Aunty Lee’s Deadly Specials

by Ovidia Yu

  “It was the patient who requested the water?”

  “Yes. And the patient made no complaint at that point in time. She said she went home and thought about it, talked it over with her boyfriend before deciding to make an official complaint. There was some indication that they had made an attempt to contact Dr. Yong and extort money from him before making the official complaint, so yes, certainly there were gray areas in her story. And there was no conclusive verdict. We labeled it a misunderstanding, sent the woman our sincere apologies, and hoped regardless of whatever happened this would be enough of a warning to Dr. Yong to make sure that nothing like that would happen again—whether misunderstanding or otherwise. I think he was upset that we did not clear him completely, based on his word. Some of these young ones, they are the only one in their family, in their extended family, to get a university degree, maybe the only one from their hometown to become a Singapore doctor, and they get inflated ideas.”

  Though Professor Koh had not said so, Aunty Lee could see he believed the younger doctor guilty. He did not want her to dig up the old problems because they were over and done with, but neither would he take action to have Dr. Yong reinstated. The unspoken accusation could last far longer than one that was articulated and dismissed.

  “What’s your interest in Dr. Yong’s clinic?”

  “An old friend, Doreen Choo, said she had some work done there.”

  Professor Koh laughed, his relief clear. “She found out that Henry Sung was a partner there, that’s why she came. Doreen sucks the life out of men. I know my limits, thank you. I just want a bit of peace. Good luck to Henry! I think one of my girls told me that Edmond Yong borrowed money from Henry Sung to set up his clinic, Beautiful Dreamers. It was an aesthetic-surgery clinic. He must have heard it was the line that made the most money fast.”

  That must have been when Cherril encountered him, Aunty Lee thought.

  “But it’s not as easy as that. You look at someone like Woffles Wu. The man approaches his work like an artist and makes the patient feel like a muse and inspiration. Plus he is good-looking himself. And charming, which always helps. You compare that to someone who looks like Edmond Yong and talks like he’s selling ponzi shares, who would you trust?”

  “So it didn’t work?” Aunty Lee didn’t like Dr. Yong but she felt sorry for him.

  “Plus people here increasingly prefer to go to Korea for treatment. Prices there are lower because there is so much competition. And apparently they don’t just fix your nose or your eyes, they can make you look like your favorite K-pop star. But that’s all hearsay.”

  That must have been when he was lured into illegal transplants, Aunty Lee thought.

  “But the people who were too sick to travel? I’ve heard there are ways to arrange to get transplant operations here. But how do they get the donor organs?”

  Professor Koh waved a hand, gesturing to the upper floors of Bukit Timah Plaza surrounding the central atrium where they were sitting. “Travel agencies, maid agencies. There are so many of them now. If you pay them enough they will bring in people or parts or whatever you want, with whatever papers you need.

  “In compensated donation, donors get money or other compensation in exchange for their organs. This practice is common in some parts of the world, whether legal or not, and is one of the many factors driving medical tourism. Of course it is happening here in Singapore. In fact, given the superior conditions here, it is probably better for both the donors and the recipients that the operations are carried out here. In China approximately ninety-five percent of all organs used for transplantation are from executed prisoners. The lack of a public organ-donation program in China is used as a justification for this practice. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? There’s a lot of talk about illegal organ culling but nobody has any proof.”

  “That woman who killed herself because she couldn’t find her fiancé, do you remember? Do you think he’s dead?”

  “That dead woman’s fiancé may still be alive somewhere in Singapore. He’s worth a lot of money and he’s already paid for. Then again, maybe he just decided to break off with his girlfriend and is working illegally in a massage parlor here.”

  “Dr. Yong may have been trying to talk Mabel Sung into getting transplants to save her son’s life. What if she found out where he was getting the body parts from and he had to kill her?”

  “Edmond Yong wouldn’t be able to pull something like that off. He was a mediocre student, he would be a mediocre crook. People don’t change that much.”

