Waiting for Venus - A Novel

by Robert Cooper

  Madhu opens the bathroom door and pokes his head inside. Venus screams beautifully. ‘It’s all right,’ I say reassuringly, ‘just Madhu looking around. There’s been a burglary at Chin’s.’

  ‘Please excuse me, Mrs Goh. I had no idea anybody was here.’ Madhu averts his gaze but lets it linger on the mirror’s reflected image of Venus up to her neck in suds.

  ‘I’ll get dressed and be right out,’ Venus says pleasantly.

  Madhu pronounces the house ‘clean’ – quite a stretch of imagination given my failure to replace Norsiah – and returns to his topped-up whisky.

  Venus trips in wearing my best sarong tucked in above the left breast, Malay-style, her hair twisted up and held in place by a single chopstick. She sits with legs to one side, as cool, prim and proper as any married woman can be on emerging from her presumed lover’s bath to face the police. She smiles so charmingly at Madhu he blushes. ‘Been a break-in at Chin’s,’ he summarises.

  ‘That explains the screams earlier,’ Venus says as if that’s okay then. ‘But how terrible for them. I’d just been with them at the studio recording an interview. Doctor Chin’s book about Singapore University will be officially launched this Saturday. We’ll show the launch live along with a recorded interview with Chin and his wife Agnes. Anyway, notice was short and we could only fit in this evening. I don’t see how the thieves could have known the Chins were away – unless their maid told them. I only called about 7.00 tonight and Chin came immediately. After the recording, I dropped by here.’

  ‘And everybody was here, Mrs Goh?’

  ‘Oh yes, even Barnaby. Just as they are now.’

  Madhu thanks me for the whisky and returns to the scene of the crime. With Madhu gone, the flat secure and the kitchen light turned off, I bring out Bernard’s manuscript and place it side by side with my advance copy of Chin’s version on the dining table. ‘Now let’s see the difference between the master and the thief.’

  Chin greatly assists our review. He’d left in place paper clips on those pages edited. We crowd over the manuscript as K turns the pages. It’s like one of those games where you spot the differences between two pictures that on first glance look the same. The changes are easy to spot.

  Bernard had gone into the Japanese occupation period in depth, naming all collaborators who had anything to do with the university. Some names are very familiar. Ra’mad is not given much space but is described as ‘a brilliant young chemist who left a Welsh wife in the United Kingdom when he returned from exile to become a member of KRIS, a pro-Japanese anti-British movement that envisaged a Greater Malaya stretching from Thailand across Borneo and encompassing all the Indonesian and colonial islands as far south as Australia. Bernard’s handwriting is clearly visible in the margin. He had noted, ‘cut reference to Welsh wife, keep KRIS’.

  ‘Why cut out the bit about a wife in Wales?’ David asks.

  ‘She was a wife but not Ra’mad’s wife,’ I explain. ‘Bernard had not written to hurt unnecessarily; he intended to demonstrate the different types of nationalism that existed. Rather than write in the abstract, Bernard personified the political and racial currents. Chin’s father is in the text as a supporter of Chinese nationalism.’

  ‘You’re explaining Bernard’s self-editing,’ K steps in. ‘But how do you explain Chin’s? Why would Chin have cut out anything about Ra’mad? Chin and Ra’mad are hardly mates. Past membership of KRIS and dallies with somebody’s Welsh wife won’t send Ra’mad to the gallows but it could shadow the last years of his career – some say KRIS gave information to the Japanese that led to the deaths of many Chinese. Chin’s version names no collaborators.’

  ‘Perhaps Chin got things cleared through security. Security might avoid discussion of race. The debate on a quota of places for Malays at Singapore University takes up twenty pages in Bernard’s manuscript and is reduced to a two-line statement in Chin’s book. Perhaps Internal Security had a hand in editing. What’s more, the editing’s in good English, which suggests Chin didn’t make all the changes.’

  The university’s past involvement in anti-communist research, detailed by Bernard, is sliced out of the Chin version, as is any opposition to moving the university away from town. Bernard had set out the arguments for movement as well as the reasons for remaining. The decision to move is presented in the Chin version as beyond controversy.

