Singapore 52

by Bailey, Murray

  At the next junction, I stopped. I looked left, right and behind then left again and couldn’t believe my luck. He was crossing the street just a stone’s throw away. And what’s more he didn’t look in my direction. I raced after him again and expected to find him about fifty yards ahead when I rounded the next corner. But he wasn’t. His bike was right in front of me. Empty. He was walking calmly into a shop-house.

  I jumped off and followed.

  The windows were too grimy to see inside and I realized this was not a shop in use. In fact the whole street appeared disused and on the verge of demolition. There was only one place the driver could have gone: inside. A partially open door cried out for me to go inside. I swung open the door and entered a gloomy room.

  As my eyes adjusted, I saw the trishaw driver standing at the end of the room against the wall.

  Only, he wasn’t alone.

  I knew because there was the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. I looked left to see the barrel of a revolver aimed at my face. At the other end of the arm was the German.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Pointing the gun at me, the German said, “Upstairs please.”

  I walked forward, towards the trishaw driver. There was a staircase at the back and we went up. The trishaw driver, me and then the German. The stair boards complained beneath our feet and I wondered if they could take our combined weight. But they did.

  At the top, the Chinese man opened a door and the three of us filed through.

  It was like going from black and white of Kansas into the Technicolor of Oz. Downstairs had been decrepit and dark. The room I was now standing in could have been in a luxury hotel. Heavy velvet crimson and gold curtains blocked the light of the window. There was just one light in the room. It came from a green banker’s lamp on a desk which was covered in the same dark velvet. It was the size of a trestle table and I suspected it wasn’t a solid desk below that cover.

  No longer was I standing on rotten floorboards, but a deep pile rug. It had a gold and green trim, and a cream background but the thing that caught my attention was a sweeping crimson dragon. I was standing on its neck.

  The Chinese guy went left and the German stayed behind me and to the right. Behind the desk was another Chinese man. He wore a dark grey suit and looked like a thousand other businessmen except for one thing. He had a milky-white right eye, that I guessed was a severe case of cataracts.

  On the desk in front of the white-eyed man were seven ledgers. Five large and two small. Pantelis’s and Cooke’s private books.

  “Welcome,” the man said. He didn’t stand nor did he offer me a handshake.

  “Who are you? What’s going on?”

  White-eye shook his head. “Captain Carter, you are in no position to ask questions.” He nodded slightly towards the gun I knew was still in the German’s hand behind me. And then he smiled, “But I have not brought you here to threaten you. I have brought you here for a little quid pro quo.”

  I glanced at the trishaw driver and realized I’d been played. He had wanted me to see him. He had wanted me to follow him here.

  White-eye continued: “I would like a little information and I want to help you in return.”

  “How can you help me?” I asked.

  “First,” he said, “I want to know what these books mean. Why do you have them?”

  “They might help me solve a case. They might be related to why a friend of mine died.”

  The other man looked at me, unblinking through his one good eye like a mortician might study a corpse. I figured he was judging whether I was lying or not. Or maybe he was just waiting to see if I’d say more.

  I didn’t.

  He said, “What are you investigating, Captain?”

  I thought, what the hell, maybe this man can actually help me and said, “A security issue. Secretary Coates—the police—have intelligence of an attack. And it looks like it will happen this Sunday—on Lantern’s Day.”

  He said nothing nor did he blink.

  I said, “Do you know anything about it?”

  Behind me the German spoke first. “We’ve heard nothing about an attack on Sunday or any day for that matter.”

  “Where does Andrew Yipp fit in?” White-eye said, still studying me. “Why are you working for him?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are spending a lot of time with the girl for someone who is not working with him.” He paused and then shook his head a fraction. “Either you are working for him or you are a fool. You do know who he is?”

  “But who are you?” I said.

  “You honestly don’t know?” the German asked. He had moved so that he was now off my right shoulder. I guessed he wanted to see my face.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you are concerned about some sort of attack.”

  White-eye said, “Tell me about the ledgers.”

  “You said quid pro quo,” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know first.”

  The German started to speak but White-eye raised his hand to quieten him. He would tell me.

  “Who is Su Ling?” he asked.

  “She’s Andrew Yipp’s niece and works for him as a translator.”

  “Is that all she told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she also tell you he raised her? Did she tell you that she is his mistress?”

  Bile burned my throat and I knew White-eye could read my reaction.

  “You cannot trust her,” he said. “She is not genuine. She is his lover not yours. Whatever she has done she has done for him.”

  Which meant that by default anything I told her, she was passing on to him. Of course she was. Deep down, I always knew it. I just wanted to believe there was something else. As his employee and niece I could accept it. As his mistress? I was being delusional.

  “Quid pro quo,” White-eye said.

  “The ledgers might be evidence of a trade in guns.”

  The German said, “For the attack you mentioned?”

  “Yes.”

  The man behind the table studied me before asking, “Who?”

