“I don’t know him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No. I said—”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
The visitor thought that was probably true but let silence fill the air between them as though he doubted it.
Aiko wiped sweat from his chin with the back of his hand. In earnest, he said, “I could get rid of the big MP for you.”
“And if you fail, what then? He will have another connection and it will be just a matter of time.”
Jin could read the Japanese man’s thoughts now. He was trying to work out how to solve the problem. And then his mind must have frozen as he stared into a barrel.
Jin aimed a revolver at Aiko’s head.
Click.
“Empty chamber,” Jin said. “Just to make you realize I’m serious. Now tell me the name of the man you sell drugs to.”
Aiko swallowed. “Six Bamboo. I only know his tile-name.”
And then the big guy finally understood that the visitor had everything he needed. He was only two inches off his seat when the bullet blew a hole in his head.
FORTY-FIVE
My watch said it was almost ten in the morning. I’d never slept late in my life before so my first thought was that my watch had stopped last night. Su Ling’s scent lingered although she was no longer in the bed beside me. I opened the curtains and blinked in the typical bright sunlight.
I listened and waited a moment, hoping that she was in the bathroom but she wasn’t. Then I spotted a note beside the bed. She hoped I had slept well and hadn’t wanted to disturb me. She apologized for needing to get to work and hoped I’d meet her for lunch.
Nothing about the note gave a clue to our night of passion and there was no kiss after her initials. But I didn’t care. I knew we had something special and words on paper meant far less than action.
My normal clothes were hanging from the bathroom door. They had been cleaned and pressed and I guessed Su Ling had collected them before leaving for work.
I was still grinning as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Images of our lovemaking kept flashing in my head. I thought about her naked body and how funny it was that she kept the silk wrist strap on. “I wear it for luck,” she had explained.
I also remembered the quiet, sensitive time, when we talked about my mother again. I told her I felt the guilt and she wouldn’t accept it, told me to focus the emotion on my father. And that’s when she had told me about her father. It wasn’t all wonderful. The memory of him watching her ballet show was all she had because soon after he had left. It turned out that he was already married in England. And like most soldier-fathers, he eventually went home. He hadn’t died in the war. That was just her way of dealing with it.
I dressed and, being a neatness freak, I made the bed. On her side, on the floor, was a hand-size book. A diary.
My initial impulse was to take a look but I resisted. It was probably just a work diary but to go through it seemed like a betrayal. I figured she’d need it, so I stuck it in my pocket and decided to drop it off later.
There were people playing mah-jong or Fantail but they didn’t pay me any heed, neither did the two members of staff cleaning empty tables as I walked through the lounge and left the building.
I strolled through Chinatown and breathed in the exotic smells. When I reached the main road, I flagged a trishaw and sank back in the seat. I closed my eyes and let the images of Su Ling dance in my mind’s eye.
At Gillman Barracks I was heading up to my room when Hegarty flagged me and waved me over to the office block.
“What’s up, Hedge?”
His serious face melted into a smirk. “Wow, you obviously had a good night!”
I nodded. “What is it?”
Hegarty led me into the office where Robshaw was sitting at the table and biting his nails.
I said, “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
The lieutenant said, “Cooke was murdered. We’ve got the pathologist report and his death is suspicious as hell.”
I waited for more.
Robshaw handed me a report. As I read for myself, he said, “He wasn’t just shot.”
I read there was a post-mortem welt around his middle.
Hegarty said, “At first we thought, maybe he’d tied his kit bag round his waist. Maybe he had tried to swim across the Straits but—”
“It was too tight,” I finished, studying photographs of the body. “He had a rope round his waist, pulled so tight it left a ring.”
Robshaw nodded. “My guess is he was weighed down. The rope was tied to a rock, or something and dumped in the water. We weren’t supposed to find the body. Somehow the rope came loose and his body came up.”
I said, “And either we weren’t supposed to find the kitbag or, whoever did it, didn’t find the hidden pocket. They didn’t realize Cooke had the notebook.”
They listened in rapt silence as I told them that I’d confronted Pantelis who’d told me about Cooke. I didn’t mention his ledgers or how I’d found him or implicate the naval lieutenant and they didn’t ask.
“It looks like Cooke was trading on the black market with the security man at the House of Tokyo in Nee Soon. His name is Aiko. My friend, Tom Silverman, seems to have been on to Cooke and was driven off the road after a transaction one night. So Cooke killed my friend. He also planned to desert and elope with his girlfriend, Tai Tai. What news of getting her transferred to the Alexandra?”
“Tomorrow,” Robshaw said. “Sorry, because of all the paperwork, she won’t be released until tomorrow.”
“So what’s next?” Hegarty asked.
“There’s a possibility that this is all about the guns. The M1s that were disposed of eight months ago—I want to know what happened to them. If they are still here they’ll be on Blakang Mati—held in the armoury there. Robbo, see if you can find the records. See if you get evidence of what happened to them. And if they’re still there, then count them. Three hundred may be missing.”
“Will do,” Robshaw said. “What about you?”
“Once I’ve changed, I’m going back into the city. I want to see Inspector Rahman. He should have had Aiko picked up last night. If he has, then maybe we’ll have information from him.”
