pig. I don’t make myself but can get for you from special kitchen.”