A loud frantic knocking on the front door interrupted her train of thought. Ai Leen hurried to the entrance wondering who was making such a racket. Probably a meter reader, she thought with annoyance. Opening the heavy door a fraction, she saw that it was Reggie. She tried to slam it shut again, but he was too quick. A broad foot wedged the door open and, despite her putting her weight against it, he managed to get his shoulder and then his body into the apartment. She fell back, her hand instinctively groping for something to fend him off with. Her hand closed round a bunch of keys.
She screamed, ‘What do you want? Get out, get out, I tell you!’
Reggie was breathing heavily and his eyes were bloodshot. He put a hand on the door to support himself. She could smell him, dried sweat and the musky scent of fear.
She repeated, ‘What do you want?’
He said, ‘I got a call…from Maria.’ He looked at her almost pleadingly.
Ai Leen’s body was rigid with tension but she said in a puzzled tone, ‘Maria? What does she want?’
‘She says she saw me that night.’
‘What night?’
‘The night of the murder. She says she saw me at the office!’
‘I don’t understand.’
The only sound was Reggie’s wheezing, rasping breath.
Reggie said again, enunciating his words, ‘She wants money, or she will go to the police.’ He continued, almost pleading for understanding, ‘But I wasn’t there!’
Ai Leen ignored this latter part as irrelevant and said, ‘It’s not my problem.’
Reggie put a hand over his eyes. He said, ‘She knows about us.’
There was a silence as Ai Leen absorbed the implications of what he had said. She asked in an unnaturally calm voice, absent-mindedly replacing the keys on the table, ‘How much does she want?’
‘A million US dollars.’
‘Well, where is he?’
Sometimes he felt like the babysitter of a bad-tempered child, not the sidekick of the most successful murder investigator on the force, thought Corporal Fong. He answered patiently, adopting the firm but kind voice of a nursery school teacher, ‘He left the office for a meeting a couple of hours ago – he hasn’t returned yet.’
‘I finally have enough evidence to lean on that smug bastard and you can’t find him?’
Corporal Fong wondered whether to be leaned on by Inspector Singh would constitute the sort of enhanced interrogation techniques so beloved of the intelligence services of so-called civilised nations. He said smartly, a young man in control of events, ‘Sergeant Chung is waiting at the office and Sergeant Hassan is parked outside his home, sir! We’ll find Reggie Peters soon enough.’
‘What about Quentin Holbrooke?’
‘I released him.’ Fong did not sound pleased at the outcome but he supposed that they had no choice. Annie had been adamant that she would not testify against Quentin about the attack and David Sheringham had agreed with her. The lawyers were protecting one of their own. Still, it was only a matter of time before the superintendent had Holbrooke re-arrested and charged with drug trafficking.
He added, remembering the exhausted regretful young man whom he had put in a taxi that morning, ‘I don’t think he’ll go looking for trouble again.’
‘That fellow doesn’t have to look, trouble follows him around like a pet dog.’
Fong refrained from commenting on this flight of fancy.
‘All right,’ said Singh grumpily. ‘Let’s go round and have a chat with Maria Thompson in the meantime.’
Maria opened the front door herself. She was, as always, perfectly turned out, dressed in a pair of designer jeans, a silk shirt and open-toed stilettos. The toenails peeping out from her shoes, her fingernails and her lipstick were an identical shade of crimson. Ai Leen had to admire the woman’s confidence. She had used her looks to trap herself a wealthy husband. And when that well had run dry, Maria had turned to another source of income with the sort of dogged single-mindedness that she, Ai Leen, had shown in pursuing her own goals.
Ai Leen walked confidently into the room, following hard on the heels of Maria. She was calm and collected, a well-dressed woman paying a social visit to an acquaintance. She gave no outward sign that the nature of their errand was unusual in any way. Her footsteps in low-heeled court shoes were muffled in the thick carpeting. Except for the hum of the air conditioning, the place was silent and oppressive.
