by H. Y. Hanna
Leah shifted uncomfortably. “I think I’ve seen enough.”
Toran nodded wryly. “Yeah, I think we get the picture.” He clicked the video shut. “So… that’s Warne’s dirty little secret. It would certainly give him a motive for murder.”
Leah looked at him in puzzlement. “But I don’t understand—is that a crime?”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of whether it’s a crime. Prostitution is actually legal in Singapore. Homosexuality isn’t, although I’m not sure if it would be classified as a homosexual act, in the case of a transgender prostitute.”
“So then, what’s the big deal?” asked Leah
“It’s Warne’s reputation,” said Toran. “Warne’s built his billions on the back of his image as a wholesome, family man. He has massive support from the community and he is well known as a philanthropist who is very vocal about traditional virtues… You know, he brands his companies with this image of pure, moral values—even maintaining that it’s strictly upheld in his workplace. Only last month, he fired a senior manager for having the Playboy channel on his home TV. So if it comes out that he himself has been visiting prostitutes, and not even just standard prostitutes, but ladyboys… well, he’d never live down the public humiliation and outrage at his hypocrisy. His company’s shares would plummet. His investors would pull out. He would lose positions of influence and power in society. He just couldn’t afford to let that happen.”
Leah watched Toran speak, fascinated at the change that had come over him. This wasn’t the passionate lover of last night or the tender friend from her childhood. This was a side of Toran she had never seen—the cold-eyed journalist hunting down a story with the same predatory cunning of a lone wolf.
“Why not just pay her off then?” she asked.
“Warne’s a control freak,” said Toran. “He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of somebody having a hold over him like this, able to force him to do anything with the threat of blackmail over his head.” Toran sat back. “I’m guessing that this ladyboy and her friend set up the secret webcam and filmed Warne with the intention of blackmailing him. But when she actually met him and demanded money, it backfired. Things got heated, maybe they had an argument or something and Warne knocked her out by mistake. He’s notorious, you know, for having a short fuse and a vicious temper, in spite of the pains he takes with his public image. There were a couple of cases of assault brought against him by employees which were quickly squashed.”
He didn’t add “by your father” but Leah caught the implication. Toran gave her an apologetic look and continued. “Maybe Warne hadn’t planned to kill her, but once she was unconscious and he thought about the whole situation, he must have realised that the only way he could win was if he silenced her permanently…” He looked at Leah. “What?”
Leah stood up excitedly. “I just remembered where I’ve seen her face! The ladyboy who was with Warne.”
“Where?”
“On the front page of the Straits Times. It was her body that was dumped in the Singapore River. They showed an artist’s impression of her face. They probably couldn’t show a photo of the real thing because it might have been too disturbing for the public. They couldn’t find any ID on her so they were asking for anyone with information to come forward.” Leah added thoughtfully, “And I understand now why Inspector Ravi told me that hers was a ‘particular situation’. He must have been talking about her ladyboy status.”
“Which has been kept from the public so far,” mused Toran.
“Yes,” said Leah. “All the reports always just said a woman’s body was found in the river.” Her eyes drifted back to the computer screen. “We should find her,” said Leah suddenly. “The other ladyboy in the video. If she’s willing to testify against Warne…”
Toran nodded. “Yes, her testimony would make a big difference.”
“But how do we find her?”
Toran looked thoughtfully back at the computer screen. “That red neon sign outside the window of the bedroom… I recognise that. It’s the logo of The Naughty Minx bar. That bar’s in the one place in Singapore that’s well known as a ladyboy hangout. Orchard Towers. ‘The Four Floors of Whores’, as the locals call it.”
“Orchard Towers?” Leah said disbelievingly. “But that’s a shopping centre on Orchard Road! You’re not telling me that next to all those Prada and Versace stores—”
“It is a shopping centre in the daytime,” said Toran. “Albeit nothing like the high-end, designer palaces on that road. But after dark, it becomes something else. There are clubs and bars there and it’s well known as a place to pick up girls.” Toran grinned. “Or boys that look like girls.”
“But how can you be sure that you’ll find her there? You don’t even know her name.”
“I’m not sure,” said Toran. “But we’ve got to start somewhere and Orchard Towers is as good a place as any. As for finding her…” He clicked open the first video again and freeze-framed it on a shot that clearly showed the two ladyboys’ faces. Hitting a button on the keyboard, he took a screenshot, then instructed the computer to print it.
A whirring noise came from the corner of the office as a printer awoke and began consuming paper. A second later it spat out a single sheet, covered with a grainy image. Toran went over to pick it up.
“It’s pretty low-res, but I think it’ll do.” He held it up for Leah to see. “We’ll head over to Orchard Towers after dark and see if we can find her.” He hesitated. “But even if we do find her… it might still not be enough.”
“What do you mean?” asked Leah. “If this ladyboy testifies that her friend was going to see Warne that night and was planning to blackmail him… and then her friend’s dead body turns up in the Singapore River… well, suspicion would naturally fall on Warne.”