  “Who is trading in guns? Who is going to attack? I don’t know. That’s what I need to find out. The ledgers point to a British Army warrant officer but he’s now dead, most likely murdered.”

  “And he was trading?”

  “It looks like he sold them to a Japanese man in Nee Soon. A place called the House of Tokyo.”

  “Dongzing de fangzi,” the German explained.

  “Of course,” the other man said. “One of Yipp’s businesses. You know he owns most of Nee Soon village?”

  I didn’t but I wasn’t surprised. From my pocket I pulled the flyer with the red circle and lion’s paw. I showed it to the man at the table.

  “Do you recognize this symbol?”

  He smiled and I thought for a split second that he did but then he shook his head. “If it had been a dragon instead of a lion’s paw then I might have recognized it.” He glanced at the German who let out a laugh. “But no, I can not help you with this picture.”

  “It may be linked to the attack,” I expanded hoping he’d say more but he didn’t. He simply passed the flyer back to me. Then he looked down and I knew the meeting was over.

  He said, “We did not meet and if you ever come here you will not find me. Understand?”

  I did. Everything here was temporary. It could be folded and rolled up and moved in an instant.

  “I’d like the books back, please,” I said.

  White-eye looked up and held my gaze. “No.”

  “I may need them to prove my case against the men involved.”

  “In that case we will see. But not yet. Maybe after we have found that you are telling the truth.” Then he raised a finger and indicated for us to leave.

  The German led the way downstairs, no longer concerned about holding a gun on me. They had what they wanted and they knew I was no threat. I may not know the Chinese man’s name but I figured I could
find out. He was Yipp’s biggest rival and, although there were no secret societies, I had no doubt that White-eye was the head of the second one that didn’t exist.

  From the decrepit shop we emerged into bright sunlight and the German held out his hand.

  “I apologize for the gun and the subterfuge,” he said. “But you should be aware that spies are everywhere. You are being watched all the time. The only reason—”

  I nodded. There was no need to explain. The only reason I had picked up on the trishaw driver was because they had wanted me to.

  Then he surprised me by delving into a pocket and extracting a sheaf of documents. They were the other papers found in Cooke’s bag.

  He said, “We are keeping the ledgers but there’s no more need of these. I assume you’d like them.”

  I took the pile and shook his proffered hand.

  “If you need me… for whatever reason,” he said with a knowing smile, “then you’ll find me at the Goodwood Park club. And if I’m not there—”

  “You soon will be,” I finished for him.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I used the Cathay Building as a landmark and cycled the requisitioned trishaw back to where I’d eaten with Su Ling.

  My mind was in a thousand places and my stomach churned. I had been such a fool. A damned fool.

  I eventually found the spot where I’d taken the bike and a skinny young Malayan staggered up to me. He was in tears and I soon realized they were tears of joy at seeing his prize possession returned.

  “How much do I owe you?” I asked him.

  He looked confused and then patted the air with both hands. He could have meant calm down or slow down but I judged he was telling me it was all right, that I owed him nothing.

  “No,” I said. “I took your bike. How much business have you lost?”

  He reluctantly gave me a figure and I gave him double. At which point I think I made a friend for life but I patted him on the shoulder and headed back to Hill Street Station.

  I breathed deeply and slowly but the sick feeling was still there when I arrived so I kept walking. I walked along the river and turned at the Government building. I began to amble and soak up the atmosphere around the Padang again. Although the sun was relentless, there was a cool breeze off the sea and I imagined the saline air, filling my lungs and purifying my body.

  I had played cards for years. I liked their mathematics, their dynamics, especially in the game of Bridge and also Poker—although I confess to playing this less well. I liked the feel of cards in my hands and their distraction. So I headed for where I was certain to find some: a NAFFI and I knew there was one just before the Raffles Hotel.

  I bought a pack of Waddington’s Number One and sat on a bench outside Saint Andrew’s Cathedral, overlooking the Padang. I tore off the plastic and shuffled them, they were stiff at first but soon became pliable and so comfortable I could cut them with one hand. I tried not to think about anything but the cards brought back memories of the fortune teller. I wanted to think about anyone but Su Ling and here I was almost encouraging the memory.

  I put the cards down for a moment and watched an odd-looking chap on the green practising fire-eating. I looked back at the cards and wondered if they could help me. I pulled out three kings and placed them on the bench to form a triangle. Spades was traditionally Swords and the King of Spades was the head of the knights. The head of the army: Gaskill. Diamonds represented wealth but more specifically merchants. The king was clearly Yipp. I remember someone once telling me that Hearts were originally Cups and represented the Clergy. I was outside the bastion of western religion right now but it wasn’t religion I was thinking of. It was politics. A bit of a stretch maybe but the King of Hearts was the Governor. Or maybe Secretary Coates. I had three kings. I covered each king with his queen, jack and ten. The queen’s didn’t work so I removed all bar the Queen of Diamonds. That was Su Ling. The jacks however made more sense. Diamonds was Yipp’s henchman Wang. Gaskill’s was Atkinson and Coates was—who, me? Rahman? I decided the latter because I thought of the tens as the pawns: the employees and members, the soldiers and the police. I wasn’t the Jack of Hearts, I was more like the Joker. I was in the middle and I’d been acting like a fool.

