by Jake Needham
“How did Goodnight-Jones get involved with this company?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to more substantive matters.
“I’m not sure. About two years ago, he closed his practice in Sydney, then he turned up here in Singapore as chairman of The Future.”
“Because he knows a lot about driverless cars?”
“More likely because he knows a lot about companies and how to hide their real ownership.”
“What do you think of Goodnight-Jones?”
“I’ve never met him. Never even talked to him. I made the appointment through his secretary. I’m a writer with the Wall Street Journal is a magical phrase. It opens every door.”
“So you don’t know how cooperative he’ll be.”
“I’d guess wonderfully cooperative as long as we’re talking about the company. No doubt considerably less cooperative when I ask him about Tyler Bartlett.”
“Then that’s why you wanted me here? To ask him about Tyler Bartlett?”
“Yeah,” Emma chuckled. “When I give you the signal, beat a confession out of him.”
Tay cleared his throat. “Believe it or not, it was a serious question.”
Emma cut her eyes at Tay, but she said nothing.
“I need to know what you expect me to do, Emma.”
“Look, you’re an experienced detective. You’ve probably interviewed thousands of witnesses, and hundreds of victims and perpetrators. I have no doubt you have a sixth sense for when people are lying.”
Tay said nothing.
“I just want you to listen to the guy, Sam. Watch him. If you see a way to push him, do it. Jump in any time. Whatever you do, I’ll just go with it.”
“What if he realizes I’m a policeman?”
“My God, are you that famous?”
“Not famous, no. But I ask questions like a policeman, not like a researcher for a newspaper. And it’s obvious I’m a local. He’ll put it together.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll be so flattered at being interviewed by the Wall Street Journal that he’ll never think of that.”
Tay wasn’t so sure.
They walked past a pub that was open to the sidewalk. Tall tables surrounded by high stools spilled out into the sunlight. Although it wasn’t even eleven yet, a few of the tables were already occupied by young men, mostly Caucasians, their sleeves rolled up and their ties loosened, with pint glasses of beer in front of them. A sandy-haired kid Tay figured for a Brit working at a local stockbroker smiled at Emma and tried to catch her eye. When she didn’t appear to notice him, he half rose from his stool to approach her. Tay gave the kid his deadeye cop stare and the kid sat straight back down.
Tay didn’t think Emma had noticed, but then she gave him a little shove with her shoulder.
“Damn it all, Sam, how am I ever going to meet a nice fellow if you keep doing that kind of thing?”
The Future was located in a building that looked more like the past.
It was a bland, unremarkable structure of about a dozen stories with a concrete facade, large panes of bronzed glass, and a Jet Airways office on the ground floor. Tay followed Emma across the small lobby into the elevator. On the sixth floor, there was a pair of glass doors that opened into a reception room. THE FUTURE was emblazoned across the far wall in bright purple script.
Zachery Goodnight-Jones kept them waiting, of course. Twenty minutes was the standard period to show a caller the importance of the person they were calling on. Sure enough, exactly twenty minutes after Tay and Emma took their seats, the receptionist’s telephone buzzed and the young woman escorted them back to the chairman’s office.
Goodnight-Jones came around the desk to greet Emma. Tay lagged a few steps behind to give himself a chance to size the man up. Goodnight-Jones was of average height and build with a high forehead and thinning, sandy-colored hair brushed straight back from his slightly pink face. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt, a gray waistcoat, and black trousers. Instead of a necktie, the folds of a gray and black checked cravat billowed below his chin and disappeared down behind his waistcoat. Tay couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a man wearing a cravat. It looked like Goodnight-Jones was wearing a silk towel wrapped around his neck.
Emma and Goodnight-Jones shook hands, and Emma handed him her business card. “This is Sam Tay,” she said. “He’s a researcher who’s helping me with our story.”
Tay and Goodnight-Jones shook and nodded at each other the way men do when they first meet. Tay thought Goodnight-Jones hesitated just a beat before they shook, but he wasn’t certain about that. Perhaps it was only his imagination.
Goodnight-Jones studied Emma’s business card, glancing back and forth from it to her face a couple of times. The way he did it made Tay think of an immigration officer examining a passport. When he had exhausted the card’s potential, Goodnight-Jones slipped it into the breast pocket of his shirt.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone else to this interview,” he said to Emma.
“Your secretary didn’t ask me. You don’t mind, do you?”
Tay saw what he thought was that beat of hesitation again. This time he was sure of it.
“No, of course not,” Goodnight-Jones said. “I’m happy to meet you both.”
The three of them took seats around a small conference table. After the coffee and tea ritual was complete, Emma removed a notebook and pen from her purse and launched into a spiel about the imaginary article the Wall Street Journal was supposedly thinking of doing on driverless cars.
“Please understand,” she finished, “Sam and I are only scouting the story, and we’re just collecting general background at this point. If our proposal interests my editor, we’ll return for an in-depth interview with you and ask to meet with some members of your staff.”
