“Miss Era, do you know who did this to you?” Sherry asks, suspicious at her sudden insistence. “Was it someone from the party?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She shakes her head.
“Is there, then, any particular reason for your request?”
“How can I face my colleagues, bosses, family, and friends? I was raped.”
“Yes, you were, and it was not your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself,” Sherry tries to console her.
Era turns toward the bed and throws herself down, pressing her face into the pillow and sobbing uncontrollably. With a jerk, she turns onto her back, grips the front of her hospital robe, and gasps for air. Deena runs out to call the duty nurse, who rushes in and raises the alarm for the doctor on standby. The officers step outside and watch anxiously from the door as a doctor attends to the emergency. A nurse wheels in a blood pressure machine and starts working on the victim’s arm. She calls the reading to the doctor, who is listening to the victim’s heart through the stethoscope. The doctor says something to her and she leaves the room. A moment later she returns holding a tiny syringe and sticks it into the cannula in the victim’s arm. The doctor places his stethoscope back to the victim’s chest and nods. The victim seems to be breathing normally. He turns to leave.
“How is she?” Sherry asks as he passes by them.
“She had an anxiety attack, and I administered a mild sedative to calm her down. What happened in there?”
“I really don’t know. One moment she was fine, talking to us, and the next she was sobbing, holding her chest and gasping for air.”
“I guess that’ll be the end of your interview today.”
“Doc, I need her permission to revisit the crime scene.”
“I don’t know if she’s in a position to give it. I’ve given her a sedative,” the doctor says, “but you can try before the drug takes full effect.”
They follow him back into the room. Era’s eyes are closed and she is breathing normally.
“Miss Era, can I revisit your apartment to see if Forensics missed anything?”
Era cracks open her eyes momentarily and closes them again. Sherry turns to the doctor.
“That was one blink. And one blink always means ‘yes,’ right?”
The doctor smiles.
“Yes, one blink, and that was a yes,” Deena concurs.
“Deena, can you get the apartment keys? We’ll return them when we’re done.” Turning to the doctor, Sherry says, “Thank you.”
5
THE PUTRA RIA CONDOMINIUM is a mid-range apartment complex with a swimming pool, tennis court, guardhouse, and covered parking lot. It was probably constructed a decade or more back when the area was being promoted as a new township in close proximity to the more well-known, overpriced Bangsar. The victim’s apartment is on the ninth floor, a two-bedroom unit. The master bedroom is furnished, and the other room is used for storage. The living room has synthetic leather sofas, coffee tables, and a display cabinet with a flat-screen TV. What is conspicuously absent: family photos on the walls or on the display cabinet. A round dining table for four is set next to the wall partitioning the kitchen area. Dishes are neatly stacked in the dishrack on the kitchen counter. The kitchen is tidy, but Sherry doubts it’s frequently used for cooking.
Inspector Sherry and Detective Deena are going through Era’s bedroom when they hear the front door open. Hands on their weapons, they lean against the wall and watch the front door. Someone enters, closes the door, and heads for the bedroom. The person is about five feet two inches tall, with short hair and a stud in the left earlobe, dressed in a white short-sleeve shirt and dark pants. Waking past the dining table, the person calls out in a somewhat masculine voice, “Baby, are you home? Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
The two officers step out from the bedroom. Surprised by the appearance of the two officers with guns by their sides, the person blurts out, “What the fuck?” and turns around to make a run to the front door.
“Stop,” Deena calls.
“Fuck, who’re you people? Where’s Era?” the person asks, stopping midway to the front door.
“I’m Inspector Sherry, and this is Detective Deena. And who might you be?”
“Tim. What’s happening here, and where’s Era?” she asks, heading for the bedroom.
“She’s not here,” Deena answers, stopping her. “You’re Fatimah, aren’t you? I see you have keys to the apartment. Do you stay here with Era?”
