UTube

by Rozlan Mohd Noor

  “Perhaps they’re looking for fame or popularity.”

  “Maybe, except for one thing. If fame and popularity are what they’re after, why haven’t they posted something that’ll make them iconic perverts in the cyber world?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t really know how to explain it. Predators like to make some form of announcement or use macho-sounding names. You know what I mean?”

  “Like Hannibal the Cannibal or the Green Man?”

  “I’ve heard of Hannibal, but who’s the Green Man?” she says, laughing.

  “Go look it up. Anyway, the media have already dubbed the criminals the UTube Rapists.”

  “One more and the label will change to the UTube Serial Rapist.”

  “Hey, when can I speak to your victim?” Mislan asks, changing the subject.

  “She’s in no condition to be interviewed after the examination and has been taken home by her parents. They told me they’ll bring her in tomorrow morning at ten. Why don’t you sit in during the interview?”

  “I thought she was hospitalized.”

  “She was, but the parents came down and that was that.”

  “Can’t we do it tonight?”

  “You’ve never handled rape before, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Rape victims usually go through severe post-rape trauma. They need to be calmed down and be with people who love and support them. Interviewing them before they’re ready will only add to the stress and increase the likelihood of them going into a state of depression and possibly blocking out the incident completely. I don’t think we should risk that.”

  “But a delay might result in her forgetting vital details,” he persists.

  “Unlike in other crimes, rape victims don’t forget what they’ve been through. They’ll relive it over and over in their heads.”

  “I still say we should talk to her tonight.”

  “She’s my case, I’m the lead, and I say we talk to her tomorrow,” Sherry says firmly.

  Sherry’s words burned in his head. Terminating the call, Mislan angrily flings the cell phone onto the bed, annoyed at being reminded who the lead investigator is. His cell phone bounces off the mattress and hits Daniel on his back. The boy stirs in his sleep. Mislan pats him softly, saying, “Sorry, kiddo, go back to sleep.”

  Mislan meets up with Dr. Safia at the Lobster Curry Noodle Restaurant in Bandar Sri Permaisuri. Curry noodle is a Chinese dish that’s also popular with other races; the river lobster makes it all the more tantalizing. Dr. Safia has been craving it since last week, when she heard of this place from a friend.

  It’s 6:30 in the evening, and the dinner crowd is building. They manage to get a table on the sidewalk and order their curry noodle with iced tea. The noodles come in a fair-sized red plastic bowl. The creamy curry is reddish-gold, accompanied by a couple of medium-sized lobsters. Mislan picks his lobsters up with the chopstick and puts them into Dr. Safia’s bowl.

  “Sorry, I forgot you’re allergic,” Dr. Safia says.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not severe. I’m used to eating with those who aren’t.”

  Dr. Safia takes a sip of the curry with a spoon. “Tasty.”

  Mislan tastes the curry and agrees. As they enjoy their noodles, he asks, “Anything interesting with the autopsy?”

  “Nothing, straightforward, the COD is severe hemorrhaging. The left carotid was severed and part of the trachea, too. Judging from the wound, it’s believed to have been caused with one upward slashing motion.”

  “Upward?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Safia says, putting down her chopsticks and running her finger on Mislan’s neck. “From here upward to here.”

  “The victim’s what, about five feet tall?”

  “Exactly five feet one inch.”

  “Usually the strike is either a stabbing motion or downward strike, where it’s easier to apply force. In this case it’s upward, hmmm.”

  “The assailant could be shorter than the victim,” Dr. Safia suggests.

  “The victim is five one, how short could he be? Any shorter than that, he would be a midget.”

  Mislan closes his eyes, picturing the crime scene. When he opens his eyes, Dr. Safia is staring at him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “It scares me when you go into your shaman detective mode,” Dr. Safia says with a sly smile.

  “Sorry, I was trying to picture the crime scene.”

  Dr. Safia uses her hands to peel the lobster skin. Mislan watches as she savors it, thinking he has forgotten what it tastes like.

  “Any defensive wound?”

