Maria looked around the hall. It was gloomy and grimy. Dust and cobwebs everywhere, and the furniture looked greasy. A flash of the misery of Flora’s existence in this grim house passed through her mind.
‘I’m a nurse. Two colleagues and I are staying in Singapore for two years on a working contract at the hospital not far from here. We need a place to live. This is what we can afford.’
Pearl nodded. ‘We don’ fix up,’ she said, pointing to the house.
‘No, not necessary,’ Maria said.
Pearl said something to Cyril and Stella. Cyril shrugged. He looked tired, worn out. Stella smiled nervously.
‘Do you want to look around?’ Cyril said. Maria nodded. Yes, indeed I do, she thought.
She went into the living room which led off the kitchen. There was a table and three chairs, an ancient sofa and a television. It was on but the sound was down. The house was filthy. The floor had obviously not been swept in months. There was food lying around the kitchen. Pearl had turned off the gas under the frying pan. Cyril went back to the sofa and sat down. She heard the sound of the television go up as she followed Pearl. They went up the stairs. Maria was careful to touch nothing, keeping both hands on her bag to be sure she didn’t forget and unconsciously hold on to the stair rail. There were three small bedrooms up here. Pearl and Cyril in one, she guessed, Stella in the other and the third was filled with stuff.
Downstairs, they went through to the backyard which was nothing more than earth covered in dirty loose tiles. The toilet and bathroom were off the yard to one side. Next to the toilet was a tiny room with a small window.
Maria stopped. This had been Flora’s room, she knew it. It was small and dark and damp, like a tomb. It wasn’t fit for any living thing. She felt sorrow seep into her bones.
She followed Pearl back to the living room. Cyril didn’t turn down the TV.
‘It needs a clean,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have a maid?’
Stella and Pearl exchanged a quick glance. Maria saw it. Cyril didn’t move, but something in his stillness told her instantly that she had made a mistake. She should not have mentioned a maid. It had just come blurting out. She wanted to see something, guilt, remorse, anything.
‘No,’ said Pearl. ‘Maid is thief and lazy. No good.’
Maria nodded. She felt sweat break out on her neck and silently cursed herself.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed. The roof is sound?’ Cyril looked up at her, his eyes expressionless. ‘The roof’s fine. Take it or leave it.’
Maria felt his hostility. Despite his skinny frame and sunken chest, he had an air of malevolence. He was unsettling and it took all her willpower not to wipe her face or show her anxiety.
Pearl glanced at her husband, a quick movement of her eyes, up, down. Maria knew that the roof was probably not fine. It didn’t matter.
‘OK. Please call the agent tomorrow and get the sign removed, explain you’ve changed your mind. My cousin is a lawyer here in Singapore. His money is helping us and he will draw up all the paperwork free of charge.’
Pearl looked at Cyril like a little dog. She saw dollar signs and was desperate to get out. It occurred to Maria that, with a husband in gaol for such a disgusting crime, her life had been very difficult round here: pointed out, gossiped about, her children far away. Maybe the beauty salon lost customers. Poor thing, she thought with a remorseless lack of pity.
Cyril said nothing for a moment. Pearl’s face started to get angry. She barked something sharp at him.
‘I’ll come back at six tomorrow,’ Maria said. ‘If the sign is still up I will look elsewhere. Otherwise I’ll call my cousin and we can be ready to go immediately.’
Cyril seemed to make up his mind. He waved his hand.
‘Six.’
Maria nodded and turned to go. She was at the doorstep when she realised Cyril was behind her, with the gate key.
‘I know your accent. You’re a Filipina, right?’ he said, opening the gate. Maria felt a repulsion at his proximity and a trickle of alarm. She moved through the gate quickly onto the street. Outside she felt a degree of safety. Her disgust of him rose.
She managed to look into his face. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why?’
He shook his head silently. Maria thought she detected a shadow move across his face but in the half-light, she couldn’t tell if she’d imagined it.
He locked the gate and she walked down the street. As she turned the corner she looked quickly back. He was standing at the gate staring at her and, despite her bravado, she felt a shudder go through her.