Toran shook his head. “There’s no ‘naturally’ at all. Warne has a reputation as a respectable, upstanding citizen of the community. The last thing anyone would suspect him of is murder. And even if there were questions raised, Warne could say that there is no proof he actually killed that ladyboy. Your father was the only witness to that. Warne could say that he paid her off and when they parted, the ladyboy was fine. Then she was mugged and killed later on.” Toran moved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Nothing to do with him.”
“It would still be really suspicious—”
“Suspicious, yes, but not proof that Warne did it. Besides, it would be his word against the ladyboy’s friend and you can bet that he’ll have the best defence lawyers in town. Who do you think people are going to believe—the respectable businessman or the transsexual hooker?”
The outside door slammed and they turned around as they heard footsteps in the hallway. A moment later, Dieter came into the office. Leah looked at Toran’s friend with interest, as she barely remembered meeting him last night. He was tall—as tall as Toran—with close-cropped, dark brown hair and eyes an unusual shade of piercing blue. He smiled briefly at Leah then put something on the desk in front of Toran.
“You might want to see this,” he said.
Toran looked down. Leah could see that it was the latest edition of the local newspaper. She moved closer to Toran as a small headline in the bottom right-hand corner caught her eye.
Journalist survives explosion?
There has been an unconfirmed sighting of local journalist, Toran James, who was believed to have been the victim of a fatal gas explosion aboard a yacht last week. His body was never recovered from the wreckage. An anonymous source has reported seeing Mr James last night in the Tanglin area…
Toran cursed under his breath. “I’ve been half-expecting this. Last night, Warne’s man… he must have recognised me. I thought the dim light and confusion during the fight might have helped, but obviously not.”
“So now Warne knows you’re alive,” Leah said worriedly.
Toran gave a grim smile. “I always knew that he would find out sooner or later anyway—this was only ever going to be a tem
porary thing” He looked at his friend. “I’m sorry, Dieter. We probably shouldn’t stay here anymore. I don’t want to involve you in anything that could be dangerous.”
Dieter laughed. “It doesn’t bother me. It wouldn’t be the first time I have been involved in something ‘dangerous’, as you call it. But you should take care. Warne is not a man who gives up easily.”
“Neither am I,” said Toran.
Dieter nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Good. Then viel glück, as we say in German.”
“I just wish we had something more.” Toran dropped back in the desk chair and exhaled with frustration. He looked at Leah. “Your father told me that he had definite evidence to incriminate Warne. He was a lawyer; he must have known that just this video footage wouldn’t be enough—even if we manage to get the ladyboy friend’s testimony—so there must have been something else. Are you sure there was nothing else in the hidden safe?”
Leah shook her head. “No. You’re thinking of a weapon, aren’t you?”
Toran inclined his head. “Means, motive, and opportunity.”
“We’ve got the last two,” said Leah slowly. “And we know that Warne used his dagger to kill her—”
“Dagger?” Dieter said suddenly.
Toran swung around to look at his friend. “The one that Warne wears all the time. His personal kris dagger. Never goes anywhere without it.”
“He’s no longer wearing it,” said Dieter.
“What?”
“I saw him last weekend at the annual Premier Business Club dinner. He didn’t have it on him.” Dieter folded his tanned arms and leaned against a bookcase. “I noticed because—like you say—it’s almost become Warne’s signature look, even though he’s teased for it. Personally, I think a man with a temper like his is better off not carrying a sharp weapon,” he said with a dry smile.
“Last weekend?” said Leah. “Toran, when did the murder take place?”
“Wednesday last week,” he said.
“And has anyone seen Warne wearing the dagger since?” Leah asked eagerly. “Like, was he wearing it on Thursday?”
Toran met her eyes, reading her thoughts. “You’re thinking that if he hasn’t been seen wearing the dagger since, it might mean that he lost it on Wednesday. That he might have given it to your father to get rid of, as well as the other evidence?”
“And if my father didn’t get rid of it—if he’s hidden it somewhere, like the USB stick—then it would be the perfect, irrefutable evidence of Warne’s crime! It would have his prints, his DNA all over it—as well as the ladyboy’s blood and DNA.” Leah jumped up with excitement. “There’s no way Warne could wriggle out of that one.”
Toran turned to the computer again and rapidly navigated to a new site on the browser.
“What are you doing?” asked Leah, as she and Dieter watched him type in a password.
“Checking the Pan Asia Media image database,” said Toran. “It’s not one hundred per cent proof that he no longer had it, but if there’s a picture of Warne taken last Thursday which shows him without his dagger… Bingo,” he said softly, as he pulled up an image.
It showed Warne standing outside a building in downtown Singapore, posing for a formal handshake with another man in a suit. On the wall of the building behind him was a brass plaque, engraved with writing. A small crowd of people stood around them, smiling and clapping. The time stamp showed that it had been taken last Thursday at 2:07 p.m. Leah leaned in to look closer. Warne was definitely not wearing his dagger. The usual spot along his waistband was empty.
“The problem now is working out where your father might have hidden it,” said Toran.
“Maybe we should go back to the villa,” said Leah slowly. “I’m positive that there was nothing else in the concealed safe. But maybe there’s some other hiding place that I might have overlooked.”
Toran stood up. “Let’s go.”
