by Vas, Mahita;
A few men were packing up their flower stalls across the road. Ashwin had just driven off when, in the distance, Uday saw six wide bins, the same as the ones used at hawker centres. “Stop, Ashwin!” Pointing to the bins in the shadows, Uday said, “There! We could dump one bag in that bin. It’s behind a market so there’s nothing but food waste, especially raw meat and fish bones. The cooked pieces will be right at home in there, I’d say.”
Perumal leant forward, thrusting his head between their seats. “No, sir. Cannot put anything here. After big riot in Little India, many, many camera now in here area.”
Uday stiffened and turned to Ashwin, “Cameras. Us picking up these two has been caught on camera?”
Ashwin pointed to a lamp post as they drove past. “That’s where the camera is, pointing towards the taxi stand. It’s why Perumal asked me to pick him up from back there. If not for the cameras, those bins would be ideal. I found out that market bins get cleared first thing in the morning,” said Ashwin. “Heading west now. We’ll be at our first stop in half an hour.”
Uday cringed at the rustling of the plastic bags as the two men buckled up their seat belts. He tried to picture the contents. Turning to Ashwin, he asked in Hindi, “You said earlier that you watched some of it … the chopping. Tell me what you saw.”
Ashwin glanced at Uday. “Dad, what’s the matter with you? You really don’t want to know. Once you hear it, you’ll never be able to un-hear it. It’ll be in your mind, with images you’ll inevitably create as I narrate what happened.”
“I know. Tell me. In Hindi. No need to use their names. Big and Small will suffice.”
Ashwin pursed his lips and reduced his cruising speed. “Those two decided the shower stall was best for cleaning up the mess. First, they dressed themselves in sheets of plastic and put on latex gloves. Then they removed the handcuffs from her wrists and ankles, undressed her and carried her limp body to the bathroom. They placed it in the shower stall, which was a good size but not large enough for three of us. Small put the body in a sitting position and pulled the shower curtain way back, while Big stood just outside, near the loo, holding the plastic bag in which he would put the parts. Small took a cleaver from his backpack and dug into that bit between the thigh and pelvis. It seemed to come apart quite easily, without him having to chop it with force. It looked like he sliced it off, tugging a bit here and there. I gagged when he pulled her leg apart. I couldn’t watch anymore, so I left the bathroom but stayed in the room, sitting against the wall under the window, listening.
“Big provided a rather good commentary as he watched. Once the legs were gone, Small laid her on the floor and sliced off her arms. The limbs were stacked on one side of the shower. They were too stiff to bend so he had to prop them up against the wall. Small then placed a plastic chopping board under her head and removed her head. I heard the crack as soon as Big said it was going to happen. Big said Small was about to halve the torso. At that point, I walked out of the room and said I didn’t want to hear those details. Organs spilling out and all … Eeeewwww!” Ashwin gagged. “As I closed the door, I asked Big to call me when he was done.”
“Wise. The most vile images and sounds can neither be unseen nor unheard.” Uday rolled the window down. He was both repulsed and soothed by Ashwin’s narration.
“Shall I go on, Dad?”
Uday nodded.
“After the torso was quartered, Small used an electric cutter—a cylindrical saw, quite a cool gadget—to cut the limbs into several pieces. I heard it grinding through the bone. For some parts, he used a cleaver to chop her up. It was quite loud, and I was worried one of the neighbours might come around and ask questions, but it was over in less than ten minutes. Small was amazing!”
“How many pieces?”
“Big told me Small first severed the feet and then sliced the legs into two, separating them at the knees. Then he hacked the lower legs into four pieces each, and the thighs into eight, halving them vertically at the upper thighs.” Ashwin counted on his fingers, tapping on the steering wheel before stopping to do mental sums.
“Twenty-six. You’re a bit slow today.”
Ashwin sulked. “Like the legs, the hands were severed before the arms were sliced into two at the elbows. Then the upper arms were cut into four and the forearms into three. That would be—”
“Sixteen.”