Chapter 7
Maria was filled with foreboding. She was sure now that she and Martin had underestimated Cyril Lim. She should have picked up the package on her last visit. This return to the factory was not in the plan and she had cursed herself.
It was ten in the morning but dark, rain falling steadily but quietly. Maria pushed into the bushes of the culvert. She was about to cross when, from the corner of her eye, she detected movement and melted back into hiding. Cyril Lim turned the corner and stood staring along the culvert. The water was gurgling and splashing in the drain but she put her hand over her mouth to stifle any sound.
Cyril put his foot onto the small path which flanked the culvert and traced the factory wall. Suddenly lightning flashed across the sky, a wind sprang up and the heavens opened. A tropical rain began to fall, strong and blinding. Maria was drenched in seconds. Yet Lim did not retreat. His shadowy figure moved along the path. When he got to the padlocked door, he put out a hand and shook the lock. He was standing, his bony back to hers, not more than six steps away. They were both shrouded by the violent force and deafening din of the rain. She feared him. In a blinding flash, she realised this one important fact: despite his skinny frame he was an object of fear, for he could cause injury and death with an unemotional and relentless determination. She quietly moved back, further into the depth of the bushes. He was suspicious, this much she knew. Which meant that their plans were in jeopardy.
He shook the lock again and from the bush her rain-soaked face stared through the branches and leaves at the indistinct shape of his back. She desperately wished Martin was here. She felt her resolution flow out of her like the water streaming down her body. Then suddenly he turned and she froze on the spot, her eyes staring into his. He had seen her, she was sure, and panic brought bile into her throat. But he moved away, back down the culvert, back towards his house.
Maria fell to her knees, her breath heaving. She watched him disappear like a ghost into the heavy rain. She waited a minute more, then gathered her courage and stepped across the culvert and put the key to the lock. Her hand was shaking so hard the key would not go in. She looked down at the lock and up, along the culvert, convinced that any minute, he would step out of the rain and take her by the throat. Tears of panic joined the streaming rain on her face and as the key engaged the lock, she stifled a groan of relief, went inside and threw across the bolt.
He had seen the padlock. If he came back again he would know. This thought hit her the instant she was inside. She looked at the dripping object in her hand. All the ground floor windows were barred. She pulled out her pencil torch, ran to the front of the building and looked outside. The deluge even blotted out the houses across the street. The rain might keep him inside for the moment but she knew, absolutely, when it stopped he would be back.
She went to the box in the corner, pulled out the package and slipped it into her bag. Then she grabbed the big torch and began a tour of the outer walls of the building. The rain was pounding on the roof. It was deafening. She could see no other way of getting into the building. Martin had done all this before. She should have stuck to the plan.
She heard the rain lessen and her brain went into hyperspeed. Get out, get out. She cursed herself. Half of her had wanted to see them again. Maybe that was why she’d forgotten the package. She’d wanted to watch them, to see them on their last day, like God watches mortals
before the hour of their death, like humans watch cockroaches scurrying before squashing them.
She ran to the door and put her hand on the bolt. The rain was still falling but less so now. She hesitated. What if he was on the other side of the door? She was instantly filled with fearful indecision. She flashed the light around and walked quickly to a metal stairway leading upstairs. She raced to the side of the building and looked down. The view was limited. Without opening the window she could not see directly below. The sun suddenly pierced the clouds and she let out a cry of anguish.
She ran downstairs. There was no time to lose. She pulled back the bolt silently and took a deep breath. If he was on the other side she would beat his brains out with the torch and pull him into the building. She found her courage and opened the door quickly. There was no one there and she put her head out and glanced along the culvert. In an instant she had thrown on the padlock and disappeared into the bushes. She ran as fast as she could away from the factory and didn’t stop, wet and mud-splashed, until she saw the main street ahead. She realised she was still gripping the torch like a cudgel; she slowed down and dropped it into her bag.