  Aunty Lee’s mind ran over further possibilities. What if Wen Ling had been getting the organs for Mabel’s son and Edmond was just the go-between? Like a microwave meal this theory superficially met all the requirements and used all the right ingredients but it did not yet feel like real substance. No. Mabel had not met Wen Ling till the day of the party, the day she died. Aunty Lee was certain of that.

  “Edmond Yong wanted to make a quick, big impression on people. That was more important to him than whether he could sustain that impression. I don’t think he even planned how he was going to run the clinic. Did he think that he could carry it off by the sheer force of his personality?”

  “I suspect he didn’t think so far ahead,” Aunty Lee said. “I suppose he had fire insurance?”

  “It’s a requirement here. Regulations. But get this. Immediately after the fire Dr. Yong disappeared back to Malaysia. He didn’t even wait to claim insurance here. The Management Committee was trying to reach him. He said, ‘Nobody died, so it’s no big deal. Let the insurance people fight it out.’”

  “Nobody died? I thought the papers said they found a body?”

  “Did they?”

  Nobody seemed very interested in the dead woman, Aunty Lee thought. Without a name and a story to anchor her, Aunty Lee could feel her own attention slipping away too. She looked up. On the floors surrounding the central atrium, she could see the rows of the shops of Bukit Timah Plaza. The top few floors were crammed with tiny offices specializing in travel and maid agencies. The corridors in front of them full of frightened hopeful young women come to Singapore to work and waiting for potential employers to take their pick. They reminded Aunty Lee of desperate dogs in the adoption pound, pouring hopeful affection on strangers in hopes of finding a home forever. Or worse, they made her think of the “live” seafood in the tanks outside Chinese restaurants. Would anyone report a girl who ran away and died in a fire? Would anyone even miss her?

  21

  Different People

  Edmond was alone in his flat. It was a decent apartment, though too small for him to make the kind of impression he wished to. He was packing up things he would need for a stay at the Sungs’ place. This suited him very well, especially as he would have the house to himself for days, perhaps weeks. Henry and Sharon had moved into a friend’s place, fed up with the police and reporters lurking outside the gates all the time, and Edmond would be house-sitting as a favor to them. Edmond knew the police were just putting on a show. They had already examined Leonard Sung’s bedroom, and since the victims had obviously been poisoned, they had no right to return to the house without a search warrant.

  Looking around the rental apartment, Edmond decided he didn’t like it, indeed couldn’t stand it. He felt trapped and limited by the small rooms, low ceilings, and cheap plywood and plastic furniture provided by his budget-conscious landlord. Instead of taking clothes for a few days, he would pack up everything he had brought down from Malaysia and move out for good. With Leonard gone, he would have to find a new reason to remain at the Sung mansion, but he knew he would come up with one somehow. Dr. Edmond Yong was not one to accept the cards life had dealt him. He knew life was unfair. If he had accepted the hand dealt to him at birth, he would still be somewhere in Kedah working with his brothers in their late grandfather’s bicycle shop. Instead he was a qualified medical doctor in Singapore with rich and important connections. Edmond knew that though Mabel Sung had hired him in order
to have a doctor looking after her precious Leonard twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, he had really functioned more as a nursemaid and babysitter. Edmond Yong had not liked Leonard Sung, indeed had often wished him dead. And now, with Mabel and Leonard Sung both dead, it was time for Dr. Edmond Yong to move on to the next stage of the game.

  His phone rang. It was another call demanding money. Those people were so shortsighted.

  “I was only the contact,” Edmond said in Mandarin. “The person you were dealing with is dead. That deal is off. I don’t owe you anything. I am trying to make new deals for you, but if you keep chasing me I cannot work.” He wanted to hang up on the angry voice shouting at him over the phone but did not quite dare to. He did not fear her threats but he would need her in the future if his grand plan worked out.

