“I’m not too sure about that,” Samsiah says encouragingly. “Wahab led you to Ape-Man. That’s solid evidence, and you can use Wahab’s testimony to tie Ape-Man to the Apple laptop.”
“Ape-Man says he sold the notebook to an unknown person,” Sherry groans.
“That’s crap,” Mislan butts in. “He was toying with you because he knew we have nothing. He’s not a trader.”
“Based on what?”
“He works in a car wash, how much do you think he earns a day? Thirty … forty ringgit? Where would he get seven hundred ringgit for a laptop, taking into account the rental for his apartment—mind you he’s the main tenant—the installment on his motorbike loan, and his daily expenses? He’d have barely enough to survive.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Someone is financing him. He’s in this circle, the loop, so he was used to buy the laptop.”
“Who’s this mysterious financier?” Sherry asks.
“That’s our jackpot.” Mislan grins. “We’re going for the jackpot. Ma’am, can we get additional support?”
“An additional man?”
“Officer.”
“There’re already two of you.”
“Sherry and I need to work on the detainees, and I was hoping Reeziana can help us with some legwork. The men saw a woman leaving Ape-Man’s apartment, but they lost her when she got on the expressway. They’re on the way back with the particulars of the car’s owner. I was hoping Reeziana might lead the men on this.”
“You think the woman’s involved?”
“We won’t know until we get her in. Karim said she came over to collect some project assignments. He could be telling the truth, but the timing is suspicious, and I don’t like coincidences.”
“What you don’t like doesn’t fly by me.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” Mislan answers smilingly. “Chew tells me that the DNA sample we collected outside the Setapak Jaya flat was from a female.”
Samsiah raises her eyebrows.
“Don’t get excited, the samples collected could be from another accident. I asked the standby detective to make some inquiries to find out if there was another such event recently.”
“What else are you withholding from Sherry?” Samsiah demands.
“I take offense at that, ma’am,” Mislan replies, faking hurt. “I only just found out about the result and did mention it to her in passing.”
“OK, I’m sorry. It was uncalled for,” Samsiah apologizes with a smile.
“Apology accepted.”
Sherry smiles in amusement. “You buy that, ma’am?”
“I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. What else do you have?”
“This is just a hunch. I’ve been studying the crime scenes and their victimology.”
“Victimology. Big word,” Sherry kids.
“TV’s a good teacher,” he replies. “So what’s the link between the vics? Two things, the crimes were committed in apartments, and the vics were lesbians.”
The two women eye him, attentively.
“Ma’am, can I smoke? It’s been a long day, and my brain doesn’t work too well without nicotine,” he asks sheepishly.
“Get the ashtray yourself. Lower shelf.”
Sherry shakes her head in amazement at Mislan’s audacity.
“Thanks.” He opens the cabinet, takes out the ashtray, and, leaning against the cabinet, lights a cigarette. “The way I figure it, the selection of the crime scenes was not by choice but by convenience.”
“You lost me there,” Samsiah says.
“What do gated high-rise tenants have in common?”
“Car stickers,” Sherry answers.
“Not all, many of them have done away with car stickers,” Samsiah says by way of refuting his argument.
“But not all, and our two vics lived in high-rise apartments that still use windshield stickers. I bet the third vic’s management does, too.”
“But that still doesn’t mean anything,” Sherry says.
“It does if the car is sent for servicing or a wash or given to a car jockey. The culprit eyeballs the driver who has been marked as lesbian, notes the name of the apartment, and makes a duplicate of the apartment keys left in the car. They would have all the time in the world to look in the glove compartment for bills or documents for the unit number. Even if they don’t find any, how difficult would it be to get that information once you know the apartment building?”
“Good theory, but too elaborate and painstaking,” Sherry muses.
“I watched the videos five or six times, and the more I view them, the more convinced I am that the crimes were painstakingly planned and executed. There’s nothing to indicate these were crimes of lust or opportunity. The vics were selected, possibly monitored for days, weeks, even months, before they were raped.” He shakes his head. “These are definitely not two-men jobs. And I won’t be surprised if they have a list of potential vics.”
Sherry shivers. “That’s frightening.”
“You theorize that Ape-Man was financed. What do you mean by that?” Samsiah probes. “Are you saying there’s an individual, or a group, behind him … a brain behind these rapes?”
“I don’t think Ape-Man has the resources—or the brains. So far, we know of two laptops and, probably, two video cams. There could be more, and that takes financing. We also know there are, at least, two rape teams using the same MO. There could be more out there, waiting for a signal from their controllers like suicide-bomber squads waiting in their cells, brainwashed for the ‘cause,’ whatever that may be. These are simple-minded men and women who don’t have the money to finance, or the capacity to plan, the crimes.”
“That’s one hell of a theory,” Sherry says.
“You’re saying Ape-Man and others like him are being manipulated or brainwashed into raping lesbians?” Samsiah prods him. “How did you come up with that?”
