Waiting for Venus - A Novel

by Robert Cooper

  I’m expecting some compassion. But you know what your lady Venus says? ‘It all depends on what you mean by rape.’

  Well, I’m not one to argue. Women think they have an exclusive on rape. I reply I’d as soon not report it to the police. Venus actually laughs. Yes, laughs. ‘Don’t be silly, David,’ she says. ‘I don’t intend to report whatever you have been up to. I’m thinking about Barnaby. Why on earth would anybody want to steal Barnaby?’

  21

  To Catch a Butterfly

  ‘WE SHOULD ALL do what we do best,’ K begins his answer to my question as to what he’s doing hidden away in Changi. ‘For my part, I’ve spent the last few days going through just about every tart in Singapore.’

  ‘Metaphorically speaking,’ the super qualifies. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think CID is running a house of ill repute.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ K laughs. He pats a mound of files beside him. ‘Know what’s in this lot? Mug and body shots of every transvestite ever pulled in for questioning and many who have yet to have that pleasure.’

  A sample file is flicked open. Pictures range from formal prison-type faces of the scrubbed and unhappy through the grossly over-painted to the beautifully glossy. Many were taken, K explains, in Bugis Street and Johor Road, some in the chic cafés on Orchard Road. Big breasts and tiny waists, a buttock or two and some interesting tattoos; transvestites fondling their occidental clients as they drink their Tigers. ‘I haven’t found any familiar faces – or body parts,’ says K. ‘But the whole world is here as supporting cast.’

  K shows several pictures of Von Führer Düsseldorf with a group of white men of similar age. ‘There’s little scandal value in such pictures,’ K says. ‘At worst, they might embarrass a man if shown to his wife. They were snapped openly in the street. Tourist souvenirs. Just to place things in perspective, here’s one of the two of us with some of them. Quite an innocent evening, wasn’t it? I had to think hard to recall it. You had just arrived on campus two years ago. As I remember, we’d just been to your welcome dinner at Chin’s and needed amusement. Snapping one second out of an evening can give the wrong idea, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘I suppose this explains why there are so many photographers around.’

  ‘Right,’ says the super. ‘We buy up their unsold pictures and they cut their losses. We also have one or two men of our own taking pictures. We like to ensure as complete a coverage as possible. Surprising how many men take a ladyboy to a hotel and then complain they were robbed. If they can remember where they were picked up, there’s a good chance we can provide a set of pictures for identification. These files are by location. Butterflies-of-the-night have their territory and generally stay in it. If we identify a picture, we usually get the thief. Not always, there are some who don’t fit the pattern. They work alone or encroach on the territory of others until they get chased out. Some of them can only look the part in the shadows and some have criminal records and keep on the move. Doctor Woolf has been searching the files hoping to come across one in particular of these lone she-wolves.’

  ‘But why?’ I ask.

  ‘Doctor Woolf can explain things in his own words.’ The super picks up a chicken wing, dips it in black sauce and sits back in his armchair.

  ‘I expect you remember, Haddock, the last meal we shared at your place. It ended with you getting into a huff and being unreasonable.’ Typical K, rewriting history.

  ‘I’ve never objected to your using my back room. If you used it the night Bernard died, it’s odd that you didn’t come through and say hello. I like to have a look at your crumpet.’

  ‘That particular bit of crumpet was well beyond its use-by date. Not up to standard. I was pissed. I can never take that sort unless I’m in my cups and then I can’t resist them. It’s hard to find a real woman with such well-polished breasts and such total vulgarity.’

  ‘So why didn’t you come through and show me those well-polished knockers?’

  ‘Because, Haddock, after the quenching of the fire, that particular source of lust disgusted me and I wanted rid of it as soon as I could. That’s often the case. I don’t want them rubbing my balls and covering me in cheap lipstick and smelly perfume; their clip-on wigs, their pong, it all disgusts me. I just want shot of them, never to see them again.’

  ‘Christ, K, you sound like Jack the Ripper. I hope you don’t bump them off when disgusted by what you can’t resist.’

  K peers down his nose at me. ‘Have you looked in the wardrobe in your back room lately? Full of discarded butterflies pinned to the wall.’