  Hardly a hint of nostalgia is to be found in the Chin copy, from which K reads the conclusion out loud. ‘One era is over, another is underway. Faculty members have unanimously welcomed the opportunity to move with the times to the new modern campus. The university, like the airport, could not remain stuck in its past. Already plans for both airport and university are receiving international acclaim for foresight. It is such forward-planning that marks the progress of the university and Singapore.’

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ David says, ‘Chin didn’t write that.’

  At two in the morning, we call it a night. The penned-in notes are all in Bernard’s hand. The typeface will assuredly match that on Bernard’s typewriter. There is evidence in abundance that Chin stole Bernard’s work.

  ‘Well,’ yawns David. ‘What do we do with this? Hand it over to Super Wong?’

  Venus has a serious note in her voice. ‘I’m not sure you realise publication of parts of Bernard’s original manuscript might be considered against national interests. In Singapore, we have long memories and like to bury past mistakes, not publicise them. Reasonable people like Superintendent Wong – and me – think dirty clothes should be washed but not in public. Don’t expect Wong to act outside of Internal Security.’

  I say that nobody wants to take on the state security apparatus, only to nab Chin for theft and possibly murder. ‘I feel sure Wong places justice before problems raised by the content of Bernard’s manuscript.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ adds Venus. ‘You don’t get to be superintendent, acting dean, or news anchor with SBC or even manager of Guild House unless you run with the pack, or appear to do so.’

  K, as usual, settles things. ‘I hear all you say, Venus love. What’s important is to bring Chin to justice. If that’s done publicly or privately, never mind. Who cares if the cat is black or white as long as it catches mice.’

  ‘Chin’s cats are grey,’ says David, helpfully deflating the serious tone.

  ‘In that case,’ K concludes, ‘I’m going home for some beauty sleep.’

  ‘Don’t forget your bag and stuff,’ I say.

  ‘Where did you hide it?’

  ‘In the bath suds with Venus.’

  K disappears into the bathroom and returns with the bag dripping wet. In his hand is the package David had lifted from Chin’s safe. He makes a show of opening the cloth wrapping. ‘Well, well, what have we here?’

  ‘It’s a World War II Luger.’ I say, ‘Don’t touch it.’

  28

  Sinking a Launch

  ‘WHAT PLEASURE it gives me to see us gathered together this evening to recognise the work of a colleague.’ The Vice-Chancellor, standing in K’s living room, conscious of the bright lights and camera, inflects his speech like a dearly beloved vicar addressing his flock at harvest festival, about to unveil the winner of the biggest pumpkin award. It’s normal enough: a reception to launch Chin’s book. Very abnormal is that it takes place at the home of his greatest enemy.

  ‘Doctor Kingsley Woolf, who will soon be pursuing his career in other parts of the globe, has kindly provided his home and hospitality for this launch of Dr Chin’s latest book, which tells the story of our university. Doctor Woolf has asked me to lead this congratulation and I thank him for it. Doctor Woolf’s wife is currently in the maternity ward about to give birth and Doctor Woolf will be leaving us early to join his wife. Because nature waits for no man, woman or child, I will give the floor to Doctor Woolf to lead the toast to Doctor Chin.’

  Siggy’s bright lights turn to K, tanned and muscle-tuned after weeks sitting in a suburban safe-house garden
and energetic ping pong competitions with his minders. K’s smiling face under silver locks denies his hatred of Chin. He leaves the company of Super Wong and goes to the VC’s side. A slight pattering of applause.

  ‘Thank you, Vice-Chancellor. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to raise a toast to the author of The Social History of Singapore University.’ K raises his glass high towards heaven. Nobody seems to notice K slipped ‘Social’ into the book’s title. The entire Faculty of Humanities is here. K, ever the thespian, swallows off his whisky and looks towards Chin, his smile unwavering. ‘Doctor Chin’s book will be on the shelves of every bookshop in Singapore tomorrow. A truly remarkable achievement. Those of you who know Harry will wonder, as do I, how he managed to produce a work of genius. There is not much chance of him telling us. Doctor Chin is far too modest for that. Indeed, so modest is he that only the VC himself could persuade him to allow this little reception in his honour. Because Doctor Chin avoids the spotlight, a little subterfuge was necessary to obtain the original manuscript of this great academic work. Harry would be the last to display his genius for all to see and I hope he will forgive my asking his charming wife, Agnes, to sneak the original manuscript to us without telling her dear husband. This manuscript has now been completely photographed and on the walls you will see blow-ups which show clearly the author’s comments and changes in his own hand. There is no better evidence of how the mind of a master chronologist works. This mind has done so much to capture the spirit of our university. We have here tonight members of the press. I would invite the media to examine the examples of genius that we have placed around the walls. I wish Doctor Chin all he truly deserves.’

