“Do you know his full name?”
“I only call him Mr Tham.”
“Do you know where they were going?”
“I heard Master Lionel say Langkawi.”
“It’s okay, I’ll find out later. What time did you get home?”
“About seven. I came through the kitchen. When I arrived the lights were on, and I thought the family was already up, getting ready to leave for their holiday. I came in and was walking through the dining hall to my room when I saw them at the table. I said good morning, but no one answered. I thought, maybe Mr Tham was angry with me for coming back late. I went closer to say sorry and saw they were having some new year’s food, not breakfast. That’s when I knew something was wrong. I looked at their faces, and they looked like smiling ghosts, no one talking or moving. It was so scary. I ran out and I came here for help because I didn’t know what to do or whom to call.” Tears roll down her cheeks, though she tries to stop them with her palms.
“It’s okay, you did right. Was there anyone in the house when you came home, apart from the family?”
“No. When the police came, they took me to the house. They checked the house, but there was no one. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have run out.”
“If you had remained, you might not be here talking to me,” he says, more to himself. “How long have you worked for the family?”
“Two years.”
“Was that the entire family at the table?”
“Yes. Mr Tham, ma’am, and little Master Lionel. He was ten,” she starts sobbing openly, unable to hold back her emotions.
He waits for her sobbing to lessen, before asking, “Where’s your passport?”
“Here,” she says, unzipping her handbag, handing it to him.
“I’ll hang on to this for a while and return it once I’ve made copies. That’s all I need now. I’ll send someone when I want you to come to the house and show me around,” he says as he stands, returning the ancient chair to its original position.
Maria follows him out. He thanks the host and starts walking back to 104A. At the gate he stops, turns to Mohamad Salim and asks, “Did you, by chance, see or hear anything last night?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Mohamad Salim replies apologetically.
“How about your wife, your children, or your maid?”
“We have talked about it, but no one saw or heard anything. My children are not staying with us now. All studying abroad. Sorry.”
“It’s all right, I didn’t think so. Anyway, please do not speak to anyone about this, just to be on the safe side. I might have to speak to you again. Not today, though.”
“I understand.”
He looks at his watch and thinks his boss would be up by now. He speed dials her. “Yes, Lan.” He likes her addressing him by his shortened name.
“Morning, puan, hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Morning. No, you did not; what’s up?”
“A multiple 302 at Ampang Hilir. Came in just as I was closing shop.”
“Multiple! We’ve not had that for a while. What’s it about? Drugs?”
“It’s not the usual. It’s difficult for me to explain over the phone. You have to see this.”
“Just give me what you’ve got,” Superintendent of Police Samsiah Hassan persists.
“D10 called in Forensics HQ and they’re still working on it, so I have nothing much yet. The vics are a family of three; father, mother and a son, aged ten. They are propped at the dining table, all dressed up for dinner. The father’s name is Tham. As I said, I’ve not got much yet. The case was called in by the neighbour, one Encik Mohamad Salim when the victim’s Filipina maid, Maria, went to their house for help after her find.”
“Tham, Ampang Hilir! Could it be Robert Tham?”
“As I said, I’ve not got anything yet. One thing’s sure; the news vultures are in full force. Who is Robert Tham?”
“The RT fashion line. You wouldn’t know unless you’ve got teenage daughters. It’s a trendy clothing line like MNG, Guess, and Zara,” she says. “Make that a priority. Ask who the vics are and call me back. I’ll be over in twenty-five,” she tells him, hanging up before he can respond.
Mislan is sure it’s going to be a long Sunday. He feels exhausted, hungry, and sorry for Daniel who must be looking forward to a fun filled day with his dad. The ringing of his mobile phone jolts him. Pressing the answer button, he says, “Yes, Jo.”
“Forensics is done with the vics, they are starting on the house now. Chew’s saying it’s going to be quick. Do you want me to hold them till you’re here?”
“Let me speak to Chew.”
“Hang on.”
He hears Johan calling Chew. “Tuan Mislan wants a word.” A few second later, the Forensics supervisor answers.
“Chew, Mislan here; are you done?”