“Call me Tim—TIM. On my days off, yes. Working days, I usually stay at my own place in Subang. Why d’you ask?”
“Who did you get the apartment keys from?”
“Era, of course.”
Tim’s answer confirms what the victim told them at the hospital.
“Have you ever given the apartment keys to anyone?” Sherry asks.
“No way, why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, maybe to pick something up or to send something here.”
“Never did that.”
“If you only come on your days off, why was there a need for Era to give you the keys to her apartment?” Deena asks.
“My days off are her working days. Anyway, we’re close friends, and sometimes she’s out when I drop by.”
“How close?”
“What’s it to you?”
“How close?” Deena repeats, giving Tim a glare.
“Close,” Tim replies, giving Deena a none-of-your-fucking business look. “You haven’t answered my question. Where’s Era?”
“As you’re not family, I’m not authorized to tell you, but I can assure you she’s fine. I’ll need your particulars for records. Era will contact you when she wants to,” Sherry replies.
Tim opens her mouth to say or refute something but doesn’t. Instead, she hands the inspector her business card.
Sherry looks at the card. It lists Fatimah as Tim, Punk Bistro Manager, located in Section 17, Petaling Jaya.
“Where is she? Is she under arrest or has something happened to her?” Tim demands.
“No, she’s not under arrest. That’s all I can tell you. For now, I need you to leave and let us do our work.”
“Typical police tactics,” Tim says accusingly. “What’s your name again?”
“Inspector Sherry from D11, KL police.”
“You know we do have police officers as regulars at the bistro. Maybe I should just have a chat with them about your conduct,” Tim says with a hint of intimidation.
“Maybe you should, and don’t forget to offer them drinks on the house before you chat them up,” Deena quips. “That’ll surely buy you tons of free advice.”
“And you are?” Tim asks, staring at Deena.
“The person that’s going to kick your ass out if you don’t leave quietly,” she says with a swagger.
Deena follows the reluctant Tim to the front door. At the doorway, Tim spins around and then sidesteps the detective and shouts.
“I’ve every right to be here! This is my apartment, too.”
“I’m sure you do, but not at this moment. Please follow Detective Deena out, and don’t make me arrest you for interfering with a police investigation,” Sherry replies.
“Investigation! What investigation?”
Deena tugs at Tim’s arm, guiding her out of the door. She stands by the doorway, making sure Tim gets into the elevator and is gone before locking the door.
“Can you do that?” she asks, gesturing in the direction of the fuming Fatimah.
“What? Ask her to leave, or refuse to provide her with information about the victim?”
“Both.”
“This is a crime scene. And as far as we’re informed by the victim, Tim’s not a tenant or housemate. I’m sure we’re within our rights,” Sherry replies, heading back to the bedroom.
“How about withholding information about the victim?”
“The victim explicitly expressed she doesn’t want anyone to know. We have to respect her wishes.
Anyway, Tim’s not family. When Era’s ready, I’m sure she’ll tell her or anyone else she feels inclined to.”
“Why do you think she doesn’t want anyone to know? Victims usually want someone close to be informed and be with them, but Era doesn’t. I think she has something to hide.”
“What do you mean?”
Jerking her head toward the door, she says, “Like her. Did you notice her clothing, or hear her call out ‘Baby’ when she came in?”
Sherry glares at her detective. “She was probably in her working attire. I know a lot of pubs require their employees to wear white shirts and black pants. Anyway, they could simply be good friends. Many women call their close friends ‘baby,’ ‘babe,’ and so on. That doesn’t necessarily imply what you’re thinking.”
“I know, I’m not judging her, but it just feels different coming from her. It’s kind of lovey-dovey,” Deena mocks with a wide silly grin.
“And you think Tim’s the reason the victim doesn’t want this known?”
“One of many.”
“What are the others?”
“Like she said, the shame, the stigma, and could even be the fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“Retaliation from the rapists. They took videos of the rape, and that tells me there’ll be a comeback, a revisit. May not be an actual visit, maybe in some other ways.”