  K starts to clap, the VC claps and soon the house is full of clapping. Chin’s face remains enigmatic. David, from a far corner, gargles a soft ‘Speech’, and the word spreads like a virus. Agnes is whispering in Chin’s ear. All eyes are now on him. Chin coughs. ‘Doctor Woolf, you are too much kind. Too much. I will never forget …’ Chin trails off. He has forgotten whatever he will never forget.

  Chin is saved by K’s wife and the VC. ‘Doctor Woolf, I have just been told that your wife is in labour. Please excuse my interruption.’

  K thanks the VC, bids everybody eat, drink and be merry, and squeals off in his Mustang. Chin’s aborted speech is forgotten as faces turn to the food and drink – K is never mean with his hospitality.

  As guests split into conversational twos and threes, the super guides me outside the anonymous drone of intermingling conversations. He is in civilian clothes, personally invited by K and appropriately pleasant. He holds a drink and for all anybody knows, we are talking about the two subjects that pervade conversation in Singapore at this time: how to stop births at two or less and how to be courteous – there being no causal link between the two campaigns.

  The super jumps straight in. ‘Thanks for sending me an advance copy of Chin’s book with pages marked for my attention. I read the book. Must say I thought it good. Quite a surprise though, it coming so soon after our failure to locate Bernard Fox’s manuscript on precisely the same subject and just after the break-in at Chin’s by three men and a dog.’

  ‘I think, Superintendent, we were all surprised.’

  ‘You’ll be relieved to hear we won’t be charging anybody with the robbery at Chin’s. We found the money in the maid’s room. She claimed the thieves had given it to her but could not explain why she hid it under her mattress. Chin accepts his maid’s story that she can’t remember. A girl who can’t remember probably can’t tell three Sikhs and a bloodhound from, say, three Englishmen and a street dog. Chin insists she not be charged and he keeps her on in her job. If the police are not to charge somebody caught red-handed with the loot, it’s difficult to charge anybody else – but not impossible if we set our minds to it.’

  ‘Mystifying,’ I keep my reply as short as possible.

  Wong continues. ‘Yes. But not quite as mystifying as this party and this book’s publication. I’ve talked with Chin many times since Fox’s death and at no time did he mention he was researching exactly the same history as Fox and also writing a book. And why Chin’s wife should give K the original manuscript of Chin’s book is way beyond me. I know and everybody knows Chin and Woolf are enemies. Why this charade tonight?’

  ‘Perhaps K is belatedly trying to woo Chin.’ I say. ‘You know his contract is not being renewed, don’t you? Perhaps he thinks that if he makes peace with Chin, the decision might be reversed.’

  ‘It would never work and Woolf knows it,’ the super replies with a note of don’t-play-with-me in his voice. ‘I suspect this reception tonight is less a peace offering than the opening shot in some kind of academic war Woolf is waging. I won’t question Woolf again until after the baby is born, but I would not want him – or any of you – overstepping the mark … again.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you, Superintendent.’

  ‘Then perhaps I should be as clear as Woolf’s fingerprints on golf clubs, David Bent’s fingerprints on a chisel and your dog’s hairs all over a house she’s never been in. Perhaps I should be as clear as ten to fifteen years in prison. Now, tell me why Chin’s wife gave Woolf the manuscript.’ When he wants to, the super can be pretty damn clear.

  ‘Would you believe me if I say I don’t know?’

