Flint had already taken statements from everybody and I couldn’t see why they had to be duplicated. Most of the crew would have forgotten where they had been that night in any case. So much had happened since Pete was killed; but he hadn’t been killed. It had been an accident. I had to keep my mind in the right perspective or I might never survive the police enquiry.
Being the prime witness, my statement was taken first. I was able to repeat my earlier statement almost word for word, but was deliberately vague on one or two points. They cross-examined me on several matters, trying to get me to be more specific, but I wasn’t having any of that. A couple of times they were quite obtuse; as if trying to trip me up. I stuck with the original story, changing nothing, but claiming that it was hard to remember exactly what had happened.
I was under scrutiny for at least an hour – and there were still another forty people to be questioned. After waiting a further fifteen minutes, my typed statement was handed to me. I read it through and signed it.
As I got up to leave, handing the piece of paper to the junior officer, the other one, also Chinese, looked up from his notebook and said in an officious tone of voice: “Wait a minute please, Mr. Rider. We haven’t finished yet.”
My heart skipped a beat. What now? I sat down again, trying to appear calm, but my heart was beating furiously.
“What do you know about Usman Ali?” he finally asked.
“Who?” I asked. “Who’s Usman Ali?”
“The crewman who disappeared during the salvage. Do you know anything about that disappearance?”
I hadn’t even bothered to ask his name, and for a moment it frightened me. I had killed a man by slowly squeezing his throat with a length of cord; thrown his body over the side; and then realised that I had never even known his name. He had always been the Malay.
“No,” I replied, feeling my hands grow moist. “I don’t know a thing, other than the captain telling me he had gone missing. I didn’t even know him. I didn’t have much to do with any of the crew if it comes to that.”
They both wrote down a few lines, but didn’t seem all that concerned with my answer. I stood up to leave once more. The senior one waved me down.
“Why didn’t you have much to do with the crew?” he asked. “You have been on board now for many weeks.”
I decided to give them some of the truth.
“They seemed to regard me as a bad luck omen. They blamed me for everything that went wrong; from Pete’s death, to the stranding, and to the delays in Lae. They don’t seem to like passengers.”
I didn’t know whether they believed me or not, but there was no other explanation I could give.
“Tell me, Mr. Rider. Why did you take passage on this ship?”
I stuck to my story about wanting to write a book and trying to get some background. It didn’t seem to impress them.
“I’ve been to Singapore a number of times before,” I went on, knowing that they could easily check, and probably would. “But always by air, so this time I decided to take a ship. I needed a place where I could sit and think without being disturbed. It was like that for the first week but, believe me; it wasn’t like that for the rest of the voyage. There’s no way you’ll get me back on a ship again. I’ll be going home by air, and make no mistake about it!”
Their persistence was unnerving, but I laughed, hoping it would lighten the atmosphere. It didn’t; but they didn’t ask any more questions about my book either; or my earlier quick trip to Singapore. I think they were satisfied that I was merely another eccentric European, trying to do it differently.
“We are sorry to hold you up, Mr. Rider,” he said at last. “But we have a job to do. We must ask these questions.”
“I appreciate that, Inspector, but I haven’t set foot on dry land for quite some time.” I didn’t think I needed to mention my quick trip out to Lae airport. “I was looking forward to booking into a hotel and getting rid of the smell of diesel and salt.”
Which was true; but what I really wanted was to get away from the ship and all that it represented.
“Do you recall seeing this Usman Ali the night that he disappeared?” he continued.
“No, I don’t, but that’s not to say I might have seen him. It’s just that I wouldn’t have known him from the rest of the crew.”
“What were you doing the night he disappeared?”
A trick question. Nobody knew for certain when he had disappeared; except me.
“Well, Inspector. I don’t really recall what night he disappeared; that’s if it was at night. As far as I can recollect, from what was said, he just wasn’t around anymore. He could’ve been missing for days for all I know.”
The inspector tapped a pencil against the rim of his glasses and glanced across at his junior officer.
“I understand,” he said. “But if you do remember anything, you will get in touch with us, Mr. Rider, won’t you?” It wasn’t a request.
I nodded and turned for the door, my hand on the handle as he spoke again. “By the way, Mr. Rider. Where will you be staying in Singapore; and for how long?”
I had intended to leave as soon as the wool had been unloaded and the weight of marijuana checked; which was when we would receive the second payment. There would be nothing further to keep me in Singapore after that; only Mee Ling, and she would be ready to leave as soon as I was: a matter of only a few days; a week at most. A short visit wouldn’t sound logical; not after taking the round-about way of getting there.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying now,” I replied thoughtfully. “The stranding and all the delays have taken up much more time than I had allowed. I don’t really know. Probably a couple of weeks.”
I didn’t think they would bother to check on my past history, but if they did, I hoped they wouldn’t find out that I had been tripping around Europe for the last couple of years. My passport had been renewed not so long ago and there were very few entries in the new one.
“I’ll probably stay at the Hilton, Inspector,” I continued. “It’s expensive but, after the Syrius, I think I should spoil myself. I’ll give you a call as soon as I settle in.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Rider. Here is my card. If you do think of anything, please call that number. If I am not there, please leave a message. It will reach me.”