  I pulled out a Joker and shuffled it one-handed with the court cards. I stopped as I realized a little girl was watching me intently. She must have been about six or seven, blonde hair in ringlets, a puffed out white dress with a bright pink ribbon.

  “Are you doing tricks?” she asked with such enthusiasm that I found myself smiling.

  “I can read your mind,” I said fanning the cards for her to select one. “Take one, remember it, and put it back. I will read your mind and tell you what it was.”

  She took the middle card, studied it and placed it back where I wanted it. I then proceeded to shuffle the cards very obviously with both hands and watch her excited face as I did so. Eventually I frowned. “Oh dear I don’t seem to be able to do it.”

  I turned them over, fanned them out in my right hand and said, “I can’t find it.”

  She looked at the cards and a frown started to form on her own face. “It’s not there,” she said and as she did I reached up and pulled her card from behind her ear.

  “The Ten of Diamonds,” I said to accompany her squeal of pleasure.

  She clapped and asked me to do it again but her mother must have heard the squeal and grabbed the little girl’s hand to lead her away.

  I leaned back on the bench, put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. All I had needed was the innocence of a six-year old to snap me back to my senses.

  “Captain Carter?” a voice said and I opened my eyes.

  Colonel Atkinson stood over me with a wide grin and his broad moustache. “Taking a well-earned break?” he asked.

  “It seems that way.”

  The colonel sat beside me and copied my pose, hands behind his head, his feet outstretched. After a minute he dropped his arms. “I’m just about to go inside.” I realized he was referring to the cathedral. “Care to join me?”

  I declined the offer. “It may be wrong of me, but I’m finding this moment of peace and tranquillity far more spiritual than I could gain from being inside, I’m afraid.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  We sat in silence for a while and I sensed him relax.

  “It’s guilt,” he said.

  “Sir?”

  “Why I feel I need to seek God’s forgiveness.”

  I gave a nod as though I understood. “About the war?”

  “It was a mistake,” he said. “Do you know the story?”

  “I know you were here during the invasion.”

  “Yes, the general made it sound like we both transferred before the invasion but I was still here. We had seventy-thousand front line soldiers, we had a vast superiority of numbers but strategically it was a disaster. I can admit that now. Not that I had any say in it, I was just a captain back in forty-two.” He shook his head. “Ten years ago and sometimes it feels like last week.”

  “It must have been awful.”

  “The Japs attacked on the eighth of February. As I’m sure you know, we weren’t ready. By the second day they were coming from every which way. They had their heavy artillery on the island and they were slicing us apart. Percival decided we’d defend the Jarong Line—”

  I knew this from the history Private Evans had recounted but I let him talk.

  He pulled at his moustache before continuing. “There was an order to set a second defensive line west of the Reformatory Road. Everyone was called there, men from half destroyed regiments and reserve. But the message wasn’t clear. The Jarong Line started to break because brigades were wrongly ordered to fall back. I was trying to muster a rag tag group of Australians and reservists—an ill-armed local brigade—and in the confusion some of my men thought they had the same order. I lost control and the Jarong Line broke up.”

  He swallowed hard and I waited for what was to
come next.

  “It was just a misunderstanding. By the time I found out it was too late.” He swallowed again and looked away. When he put his hand to his eyes I was pretty sure it was to wipe away a tear. “I thought some of my men were cowards. I thought there was a risk of mutiny. So… I had three men executed… as an example you realize.”

  “It must have been awful,” I said for a second time.

  “You have no idea.”

  He was right. I had never been in a war. I had never experienced the chaos, the panic, the desperate need for clear orders and strategy.

  He said, “The Japs came on the eighth. I executed the men on the tenth—God they were just reservists—and the war was all over by the fifteenth.” He looked at me then and smiled wanly. “I pray that you are never in that situation, Ash. I pray to God that none of us is in that situation ever again.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Should Atkinson have felt so bad? If I had been convinced of their guilt, maybe I’d have done the same although I suspected he had overreacted on limited information. Whatever, it was a nightmare he would probably never escape.

  He shook my hand warmly and I watched him enter the cathedral.

  I picked up my cards, tore up the Joker, and handed the pack to a passer-by. I thought about going back to Gillman but decided to call by to see Rahman in case Coates had said anything of worth.

  When I arrived at the station I was surprised to see the inspector outside talking animatedly with Robshaw and Hegarty.

  “There you are!” Rahman cried as he saw me approach. Then he started speaking so rapidly that I had to ask him to slow down and cover one thing at a time.