  “No.”

  Mislan nods slowly to himself. “I think she was caught by surprise. The assailant or assailants heard her opening the front door. They hid behind the partitioning wall at the dining table. When she walked past them to go to the bedroom they struck, catching her off guard.”

  “And how does that explain the upward strike?”

  “They were most likely crouched behind the wall, shielded by the dining table. When the victim walked by, they sprang up and slashed her. Hence the upward motion. The blood spatters on the wall also ran upward, consistent with the slash motion.”

  “They were already inside the house waiting for her. Makes sense why there was no defensive wound on the victim.”

  After dinner, Mislan tells Dr. Safia he needs to go home. He had earlier promised his son that he could sleep with him tonight.

  “How’s Daniel?” Dr. Safia asks.

  “The doctor says just a sore throat.”

  “Did the doctor do a blood test for dengue?”

  “Yes, the result will be in tomorrow, but he doubted it’s dengue.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Dropping her at her apartment, he wishes her good night. She kisses him on the cheek and says, “Night, and kiss Daniel good night for me.”

  17

  THE NEXT MORNING AT 8:30, Inspector Sherry attends the morning prayer at Special Investigations Unit. She doesn’t know what to expect. Entering the meeting room, she’s greeted by the investigators who are already there. She knows Inspector Reeziana and Inspector Mislan but not Inspector Tee and ASP Ghani from Special Projects. Sherry introduces herself to them and takes a seat across from Inspector Mislan. Superintendent Samsiah joins them and starts by saying Sherry will be joining them until the rape-murder case is concluded.

  “OK, let’s start. Yana?”

  Inspector Reeziana briefs the meeting on her twenty-four-hour shift: one shooting case in Brickfields, an attempted robbery of a goldsmith, but no one injured. The case is being investigated by the district, with D9 assisting. Three armed robberies, one using a knife and two with parang machetes. All were roadside robberies and are being investigated by the district.

  The head of Special Investigations excuses those having to attend court cases, then turns to Sherry.

  “Sherry, would you like to update us on your case?”

  Inspector Sherry gives a summary of her case, including only what she feels should be public news and won’t jeopardize her investigation.

  “How was the deceased related to your victim?” Samsiah asks.

  “My victim, Julie, says Zaitun, the deceased, was her housemate. They’ve been housemates for almost one and a half years. I’ve a feeling she wasn’t telling the whole truth. I wanted to press her on it, but the doctor advised me not for the time being. It may aggravate her emotional condition.”

  “What made you think she was holding back?” Samsiah asks.

  “The bedroom, when we searched it. We found personal belongings of the deceased: laptop, clothing, et cetera.”

  “So they’re roommates rather than housemates.”

  “More likely.”

  “Intimate? A couple?” Mislan asks.

  Samsiah, Sherry, and Reeziana look at him.

  “Two women sharing a room doesn’t automatically mean they’re a couple,” Sherry says, not liking Mislan’s insinuatio
n. “It could just be cost-saving, or they’re close friends. Like men don’t share rooms,” she sneers.

  “Why are you asking?” Samsiah asks.

  “The vic was wearing sneakers, slacks, and a polo shirt. I thought women don’t usually wear polo shirts. Jo also initially thought the vic was a male. I’m just asking if—”

  “Your victim worked at Beach Club, what do you expect her to be dressed in—skirts, kebaya?” Sherry snaps back.

  “You mean a pengkid,” Reeziana interjects.

  All eyes turn to Reeziana.

  “The street slang for a girl that dresses and acts like a boy, who has girlfriends … beautiful girlfriends.”

  “Tomboy?” Samsiah asks.

  “More than just tomboys. Tomboys are girls that like to do boys’ activities. Pengkids are girls that want to be boys both in style and sexuality.”

  “OK, let’s leave it at that,” Samsiah suggests.

  There is a knock on the meeting room door. Detective Sergeant Johan pokes his head in and informs Sherry that her IT technician has got something online. Sherry and Mislan look anxiously at the head of Special Investigations. Before she can nod her approval to excuse them, they’re already out of their chairs dashing for the door.