  Walking around the tiny front room with the phone not quite at his ear, he could hear his neighbors shouting at children to get off their computers, pack for school, and go to bed. Beneath all this blared the arguments, hysterics, and theme music of the current Mandarin-dubbed Korean soap opera. Edmond hated all his neighbors for being so stupid and low class and so concerned about children who would never amount to anything. In their ignorance they had had the cheek to welcome him to their building and to Singapore with offers of introductions to part-time jobs and pretty nieces “just to get you started.” As though Dr. Edmond Yong could need help from people like them! He couldn’t wait to get rich and show them how much he despised them.

  Angry Mandarin words continued spewing from his phone as he walked around the tiny living room. Soon he would be away from them all and alone in the magnificent Sung mansion. He would have all that space to himself and it would be as though he was already living in the style he aspired to. Of course the drawback was that no one would be at the mansion to see him there and be impressed. Well, when he became the official master of such a house, he would have servants around him all the time. His relatives and former neighbors would come to him to humbly beg for favors and money. They would look at his marble floors and his Mercedes-Benzes and finally they would respect Dr. Edmond Yong. And who would be living there with him? Not that social-climbing GraceFaith Ang, for sure. A doctor like himself deserved a doctor’s daughter, someone like Sharon Sung. Edmond was somewhat intimidated by Sharon Sung. But right now she needed his help.

  Finally his caller ran out of steam. Edmond said polite good-byes, made polite promises, and immediately after ending the call, pressed the first autodial number on his cell phone.

  “Sharon, we have to move things up.”

  Meanwhile, GraceFaith Ang, alone in her small apartment, made plans for her future. She had never doubted she would get what she wanted—now it looked like success was coming even sooner than she had expected. Soon she would be out of this place forever, out of having to work for a living. No more having to push her way through rush-hour crowds and do her own pedicures.

  She looked around her. The small, plain apartment had been home to her since she started work at Sung Law. She felt no attachment to it and had no fond memories of the place. But then she was not attached to the home she had grown up in either. From the start she had known these were temporary stations, no more than stops on her way up to better things. All the furnishings in the small room (one bed, one small table and chair, one built-in cupboard, curtains) belonged to the landlady.

  GraceFaith liked expensive clothes and shoes and used only the best makeup, but didn’t care about her domicile. At least not here, not yet. After all, no one who mattered would ever see her here. Once she married enough money she would hire the best interior designers to create a beautiful setting for her. Then she would have the best magazines come and photograph her looking casually exquisite in her beautiful home and everyone would realize what classy taste she had.

  GraceFaith’s dream plans were interrupted by the message bleep on her iPhone. She did not have a landline, so she kept her cell on all the time. It was Sharon Sung. Call me now.

  At the same time as all this was going on, Patrick Pang was in Benjamin’s flat, alone in the apartment he had thought they were going to be so happy together in. Signs of Benjamin were still everywhere. Cleaning because he couldn’t sleep, Patrick found a cache of charcoal sticks (for sketching) and cried into them, leaving gray streaks on his hands and face and probably ruining the charcoal. He had to remind himself that despair was not constructive. Just breathe. Every breath is a triumph. Don’t let them destroy you by making you kill yourself. He didn’t even know who was talking to him but he knew it was better than silence and surrender. What was important was that he was alive to listen, and as long as he was alive there was a chance he could change things. He had been keeping himself busy by cleaning till there was nothing left to clean. Perhaps he should take a tip from Aunty Lee and cook something. But what?

  Thinking of Aunty Lee made him feel better. Joe and Otto had told him the old woman could solve any problem she set her mind to. And his brother, Tim, seemed to like her, though Tim didn’t seem as convinced as Joe and Otto that she could work miracles. Pat pulled out the recipe Aunty Lee had given him. “Don’t let yourself get stuck. If something doesn’t turn out right, make something else,” she had said. He would try.

  And if Ben showed up after all, Pat would buy him new charcoal sticks.

