Waiting for Venus - A Novel

by Robert Cooper

  Li Fang never talks publicly of his anti-Japanese role. As Chin Peng’s key liaison person, he risked his life every day. I got an OBE and three years’ back pay after the war. Even Chin Peng got an OBE – before he was cast as a communist villain. Li Fang got nothing. He has always been a trusted friend to me and to Norsiah. He is the real Singaporean hero – unrecognised.

  I have not included in my Will things of a sentimental nature. Please offer the early pictures of me to Norsiah. Behind the picture of me with Chin Peng, you will find pictures of Norsiah’s mother as a young girl in our jungle home. They too should go to Norsiah. In the same place are pictures of Li Fang in the jungle with Chin Peng. Even now, I am not sure how safe it is for a Singaporean to admit to close association with the rebel leader. Give them to Li Fang quietly.

  For my funeral, Tambiah will handle it. No religious ceremony. I would prefer not to have any funeral but simply live in the minds of those of you I love and think of as family. What I would much prefer would be not to die and while I have a kind of premonition of death, I hope I’m wrong. If I am right, please ensure my book, and through it the university, lives on without me.

  I think you and Barnaby and Norsiah are the three who will most miss my presence. Were it possible to do so, I would miss you too.

  As ever (well, not quite),

  Bernard

  * * *

  I turn to a separate last page to read a simple PS that surprises me; it contradicts what I saw the afternoon of Bernard’s death. An automatic flush of water tells me the super is at the urinal. I glance quickly in his direction and wait for him to shake his peg, an action that requires men to turn down the eyes. As the super jiggles, I hastily fold the single page PS and slip it into my shirt pocket. If he sees it, it will complicate things.

  My cleaner is Bernard’s daughter; that makes her my cousin, so I’m not completely alone in the world. Why had Bernard not told me when alive? Why tell me now he’s dead? Does she know we are related? Where is she now? And I’d better destroy that postscript – it suggests Bernard had prepared himself for leaving the world. A great pity, I think, that his preparations didn’t include copying the manuscript to which he attached such importance.

  Super Wong has been patient. I pass him the letter and wander out of the toilet and along the corridor. Having read the letter, Wong finds me and gives me a sympathetic look along with the letter. ‘What’s in there better remain confidential. It’s an interesting last letter. Informative, realistic and human. The way I remember the professor.’

  ‘You remember him?’

  ‘Professor Fox taught me history twenty years ago and we stayed in contact.’

  ‘Does the letter have any bearing on the case, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure. If he was planning suicide, perhaps he sent Norsiah away – the Will being made just three days before he died supports that – although that letter doesn’t read like a suicide note, and there’s still no explanation for the fan turning. Maybe we would have more of an idea if we could read his lost manuscript. The confidence he places in you to see the work published would seem to counter any suggestion you stole it.’

  ‘I’m not prime suspect anymore?’

  Super Wong gives another of his wry smiles. ‘Well, you, Li Fang and Norsiah are equal beneficiaries in the Will, so you all remain suspects. You saw the professor on the evening of the day he signed the Will. Did he mention anything to suggest he had just made it and how he might divide his estate?’

  ‘Not a word. Bernard said nothing about a Will and being left this money is a great surprise to me.’

  ‘What I find strange is the Prof’s silence about his daughter all this time and telling you only now. And as far as I know, only you; why you? Norsiah is certainly a case of Asian genes taking precedence; it takes a good look to see she had a white father.’

  ‘So, you have seen her?’

  ‘I mean her campus ID photograph. Why do you think he kept the relationship secret?’

  ‘Maybe, as he says in the letter, Bernard felt there remained some danger through association with Chin Peng in the past.’

  ‘Right,’ says the super thoughtfully. ‘Same no doubt for Li Fang. If Li Fang could deceive the Japanese, what’s to say he is not even now passing messages to the remnants of the Communist Party of Malaya still in the jungle? And somebody might question Norsiah’s years in the jungle with the communists. Indoctrinated as a young girl, married to someone killed by British anti-communist forces who also killed her only child, she takes on a Malay-Muslim name and comes to Singapore pretending to be Professor Fox’s servant not his daughter. With the professor, Li Fang and Norsiah living in each other’s pockets, it would take a lot less for some people to cry communist cell. This letter of yours could raise difficult questions.’