“Blackmail?”
“That’s one of them. She’s a VP. I’m sure she’s making good money.”
Sherry nods.
6
WHEN ERA OPENS HER eyes, her throat is dry and her mouth is sour. Sitting up and noticing a food tray on the edge of the bed, she reaches for a plastic cup of water and drains it in one gulp. Is that lunch or dinner? What time is it? She turns to check the wall clock: it’s 2:20 p.m. Is it Saturday or Sunday? Sunday, the party was Saturday evening, so today has to be Sunday. Her throat is still dry, and she drinks from the bottle of mineral water bought by Detective Deena. She’s still feeling dazed from the sedative. Closing her eyes, she tries to recall what’s on her calendar for Monday and Tuesday. Her brain is fuzzy. She gives up trying, telling herself she isn’t ready to go to the office and face her coworkers and bosses. Era decides to take a couple of days off. I need to sort my nerves out. Need to come up with what to say if this thing comes out into the open. But what can I say?
She gets off the bed and pulls the chair to the window. The noise of the city filters through the glass window, and she looks down to the street. At the steady flow of city dwellers in cars and on motorbikes going about enjoying a sunny Sunday, oblivious to her misfortune.
She calls her secretary, apologizes for calling her on her rest day, and informs her that she’s down with flu and won’t be coming into the office for two days. Then she summons the duty nurse.
“I’d like to be discharged.”
“You’re under Dr. Geetha’s care; only she can discharge you. Let me check if she’s on duty,” the nurse replies.
When the nurse returns, she informs Era that Dr. Geetha is on the night shift and will only be in at eleven in the evening.
“Can’t another doctor sign my discharge papers?” Era is getting agitated.
“I’m sorry, but your admission is part of a police investigation. I don’t think a ward doctor can do that.”
“Call the ward doctor and tell him I want to be discharged. If he’s not willing to do it, I’ll discharge myself. Give me whatever form you need me to sign, I’ll sign it,” she says firmly.
She gets off the chair, takes her overnight bag, and goes to the bathroom. The ward doctor enters the room, accompanied by the duty nurse, just as Era comes out of the bathroom, all dressed and ready to leave.
“Miss Era, I’m Dr. Lutfi. The nurse says you’ve requested a discharge. I strongly advise that you to wait for Dr. Geetha to examine you and let her decide.”
“I appreciate your advice, but I’m fine now, and I want to go home. Don’t worry, I’ll sign the self-discharge form,” she replies, continuing packing her belongings.
Familiar with obstinate patients, Dr. Lutfi nods at the duty nurse and they leave Era to her packing.
It is close to three in the afternoon when Sherry steps out of the shower and puts on a pair of loose satin shorts and an oversize Pink Floyd crewneck T-shirt. It had been a long and trying thirty hours, and she’s looking forward to a nap. She makes herself a warm cup of jasmine tea, a drink that always calms her, picks a fashion magazine from the pile of unread magazines, and heads for the bedroom. Just as she lies in bed and starts flipping through the magazine, her cell phone rings. It’s Dr. Geetha from Kuala Lumpur Hospital.
“Yes, Doc,” Sherry answers, instinctively wary.
“I was just informed that your victim self-discharged,” Dr. Geetha says, sounding concerned.
“When?”
“About fifteen minutes back.”
“Did something happen?”
“The duty nurse says she called her and asked to be discharged. The ward doctor, Dr. Lutfi, was called. He advised her against it, but she insisted.”
“I thought she was sedated.”
“Yes, she was, but it was only a mild one to calm her down.”
“Did someone visit her? Did she leave with anyone?”
“Not that the duty nurse is aware of.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said she was feeling fine and wanted to go home.”
“Couldn’t the hospital stop her?”
“I’m afraid not. Since this is a police case, I was thinking the police could. Can you? I don’t think she’s in any condition to go home and be by herself. She could cause harm to herself. She needs professional help.”