I opened the door to my room and froze. The bed had been turned over, sheets on the floor. The drawers were open and my suitcases turned out. My window had been forced open.
I lifted the mattress. Pantelis’s ledgers had gone. Cooke’s papers and notebook were gone. I picked up my things from the floor and was surprised to find the gun I’d stolen from Pantelis. It had been locked in a suitcase with a wallet containing my ID papers and my cash. They hadn’t been taken either. So the thief just wanted Pantelis’s and Cooke’s stuff. Why not take my valuables? There was only one explanation: they wanted the evidence. They wanted the same information I had.
I knew there was no point in having an investigation. The thief could easily break in—like I had two nights ago. Climbing the fence and getting to my room at night undetected wouldn’t have been too difficult. And I was sure the thief would have worn gloves. The only thing I’d achieve by a formal investigation was having to explain how I’d got hold of Pantelis’s ledgers.
After changing into my uniform, I asked Hegarty to drive me to the police station. I didn’t mention the break-in.
“Cat got your tongue?” he said as we picked up the coast road.
“What?”
“I’ve been talking for a few minutes and you’ve not said a word.”
“Sorry, miles away.”
“Thinking about your date last night?”
“How did you…? Never mind.” I had been thinking about the case and who might have been in my room but I replied, “Yes, I was thinking about my date.”
“Details?” he asked.
“None.”
He was silent for a while as we drove past Keppel and then around the
busy Fullerton Square.
“It comes from the cat-o-nine-tails.”
“What does?” I asked.
“Cat got your tongue. The expression comes from punishment on a ship with a whip—a cat.”
“Why was it called a cat-o-nine-tails?”
“Ah you have me there. I don’t know that.”
We arrived outside Hill Street police station and Hegarty asked if he could come in. I said no, which clearly disappointed him, but I felt we were making progress and his inane banter was a distraction. Maybe that was the reason or maybe I was starting to trust people less. Someone had been in my room and taken the ledgers. That could have been anyone. Including an MP. I certainly didn’t trust Major Vernon and I had no doubt Hegarty was providing him with updates, probably Robshaw too.
However when I went into the station and asked for Rahman I was told he wasn’t available. Sergeant Kee was in the corridor behind and spotted me. He told me the inspector was at Outram Prison interrogating someone.
“A Japanese man called Aiko,” I said. Not a question, a statement.
But Kee looked at me askance. “Not Japanese. He is Chinese. The inspector said to let you know we have picked up the man who is the Six Bamboo mah-jong tile.”
FORTY-SIX
Aiko hadn’t been picked up.
I pressed Sergeant Kee for more information but he just told me to wait. The inspector was expected soon because he had an appointment with Secretary Coates. To kill time and think, I went for a walk around the Padang and watched the stall keepers preparing for the evening’s custom. After a loop, I walked back into the police station and was told Rahman was now in his office.
He looked up from his desk, his eyes betraying that he’d been up all night. I noticed that the pile of papers in his in-tray was even higher than last time I’d been there. I also noticed that the photograph of his father was no longer on his desk.
He gave me a weary smile.
I said, “Six Bamboo?”
“One of the members from the House of Tokyo. Real name Kim Wan Hoi. We went to question him and he ran. He lives in Yio Chu Kung village. It’s notorious for drug dealing and anti-establishment behaviour.” He smiled at the expression. “Secretary Coates’s phrase not mine.”
Of course, I thought, Hegarty updating Vernon and Rahman updating Coates.
I said, “What about Aiko?”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“I didn’t get your message until the early hours. I’ve bad news I’m afraid. We found him all right, only he was dead. Shot. My working theory is your man, Aiko was a dealer and Six Bamboo—Kim—was his supplier. So Aiko’s death could be a drugs deal gone wrong.”
“Was there evidence of drugs?”
“No.”
I said nothing and Rahman studied me, as if trying to read my mind.
“There’s more to this isn’t there? What aren’t you telling me, Ash?”
“It’s connected to my friend’s death and Cooke.” I paused a beat. “We’re pretty sure Cooke was also murdered.” I explained the possible train of events and added what I’d been recently thinking through. I said, “Cooke was seen at Woodlands Crossing in a car. I don’t think he was alone. I think someone was going to take him across but instead went back and led him through the jungle to the water’s edge. Then he shot the sergeant and tried to sink the body.”
“Any theories?”
“Nothing I’d like to share just yet,” I said. “Unfortunately the person who spotted Cooke in the car didn’t recall what the car looked like.”
He sat back in his chair. “I’m about to give Secretary Coates an update. Do you think this is connected at all to a potential attack—the security issue—the guns?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
He studied me again and I wondered if he suspected I was holding something back, wondered if he knew about the obsolete M1s. I wasn’t ready to tell him about those. Not yet. Not until there was more evidence.
When he spoke, however, he just said, “As soon as we have anything from Kim, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
I walked with him as far as the government buildings and then peeled off and headed back towards the Cathay Building and lunch with Su Ling.
She was sitting at an outside table and simply shook my hand when I arrived. Then she laughed.