“Yes. A lot of pieces, all dumped into rubbish bags. When they were done, Big and Small went into the kitchen with three bags—one with the limbs, the other with the torso and the last one with the head. They asked for the pots and pans. I showed them the huge aluminium pot, paddle and charcoal burner, like the ones supposedly used in the curry murder case. Big suggested we use smaller pots, as it would be quicker and more efficient, ensuring the parts were evenly cooked. Raw flesh would rot quickly and stink even through well-sealed bags. He also said the charcoal burner takes too long to heat up and might release too much smoke. He preferred to cook on the stove. There weren’t any pots in the kitchen, so I went to your flat and got four of the biggest pots I could find. I put them in those extra-large, blue bags we had lying around and lugged them back.
“They boiled four pots of water, one on each gas burner, and poured generous amounts of curry powder into each pot. Wait, I said, aren’t you first supposed to fry the pieces in oil, before adding the liquid? Big laughed and said, yes, if you’re cooking meat to eat, in which case you would first fry onions, garlic and ginger before adding the curry powder and the meat. He was boiling the meat to prevent the flesh from rotting quickly. Still laughing, he asked if we were planning to eat her. Not funny, I said, it’s just that I’d watched Wati cook curry many times. He apologised. The kitchen smelt of curry powder, but considering how much was used, it was not as strong as when Wati cooks curry. I’m sure frying intensifies the fragrance and taste. It certainly wasn’t aromatic.”
“Did it stink? The flesh?”
“Not that I could discern. There was a smell of flesh cooking, but it could have been beef or pork. I don’t know. I smelt mostly curry powder. He cooked the parts in three batches, each batch taking about twenty minutes. The water took a while to boil, but the flesh itself seemed to cook quickly, according to master chef Big. It was all over in less than ninety minutes.”
Uday pursed his lips, unsure if he really wanted the answer to the question he was about to ask. “The head? How did he cook that?”
“Big said he placed the whole head in the deepest pot—a stockpot, I think—which was just deep enough to cover it with water. It was the last thing he cooked, so while I saw all the other pieces spread across the floor, I never saw the head. I couldn’t bear to. I guess I knew I would never be able to get the image out of my head.”
“And seeing the other pieces?”
“Strangely, I felt nothing. It struck me as odd at the time, but now, telling you about it, it feels almost cathartic. Like ridding our family of an evil presence.”
“The real and absolute evil force is Tamara.”
Ashwin shrugged. “Yup, and we’ll do what we must. Do you want to hear the rest of it?”
Uday thought he’d heard everything. He wasn’t interested in the other details but Ashwin seemed keen to fill him in. “Go on, then.”
“It took another hour for all the pieces, spread out on stacks of newspapers on the floor, to cool completely. I had bought several copies of Chinese papers at various shops. If ever, through sheer bad luck, a rubbish bag is found—”
“That is never an option in a perfect crime. You simply don’t get into that situation.”
“Yes, Dad, I know, but just in case, then the police would immediately assume the killers are Chinese. Throws them off the trail. Besides, there’ll be no other evidence, or a motive.” Ashwin tapped his temples and smiled. “Good thinking on my part, right, Dad?”
Uday smiled. “Clever boy.”
“With the newspapers, the limbs were patted dry—I got them six rolls of paper towels—an
d transferred onto dry newspapers about two or three pieces together, wrapped and put into plastic bags. The head … I went to the kitchen when I heard a commotion and, without looking in, I asked Big what was going on. Apparently, Small was holding the head in front of him, his fingers grasping the hair. He was talking to it! No idea what they were saying, but Big said he was scolding Small and demanding he wrap the head immediately. As soon as Small realised I knew what was going on, he did as Big told him to. The head was the last to be wrapped up and placed in the bin liners. They did a brilliant job of scrubbing the place down, even brushing the grouting between the wall tiles in the shower stall. I swear they left it cleaner than when they arrived.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t raise suspicions with Wilson, the agent. How messy was it anyway? There shouldn’t have been too much blood splattering from a dead body, surely?”