Reggie stumbled in after them. He was perspiring heavily. His stentorian breathing was audible to Ai Leen even though they were a few metres apart. Ai Leen shut her eyes briefly. She felt nauseous at the sudden memory of their hasty couplings, his clumsy hands on her body. She did not know, could not understand, how she had ever allowed such a thing to come to pass but she was determined that, after this day, Reggie Peters would never dare to approach her again.
He glanced at her, his hangdog expression pleading with her to take the lead in their discussion with Maria. She threw him a contemptuous look, noting with disgust that perspiration had caused his remaining strands of hair to stick to his scalp like congealed noodles at the bottom of an unwashed bowl.
Maria indicated with a gesture that they were to sit down and they both did, sinking into the sofa until their knees were slightly higher than their waists. Reggie put the briefcase he was carrying down by his feet but Ai Leen kept her capacious handbag on her lap.
‘I don’t understand why you bring her,’ said Maria, nodding scornfully at Ai Leen, her remarks directed at Reggie.
Ai Leen showed no sign that she had heard the contempt in Maria’s voice. Her face was the frigid mask she reserved for clients and colleagues although her grip on her bag tightened convulsively and the knuckles showed white with tension.
Reggie cleared his throat – he was struggling to get words out. ‘I need to talk to you.’
Maria said rudely, her natural assertiveness putting in an appearance, ‘I have nothing to say to you. I have said it all. Now I want the cash – all of it!’
‘Look, Maria, we brought the money.’ Reggie gestured to the briefcase at his feet and then wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.
‘Then you can go. I do not want to see your ugly face any more.’
Reggie said, his voice guttural with trepidation, ‘But I need to talk to you. I just don’t understand. Why are you saying you saw me at the office? I wasn’t there. I didn’t kill Mark!’
‘Of course you killed him – both of you – to keep your dirty little secret.’ Maria spat the words at them in disgust.
A woman who had prostituted herself for advancement was capable of deriding others for using the same tactic, thought Ai Leen. She said conversationally, ‘Actually, Reggie is right. He didn’t kill Mark.’
‘How do you know? Was it you?’ demanded Maria.
Ai Leen wondered whether the woman standing across from her was really stupid enough or greedy enough to blackmail someone she believed capable of murder. How could Maria imagine that she, Ai Leen, would ever allow herself to be the victim of such a ploy? Well, it was time to bring this charade to an end. She had no intention of falling into the clutches of Maria Thompson. She knew full well that if they succumbed to her attempt to extricate funds from them, it would never end. Women like Maria, once they had sunk their red-painted acrylic talons into you, never let go.
‘We’re not going to pay you, Maria. Neither of us was near the office and neither of us killed Mark.’
Maria spat on the ground at their feet and they all watched, as if hypnotised, as the white froth sank into the plush carpet, leaving a small dark stain. She said, ‘Of course you will pay. Otherwise, I will tell everyone, the partners, the police, the newspapers, about your little arrangement.’
Ai Leen rose to her feet with difficulty, reached into her bag and almost casually pulled out a serviceable looking handgun. Her tone was even – she might have been extracting a legal document from the bag. ‘Even if I have to kill you, Maria, we are not going to pay.
’
‘My God, Ai Leen. What are you doing?’
Reggie’s voice was a hoarse wheeze and she could hear the breath rattling in his chest. The shock had brought on his asthma. Perhaps he would do them all a favour and die of natural causes.
Her lips twisted, more spasm than smile. ‘Saving us some money,’ she answered.
Maria had remained silent. She was staring at the dark circle of the gun barrel, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Now, she took an instinctive step backwards.
Ai Leen’s gun arm was outstretched. The weapon was heavier than she had realised and she gripped it a little tighter to keep it steady. The handle was cool to the touch. Her index finger, curled around the trigger, was rigid with tension.
‘What are you saying?’ demanded Reggie. Spittle had gathered in the corners of his dry mouth. ‘We brought the money. We should just pay and get out of here.’
Ai Leen rounded on Maria, her voice showing the strain now. ‘How did you find out about Reggie and me? Did Mark tell you? How did he know?’