  ‘Are you going to raise such questions, Superintendent?’

  ‘No. I don’t want a witch-hunt on campus. Please keep the contents of your letter to yourself. I will advise Li Fang and Norsiah, when she gets back, to do the same with their letters. You really have no idea where she might be?’

  ‘Sorry, no. If anybody knows, it’s Li Fang. He and Norsiah were very close … are very close I mean.’

  Since the super seems about as friendly as a policeman investigating you for murder can be, I venture an enquiry. ‘Would it be out of line to ask if you are close to catching Bernard’s killer?’

  ‘Not to ask. But it would be out of line for me to answer. Right now, we are concentrating on campus links – Professor Fox had few recent contacts outside of university life. In this regard, I would like to ask you about Dr Woolf.’

  ‘I believe you interviewed K early this morning.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘K told me yesterday you were seeing him at 8.30.’

  ‘I did and I’m concerned about Dr Woolf’s alibi. He originally said he was at home watching a video with his wife the evening of the professor’s death and they went to sleep around 11 o’clock. Things seemed to check out at first. He left a Drama Society meeting before 8.30 and his wife said he arrived home at 9.00 and they watched a video before going to sleep. But the video she described was entirely different to that described by Dr Woolf this morning. Their maid said that Woolf arrived home late. When I tackled Woolf about this, he admitted he had not arrived home before 11.00. His new account of the evening is one that can only be confirmed by you. He says he just floated around Singapore in his car, parked near the Padang and walked down by the river. He picked up a transvestite by the bridge, name unknown, twenties or thirties, Chinese, took her to your place, parked his car round back out of sight, entered through the kitchen and left after ten, dropping the transvestite on Tanglin Road before going home. Can you verify that?’

  I frown.

  13

  Beyond Surprise

  ‘SORRY, SUPERINTENDENT,’ I reply. ‘I can only confirm K’s story is perfectly in character. He has a key and uses my flat whenever he wishes. He does cruise around in his car. What he calls “going wenching.” When he has a wench, he doesn’t ask if I mind him using my back bedroom – that would be vulgar. Sometimes he comes through for a drink after, with or without his companion, but if he has picked up someone he’d rather not show off – which happens often enough with K – he simply leaves as quietly as he came without disturbing me.’

  ‘Then you don’t know if Woolf was in your place and he doesn’t know if you were there?’

  ‘That’s it, Superintendent. Sounds a bit weak doesn’t it?’

  ‘To say the least. Dr Woolf tried to point out that this was the strength of both of your alibis: had you invented an alibi, you could both have done a lot better. Not a great line of defence, particularly following his lie about being at home with his wife.’

  ‘That’s K, Superintendent. Knows he can always count on his wife to support him. It’s hard to imagine a wife more tolerant. She’s expecting a baby and doesn’t go out much, whereas K can’t bear
to be locked up at home. I’m surprised their marriage works but it seems to.’

  ‘Woolf’s marriage is not my concern. I’m only trying to establish if he was in your flat that night. Nobody saw his car or him. I suppose that’s a precaution he might take to cover his adventures. Woolf says he heard music coming from inside your flat. Can you name any of the music you played that night?’

  ‘I played Pink Floyd most of the evening. Wish You Were Here and The Wall. I turned the music off at 10.00 so as not to annoy Ra’mad upstairs, but before then K might have heard music. Whether he was paying attention to what was playing, I doubt.’

  ‘On the contrary, that is exactly what he says he heard.’

  ‘Does it clear him?’

  ‘It helps. It helps Dr Woolf and it helps you. Had you answered differently, Dr Woolf would be helping us with our enquiries before the day’s out.’