“I don’t know if we have the authority. The court has, but that’ll take some doing. And today is Sunday. Let me check with my boss and call you back.”
“Sherry, the toxicology report just came in. There was no trace of semen. However, the lab did find traces of glycerine, propylene glycol—
“What are those?”
“Sexual lubricant, you know, like those pleasure-enhancing gels.”
“Pleasure enhancing? Seriously … what pleasure?” Sherry sneers. “She was raped, what pleasure?”
“It’s what the manufacturers claim on their product,” Dr. Geetha replies defensively.
“I’m sorry, Doc, I didn’t mean to take it out on you … just rattled by the victim leaving.”
“No offense taken. I know you’re concerned—so am I.”
“Any chance the nurse knows if she got a phone call? Maybe overheard or saw her talking on the phone?”
“I can ask, but from where they’re stationed I doubt if they can see or hear her on the phone.”
“Thanks. Doc. Let me call my boss and see what we can do. I’ll get back to you soon as I know. Thanks for letting me know, and again, sorry.”
Sherry terminates the call with Dr. Geetha and dials Superintendent Lillian to update her and seek advice.
“Ma’am, sorry to call you on Sunday.”
“No problem, what’s up?”
“My victim just discharged herself from the hospital against the duty doctor’s advice.”
“When?”
“According to Dr. Geetha, about twenty minutes ago.”
“Do they know why she discharged herself?”
“No. Ma’am, can we force her to return and remain in the hospital?”
“She’s a victim. There’s no provision in the law for us to do that. We can only send victims for medical examinations. Even then we need their consent for the examination and to take samples. Unless she’s a threat to herself or others, which means she is mentally unsound, there’s nothing we can do.”
“I don’t have any experience with such victims. Can she be deemed mentally unsound? I’m sure she’s a threat to herself, if not to others, but that’s only my gut feeling.”
“Unfortunately, that’ll not be enough for a court order. It has to be a medic
al diagnosis, I suppose by a psychiatrist.”
“When I was interviewing her, she had an anxiety attack, and the doctor had to give her a sedative. I know she’s emotionally unstable, and she’s staying alone. I’m worried if she experiences another attack and nobody is around to help.”
“I know, but she’s of age, and she made the decision to discharge herself. There’s nothing you can do, and there’s no reason you should blame yourself should she get herself into a medical situation.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” Sherry says with a heavy sigh.
7
ERA AMILIA TAKES A cab to her apartment. She decides not to ask Tim or anyone to pick her up to avoid having to explain why she was hospitalized. She is in no condition, mentally or emotionally, to deal with probing questions and sympathetic gapes or pity-showering. She just needs to be by herself to work things out.
Stepping out of the elevator on the ninth floor, Era momentarily freezes at the lobby. Instinctively, she turns to look to her left and right, half-expecting someone to be lurking or waiting for her. Satisfied there is no one, she tentatively walks to her unit, the door keys ready in her hand. Standing in front of her door, she nervously turns to give the corridor another look before inserting the key. As she turns the lock, she remembers Sherry saying there were no signs of forced entry. A frightening thought crosses her mind: The rapists probably have keys to my apartment, and they could be inside waiting for me to return. Images of a knife-wielding man wearing pantyhose over his head and waiting for her in the bedroom flash through her mind. A cold shiver runs down her spine.
Steadying her trembling hand, she unlocks the door and quietly closes it, turning the dead bolt, pressing the doorknob button, and latching the night bolt. Once inside, she immediately steps into the kitchen, which is adjacent to the front door, drops her overnight bag, and grabs one of the knives from the knife holder. With her heart racing, Era presses her back against the wall, inching her way to the hall. Her eyes fixed on the open bedroom door, she watches for any sign of life, any movement of shadow while straining her ears for any sound. Seeing and hearing nothing, she carefully crosses the hall to the bedroom.
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