Chapter 8
Martin was furious with her. At her hotel she’d called him, her hands still shaking, her voice anguished. Then he calmed down and so did she. His flight would arrive at 15.30. He would pose as the lawyer and they would go together. They had planned it carefully. He was staying the usual stopover time of one night, flying back on the 18.30 flight the next day. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary.
She showered. She checked her bag twice. Everything was ready. She went into the street and ate something soupy with rice, checking her watch every few minutes. Finally, she decided to go. Martin would meet her in the park at 17.45.
The rain had departed and the afternoon was dewy fresh, a light wind blowing, the sun casting long shadows under the trees. She walked quickly down Lorong Makam and glanced at the house as she passed onto the bridge. The ‘For Sale or Rent’ sign was gone.
She sat on a bench in the park and stared at the back of the houses. It was 17.15. She rose and began to pace along the edge of the trees. Some children with their maid came screaming down the path and made for the playground a few minutes away. 17.45 came and went. As the hands of her watch crept towards six o’clock, Maria rose. Where was he?
She looked into her bag again. The three injection pens were prepared. The etorphine had been brought in by Martin on one of his flights. It was easy. The veterinary drug was so powerful, only the tiniest amounts were required. A drop on human skin would kill instantly.
‘Maria.’
She turned and cried out in relief. She fell into his arms. He smoothed her hair and waited.
‘Martin, thank God.’ Martin released her. He took her hand. ‘It’s time, Maria. Where the offence is, let the great axe fall.’
Chapter 9
The house was quiet. It felt empty. Martin and Maria exchanged a glance. Martin went to the door and rang the bell. Nothing happened. Then the front door opened slowly and Stella looked outside. When she recognised Maria, she came towards the gate, standing silently, motionless.
Maria was amazed at Martin’s reaction. He looked at Stella.
‘Well. Are you proceeding with this matter or shall we go?’
He was forceful, aloof, lawyerish. He looked at his watch and pursed his lips. Pearl appeared on the doorstep.
‘Have to wait my husband. My husband say wait him come lah,’ she said. Martin looked over Stella to Pearl.
‘Mrs Lim, is it? Are we proceeding?’
Martin took an envelope from his pocket and waved it at her. His voice took an angry tone. Maria realised he knew exactly what he was doing. He had watched these women more than her. He knew them. He knew they were weak, that they would do what a man ordered. That they had stood watching as Flora was beaten and murdered. He hated them even more than she did.
‘Are you wasting my time?’
When Pearl hesitated, he put the envelope back into his pocket and turned. He took Maria’s arm and began to walk away. At the sound of the key in the lock he smiled grimly.
‘OK, OK. Come. Wait my husband.’
Martin and Maria glanced at each other. They turned back. The gate was open. Stella closed it carefully, put the key in her pocket and went ahead with Pearl. The instant the front door closed, Maria took one syringe into her hand. She was no longer nervous. This was the clinical part and it was easy. Stella was trailing Pearl. Maria plunged the needle into her back and pushed. Martin lowered her deftly to the floor. Within a few seconds, Maria had put the second needle into Pearl and her body slumped to the floor.
These disgusting women were gone. She had not the slightest feeling for them.
‘We should move the bodies now,’ Martin said. Maria looked at Martin. ‘What about Cyril?’
‘We’ll get him later. The turd.’
‘No,’ Maria said and her voice filled with alarm. ‘Don’t underestimate him. You haven’t seen him close up. He’s smarter than you think.’
Martin shrugged, took the key from Stella’s pocket, opened the gate and peered out into the street. He came back and draped Stella’s skinny limp body over his shoulder. Maria raced ahead, along the culvert and opened the lock, pushing in the door. Martin rolled Stella inside. It took no more than a minute. Pearl was heavy. They had to carry her, armpits and feet, swung between them. Maria kept darting glances all around. It wasn’t until Pearl was inside the factory that she stopped to breathe in relief.
She was about to speak when they both heard it. A noise. Someone was inside the factory! The sound of movement came to them from the vast black depths.