  “Let’s take the stairs,” Mislan calls, leading the way.

  Saifuddin turns toward another beeping computer, saying, “I know, I know.” He hits several commands and repeats the urgency for someone to call in Inspector Sherry.

  “Done,” Detective Deena replies.

  Sherry, Mislan, and Johan barge into the room.

  “What’s happening?” Sherry asks.

  “The Emancipatist is on the net,” Sai says excitedly, his fingers rapidly working the keyboard. “He’s logged on at Plaza Low Yat Starbucks’ Wi-Fi.”

  Sherry instructs Deena and the team to scramble there.

  “Spread out and observe. Do not make an arrest unless you’re positive, a hundred percent positive, he’s the Emancipatist. I don’t want to show our hand.”

  She looks at Mislan and Johan questioningly.

  “We’re going,” Mislan says. “Keep us updated.”

  Sherry nods. “Deena, go with Dorai.” Once the team leave, she turns to the IT technician, “Sai, how can we identify him? Low Yat is a computer mall; I’m sure there’re many people using the Wi-Fi there. We can’t pick them all up. Can you identify him?”

  “I can’t. The thing is, he may not even be at Starbucks. He could be near Starbucks, within range of their Wi-Fi.”

  “And how far away would that be?”

  “Depends on the signal strength, but I don’t think more than twenty-five yards.”

  “That place has many fast-food outlets. There’s no way Deena and the team can cover them all,” Sherry agonizes. “And other outlets provide Wi-Fi, too. Why would he be somewhere else and use the Starbucks Wi-Fi? Wouldn’t it be better for him to use the other outlets’ Wi-Fi?”

  “I’m saying he might not even be there, I could be wrong. However, if I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting at Starbucks. That way, if my username was being monitored, the people monitoring would think I’m at Starbucks. If they hit Starbucks, I’ll quietly turn off my computer and slip away.”

  “Arghh. It’s always so simple on TV.”

  She calls Mislan to tell him what Saifuddin said.

  “Start with Starbucks and spread out to the surrounding outlets.”

  “What do you want us to do? We don’t even know what he looks like,” Mislan says.

  “Observe and try to remember as many faces as you can, look out for suspicious behavior or nervousness. You know the drill. Maybe next time, the face will ring a bell.”

  Parking is murderously difficult to find around the Low Yat Plaza. The narrow street between the buildings is constantly jam-packed. Mislan drops Johan in front of the plaza and drives on looking for parking. After double-parking, he walks over to the plaza and sees Johan standing by the entrance.

  “Deena says he could be anywhere.” Johan greets him. “Didn’t the IT tech say he’s logged on at Starbucks?”

  “He could be anywhere within the signal range.” He surveys the surroundings. “There’re at least thirty people here with laptops or tablets. How the hell do we know which one is him? That’s not counting smartphone users.” He leans against the railing and lights a cigarette.

  Detective Deena and Dorai appear from inside the mall. They stop to talk to Johan for a moment and walk away. Then Johan walks over to his boss.

  “Deena says she tested the signal strength using her smartphone, and it doesn’t reach inside the mall. It’s only out here and over there,” Johan says, indicating with a jerk of his head.

  “Is he still logged on?”

  Johan makes a call to Sherry, who says, “No, he just logged off.”

  “Don’t you need to buy something before you can get the Wi-Fi password on the receipt?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t drink expensive coffee,” Mislan says.

  “I forgot, you’re cheap Charlie,” Johan jests.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Mislan is annoyed. “Let’s get out of here, I’m double-parked. Jo, tell Deena to get the CCTV recording from Starbucks.”

  “What do you expect to find?”

  “Nothing for now, but I’m hoping the next time the bastard logs on it’ll be somewhere that has cameras.”

  “I see, you want to compare faces,” Johan says.

  “Make it fifteen minutes pre and post the login time.”

  “OK, I’ll stick around with the team and catch you back at the office.”