“I don’t think it splattered as much as it would have from a live body, but there was a little. Having kept the corpse cold for a few hours helped. It was mostly from sections of the body being chopped with some force. It was still bleeding, from what I saw of the rags and the paper towels used to clean it all up.”
Uday turned to Ashwin and patted his shoulder. “Good job. It was a most undignified and crude death, befitting such a creature.”
“I’m not finished, Dad—”
Uday shook his head and waved his finger in front of Ashwin. “No, enough. Really, I don’t want to hear another word.”
“This is the best part, Dad! I promise. It’s good. You’ll be pleased.”
Uday rolled his eyes. “Okay. Go on.”
“While those guys were packing various bits into bin liners, I put on latex gloves and gathered her clothes and handbag for dumping. Look what I found.” Ashwin reached into his pocket and handed Uday an old iPhone. “I went through her messages. Everything’s in Chinese. I’m sure there were conversations or calls with Tamara. Sayana might be able to help. Surely he would do that, at least?”
As Ashwin turned off the Ayer Rajah Expressway into Corporation Road, Uday looked out on both sides and asked, “Where are we?”
“Jurong. Not far from the bird park. Trust me, I know where I’m going.”
“How did you know to come here?”
“I came here once with Angela to get meat. This company is a supplier to restaurants and sells the goods at a slight mark-up from wholesale prices. But it’s a lot cheaper than the supermarket, so we save a lot, considering how much meat we eat and how often we entertain.”
Ashwin turned into Fifth Chin Bee Road and slowed down to a crawl a few hundred metres before his destination. He did not see cameras anywhere. Most factories and warehouses still seemed to favour guard dogs or watchmen, sometimes both.
Uday breathed through his teeth and said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Ashwin. I cannot believe a place that stocks valuable food would not have a security camera.”
“They probably have it inside, and all over as well. But out here? The gates are locked. Why would they monitor the road? I don’t see any cameras around and they’d need more than these street lights to capture us throwing something in their bin.”
Perumal said, “I think this place good, Sir. Can throw one bag. Big bin outside. I go now?”
“Yes. Put your hood up, cover as much of your face as possible and go quickly.”
Through their closed doors and wound up windows, Uday and Ashwin heard the muted sound of a soft landing. Perumal dashed back into the car and announced that it was Babu’s turn next.
Ashwin next drove to a residential estate in the north. “I picked one area each in the northern, southern, eastern and western parts of Singapore. Two industrial, two residential and one … you’ll see.”
“What do mean, ‘you’ll see’? No surprises, please, Ashwin. There is absolutely no room for error here.”
“Next stop, Bukit Batok. Does it sound familiar?”
“Tell me, Ashwin.”
“Their third rat infestation in as many years. It’s been in the papers. I’m quite sure where we’re going will have a lot more rats than humans at this hour. Foraging, I suppose. Just as well we used three layers of heavy-duty bags.”
Ashwin made it sound like this was all fun and games. He had liked being the class jester and was punished often for his antics at school. He was extremely close to Lavinia and after what had happened, perhaps he now saw this as his mission. To get justice for Lavinia. Uday hoped his attitude was nothing more than his way of making light of a bad situation.
As Ashwin drove into the small carpark of Block 633 at Bukit Batok Central, two wide bins came into full view, lined up along a wall near the market. The place was deserted. Through the block of flats on his right, the clanging of woks and shrill voices shouting out orders cut through the carpark. It was almost 11pm. Must be hungry workers getting supper on their way home from working late.
Without waiting for Ashwin’s prompt, Babu stepped out as soon as the car stopped. Whistling, he sauntered to the bin, lifted the cover with his index finger and chucked the bag in, and closed the bin quietly. He smiled and wobbled his head, the way many Indians do, to convey a positive sentiment, as he walked back towards the car.
Perumal and Babu chatted briefly in Tamil as Ashwin told everyone that he was now driving to Changi, near Singapore’s easternmost tip. Uday tuned in to his favourite station, Hugs 94. Cringing at the deejay’s fake American accent, he switched it to BBC.