  ‘All right K, you know I’m joking. If they turn you off that much after you’ve dipped into them, I’m glad you didn’t bring a particularly bad one through.’

  I don’t want to destroy our joint alibi, but there remains a crucial hour that doesn’t fall into place and I feel now is the time to shed light on it. ‘I went into the kitchen for ice around 9 o’clock that night. I noticed the door to the back room open and looked inside – it was empty.’

  ‘Oh, Haddock!’ says K. ‘Is that what’s bothering you? Can’t you put two and two together?’

  ‘I can, and it’s not making four. Why are you here searching for a transvestite you never want to see again? And why did you say you were with it at my place when you weren’t – at least, you weren’t at 9 o’clock.’

  K sighs. ‘Did you check your bathroom?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There you are then. I needed to wash and took that one into the bathroom. Not for any thrills but to make sure she didn’t pinch anything worth pinching – if you’ve bought anything worth pinching lately. Now: serious. The super has told you Li Fang reported seeing me and a tall, long-haired woman apparently dragging Bernard along the back path and into his house?’

  ‘Yes.’ I look at the super sitting quietly. ‘He asked if I have any idea who the woman might be. I do not … do you mean …?’

  ‘Right, Haddock. At long last. It was Madam Butterfly. Bernard stumbled into us in your kitchen just as I opened the back door to get her out. At the time I thought he was drunk. He wasn’t himself at all – kept muttering your name, Tom, not Haddock; had a carrier bag in one hand and was waving a dog collar around with the other. I supposed he was looking for his dog. His hands were full and he dropped a little pouch on the floor. I picked it up and put it in my pocket to keep it safe for him. He dropped the collar too; I picked it up and put it on your counter alongside the carrier bag of books. Before I knew what was happening, Bernard had his hand down the front of the transvestite’s dress and was playing with the glossies. I thought he had simply gone back on the booze with a vengeance – he seemed happier than he had been for ages.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me to help?’

  ‘I don’t think Bernard wanted your help. He forgot you as soon as he saw the tits. Since he seemed pretty keen on having my leftovers, I gave our companion an extra fifty dollars to service him. As we approached his house on the back path, Bernard lost his footing a few times and I again put that down to booze. In the end, we were practically carrying him – not dragging him, but I can see how Li Fang got that idea in the dark. When I left him inside his place on his bed, he smiled at me and I really thought the old chap would have a harmless good time. I waited outside his back door for twenty minutes for the butterfly to reappear. She said Bernard was asleep in his armchair wearing his sarong, so I took her back to my car and dropped her on Tanglin Road before going home with the windows wide open.’

  ‘Could she have taken the manuscript from Bernard’s?’ I ask.

  ‘The super’s asked me that. I don’t see how or why she could or would. I searched her handbag when she came out to make sure she hadn’t lifted anything of Bernard’s. Anyway, I can’t imagine she laps up academic manuscripts.’

  ‘But there’s some reason for hunting this person now?’

  The super comes in. ‘My men picked up Doctor Woolf from the Mandarin car park and brought him in for questio
ning as soon as Li Fang informed us of what he had seen. Fortunately, Doctor Woolf was still carrying around the pouch of Bernard Fox. It was full of diamonds. Does that surprise you?’

  The super looks at me. Trying to judge my reactions no doubt. I look surprised.

  ‘At first, I was prepared to believe Doctor Woolf had killed the professor for the diamonds and strung him up to look like suicide. It was the only motive we had. But when faced with Li Fang witnessing a woman accomplice, Doctor Woolf came clean with the story as you’ve just heard it, diamonds and all – although I’m not sure he’d have included the diamonds had we not found them in his pocket. Li Fang was able to identify both pouch and diamonds. It seems that a few years ago he changed the old war loot into far more portable diamonds and Bernard Fox kept them safe.’

  ‘But,’ I interrupt, ‘I thought only Bernard knew the location of the treasure and he could not do anything with it as long as Li Fang was watching him.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Chin’s wife, Agnes,’ I admit with a feeling of betrayal.