  I feel sorry for Wong. He’s a decent bloke, this is perhaps the most publicised murder he’s ever had, and he sounds literally clueless. I’m sorry I had to lie to him. I’ve played nothing but the same two pieces of Pink Floyd for weeks now – and K knows it. But on the night of Bernard’s death, I had not touched the old record player that K gave me along with those same two Pink Floyd long-play records – the only music I have. There had been no music as I waited for Venus. K lied.

  What really worries me is that around 9 o’clock I had gone into the kitchen for a refill of ice and seen the door of the back bedroom wide open. There had been nobody inside. Of course, K might have mixed up his timing – and there was that mysterious hour between ice at 9.00 and Von Whatsit at 10.00, when even I have no idea where I was.

  * * *

  Barnaby launches herself at me with the canine equivalent of hugs and kisses as I re-enter the chambers. She is my dog now and we stand to share a lot of money together. Venus does a bright round of goodbyes and accompanies me out, dog in arms, waiting until halfway down the corridor before she speaks.

  ‘This is fantastic. Li Fang’s an unsung hero in the fight against Japan. And you, Tom darling, what did you do to deserve so much money?’

  ‘I suppose you’ve been reading Li Fang’s private letter. I can’t show you mine as the super’s kept it. It doesn’t say anything you don’t know. Talks about his time in the jungle with Li Fang.’ I don’t tell Venus that Bernard’s maid is his daughter, not yet. And I have the letter in my pocket – my first lie to the woman I want to trust.

  We step out of lift F as the super leaves the neighbouring lift. How that is possible I have no idea. Barnaby squirms in my arms, anxious to be out of the cold. ‘Miss Goh … Mrs Goh,’ the superintendent calls. ‘Please remember everything about today’s proceedings is private. That means not for public consumption unless you get my okay.’

  ‘Of course, Inspector,’ Venus coos. ‘Not to worry. Although it would be nice to have something tangible to report on the investigations.’

  ‘I promise that when there is something, you will be the first informed.’

  ‘And, while waiting, there isn’t some little scrap, perhaps something not 100% tangible, something that I could report without quoting source?’ Venus will hold off on her scoop, if the contents of a Will are a scoop, but she wants more in return than a promise to be first with the news when nobody will be interested.

  ‘What you can safely say, Mrs Goh, is that the police have made significant progress in analysing the drugs found in Professor Fox and the professor’s dog. That can be on record.’

  ‘And off record?’

  ‘You are, I believe, interviewing people who knew the professor. I suppose you have already talked to Doctor Ra’mad?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Should I?’

  ‘I have to go now. Your audience might be more interested in drugs than in dry legal proceedings, don’t you think?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Venus chirrups.

  While Venus is bargaining with the super, I notice a familiar wide-brimmed white hat at the entrance. Wisps of hair flutter in the cold-air curtain’s breeze, lick at the exposed neck and flick onto a simple white dress. I feel a guilty interest as she recognises me and comes towards me all smiles.

  ‘Why, Doctor Haddock, what a nice surprise. Bumping into you here was the last thing I expected.’ Agnes ignores Venus. ‘And carrying poor Barnaby in your arms. Where have you been?’ She strokes poor Barnaby’s head. Barns turns her right ear to be scratched, a sure sign of familiarity.

  ‘Just looking up an old friend,’ I reply. ‘Have you met Venus?’

  ‘No,’ Agnes says simply, turning to look briefly at my love in waiting. ‘Hello. Sorry, got to dash. I have a meeting with my solicitor. You know him, Tambiah of Guild House fame.’ Agnes flashes me a conspiratorial smile and moves directly to lift F.

  ‘And who was that?’ asks Venus, with the stress on that.

  ‘Oh, that? Harry Chin’s wife.’

  ‘The little partner of your satanic enemy? Bit friendly, aren’t you? I mean, all things considered.’

  ‘Chin and I are not enemies. Being friends with K doesn’t make me enemies with my head of department. Anyway, I wouldn’t heap a husband’s sins on his wife. Neither would Bernard. He and Agnes were quite friendly in a neighbourly way.’