Goodnight-Jones leaned back, rearranged the set of his face into a look that Tay thought was both skeptical and slightly greasy, and said, “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
Emma flipped open her notebook. “Perhaps we could begin with you giving us a general explanation of your driverless car project.”
When Goodnight-Jones began talking, Tay paid absolutely no attention to what he said since doubtless it would be well-practiced patter without much substance. Instead, Tay focused on the sound of his voice and the set of his face.
Zachery Goodnight-Jones had a voice so smooth and mellow Tay could almost hear ice clinking against a whiskey glass when he talked. Tay had no trouble imagining him as a high dollar solicitor. In fact, he couldn’t imagine him as anything else. They had barely begun and Tay was already certain they would learn nothing from Goodnight-Jones that would be helpful or even particularly interesting.
Still… there was something beyond the words Goodnight-Jones was saying that bothered Tay in a visceral way. There was darkness in the man’s eyes, and Tay wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had never been able to decide whether men were born evil or they made themselves evil in return for getting something they wanted, but Goodnight-Jones looked like a man who did know. Watching him, Tay felt the presence of something big and foul that tainted the very air he was breathing.
“When can we expect to see the first driverless car on the streets of Singapore?” Tay heard Emma asking when he tuned back in to the conversation.
“It’s much too soon to say,” Goodnight-Jones answered.
“Are you in touch with Google about the work they’re doing with the same technology?” Emma asked.
“Why would you say it’s the same technology?”
“It isn’t?”
Goodnight-Jones just smiled.
“Have you had any contact with Google about the concept of driverless cars?”
“No.”
Emma busied herself for a moment writing in her notebook. Tay assumed it was mostly for show since he couldn’t imagine what Goodnight-Jones had said that was worth writing down.
“How many people do you employ here in Singapore?” she asked when she
stopped writing.
“About fifty.”
“Doing what kind of work?”
“Mostly software design. There’s support staff, too, of course.”
“And how many people in your other facilities?”
“This is the only facility.”
Emma paused a moment and glanced at Tay. He couldn’t imagine why she had.
“How did you become chairman of The Future?” she continued.
“I was offered the position, and I accepted.”
“Offered the position by who?”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to be specific about that.”
“Do you have an engineering background?”
“No.”
“Do you have a background in the automotive industry, or perhaps in software design?”
“I have the feeling you already know I don’t.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult, sir. I’m simply trying to understand why a high-tech start-up like The Future would hire an Australian solicitor and bring him to Singapore to become its chairman. How do you fit in around here?”
“I fit in around here very well.”
“I meant, sir, what do you do here?”
“I manage the company.”
“Who are the major shareholders of The Future?”
“This is a privately held company. We don’t disclose who our shareholders are.”
Emma put on a puzzled expression, although Tay knew very well she had been expecting Goodnight-Jones to say exactly that.
“Couldn’t you at least give me the names of the largest ones?”
“No.”
“Are your shareholders individuals or other corporations?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Private equity funds?”
Goodnight-Jones smiled, but said nothing.
“Governments?”
Goodnight-Jones remained silent, but Tay saw a flash of something in his eyes at Emma’s mention of governments.
Did that mean The Future did have a direct connection with some government? Tay wasn’t sure what the implications of that might be even if it were true. They were less than ten minutes into this conversation and already he felt like he was out of his depth.
Emma scribbled in her notebook and then, without looking up, asked, “Since Tyler Bartlett was one of your key software developers, did his death set back your program?”
Goodnight-Jones threw back his head and laughed loudly, but Tay could hear no humor in the sound.
“So that’s what this is really all about.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” Emma said, keeping her face expressionless.
“You can drop the act, young lady. It’s obvious you are not interested in our work here, but I wasn’t sure what you were interested in until you asked about Tyler Bartlett. If that’s what you wanted to interview me about, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Because you probably would have refused to see me.”
“Exactly right.”
Goodnight-Jones stood, but he did not offer his hand.
“Good day to you both. Thank you for your interest in The Future.”
Emma closed her notebook and returned it to her purse, taking her time about it. Then she glanced at Tay and they both rose to their feet.
Goodnight-Jones crossed his office, opened the door, and led them back out to the reception area.
“And thank you for coming, too, Inspector Tay,” he said. “I hope I was successful in satisfying your curiosity about… well, whatever it was you were curious about.”
Emma looked at Tay.
“Damn it, Sam, you told me you weren’t famous.”
Tay shrugged and stabbed his finger at the elevator button.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TAY WAS AT home that afternoon sitting in a high-backed leather chair, smoking a Marlboro, and thinking about Emma’s interview with Zachery Goodnight-Jones when his doorbell rang. He and Emma had agreed as they parted outside The Future that she would come by later, so without his usual second thoughts Tay got up and went outside to open the gate.
It wasn’t Emma. A young man who looked to be Malaysian was standing there instead. He was wearing dark glasses and a white long-sleeved dress shirt with a nondescript blue tie, and he was holding an identity card up next to his face.