“Thank you, Inspector. I’ll give you a call before I leave, in any case.”
It seemed to make him happy. He turned to the other officer with a questioning look and received a shake of the head. They were satisfied.
“Fine, Mr. Rider. That would be most helpful. We have no further questions at the moment. You are free to leave as soon as you wish.”
I turned for the door once more, relieved to have finally escaped from those two pairs of piercing eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Rider. One further matter.”
I halted in my tracks and turned.
“Have a pleasant stay in our beautiful country.”
I went straight to my cabin to collect my suitcases, both of which had been packed as soon as we had sighted land.
There was nothing left to do but say goodbye to Flint and his officers. I didn’t give a damn about the crew. They could rot in hell for all I cared.
I made my way down to the officers lounge, figuring that most of them would be there. Sure enough, with the television blasting out some local Chinese station, they were all congregated around the set, trying to catch up on the latest programs. Nobody looked up as I entered the room, so I slammed the door shut with a crash, getting their attention. “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” I said as soon as all eyes were focussed on mine. “We’ve had our differences, but it has been pleasant knowing you.”
I was looking at one particular face when I said the last two words. She blushed.
“I would be lying,” I continued. “If I said that it had been a pleasant voyage.” A couple of them laughed. “Although we did have a few enjoyable moments.” I tried to catch her attention, but he
r eyes would not meet mine again. “Goodbye. I trust that my next voyage is not quite as eventful as this one was. It’s certainly something I’ll remember for the rest of my days. Good luck.”
And good riddance too, you miserable pack of bastards, was what I really wanted to say.
A few shook my hand, and there were several mumbled farewells, but as I turned to the door they swivelled back to the television set.
I found Flint waiting for me as I came down the stairs. “Goodbye, Jeff,” he said. It was the only time he had ever used my Christian name. “In a way I’ll be sorry to see you go. I know we’ve had a few angry words from time to time, but it’s been mainly in the heat of the moment. It’s been good to have you around; someone to talk to. At least you’re able to string more than two sentences together.” I was at a loss for words. “Next time you’re thinking of taking a trip, look me up. I might be able to find room for you.”
I didn’t know what to say. He was serious. It took me a couple of seconds to get rid of my embarrassment.
“Ah…., well…, ah…, it’s nice of you to say that, Vic,” I replied. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ve had enough of the sea to last me a lifetime. Look me up when you’re next in Adelaide.”
I knew he wouldn’t; as he probably knew I wouldn’t get in touch with him again. We were just another of those shipboard realtionships that fade as soon as the boat leaves port.
We shook hands and I departed, stepping carefully down the gangway and into the hands of customs and immigration. Anything to declare? What is the purpose of your visit? All the normal questions; and then I was ashore – free at last from Syrius.
I felt as a man just released from prison must feel. It all seemed so unreal. After so much waiting and worrying I was finally ashore in Singapore.
There were plenty of cabs about and I headed straight for the Hilton. I thought of staying at Raffles, but didn’t think I could take much more of the East. What I needed was Western culture; sanitized toilet seats, centralised air-conditioning, impersonal boxes – like a thousand other hotels the world over.
It was early evening, but dinner was far from my mind. I was exhausted. The excitement and relief of reaching Singapore had been too much. The bed looked comfortable and inviting, and food could wait until morning; but there was one thing that couldn’t wait – Tek. I had to make contact and I didn’t intend to make the call through the hotel switchboard.
It was the longest shower I could ever remember taking. The bathroom was pure magic compared to the ship’s appointments: spotlessly clean; the shower-stall big enough for two; soft perfumed soap; and snow-white fluffy towels – luxury. Tek could wait.
Even with clean clothes and scrubbed from head to foot there was still the faint aroma of salt and diesel. Would it ever disappear? I caught the elevator down to street level, the humidity stifling after the hotel’s air-conditioning.
There were people in the street, but it was still fairly quiet for Singapore.
I slipped into the next hotel I came to, the Singapore Forum. I couldn’t tell whether there was anyone following me. There was a bank of phones in the lobby and I made the call without wasting any more time.
Sang answered at the other end; at least it sounded like him – polite and efficient. I asked for Mr. Cheh. He wanted to know who was calling, so I told him it was private and to get a move on. A few minutes later Tek was on the line.
“This is Cheh Wah Tek. Can I help you?” Polite, but wary.
“Tek,” I said quietly. “I believe you will recognise my voice. There are a few things we must discuss in private, but not at your house. Somewhere safe and secure; where there is no possibility of our being overheard. We’ve got problems with competition.”
“Where are you staying?”
No request for details. Nick would have asked a thousand questions; all of them relevant, but none that couldn’t wait.
“I don’t think we should meet there either,” I replied.
There was silence for a moment.
“My driver, who is also my brother’s son, will collect you outside the main entrance to the Overseas-Chinese Banking Corporation at ten tomorrow morning. He will be driving a light-blue Mercedes. He answers to the name of Sung. He knows you by sight.” Another pause. “Is it all right to go ahead with the rest of the transaction?”