Maria looked at Martin. She opened her hands, indicating that her bag was not with her. He shook his head. She had left the bag with the final syringe inside the house. She made a plunger motion with her hand and shook her head. He understood. He motioned her to go, cracked open the door and peered outside. Maria hesitated. She didn’t want to leave him. They were both certain that it was Cyril inside the factory. He pushed her outside and closed the door quietly.
Maria had never run so fast in her life. It was getting dark. She stopped and flattened herself against the wall. Something was wrong. She was certain she’d shut the gate after taking Pearl outside, and now it stood half open. Maybe she’d made a mistake. The mind played tricks. She ran the scene back in her head but before she could come to any conclusion, suddenly a light went on in the courtyard and, before she could move, Cyril Lim appeared in the gateway. She saw her bag in one of his hands. In the other was the unused syringe. There was no time to think of anything sensible.
From the darkness she shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist. He dropped the bag and syringe to the ground. He grabbed Maria’s arm and pulled her into the courtyard. He was much stronger than he looked. The back of his fist landed hard against the side of her head. She felt an explosion of pain in her ear and cheek, and fell to the earth with a loud cry.
He stood over her. ‘Where’s my wife? Who the fuck are you?’ He was screaming.
Her bag was lying by the gate. Her head was ringing from the blow. She tried to get up but her neck felt wobbly. She could see the syringe lying just out of her reach.
Cyril came close and stared down at her. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
She saw his foot go back. He was going to kick her in the ribs. She flinched. She was going to die like Flora. No! The word screamed inside her head. She scrambled and pulled towards the syringe. As her fingers clutched it, she saw Cyril’s leg go back, his knee bend and heard the roar of his anger. She rolled into a ball and closed her eyes. But his foot never reached her.
‘You fucking monster,’ Martin said.
Maria opened her eyes and saw Cyril sprawled on the ground. She watched as Martin quickly pulled Cyril to his feet. Martin was young and strong. Cyril was like a rag in his hands. Martin pulled back his fist and struck Cyril in the stomach. Two heavy body punches.
He dropped to the floor and groaned, blood coming from his mouth.
Martin came to her and helped her up.
‘You all right?’
Maria made a quick medical examination of herself. ‘OK. Big bruise and swelling tomorrow but nothing broken. If he’d landed his kick … thank God you came.’
‘The noise in the factory? It was goddamn owls. A lot of the windows upstairs are broken.’
They both stood and looked at Cyril. He was wiping his mouth and staring up at them. Martin went forward, grabbed Cyril under the armpits and dragged him into the house. Maria locked the front gate, picked up her bag, put the syringe inside and followed, shutting the door.
Cyril had got to a sitting position, his back to the wall.
‘Who are you? Why?’ His voice was rasping.
Martin took a step forward and slapped his face hard.
‘You stupid dumb fuck. Who do you think we are? You killed Flora, our sister.’
Cyril held his face and stared at Martin and Maria.
‘Accident. It was an accident. I paid. I went to prison. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘Accident. You piece of shit,’ Martin yelled at him. ‘Torture, murder? Shut the fuck up,’ Martin pulled back his fist again. Cyril cowered. Maria put out her hand to Martin’s.
Martin lowered his fist and stared at Cyril.
‘Shall we torture him, Maria? Like he tortured Flora? A couple of hours. Crack his bones. Get something sharp and hot to fry his skin.’
Cyril let out a load groan.
‘No, please. Please.’
Maria looked down at him. ‘Why, Cyril? Why did you treat her that way? She was just a little girl.’
She felt a sob in her throat.
Cyril shook his head. This was the question she wanted answered.
‘She was here. I didn’t mean to kill her.’
Maria nodded. Of course, it was as simple as that. Day by day, her powerlessness, her availability for degradation were there, too tempting to pass up in his sick brain.
Maria took the surgical gloves from her bag and handed one set to Martin. They put them on carefully. Cyril’s eyes opened wide. Then Maria took the syringe from her bag. Cyril flinched and let out a cry.
Crime Scene: Singapore Page 19