“I was prompted by Dr. Safia. She drew my attention to the username, Emancipatist, which should be ‘Emancipator,’ a person out to free others, a liberator. Initially, I took that as a creative username that they coined. But she told me about an article she read on rapes in South African, Zimbabwe, and Thailand. Put the username together with the anti-LGBT movement and the victimology, and it all adds up.”
The two women stare at him.
“To be specific, corrective rape,” he whispers, as if the term is taboo.
45
SHERRY’S CELL PHONE RINGS, and Saifuddin’s excited shouts can be heard by others in the office without being placed on speaker.
“The Emancipatist’s online again. He’s now at Pelita restaurant Jalan Ampang … yes … a minute ago … no, not the same computer … the MAC address doesn’t match,” he says, answering a salvo of rapid questions from her.
“Pelita Jalan Ampang,” she says to Mislan while still hanging on to the phone with Saifuddin.
Mislan is already on his cell phone to Johan, barking instructions for the task force team to get moving.
“Get the team to Pelita Jalan Ampang … Yes … close to KLCC.”
“Give me more,” Sherry asks.
“I’m trying to get more,” Saifuddin replies agitatedly.
“OK, stay on him.”
“Another posting?” Samsiah inquires.
“Is he posting a video?” Sherry asks.
“No … I mean, not yet.”
“OK, we’re on the move. Keep us updated,” she says, terminating the call.
“Jo has mobilized the team,” Mislan says.
“Let’s go.”
“Be careful,” Samsiah calls after the two officers.
Outside the police headquarters, they hit the evening crawl. Mislan squeezes the car to the side, half-riding the curb, annoying other drivers, who honk, swear, and give him the finger. He almost rams into a motorbike.
“You’re going to get somebody killed,” Sherry scolds him.
“Where the hell is Jo whe
n I need him?”
“What has Jo got to do with this?”
“He was once in the MPV squad and he does this better than … Fuck! … asshole.”
“Watch out!” Sherry screams as a car cuts in front of them.
“Call Sai, and ask him if Emancipatist is still on the net.”
Sherry puts the call through.
“Yes.”
“What about the team, are they there yet?”
“They’ll call in once they’re there. Here, here … Cut through here and go onto Jalan Sultan Ismail, next to Sungei Wang Plaza. Then you take Jalan Perak and P. Ramlee. That’s the shortest route.”
Mislan swerves into a side lane, missing a hawker by inches. He is instantly rewarded with honking from vehicles behind and screams from pedestrians.
“That was close,” he says in relief.
Sherry’s cell phone rings. The task force is in position.
Sherry calls Saifuddin. “Is he still on?”
“Yes, and I’ve got its MAC address. It’s a Samsung.”
“Good job. Keep us informed.” She calls the task force to tell them the Emancipatist is still online. “Spread around and monitor the situation. Identify Samsung users.”
“Tell them to cover all exits but not to move in until we arrive,” Mislan tells her.
Approaching the junction of Jalan Sultan Ismail and Jalan Raja Chulan, he hits the accelerator.
“Slow down, take a right at the traffic light, then keep left until Jalan Perak,” Sherry says
“It’s quicker this way. I’ll cut into P. Ramlee at the next traffic light.”
Passing the Petronas Twin Towers entrance, Mislan swears.
“Damn it, we’re on the wrong side of the street. We’ll have to go all the way to Ampang Park to make a U-turn.”
“Park on this side of the street, and we’ll walk across to Pelita,” Sherry suggests.
He sees an opening on the street and pulls in recklessly, amid loud honking and screeching tires.
“Are you crazy?” Sherry screams.
He kills the engine and gets out of the car. “Nothing’s happened, right?”
As they cross the street to Pelita, they see two task force members at the two gates and several more seated inside. Mislan counts nine customers with laptops, and about an equal number using tablets.
He turns to Sherry, bewildered. “How the hell do we know who he is?”
“Look for someone with a Samsung.”
He walks into the restaurant as if looking for a table. Sherry notices him nodding to the task force members seated around the restaurant. Before she can say anything, Mislan walks to the center of the restaurant, his sidearm drawn and displayed high in the air.
He shouts, “Police … don’t anyone move!”
The crowd falls silent, shocked by the sight of a man holding a gun. A heavily built customer sitting near Mislan panics and scampers out of his chair. His foot catches the leg of a table, sending him tumbling. The lightweight aluminum tables go crashing to the floor, and the occupants scuttle away as plates of curry, roti canai, and drink glasses fly through the air.
Sherry hurries to the front holding her authority card above her head, shouting.
“We’re the police, please calm down, and be seated,” she appeals, repeatedly.
She tells some customers to help the large man back to his feet, but they only stare at her blankly. Mislan steps in, barking more orders.
“This is a police raid. Please stay where you are. Anyone trying to leave will be arrested.”
His tone, the handgun, and Sherry’s authority card finally get the message across to the customers.
Coming close to Mislan, Sherry says, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Trying to catch the Emancipatist, remember? The rapist, the killer,” he hisses back.
Stepping away from her, Mislan announces.
“Listen up, please place your laptops, tablets, and cell phones on the table and remain seated.”