“Yup. Nothing much we can do here anymore, need to do most of our work back at the lab. Do you want to arrange for the vics to be moved to the morgue? I have to go now, got another scene to process. I’ll leave two of my people here to help in the transfer, and do the house. By the looks of it, I don’t think we’re going to find anything useful.”
“Anything you want to tell me before you split?”
“Only that this house is not the primary crime scene. I’ve told you that already. Find me the primary scene and we’ll give you something.”
“Time of death?”
“Considering the room and body temperatures, not more than seventy-two hours. It’s unofficial. The coroner may be able to narrow it by checking blood levitation and analysing digestion.”
“Chew, do me a favour. Can you put the burner on this? I’d like to have something for the brass before the media gets it. Let me know when you have anything, please.”
“Sure.”
Switching off the mobile phone, he lights a cigarette and walks back to Mohamad Salim’s. As he approaches the driveway, the front door opens and the gentleman comes out. “Yes, Inspector, back so soon?” he asks, baffled.
“Sorry, just needed to know a little about the victims. Was he Robert Tham?”
“Yes, Tham Cheng Loke, but I think he is better known as Robert Tham. You know the RT chain of stores? I thought you knew.”
“Yes I did, just wanted to confirm it,” he lies, quickly covering his ignorance. “Thanks, again.” As he starts walking back to 104A, he calls his boss to tell her she is right, it is the Robert Tham. He suggests she might want to call the station and ask for additional uniformed personnel to help with crowd control.
2
The crime scene is one of those upmarket bungalows owned by the superrich. Luxury townhouses and condominiums have sprouted everywhere along this stretch and the surrounding areas, turning it into a residential address beyond the reach of most Malaysians. Even the old disused mining pool at the end of the road, once a garbage dump, has been transformed into a landscaped park by City Hall. 104A is near the former landfill, facing a vacant lot. Protected on all sides by high brick walls, a solid gate, and dark tinted windows, the house is obscured from prying eyes. He recalls driving along this road when 104A was under construction not long ago, wondering who the owner was and how much one needed to earn to own a house like that. Certainly more than an inspector’s salary, he remembers thinking. Strange that it took a tragedy like this to provide him with an answer to his question. He knows now who owned it.
The onrushing news vultures catch him off guard. On reflex, his shooting hand goes for his sidearm. Fortunately, he recovers quickly, and manages to avoid a spot in the front pages of tomorrow’s newspapers. “Inspector, can you tell us what has happened here?” someone shouts. Cameras click continuously. No doubt, they are feeling the heat from their editors for a story. “Inspector, are you anti-press?” He knows they are only trying to provoke him into saying something silly, but he is not biting, not today. He puts on his best phoney smile and walks up to the two officers at the gate. They step aside for him, but block the news vultu
res. He mumbles his thanks and moves on.
From the hall, he can hear Johan talking with the forensic technicians in the dining room as they pack their equipment. He slides into one of the soft comfortable divans in the living room, wondering how he should handle the investigation. The Head of Major Crimes will be arriving any minute and he has nothing to go on, nor has he any idea how to proceed. “What the hell is this about?” he asks himself aloud, attracting the attention of the officer standing guard at the dining room. Mislan dismisses him with a wave and the officer returns to whatever he is watching. He surveys the living room and is amazed at how large and spacious it is, with its split-level floor, high plaster ceiling, and large windows. The room has cream coloured leather divans, rococo coffee tables, ostentatious ornaments, concealed lighting, a large plasma screen TV, granite flooring, and thick throw carpets. He estimates the living room alone must cost more than his three-bedroom apartment. He pulls out his cigarette pack but thinks better of it. Just as he puts it back into his pocket, he realises from the shouts of the news vultures outside that the Head of Major Crimes has arrived.
Dragging himself off the comfortable divan, he calls out to his assistant as he strides towards the front door.
“Morning, puan,” he greets his boss.
“What is it you have that you cannot describe over the phone?” she asks, dispensing with formalities, more curious than annoyed.