Dieter smiled. “Viel glück,” he said again.
CHAPTER 21
Leah was unable to repress a shudder as they arrived back at her father’s villa. She still couldn’t remember everything that had happened here last night, but she remembered enough. She followed Toran as they slipped through the side gate into the gardens and entered the house through the broken study window.
“It looks like the police have been here,” said Leah, glancing at the fingerprint powder on various surfaces. She wondered if they had gotten anything aside from her own prints. She doubted Warne’s men would have been so careless as to leave fingerprints—they must have worn gloves during their search. She paused by her father’s desk. The inventory that Stanford Lim had given her was still there—she must have forgotten it by mistake when she had left in such a hurry.
She looked out the window, remembering the feeling of being watched. Had Warne’s men been in the garden that day, watching her through the glass? The thought made her squirm, as if an insect had crawled under her clothes and was now moving slowly against her skin.
Leah shook the feeling off and looked across at Toran, who was stepping carefully over the items strewn on the floor, his eyes darting thoughtfully around. It was strange seeing him here, in her old house, in her father’s study. His tall figure dominated the room. In spite of the years that had passed, in spite of the fact that she was an adult now and her father was dead, she still felt like they were doing something forbidden—being here together.
He looked up and met her eyes and Leah had the strangest feeling that he knew what she was thinking. But the only thing he said was, “Where’s the concealed safe?”
Leah crossed the room and crouched in front of the antique gramophone cabinet. Quickly, she showed Toran the secret lever which opened the hidden safe at the back.
He stared at the empty space inside. “There must be another hiding place.”
“I’ve been trying to think,” said Leah, chewing her bottom lip in frustration. “I just don’t remember any other safe.”
“Maybe it’s not here in this house. Would there be any other place your father might hide something?”
Leah shrugged. “His office? But that would be the first place that Warne’s men would look.”
Toran shook his head. “Your father was a clever man. He would never have made it that easy.” He glanced up at the other safe—the conventional one on the wall that had been covered by a painting. He walked over to it and swung it open. “What about in here? Do you know if anything has been taken from here?”
“I thought you said he wouldn’t make it easy?” said Leah, going over to stand next to him. Her shoulder brushed his and she was very aware of Toran’s body next to her. Somehow, with breakfast, the excitement of watching the video footage, and then the discussion with Dieter on how to incriminate Warne, their sizzling attraction had been pushed to the background. But she felt it there, simmering just below the surface. Sooner or later, they were going to have to address what had nearly happened last night.
“I’m just being curious,” said Toran, his eyes scanning the contents of the wall safe. “And being thorough. It’s the good journalist’s mantra: be thorough.”
Leah shrugged. “Well, I don’t really know what might have been taken because I don’t know what was in there in the first pla—wait!” She smacked her head. “How stupid of me! He gave me the inventory!”
“Sorry?” Toran looked at her, puzzled.
Leah rushed back to her father’s mahogany desk and snatched up the piece of paper she had left there the last time. “This! Stanford Lim, my father’s colleague, gave me this. It’s an inventory of valuable items in his study, including the wall safe. Stanford told me that my father dropped into his office last Thursday to add this extra sheet to his will. I never thought about it at the time, but now I wonder if my father was preparing, just in case…”
Leah walked back to Toran, her words coming in a rush. “He knew I would probably remember the concealed safe, so that’s not included in the inventory, but th
e contents of this safe are. Why? Unless he put something important in here too and wanted to make sure that I would know if it went missing.” She scanned the list, then hurried back to the wall safe. “Cash: euros, pounds, dollars… the gold Rolex… documents… certificates… bonds… passport… keys—wait, where are the keys?”
“What keys?” asked Toran.
Leah pointed to the inventory. “It says here there should be a ring of household master keys in the safe. They’re not here.”
Toran lifted everything out of the safe to be sure. There were no keys.
“Warne’s men took them,” said Leah urgently. “They must have thought one of the keys was important. Maybe they thought my father put the evidence in a safe deposit box or something—something that required a key to open it.”
“Your father would never use a standard safe deposit box,” argued Toran. “It would be too obvious. Warne could easily use his contacts to check and see if your father opened a new safe deposit box or accessed any existing ones the day after the murder.”
“No, you’re right; Stanford Lim didn’t mention any safe deposit boxes to me either,” said Leah, thinking hard. “The important key on the ring must open something else.”
“Why don’t we have a look around the rest of the house?” suggested Toran.
Leah followed him obediently. She was a bit reluctant to go back into the kitchen—the memory of the drug-induced terror from last night was still fresh—but she squared her shoulders and walked in after a moment’s hesitation. A big paper bag sat on the kitchen counter—obviously Warne’s man had accepted the takeaway in the end. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of congealed Indian food.
“Eeuww,” Leah said, picking up the bag and throwing it into the kitchen bin. She glanced over at the big fridge humming in the other corner of the kitchen, her childish crayon drawing of the lion in Singapore Zoo looking incongruous on its gleaming stainless steel surface. “I guess I should look through the fridge as well and chuck out everything that’s spoilt or might spoil,” she said without much enthusiasm.