  ‘No,’ the super answers. ‘Although I would believe you if you tell me the four of you – Woolf, David, Venus and you – held a council of war at which you all decided Chin’s book plagiarises Bernard Fox’s manuscript. I would also believe you if you told me Woolf played a particularly nasty trick on Chin’s wife, involving a Uher tape recorder in your wardrobe with your knowledge. I could also believe that you entered Chin’s house while Chin and his wife were conveniently absent in SBC studios and stole the manuscript. I would also have no trouble in believing you hid the manuscript in your flat, had a bath and lied to Madhu.’

  I gape. ‘How …’

  ‘How do I know? Don’t forget your flat is wired. With your consent and for your protection.’

  ‘But I turned off the kitchen light …’ I stop.

  ‘When engaged in conspiracy? Yes, I am aware that you’ve been turning on and off the kitchen light. Strange habit but not against the law.’

  ‘Turning off the light deactivates the microphones.’

  ‘Oh dear, you are mixed up. Our mikes are voice-activated. Turning off the kitchen light won’t switch them off. Has somebody been giving you false information?

  I look the super in the eyes. ‘You did.’

  ‘Did I now. I don’t seem to remember.’

  ‘So, you have weeks of my life on tape somewhere?’

  ‘Yes. But nice and safe. I’m the only one who has access.’

  ‘What about the policeman upstairs?’

  ‘We moved him out as soon as we realised using you as a decoy was not going to lead us to the war loot.’

  ‘But you have it already. K gave it to you. I thought I was a decoy to catch Düsseldorf and Nagasaki.’

  ‘That too. But, as you know, that particular threat was removed even before the listening device was installed.’

  ‘Sorry, come again?’ I am getting worried.

  ‘You didn’t know? Seems your persecutors fell under a large rock and then blew themselves up. Scared the shit out of the courting couples who reported it. Never made the news. One scoop your Venus missed.’

  ‘If you moved out the policeman, who has been listening in on my private life? Not Ra’mad?’

  ‘No, not Ra’mad. Everything said in your flat is relayed directly to a sealed recorder in my office. Only I have access.’

  The super leaves no room for manoeuvre. He can clearly pull us all in if he wishes. Perhaps he is happy with the way things turned out; perhaps he is giving us enough rope to hang ourselves.

  ‘Might I suggest, Superintendent, you keep the original manuscript and compare the typeface with that of the typewriter on Bernard Fox’s desk. You might also compare the ma
rgin notes with Bernard’s handwriting, which is quite different to that of Chin.’

  The super’s tone is friendly when he warns. ‘Please leave things to the police from now on, all right?’

  Before I can agree, Siggy moves in with his camera and Wong moves away. ‘Doctor Haddock. Lovely to see you again. I’ve been trying to corner you. Venus can’t come. She said you’d understand. She also said to tell you the Richard thing is over.’

  ‘You mean Richard is dead?’

  ‘Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. Good thing, too.’

  ‘Good for me if not for him. I just hope Venus feels okay. Maybe she’ll miss those Sunday sessions at the Nursing Home, but in the long run she’ll be free of her past. I suppose now she’ll have all the funeral stuff to get through.’

  ‘Can’t see her going that far. After all, it wasn’t as if he really existed other than in her mind. I think the Sunday sessions will continue for a while, and maybe she’ll need a bit more time before she jumps into bed. But you’ve waited this long, a bit longer might be on the cards, depends how she feels.’

  ‘Why would the Sunday sessions continue? Or is Richard’s body still there? They kept Ra’mad’s wife weeks before it was released.’

  ‘Eh? I’m not quite following you, Dr Haddock.’

  ‘The body. Surely no need for an autopsy.’

  ‘Body?’

  ‘Richard. I can’t see the need for an autopsy, not after two years in a coma nobody expected him to come out of.’

  Siggy gives me a long look. ‘You know all that stuff was just in her mind, don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry, Siggy, now I’m the one not following. We all know Richard was in Holland Park Nursing Home and he’d been in a coma for two years. I have no idea how he got into a coma, but I understand why she felt she had to visit every Sunday.’

  Siggy is now looking at me strangely. ‘Wait a minute,’ he says and pauses, although not for a minute. ‘You don’t really think there ever was a Richard, do you?’