He signals to the task force members to close in, telling them to detain anyone with a Samsung. He paces around, looking at the customers. Moving from table to table, he apologizes for the inconvenience, telling owners of equipment other than Samsung to keep it.
Sherry sees a laptop on an empty table. She walks to one corner and scans the growing crowd on the street. After a while, she’s convinced the occupant and probable owner of the laptop on the empty table has disappeared. Most likely during the commotion when her crazy partner decided to play Dirty Harry. She signals him over and points to the laptop.
“It’s a Samsung. Where’s the owner?” Milan asks her.
“Gone.”
He turns to the next table and asks the occupants if they’d noticed the person at the table with the laptop.
“A man was using the laptop,” one of them says.
“Can you look around at the crowd, tell me if you see him,” Mislan says.
The man looks around and shakes his head.
“Do you remember how he was dressed?”
“He was wearing a white T-shirt.”
“Thank you. I need you to describe him to my men.”
Mislan sees a closed-circuit camera on the wall and asks Sherry to check if the cameras are operational and if they can get a copy of the recording. He instructs Johan to get a full description of the missing man and bag the laptop.
“Jo, send it to D10 for prints before handing it to Sai.”
46
SUPERINTENDENT SAMSIAH SITS QUIETLY as Burhanuddin rants on and on about the incident at Pelita restaurant, the calls he has been getting, and the promise of civil action against the department.
“Who the hell does he thinks he is? Threatening customers at gunpoint, causing panic at a tourist spot? The Pelita management has him on video and is threatening civil action against the police. I promise you, when this hits tonight’s prime-time news, his ass is fried. You can expect yours to be, too.” He pauses for breath. “I told you, he’s trouble. Does he think he’s above the law? But you choose to keep him and protect him. You disregarded my instructions to cut him loose, to transfer him to a desk job. What have you got to say for yourself now?”
Samsiah isn’t in the mood for a confrontation and remains quiet.
“I’ve asked ISCD to deal with him. I’ve suggested he be immediately suspended from active duty. He’s a bloody disgrace to the force.”
ISCD refers to Integrity and Standard Compliance Department, previously known as Disciplinary Department, the equivalent of Internal Affairs.
Mislan and Sherry are waiting outside the office of Superintendent Samsiah when she returns. She signals them to follow her. Sitting down, she calmly says, “Explain to me what happened, and why.”
Sherry glances at Mislan, as if saying “Let me explain.” He nods and leans back. She starts from when Saifuddin told them that the Emancipatist was online and finishes with the abandoned laptop.
“Enlighten me. Why did you feel a need to display your handgun?”
“This may sound silly,” Mislan says sheepishly. “At that moment, I felt it was the only way to get the customers’ attention and ensure they follow my instructions.”
“By intimidation and threat?” Samsiah mocks him.
“There was no intimidation nor was any threat made or intended. The handgun was not pointed at anyone. I wasn’t even holding it in a shooting grip. I held it in a display grip, in my palm.”
“Couldn’t you have attracted their attention or gotten them to follow your instructions by displaying your authority card?”
“In my honest opinion, no. Not instantly, as they were engrossed with chatting and their food. I wanted to stop the culprit from deleting evidence from the laptop,” he says in earnest. “Sherry held up her authority card. A lot of good that did.”
Sherry tries not to roll her eyes.
“The thing is, ma’am, our authority cards look like company IDs,” Mislan continues. “Unless one looks at
it closely, no one knows what it is. It’s not like TV cops that carry badges or shields. I didn’t have the time to walk around the restaurant showing my authority card to every customer and to wait for them to read it before moving to the next. But a gun—well, everyone knows what that is.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Certainly not everything, ma’am.”
“Try and find an answer for this. The case has been referred to ISCD, and the OCCI is demanding that you be suspended from active duty immediately, pending inquiry into your conduct.”
Somehow Mislan doesn’t seem surprised. He shrugs and smiles.
“He can’t do that,” Sherry bursts out in defense of her partner. “We’re so close to solving the cases.”
“Go tell him that,” Samsiah snaps at her.
The two officers are silenced.
“You said the restaurant has CCTV cameras. Have you got a copy of the recording?”
“Yes, it’s with Sai.”
“Did it also capture the gun-toting fool?”
“l’m not sure. I’ve not viewed it yet,” Sherry says.
She calls Sai and, cupping the mouthpiece, tells them that there is footage of Mislan with his handgun.
“Wonderful, tell him to make a copy for me,” Samsiah says, swiveling her chair toward the window. Without looking at them she continues, “Today’s Friday, I’ll try and delay ISCD. You’ll have until Monday before they come after you. You’ve got the weekend: use the time to close the case.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” Mislan says.
“Don’t thank me. I’m doing it for the victims and their families and because Sherry says you’re close to solving the case. They’ve suffered enough, and taking you off the case will only prolong their suffering. This time, I’m throwing you to the dogs. Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”
They stop by Forensic, and Kevin tells them his team managed to lift several fingerprints from the laptop. He has also taken swabs from the keypad and sent them for DNA analysis.
“Any match on the prints?”
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