‘He overheard you talking on the phone to Reggie,’ whispered Maria.
Ai Leen shrugged and brought up the other arm so that the gun was held between her two hands. ‘It was bad enough to be unable to escape from this bastard. I certainly don’t plan to let you milk me for the rest of my life.’
Reggie said feebly, ‘We shouldn’t kill anyone…there’s no need.’
Contempt dripped from his colleague’s voice. ‘Look at you, you pathetic creature! You make me sick.’
‘What are you going to do?’ whispered Maria, staring at the weapon with a fascinated gaze, like a creature mesmerised on a highway by the bright glare of headlights.
‘Kill you, of course. And I don’t suppose Reggie here will be that keen on his assignations at the Fullerton after I do that!’ Ai Leen was pleased that her voice had remained steady throughout. From the expression on the faces of the others, she had been completely convincing. She had no intention of telling them that she had stolen the gun from her husband’s gun cupboard and that leaving a bullet in Maria would be the equivalent of writing her name in blood on the large gilt-edged mirror above the mantelpiece.
As she pointed the gun squarely at Maria’s chest, Reggie stepped forward. He put a hand up pleadingly. He said, ‘Please don’t do this!’
Ai Leen swivelled around quickly until the weapon was pointing at her erstwhile partner in crime. She didn’t need him to interfere with her plan. Maria had to believe that she would gun her down in cold blood rather than pay a penny of the blackmail sum. And she wanted, needed, Reggie to fear her as well – to be so terrified that he would never come near her again. Then, and only then, was she prepared to lower her weapon, agree to give them both one last chance to leave her alone.
Maria, seizing her opportunity when the gun was trained on Reggie, leapt forward. Ai Leen didn’t see her coming, didn’t know quite how convincing she had been. Maria reached for the gun hand, her fingers claw-like in desperation. The weapon shook in Ai Leen’s grip, her finger tightened spasmodically and the gun went off. Reggie fell to his knees and then keeled over clutching his chest. Neither woman spared him a glance.
The battle for survival was in earnest now. Maria knocked the weapon out of Ai Leen’s hand. The gun slithered under the couch and Ai Leen made a dive to retrieve it. Maria saw the danger and launched herself at Ai Leen, knocking her away from her target. But Ai Leen was now fighting like a madwoman. She lashed out with her foot, catching Maria sharply on the elbow. Maria clutched her arm and screeched in pain, the high sound of an animal caught in a sharp-toothed trap. Ai Leen tore into her, scratching and screaming. No one noticed a pounding on the front door. Maria, on the ground now, crawled painfully towards the gun. Ai Leen flung herself at her but a well-timed kick by the prone woman knocked her back. Maria grabbed the gun and scrambled to her feet.
Suddenly, a shot rang through the air and both women froze. Heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor and Inspector Singh burst into the room.
Twenty-Four
‘Drop your weapon!’ shouted Singh, his breath coming in loud painful pants.
Maria kept the gun trained on Ai Leen. Her hand was shaking and Singh was terrified that she would pull the trigger. Even from where he was standing it was obvious that a key suspect, Reggie, was dead. His eyes were open and staring, watching unfolding events with unseeing eyes. His careful comb-over had fallen away from his scalp, leaving it shiny and bare. The front of his shirt was a bloody mess. He had taken a bullet to the chest. It must have severed an artery to judge from the volume of blood pooling around his corpse.
Singh’s own chest hurt. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He felt like holstering his Taurus standard issue revolver and rubbing the spot directly over his heart. He wasn’t some sort of gallant figure, able to stumble upon a scene like this and save the day with panache. He had no idea what was going on. He had just wanted to question Maria Thompson again while waiting for one of his team to pick Reggie Peters up. He’d heard screams and then a shotgun fired. As he had shot out the front door lock and raced through the apartment, he had not been sure what to expect: a robbery in progress; a lovers’ tiff that had got out of hand; a suicide attempt…He certainly had not anticipated coming upon one key suspect holding a gun over the corpse of another. Singh felt a trickle of cold sweat escape the brim of his turban. It traced a course down his forehead via the grooves above his nose and trickled into his eyes. They began to smart and he blinked a few times to clear his vision.