“Don’t be so sensitive, Ash. Underneath this cool exterior, my heart is racing and my body trembling. I just don’t want… Not in public anyway.”
“That’s a relief. I just want you to know I feel the same way.”
“Good,” she said and then waved over a waiter and ordered for us.
After the man had retreated, she leaned over and said, “I hear a chef at the House of Tokyo is missing.”
“He’s dead. The police think murdered.”
She asked a few questions and I told her what little I knew. Then she nodded. “Keiji is worried and now it seems justified. She has asked for protection.”
“Why?”
“It seems she didn’t tell the whole truth last time. She saw the incident with Tai Tai and Aiko, the chef. He threatened her. He told her to say she saw a Chinese man running away. But she didn’t. The only person she saw was Aiko.”
I asked if she knew Kim Song Choi, a customer of the House of Tokyo. She didn’t.
I said, “He may have been dealing with Aiko. He may also be connected to Aiko’s murder.”
After our food arrived, she asked, “What are you going to do about Pantelis?”
“I haven’t decided. It depends.”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about. It may be relevant. When Keiji told us about Tai Tai’s boyfriend, I may have misunderstood. I translated that her boyfriend was white and a soldier. She said heitai. It can mean soldier but it can also apply to a sailor.”
“So you’re thinking it’s Pantelis?”
“It could be.”
I shook my head. “But that doesn’t fit with the other information: the letters in Cooke’s bag and we know Pantelis picks up girls at Red Lion pub.”
Su Ling looked thoughtful and shook her head. “You’re right. I was thinking that maybe when she said he was her boyfriend it was past tense. Maybe she literally meant he was in the past but no longer.”
I thanked her for the idea but I still wasn’t convinced. We had a story that fit. Trying to make a different scenario fit…? Well, that was like discarding your hypothesis for another before finding a null result.
I ate a few mouthfuls and then stopped because she was watching me.
“What?”
“Just admiring you,” she said, “if that’s all right?”
I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it. Su Ling was elegant and exotic. I was in awe of her.
She smiled. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Oh it’s all right for you…”
“But I was doing it in a less obvious fashion!” She laughed and briefly touched my leg under the table. “Please, we need to keep this professional—at least looking that way in public.”
I accepted her request and focused my attention on noodles instead.
“You were saying,” she said. “You said, what you do about Pantelis depends. Depends on what precisely?”
“Precisely what he’s guilty of.”
She looked at me quizzically, waiting for me to expand on my comment.
I said, “I still don’t have concrete evidence although it looks like something will happen on the day of the parade. Maybe there are guns. Maybe there will be an attack of some sort. So I have two days.”
“And after that? What will you do then?”
Of course I had thought about it and had a loose plan. But last night had changed things. Now I wasn’t so sure. So I just said, “We’ll see,” and she accepted my answer.
After a brief silence I asked, “Have you found out anything about Madam Butterfly.”
She shook her head and for an instant I wondered
if she was sad.
“What’s the matter?”
She smiled wanly and said, “Oh nothing. I can’t help you with that.”
I wondered whether she meant ever but didn’t press for an explanation. Maybe she just meant she hadn’t got information yet.
We ate and made small talk until it was time for her to go. As ever it seemed there was no bill to pay. The table was cleared, we stood and she offered me her cheek.
I kissed her and asked, “Will I see you tonight?”
“Not tonight I’m afraid,” she said and looked genuinely sad. “Unfortunately I need to work later.”
That reminded me of the diary I’d picked up in her room. I patted my breast pocket and realized it wasn’t there. I’d left it in my suit jacket, distracted by the break-in.
I said, “My turn to apologize. I found your diary…”
Her eyes seemed to change colour, maybe it was a reflection but I could have sworn they darkened.
“You didn’t read it, did you?”
“No. I was going to bring it to you but I seem to have forgotten. I could bring it over later if you need it.”
Her eyes shone once more and she smiled. “No that’s all right. Tomorrow, my love, save it until tomorrow.”
Alone once more I looked around for a trishaw to take me back to the barracks. There were plenty around but it wasn’t a trishaw I focused on. There was a skinny Chinese man about forty yards away, watching. And then I realized where I’d seen him before. It was the trishaw man who had taken me in the rain. The same one waiting outside Haw Par Villa.
I started to run towards him. In a flash, he pushed a trishaw driver off his bike and jumped on.
I crossed the road and flagged another trishaw. But instead of getting in the back, I flashed my warrant card. For a heartbeat I thought he was going to resist but he didn’t. He just climbed off and a second later I was pumping my legs in pursuit of the other trishaw.
By body mass, I must have been twice the size of the other guy but he was like a greyhound on wheels. Plus he could corner and weave much faster than me. I was standing, pounding the pedals and yet I couldn’t close the gap. He headed north and then east and was soon cutting through narrow, residential streets. He twisted and turned and when I rounded the next corner I’d lost him. But I didn’t slow and I pressed on to a T-junction. He was nowhere to be seen. Left or right? I gambled. Most right-handed people will instinctively turn left when faced with the choice. But this man wasn’t acting on instinct and I’m left-handed. So I turned right.
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