  While Patrick was contemplating Aunty Lee’s recipe, Commissioner Raja Kumar was alone in his office reading an e-mail, then making a call to Aunty Lee on his cell phone.

  “So, has Salim told you what he found out about the people on the Never Say Die prayer list?”

  “Why should Salim tell me?” she asked.

  “Because you gave him the list and asked him to look them up. I thought we agreed we were going to let this die down naturally.”

  Aunty Lee had the grace to feel embarrassed. “If there’s nothing to find, then whether I look or not everything will die down. Anyway, if they want us to pray for people, we should know who we are praying for, right? It is like making investments: you should always check the background first. Anyway, just because a harmless old lady like me is being kaypoh I don’t see why Salim had to go and complain to you. Because if that woman’s missing boyfriend is an illegal organ donor, somebody must be paying for his organs, right? And I ask you, who can afford to pay for something like that? Most likely somebody living around here or across the canal, right? I can read you the list of praying and paying people I gave him . . .” He heard Aunty Lee fumble around for her spectacles.

  “It’s all right, Rosie. I don’t need the list.”

  “There are people I know recently suddenly got better from having to go for dialysis every week. And they did not go for operation to any of the government hospitals in Singapore.”

  “Salim didn’t complain about you. He just thought I should know what he learned.”

  “He told you before he told me? When I’m the one who set him on the track? What is wrong with young people these days, no sense of respect!”

  “Hey, I’m the boy’s boss,” Commissioner Raja protested.

  “I am also trying to track down the connection bringing the dead man to Singapore. Surely he must have given an address when coming in? Didn’t he have to fill in a disembarkation/embarkation [D/E] card? What address did he put in? I asked Inspector Salim to look it up. That handsome boy Timothy Pang is now in Immigration, right? So I asked him to look it up for me.”

  “He did. The address that the dead man gave was a small Frangipani Inn–type thing. And you know what? The booking was made by Beautiful Dreamers, Edmond Yong’s old clinic. According to clinic records, the man was coming to Singapore for a medical checkup but never turned up.”

  “But his body was not found?”

  “No body was found.”

  And those were not the only results Salim had passed on to Commissioner Raja. In the case of Mabel Sung, fifty-five, and Leonard Sung, twenty-eight, the forensic pathologist reported finding an accidental ingestion of pestic
ide. A fatal dose of cyanide for humans is 1.5 milligrams per kilogram of body weight and both victims had ingested at least three times that. Death had most likely occurred in minutes. More important, the cyanide in their bodies carried markers that suggested it came from a commercial pesticide product.

  There was a short silence on the line after the commissioner mentioned this fact.

  “Then it could not have been the buah keluak,” Aunty Lee said.

  And Commissioner Raja knew from her tone that despite all her assertions to the contrary, Aunty Lee had wondered if she had made a fatal mistake.

  22

  Investigating Sung Law

  Aunty Lee surfaced groggily from a dream of trying to find her way to the kitchen through the many rooms of a mansion. She kept finding herself back in the bedroom. Then she was back in bed again and Nina was standing next to her in her nightdress.

  “My friend just phoned. She said GraceFaith Ang went back to the Sung Law office. They all left together last night as usual. Then this morning at around five GraceFaith came back by herself. You said you wanted to know right away, right?”

  “Right.” Aunty Lee sat up. Was it a sign of aging that she found it difficult both to get to sleep and to wake up? “Please tell your friend thank you for me. And give her a small present, okay?”

  It was so lucky Nina had a friend working at the 7-Eleven in the lobby of the building where Sung Law had its offices.

  “I’m looking for Sung Law.” Aunty Lee was in the office lobby in under an hour.

  “Take lift to seventeenth floor then turn left.”

  It was just before eight in the morning. The night security guard, waiting for the morning shift and used to clients arriving at all hours, buzzed Aunty Lee through without removing the phone from his ear.