He spoke calmly, trying to keep from breathing so hard. He didn’t want Maria to think that the only other person in the room with a gun was about to keel over from a heart attack. There were quite enough bodies associated with this case already. He didn’t want to personally add to their number.
The policeman was first and foremost a practical man. He might rue the circumstances, but he had to deal with the situation as he found it, not long for alternatives in a universe of infinite outcomes. He barked, injecting a note of belated authority into his voice, ‘Put down your gun.’
He noted that her weapon was a small-calibre revolver. He might even survive a bullet, assuming that – unlike Reggie Peters – he was lucky enough not to be hit in a vital spot. Still, he certainly hoped that he wouldn’t have to play the hero and try and take the gun off Maria forcibly. When Maria did not respond, he spoke again, louder and more aggressive this time, ‘It’s over!’ The steadiness of his gun hand was in marked contrast to the wavering weapon Maria had trained on Ai Leen.
Singh’s words seemed to penetrate Maria’s stupor because her eyes swivelled around to stare at him. The whites of her eyes were predominant. It was the same look he had seen in stray dogs cornered by dog catchers.
Singh said more gently, speaking directly to the Filipina woman, looking into her taut, panicky face, ‘It’s over.’ He realised he was working from the standard hostage rescue texts – establish authority and then seek a relationship with the hostage taker. He needed Maria to trust him if more bloodshed was to be avoided. She stared at him and then turned to look at the body on the floor. He said, ‘Maria, don’t do anything foolish. Remember, your children need you.’
He had found the magic words. He might have guessed that the only way to get through to this woman was to use her children as the chisel to chip away at her hard exterior. She dropped her gun hand and let the weapon fall. It hit the ground with a muffled thud.
There was an audible sigh of relief in the room. Singh realised belatedly that it had emanated from him. He felt much better now that he was the only person in the room holding a gun. He intoned formally, ‘Maria Thompson, you are under arrest for the murder of…err, Reggie Peters.’ And then he added in a puzzled tone, ‘Why in the world did you kill Reggie?’
Maria’s pupils dilated with shock. ‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered.
He snapped, ‘What do you mean?’
‘She want to
kill me!’ Maria’s tone grew stronger as she gesticulated angrily at Ai Leen. ‘When he – Reggie – tried to stop her, she shoot him.’
Singh shifted the point of his gun carefully so that it pointed at Ai Leen, not Maria. He wrinkled his nose. The strangely sweet cloying smell of fresh blood was overwhelming. He decided, looking at Ai Leen, that he had never previously been subjected to such a venomous stare.
He said, ‘Ms Lim Ai Leen, I arrest you for the murder of,’ he paused for a moment, ‘Reggie Peters.’
Ai Leen spat on the ground, an angry, defiant gesture. ‘You have nothing on me! I tried to protect myself from a blackmailer, that’s all. Reggie Peters—’ her voice was like the slow progress of a glacier ‘—Reggie Peters was just unlucky.’
‘Blackmail?’ Singh raised an eyebrow at Maria Thompson.
She pursed her lips tightly shut. He noticed that there were cuts and scratches on her forearms where she had tried to fend off the enraged attack of the other woman. ‘I don’t know what she’s talking about.’
Inspector Singh looked at the carnage around him. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that.’
Singh sat on the end of a hospital bed. The mattress sagged under his weight and the white cotton starched covers creased around his posterior. His feet, in spotless white sneakers, hung over the side just above the ground. The policeman bounced up and down as if testing the springs.
Maria Thompson was lying on the other single bed in the twin room. She wore a pair of faded blue drawstring hospital pyjamas. Her cuts and bruises had been treated despite her protests that she was fine and only wanted to go home.
The Singapore School of Villainy Page 25