“What was wrong with Hugs 94, Dad? I thought you liked it.”
“Only the morning show. This evening deejay spoke like he was rolling pebbles in his mouth. I don’t understand this obsession with American accents. The morning deejays speak perfectly, like Singaporeans—”
“Most people here don’t speak English that well. But yes, I hate those fake accents. I use my iPod, got my Coldplay and Ed Sheeran plus lots more in acoustic, Brit pop, alternative rock … All without annoying deejays and commercials. Sometimes, I tune in to 938FM for traffic information and the news.”
Uday realised that he had no idea what kind of music Ashwin liked. One day, he would ask to listen to some of Ashwin’s music, to learn exactly what Britpop and alternative rock sounded like. That kind of music might make a nice change from his limited, yet eclectic, collection of CDs, which had an overly large number of Queen, Billy Joel, Genesis and Fleetwood Mac.
They headed towards Changi, with BBC broadcasting softly from the speakers. Uday was awed by the number of high-rise government housing blocks which lined both sides of the three expressways Ashwin took on their drive to Changi Point.
As they drove past the tree-lined Loyang Avenue, colonial low- rise buildings, with their wooden louvred and large balconies all lit with warm yellow light, were in stark contrast to the modern, box like units which sprouted to the sky in garish white fluorescence. This was a Singapore he had only ever read about but never seen. For such a small island, Uday was embarrassed by his limited knowledge of his adopted country. He had simply not bothered to discover an island which revealed a few gems if one only bothered to look.
They were barely a kilometre away from the end of the road where the shops, bars and restaurants were, when Ashwin saw the familiar blue light of a police car in his rear-view mirror.
“Pretend to be laughing and chatting, just in case they drive past us. Hey, Perumal, Babu, bend down as low as you can. Stay below the window.”
“No space, sir.”
Uday swung around to relieve them of the bags and placed them at his feet. The men then leaned across each other. Uday saw from his wing mirror that the police car maintained its speed and was unlikely to get past them.
Uday was puzzled. “Why do they have to hide?”
“Because I’m always being mistaken for a foreigner. A foreigner, possibly two, if they think you’re not local either, and two migrant workers out here, at this time, might raise suspicions. The small one looks especially creepy and is capable of staring at the cops as
they pass us, assuming they do. Let’s not take any chances, Dad. There’s a car park at the back of these buildings. I’m going to turn in there. We’ll be fine, just police patrolling the area.”
Perumal moaned. “Back pain. Can sit now, Sir?”
“No. Stay there till I say you can sit up.”
Except for a few shuttered shops, the bars and restaurants on both sides of Changi Village Road were overflowing with a motley group of people—young and old, of nearly every ethnic group in Singapore, some in office attire, while most were in shorts and t-shirts.
“It’s past eleven o’clock on a week night. How can people eat so late? Don’t they have to sleep?”
“Wednesday. Ladies Night at the bars. Discounted drinks for women. It’s an island-wide thing. Besides, I think most of them live around here and probably work at Changi Business Park, which is ten minutes away, on the other side of Changi Airport.”
“Aren’t we supposed to stick to quiet places?”
“Yes, but this is an exception. Lots and lots of food waste bins here, and no cameras, no parking gantries.”
Ashwin turned into the carpark of Block 5, Changi Village Road. “You and Babu can sit up now, Perumal. Whose turn is it?”
Perumal reached towards Uday’s side and asked for a bag. Uday was alarmed to find only two bags. “We started with five bags, and now we only have two. One’s missing!”
Perumal replied, “Sorry sir, I have one here, at my feet. This is very bad bag.”
Ashwin whispered to Uday, “The head. Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve only had you handle the ones with chopped limbs and her stuff.”
Ashwin stopped the car somewhere near the middle of the car park, facing the backs of the bars and restaurants. There were at least ten bins in total, all lined up against the wall of their respective food and beverage establishments.
Uday noticed stray cats everywhere, especially near the bins, and under the trees at the sides. “There must be at least twenty stray cats here. They seem to be waiting to scrounge in the bins. You think this is safe?”