  ‘And you, Tom?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Friendly in a neighbourly way?’

  ‘Not really. Only know her to say hello. Like you and Ra’mad, I suppose.’ I can see Venus thinking. Must be thinking about Agnes. But no. Venus is thinking about Ra’mad. She surprises me by turning to Miss Security and asking in the politest Mandarin if she can use the house phone to make an urgent call. The guard surprises me even more by lifting the phone and handing it to Venus in an almost reverential manner that Singaporeans can affect if they really, really want to. She must, I think, have recognised the star of TV news.

  ‘Ra’mad’s phone number, Tom. Do you have it? Oh, you wouldn’t, would you. I’ve got to get to Ra’mad before he’s tried, convicted and hanged.’

  ‘Venus. Calm down. Li Fang is still upstairs but call the Guild if it’s so important. Somebody there will carry a message to Ra’mad and ask him not to get hanged until you’ve interviewed him.’ In Li Fang’s absence, anybody sitting around in the Guild answers the public phone. This time, the anybody is K.

  ‘Doctor Woolf, what a lovely coincidence. Could you do me a great favour and pass a message to Dr Ra’mad?’

  ‘Of course, my dear. I’m anyway about to drop in on Haddock.’

  ‘Please tell him I’ll be along as soon as I can get there, within the hour, and I’m then going to the Home to see Richard. I’d like to give Dr Ra’mad a lift to see his wife. It’s not Sunday but a break in routine surprise-visit might jog the responses.’

  ‘I’ll tell him that if you like, but I rather think Ra’mad’s wife is beyond jogging,’ K answers dryly. ‘Ra’mad has, by coincidence, already done what you have just suggested. He paid his wife a surprise visit yesterday evening. She died during the night.’

  14

  Roasted Ra’mad

  AS VENUS PULLS UP, we see Ra’mad through my window, sitting in my best armchair. Venus runs to him, ignoring K and David. I have no idea what everybody is doing in my flat; seems it’s now a community centre.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Doctor Ra’mad. So very sorry.’ Venus apologises as if it’s her fault that Ra’mad’s wife has finally left the world, as Malays do instead of dying. Venus really looks sorry: the beautiful mouth and eyelids turn down and her voice descends with them. Her consolation of Ra’mad is distraught enough to invoke reciprocal consolation from the bereaved.

  ‘There, there, dear lady. Please don’t upset yourself, now.’

  ‘You poor, poor man, Doctor Ra’mad. Everybody knows how devoted you were, how you stood by your wife until the very end.’

  Ra’mad is beaming under his sorrow. Consolation clearly sits well with him, particularly from the full lips of Venus. His Welsh-ness becomes so prominent that I ha
ve to remind myself he will be following Muslim custom and dropping his missus in the grave he will already have ordered, not placing her rouged-up cheeks on show for a viewing after chapel.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. But it is God’s will, you see. There was nothing any of us could do. It’s a blessed release really. She’d been in pain, you see. A lot of pain. With no chance of getting better. She’s at peace now.’ Ra’mad puts as much emotion in his voice as if his wife is late getting back from the fish and chip shop. But he didn’t even burst into tears this morning when his favourite rat was found curled up for the sleep of its life.

  As a scientist, Ra’mad naturally wants his devotions quantified. ‘I never missed a week. During two years, I never missed a week.’ Never missing a week is a pretty good empirical record, I give Ra’mad that. Quantitatively, Ra’mad is beyond reproach, although he does rub things in a bit on the qualitative side. ‘I saw her suffer you see. Week after week, watched her terrible suffering. God had mercy on her and lifted her up to Him.’

  ‘When’s the funeral?’ Venus asks with sympathetic softness. She’s really tops at sympathy. She even extends the sentiment to those around her. ‘Of course, you can count on our help.’ The sister of mercy speaks for us all.

  ‘That’s Ra’mad’s problem.’ K the anthropologist speaking. ‘Muslim custom says the body should be in the ground before the next sunset, but the police won’t release it. Ra’mad’s upset that Wong has ordered an autopsy.’