“Quite all right,” I replied. “You may proceed as planned. I’ll meet your nephew at ten in the morning. Goodnight.”
With that, I hung up the phone. I had wanted to ask him about Mee Ling, but it would have to wait. Someone already knew of my interest and I didn’t want to focus any more attention on her.
Nick and I had done what we had set out to do. The ship had reached Singapore with the consignment and there hadn’t been swarms of customs officers milling around the ship when we docked. There had been no tip-off.
I strolled back to the Hilton. There was nothing further to do until morning. I was looking forward to the big double bed with its clean sheets.
I tossed and turned the whole night. It was too quiet. I missed the sound of the generators, the vibration of the hull and the roll of the ship.
That second lingering shower the next morning seemed to bring some relief from the aroma I carried. The scent of perfumed soap was heavy in the air, but after a while those old companions crept back: the odours of grease and diesel; rotten meat; lanolin; and a faint trace of curry and garlic.
There were people and vehicles everywhere; a city of hustle and bustle; nobody loitering; everyone with a destination, a purpose. It was a pleasant feeling to stroll among the crowds and know that I could escape back to the coolness of my hotel any time I wanted to; but it wasn’t until I reached the Overseas-Chinese Bank that I remembered that there had been three attempts to kill me on the boat. Or had it been four?
There was no reason why they mightn’t try again. I backed in amongst the pillars, trying to make myself as small a target as possible. It was a bit late for such precautions; but better late than dead.
It’s my practice never to be late for an appointment, and I was ten minutes ahead of time. Ten minutes in the open was going to tax my nerves, but I needn’t have worried. Tek’s nephew was also early. He drew the Mercedes to the kerb and sprang out, hand outstretched.
“Ah, Mr. Rider. Good morning, sir. I am Sung. Mr. Cheh is waiting for you. If you would like to get in please.” Politeness and a cheery smile, even if in a hurry.
I got in and settled down into the soft comfort that is Mercedes. We had been travelling for a little under five minutes when he stopped just off Holland Road, near the Botanic Gardens. It didn’t seem the place Tek would pick for a meeting – too open, too public, and far too many people to see us together. I leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him.
“Are we meeting you uncle here, Sung?”
“No, Mr. Rider,” he replied, looking over his shoulder. “But we have to pick up one of Mr. Cheh’s bodyguards. There he is. We shall only be a moment.”
A tall Chinese emerged from amongst a group of trees and came hurrying across to the car, his head constantly on the move as he searched the crowd.
“Mr. Cheh thought it would be best if we had somebody with us,” Sung said, interrupting my thoughts for a moment. “Just in case there might be trouble.”
He had never once referred to Tek as his uncle. It was not my uncle, but Mr. Cheh. If I hadn’t been so tired the bells would have started ringing much sooner. As it was, we were a few kilometres down the road, heading west, when I realised that things weren’t as they should have been.
“Shouldn’t we be heading north-east?” I asked. There was no answer from the two in the front seat. “We seem to be going the wrong way.” Still no answer. I leaned forward and tapped him again. “Hey, Sung! Where are we meeting your uncle?”
The bodyguard turned slowly, the barrel of an automatic pistol pointing between my eyes.
Eighteen
After all my clever
plans; after all I had gone through: the fear as the ship twisted and ground itself on the reef; the struggle with the Malay in the hold; Pete’s death – and now this.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Rider,” the driver said quietly, head half turned to me. I knew by now that he wasn’t Sung. “We are not going to kill you. We shall take good care of you, very good care. You are an extremely valuable commodity.”
They both burst out laughing. So much for politeness. My life was just a joke as far as they were concerned.
I had walked in like an innocent child, with both eyes wide open. They must have gambled on my being early, knowing that Tek’s real nephew would have been there at precisely ten o’clock; as I should have known had I been thinking straight, but I hadn’t been thinking at all. The continual reference to Mr. Cheh should have been sufficient for my tiny brain. I should have been out of the car at the first set of traffic lights, running down the road like a startled rabbit.
Tek and I should have planned it better. I should have called him back in the morning to arrange the meeting. We had given them time to organise their forces; but, to be fair to Tek, he didn’t appreciate the problem we were up against. He wasn’t aware of how deeply they had penetrated his organization.
We travelled in silence for the rest of the journey, the scenery flashing by unnoticed. I was deep in thought – and petrified – as we crossed several creeks and then swung towards the south-west. I kept an eye on the road signs. They told me we were making for Tuas; about as far as you can get from the main centres.
We must have been three or four kilometres from Tuas when the driver turned the Mercedes in to an overgrown driveway leading into an abandoned plantation. A little further on we came to an old weather-worn house; several windows hanging out from their frames, broken panes of glass.
The bodyguard jumped out, jerked the door open and bundled me up on to the verandah and in through the front door before I had a chance to object.
“Welcome, Mr. Rider,” said a voice from the other side of the room. “It is very kind of you to do us the honour of paying us a visit. We have heard many things about you.”
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