  The super smiles. ‘Let her and everybody else continue to think that. Certainly, Li Fang was some kind of watch dog over Bernard Fox and the war loot immediately after the death of Harry Chin’s father in 1945. I suppose you know about Chin Jin-Hui’s role in amassing the loot in World War II?’ I nod. ‘Agnes?’ he asks. I nod again. He continues, ‘Professor Fox and Li Fang had long since decided there was no point in keeping heaps of loot in several locations for a cause long lost. They made their own arrangements. The diamonds stayed with the professor, and he and Li Fang swore an oath that neither would touch them as long as Chin Peng was alive or until he sent word. They also swore secrecy for as long as both of them lived. As far as other parties are concerned – people like Düsseldorf and Agnes – there is no little pouch of top-quality diamonds. Düsseldorf, I am sure, is still looking for a pirate’s chest under a spot marked X.’

  I jump as the phone rings violently. The super laughs and lifts the receiver. His expression changes but he says little, signing off with worrying words, ‘Get onto all the animal clinics. I know it’s late. Wake them up if you have to. Good work, Madhu.’ He puts down the phone and continues as if he never lifted it. ‘You now see, Doctor Haddock, why we took Doctor Woolf out of circulation and why we need your help.’

  ‘Yes and no,’ I say. ‘I can see K behaved suspiciously but I don’t really get what he’s doing here, obviously not under arrest, and I’ve no idea what help I can give.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Haddock! I’d have thought you of all people would be more supportive. I’ve told you what I’m doing here. Looking through hundreds of photographs in the hope of finding that one trannie I picked up that night. Not an easy job. I picked it up along by the River. You know what kind you get down there. The no-home-territory sort. There’s simply no file on the riverside. Too dark. No tourists hang around there. And I can’t describe what she looked like. Everything about them is false. Wig, eyelashes, rouge, lipstick, moveable beauty spots, pop-in dimples. Change the pieces around and you have a different face; it’s like playing potato-woman. I might recognise the bum, but to pick out a mug shot is proving impossible.’

  ‘Seems so,’ confirms the super. ‘We’ve already brought in four of them for Doctor Woolf’s closer inspection. One even had to undress! Unless we find the person, we might never know what happened during the last moments of the professor’s life. It could be that she hanged the professor; so we must find her.’

  ‘David will be very pleased to hear this story,’ I say. ‘He thinks he saw Bernard dead at home and is under suspicion because Li Fang saw him leave Bernard’s house.’

  ‘David Bent saw the professor drugged. Li Fang entered the house after Bent left, made some strong coffee and got the professor walking up and down a bit. He was dozy but otherwise okay when Li Fang left him. I suspect Professor Fox then went out his back door to your flat, carrying the pouch of diamonds. Perhaps, given Düsseldorf’s recent return to Singapore, the professor wanted to hide them in your flat – perhaps also the reason he made his Will, just in case, three days before his death; anyway, it seems he was still affected by the drug and none too aware of what he was doing. Don’t tell Mr Bent anything about tonight. I do not want him gossiping – that could drive the transvestite underground – if she’s not there already.’

  ‘So, this whole thing is to catch a butterfly. I still don’t see where I come in.’

  ‘You will be a decoy, Doctor Haddock. I would expect Düsseldorf or Nagasaki to be calling on you. After you got that post-mortem letter, they must think the secret lies only with you and you might turn in the loot or take it out of Singapore. They can’t hang around.’

  ‘How do they know about the letter?’

  ‘Your friend Doctor Woolf told them.’

  ‘What? Why? And how could he? I never told K I got a letter.’

  ‘Because I told him and I told him to tell them,’ says the super. ‘I told Woolf you had received a letter but not what was in it. I told him when he informed me he was dining with Düsseldorf – which he did after the two of you had your little fight about you refusing to let him in on what you had overheard when snooping on me and Ra’mad. I told him that Düsseldorf might simply be inviting a fellow anthropologist to dinner and just talk about anthropology – in which case he should let me know – or there might be a more sinister meaning for the invitation. I told him the German might raise the subject of the treasure directly or ask about you, and that even if he doesn’t raise things directly, Woolf should find a way to casually reveal you got a letter from Professor Fox and are keeping the contents of that letter to yourself.’