“Good afternoon, Inspector Tay.”
Tay nodded. It annoyed him that he couldn’t see the kid’s ID from where he was standing. He really was going to have to think about getting glasses, whether he wanted to or not.
“Philip Goh wonders if you could spare him a few minutes,” the young man said.
Philip Goh was a man who was high up in the Internal Security Department of the Ministry of Home Affairs, although Tay wasn’t certain exactly how high. Tay wasn’t certain of much when it came to ISD.
The Ministry of Home Affairs acknowledged that ISD existed, but that was about it. ISD didn’t even appear in the Singapore Government Directory. Officially, ISD’s job was to collect intelligence and protect Singapore against threats to its internal security, things like espionage and terrorism. Unofficially, ISD was Singapore’s secret police force.
The Internal Security Department cultivated an air of mystery that Tay thought was downright silly. Even the identity of the Director of ISD was kept a secret while he held his position, although after he left office he was quickly identified so he could be showered with congratulations for a job well done. Tay knew he could find out who the current director was easily enough, but the truth was he didn’t really care.
“He wants to see me today?” Tay asked.
“Actually,” the young man said, “Mr. Goh asked me to bring you to New Phoenix Park right now.”
New Phoenix Park was what everyone called the heavily secured compound of the Ministry of Home Affairs. That compound was, among other things, the headquarters of the Singapore police force. The Cantonment Complex, where Tay had his office, housed only CID and the Central Narcotics Bureau. All the rest of police operations were run from New Phoenix Park.
But Tay knew that perfectly well this kid wasn’t here to take him to police headquarters. New Phoenix Park was also ISD headquarters. Tay hadn’t seen Goh in a year, not since he had gotten tangled up in the matter that had eventually resulted in the shooting that got him suspended, twice now, but he remembered that Goh’s office was on the fourth floor of a building at New Phoenix Park that had an unforgettably charming and picturesque name: C Block.
What was going on here? Maybe Kang had been right about ISD having him under surveillance. Then all at once a deeply unhappy thought occurred to Tay.
ISD had extraordinary powers under the Internal Security Act to detain people more or less indefinitely without charges. They were exactly the sort of powers that would never have been given to any government agency under American or British law, the kind of government powers of which real democracies were deeply and justifiably suspicious. In Singapore, however, no one questioned those powers.
Was ISD detaining him for some reason? Surely not. Detaining a CID inspector would be a major scandal. At least it would if anyone knew he had been detained, which come to think of it they might not.
The kid may have noticed a brief look of alarm cross Tay’s face so he went on in what he apparently thought of as a soothing tone of voice.
“This is just an informal chat, sir. Nothing to be worried about. We’ll have you back home in an hour or so.”
Well, Tay thought to himself, he would say that, wouldn’t he?
“What’s this about?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Mr. Goh will explain that to you. Shall we go?”
Tay quickly ran through the alternatives in his mind. It didn’t take very long because there weren’t any.
What was he going to do? Not open the gate? Refuse to go to New Phoenix Park with this kid? And then what? Flee the country?
“I’ll be with you in ten mi
nutes,” Tay said as he closed his front door.
“I’ll be right here, sir.”
I have no doubt you will be, kid. No doubt at all.
They drove from Emerald Hill Road to New Phoenix Park in a nondescript white Toyota. The kid parked, escorted Tay to the fourth floor of C Block, and knocked on Goh’s door. Opening it without waiting for an answer, he gestured Tay inside and closed the door behind him.
Philip Goh was doing exactly what he had been doing the last time Tay walked into his office. He was sitting behind his desk drinking from a bottle of water. Neither man spoke for a moment. Goh kept drinking his water and stared at Tay. Tay stared back.
Goh had a square Chinese face and black, badly cut hair. His eyes were so dark it was hard to distinguish between the pupils and the irises. His most prominent feature was a scar that started somewhere inside his hairline just above his left ear, meandered more or less diagonally across his cheek, and then disappeared just below his jaw. It looked like the sort of dueling scar actors in old black and white movies had when they played German aristocrats. In Goh’s case, Tay doubted the scar came from dueling, but he didn’t particularly want to think about where it had come from.
Goh finally moved the water bottle away from his mouth and inclined his head toward a straight-backed chair in front of his desk.
“Sit down, Tay.”
“Why am I here?”
“Sit the fuck down, Tay.”
Tay thought about it for a moment and then sat down. Continuing to stand would have been such a childish act of defiance that it would have embarrassed even him.
“You want coffee?” Goh asked, snickering slightly.
The coffee in ISD’s cafeteria had once been something of a joke between them. The stuff was so awful that Tay had accused Goh of trying to poison him. Goh had thought that was very funny. Tay had never bothered to tell him he wasn’t actually kidding.
“Does ISD have me under surveillance?”
“Why would we do that?”
“That’s not exactly a denial.”
“I don’t answer to you, Tay.”
“I don’t answer to you either, Goh.”
“Actually… you do.”