“This way, puan.” He leads her to the dining room. Johan and the guard stand at attention and salute her, which she acknowledges with a smile. She stops abruptly at the door as if restrained by an unseen arm, and stares in disbelief and shock. She brings her hands to her mouth, and a muffled ‘Oh my God’ escapes through her fingers. Noticing people watching, she lowers her hands and repeats softly, “Oh my God.”
They stand at the entrance, staring at the dining table, silent. The victims are dressed in their Sunday best, the late Mr Robert Tham in a dark-blue Italian suit, white Armani shirt, a matching Dunhill tie and with a blue satin handkerchief in the breast pocket. The late Mrs Tham wears a blood-red silk cheongsam with a gold border, a pink pearl necklace, earrings and bracelets. Even her shoes match her dress. Little Lionel is in beige Guess pants, white long-sleeved shirt, pink tie and black shoes. They are all seated holding chopsticks as if enjoying a yee sang dinner. The table is set with the best china, crystal wineglasses, water goblets, and silver cutlery. An open bottle of Bin 79, white, sits in an ice bucket next to the table, with the glasses of the late Mr and Mrs Robert half filled. Lionel’s glass has water. Closer inspection shows that the yee sang has strips of fresh salmon all tossed and mixed, ready to be eaten. Lionel even had pieces of yee sang in his mouth. What gets Mislan’s attention are the eyes. They are glazed, staring at nothing; wide open but not seeing, like the eyes of dead fish on ice in supermarkets. He feels he wants to reach out and close them.
“That’s Robert all right, I’ve seen his face in magazines,” Supt Samsiah says. “Has the forensic investigations been done?”
“Almost. Chew’s the supervisor; but he has gone to another scene. The technicians are helping with the transfer of the bodies to the coroner. Chew says he needs to run more tests before he’ll give us anything. We have not started doing the house yet.”
“Is that yee sang?” she says to no one in particular.
“Yes.”
“What’s the story here? What’s all this supposed to mean?”
“What? The yee sang, or the staging?”
“Both.”
“I’ve asked the same question many times; at this point I’m drawing blanks.”
“I thought yee sang is served only during Chinese New Year. It has to mean something.”
“I thought so, too. Chew says it’s tradition, not religion, and that it has something to do with prosperity, longevity, abundance, vigour, and many other such things.”
“They’re all dead, so what good will all those things be to them?”
“I don’t know: maybe in their next lives. Anyway, we may know more after we’ve gone through the house, but I’m not betting on it.”
“Why is that?”
“Chew says this house is not the primary scene, and I agree with him.”
She nods. “Anything taken?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but we’ve not done a thorough search yet. I’ll need Maria to help me see if there is anything missing, or if there is a safe in the house.”
“I’m going to let you do your work now. Let me know when you have something. I’ll have to brief the OCCI.” Supt Samsiah reports to the Officer in Charge of Crime Investigations.
“How about the media,” he asks, jerking his thumb toward the front of the house. “They’re getting impatient. They’ll want something to feed their printing machines soon.”
“Feed them nothing until the OCCI has been briefed. It’ll be his call.”
“I’ll arrange for the vics to be transferred under concealment, then.”
“How are you planning to do that?” she asks, amused.
“I’ll get a Black Maria to confuse them. That should work.”
“Good. Just clear things up, asap.” Before leaving, she takes another look at the table and shakes her head in disbelief.
Mislan calls the district police station to ask for a Black Maria. Cadavers, usually, only rode at the back of a Land Rover. The corporal tells him that a Black Maria will not be available on Sunday unless prearranged, and that he needs to get clearance and will revert. As he waits for the reply, he tells his assistant and the forensic technicians to prepare the victims for transfer. He briefs them on his plan to use a Black Maria to confuse the news vultures, and to avoid visuals of body bags in tonight’s news. Corporal Shuib Ahmad from the station calls to tell him that his Black Maria request has been approved, and asks for the address. He tells Corporal Shuib to instruct the driver to back up to the front door on arrival. He walks up to Johan and discusses his plans. He wants the victims sent to HUKM, the Universiti Kebangsaan Hospital, instead of the General Hospital, as they usually did. He calls the HUKM mortuary asking for the forensic pathologist on duty. After making him wait for thirty seconds, a woman’s voice answers, “Dr Safia here.” He is in luck; he and Dr Nursafia Roslan are close, both officially and, of late, socially. After his wife left about a year ago, they had been out for drinks and dinners several times. He liked her company, and she his, but it had not moved beyond that.