  18

  THE MEETING ROOM THAT has been turned into the task force center is silent except for the faint click-clack of the keyboard. Saifuddin is engrossed with his computers, with Sherry hovering behind him, feeling desperate and lost. She sees line after line of garbage scroll up the monitor screens, not understanding anything. Saifuddin keys in more commands, and more lines appear, some in white, some in blue, and mostly incomprehensible.

  “What now?” she asks.

  “I’m checking UTube for new uploads.”

  “Is it there?”

  “Still searching.”

  “I don’t see UTube site on the screen; where’re you searching?”

  “From the source.”

  “Why can’t you go to the UTube site and search?”

  “Too many uploads. UTube isn’t only serving us here. It’s all over the globe.”

  “Can’t you just go to UTube and type ‘Emancipatist’ on the search?”

  “Did that—nothing.”

  “Google it.”

  “Too soon for Google to pick it up.”

  “What about him, did we get anything on him?”

  Turning to another computer, he says, “I’m trying to get into the Starbucks network.”

  “Can you?”

  “It’s an unsecured domain. How difficult can it be?” Saifuddin brags.

  “If you say so, you’re the expert. Why do you need to get into it?”

  “To get his MAC and IP address and computer make and model.”

  “I know IP address stands for ‘Internet protocol,’ but what is MAC?”

  “Machine Access Code.”

  “If you get them, what can we do with it?”

  “It gives you the computer details. I can run a check on the manufacturer’s distribution list.”

  “You can do it from here?”

  “Yes, but only to the main or regional distributors. From there on, it has to be by personal inquiry.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You have to go there, to the retailer and ask who bought the laptop.” Then he says, “Shit.”

  “Why, what’s wrong?” Sherry asks.

  “I can’t get into the Starbucks network.”

  “I thought you said it’s easy, a public unsecured domain.”

  “Well, I thought wrong,” Saifuddin admits sheepishly.

  Mislan arrives
at the Kuala Lumpur Police Contingent Headquarters and takes the elevator up to D11. He heads straight to the task force situation room. Sherry and Saifuddin can see how annoyed he is. They watch him without saying or asking anything, not wanting to aggravate him. Mislan walks to the window, unlocks its latch, and pushes it slightly open. He takes out his pack of cigarettes and lights up. Sherry glares at him and is about to say something when Mislan raises his hand to stop her.

  Saifuddin stands and closes the door to the room, pressing the lock button.

  “Good man,” Mislan says, flashing him a smile.

  The IT technician crosses the room, stands next to Mislan, takes out a pack of cigarettes, and flashes Sherry a schoolboy grin while lighting up.

  “Great, just bloody great,” Sherry remarks.

  “Relax, will you? We just need some stimulant to work the brain,” Mislan says. “What now? Where do we go from here?”

  Sherry briefs him on what the IT technician was trying to do and how he failed to get into the Starbucks network.

  “I worked with this geek before in one of my cases,” Mislan offers. “What’s his name … Hubble, yes Hubble, like the telescope. Anyway, he can get into anything and I mean anything.”

  “A hacker?” Sherry says.

  Mislan shrugs.

  “Has to be if he can get into anything,” Saifuddin says.

  “You want me to call him?” Mislan asks Sherry.

  “Nooo. I’m not conducting this investigation your style. We’ll do it by the book, every step of the investigation.”

  “What do you mean by ‘my style’?” Mislan asks, staring at the D11 investigator.

  Saifuddin watches in amusement as the two officers lock stares. Each not backing down or blinking. A knock on the door breaks the staring match. Mislan and Saifuddin flick their cigarettes out the window. Saifuddin waves his hands around to clear the smoke. Sherry goes to open the door, and Detective Sergeant Johan along with the rest of the team look at her inquiringly.

  “What’s going on?” Deena asks, seeing her boss’s angry expression.

  Johan looks toward his boss incredulously. Mislan gives his assistant a blank look. Saifuddin, on the other hand, is trying hard to stifle a smile. Johan knows his boss must have rubbed the D11 officer the wrong way.