  ‘So, you set me up, both of you!’ I try to sound indignant.

  ‘You could say that. I had to draw them out; after all this time being unable to pin anything on them. I did intend to warn you, but Düsseldorf acted quicker than I expected. Lock up your flat from now on, but allow Düsseldorf and Nagasaki in if they visit you. Microphones will be placed in your flat – with your permission – before breakfast tomorrow. We’ll change the locks on your doors too, and don’t give fresh keys to anybody. A policeman is stationed upstairs in Doctor Ra’mad’s flat; he’ll be able to hear every word. All you have to do is let your visitors talk. The officer will have a key to your back door in case he needs to intervene, so don’t bolt it, just keep it locked with the key out.’

  ‘He will hear everything that goes on in the flat?’ I am thinking of Venus.

  The super smiles. ‘If you need privacy, just switch your kitchen light off. That will switch off the whole system. Our officer will understand when he cannot see the light from your kitchen. Just remember to turn it on afterwards and to leave it on day and night. By the way, what was in that carrier bag in the kitchen?’

  ‘Just some books Bernard had borrowed.’

  ‘And while you are sitting comfortably at home switching the kitchen light off and on,’ K jumps in, ‘yours truly will be prowling the streets looking for one butterfly in thousands.’

  The telephone rings again. The super completes a conversation of grunts and turns to me. ‘Your dog …’ he begins.

  22

  The Dog Stone

  ‘YOUR DOG. Vhat do you call it? Barnaby? If you vant it back, ve must be cooperative.’

  I have just said goodbye to the super outside my flat. After locking and bolting my door on him as I’d promised I would, I walk straight into the ghosts of WWII.

  So much for the great entrapment plan; the microphones will be installed ‘before breakfast’ and the only one entrapped is me. Nagasaki has in his hand, pointing at my head, the same gun I had seen a couple of hours before in Wong’s hand. How is that possible? I don’t know. It only fires caps I know, but a gun pointed at the head definitely has it over intellectual debate when it comes to deciding who fears and who sneers. And beside Nagasaki, posing with bronzed hands on hips, is Adolf Von Düsseldorf of the Thousand-year R
eich.

  ‘What do you want?’ I ask stupidly. Well, nice to see you, Adolf seems out of place.

  ‘Let us stop playing games,’ the Führer declares. I didn’t know I was playing games with a couple of androgynously inclined leftovers from the wrong side of WWII. ‘You vill be a good boy and reveal me a riddle. You vill tell us vhere is the treasure. In return, you get back your filthy dog.’

  ‘One filthy dog for a fortune in treasure,’ I improvise. ‘You keep the dog and I keep the treasure.’ Sorry, Barnaby, basic bargaining strategy in play.

  ‘You can add in Fox’s daughter. Syou or Norsiah or whatever you call her.’

  ‘She went away before the professor died.’

  ‘Ve know. Ve can bring her back.’

  ‘Well, my sheets do need washing but it’s still not much of a deal. Tell you what: Norsiah, Barnaby and we go fifty-fifty.’

  ‘Seventy-thirty.’

  ‘Okay, Adolf, it’s a deal. Girl and dog first.’

  ‘Treasure first.’

  The German takes a paper from his pocket and unfolds it. ‘I copied it myself from the letter to you. The police have the original. Listen. In the woods of virginity, you may dig out a greater treasure than hidden by any pirate. To find it, follow the way of a lonely orchid. Branch left, continue to the dog stone and uncover the ground. You vill reveal the riddle.’

  Now is the time for a drop-kick to the rising sun and a forearm smash to the iron jaw – or I could just reveal the riddle. ‘It refers to the Botanic Gardens. There is a path in the virgin forest known for an orchid that only grows alone and far above the crowd. A bit like a wandering samurai. The path branches and on the left branch there is a stone that looks like a dog. That’s where the treasure is buried. I have not looked myself; I’m being watched by that little creep Li Fang and the police.’ Surely only Long John Silver could ever take this nonsense seriously. ‘Fifty-fifty, Adolf. Okay?’