“Morning doctor, Inspector Mislan from Major Crimes here.”
“Hey, why so formal? What’s up, Lan?”
“I’ve got a bite-me case this morning. Need to send it to your place instead of the GH to avoid the press. You running a full house?”
“I’ve got two routines waiting. How sensitive is it?”
“Robert Tham. Heard of him?”
“The Robert Tham?” she quips. She sounds excited.
“Fie, don’t get too excited, and be sure to be seated when they arrive. Don’t want you falling and getting hurt.”
“They?”
“Three: father, mother, and son. Long story. You have to see them yourself.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
When he does not reply, she says, “Lan, now you’re freaking me out!”
He laughs. It feels good to laugh after the last few hours.
“When are they getting here?”
“Within the hour. Fie, can you alert security? I don’t want the press getting shots of them. By the way, I’m sending them in a Black Maria. Security could direct them to the emergency entrance, like they are detainees. Can you speak to security to direct them to your place once they get there?”
“Why the secrecy?” She is bursting with curiosity.
“For one, it’s the Robert Tham. Second, it’s the entire family. Third, is the condition in which they were discovered. Tell you what, if you don’t have anything on tonight, how about dinner? We can talk more.”
“I should finish here by six; why don
’t you pick me up at seven-thirty?”
“Sure. Fie, sorry to put them on your table.”
“Don’t be. Thanks for roping me in. See you tonight.”
“All right, then. See you.”
At the mention of dinner his stomach starts rumbling. He has not eaten anything yet. Maybe he should get Maria to fix him something after the victims are shipped out.
When the Black Maria arrives, Johan and the forensic technicians are ready. The driver backs the vehicle up close to the front entrance to create a tunnel, blocking the view of the news vultures. The victims, all zipped up in body bags and ready, are quickly carried in. “Jo, can you ride with the vics. Make sure the media get no shots for the papers. Dr Safia is expecting them.”
His assistant gives him the thumb ups and climbs into the back of the Black Maria with the body bags.
“Call me when they’re safely inside,” he shouts as the vehicle slowly moves out.
He watches some news vehicles tailing the Black Maria, and a few others making a dash in another direction, probably rushing off to the GH to await its arrival, to plant themselves at strategic locations or bribe their way in. A few will linger and risk losing a story at the hospital in the hope of a bigger one here. Mislan waits until the vehicle is out of sight before instructing one of the officers to bring the maid from 106A. He releases one of the MPV officers from crowd control duties, and wonders what happened to the reinforcement he asked for earlier. Maybe the station is shorthanded today. Whatever the reason, it is not important now. Mislan peeks outside and is relieved at the sight of the dispersing crowd. He walks to the front gate, lights a cigarette and watches Maria being escorted over, with three news vultures following. Maria walks with her head bowed, using her handbag to shield her face from the cameras.
As they reach him, he asks Maria if she has the remote control for the gate. She nods, pulls out one attached to a keychain with several other keys. He presses the red button to shut the gate and the remaining desperately-optimistic news vultures slowly go away.
With Maria’s help, Mislan and the forensic technicians walk through the house. They start with the master bedroom where he sees a king-sized bed, slippers by the bedside, an LCD television, a minibar, walk-in wardrobes complete with shoe racks, a bathroom with a large Jacuzzi and towels on the rack. Clothes in the wardrobe are neatly hung or kept folded in drawers. The jewellery box, perfume bottles, cosmetics and hairbrushes are neatly laid out, exactly where they are supposed to be. The lights and air-conditioners are turned off, and the only the curtains do not seem right. They are drawn. He thinks it must have been an oversight by the killers. They must have left the scene before daybreak, so they had not found it necessary to let the light in.
21 Immortals Page 2