by S. P. Hozy
A young female police officer took Maris to Block C, Room 304. The nameplate on the door said Inspector Simon Lam. The officer knocked on the door, opened it, and listened for a moment. She then told Maris to sit and wait for a few minutes. Maris obliged and sat on a yellow plastic chair bolted to a bar along with several other yellow plastic chairs. She was the only one waiting.
After a while, Maris looked at her watch and saw that ten minutes had passed. It felt like half an hour. There were no magazines to read, no piped-in music to listen to, just the sounds of phones ringing and people talking in the distance. There was a time, she thought, when there would have been the clacking of typewriters, but no more.
Another ten minutes passed and Maris realized she was tapping her foot in impatience. She reminded herself that she didn’t have an appointment and that the inspector was probably a busy man. She thought of Peter and reminded herself why she was here.
After a few more minutes the door to Inspector Lam’s office opened and a man walked out. At first his head was turned toward the occupant of the office as he said goodbye, but when he turned toward Maris, she recognized him immediately. It was Axel. He saw her at the exact moment she saw him.
“Axel,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to see her. Was he trying to think up a story? she wondered.
“Maris,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” she said.
“Oh,” he replied. “I, uh, was consulting Inspector Lam on a matter of personal business.”
“But this is the major crimes division,” she said.
“Yes,” said Axel. “Yes, it is.”
She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.
“Why don’t we meet later and I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “Come to my hotel when you’re done and we’ll have a drink.”
“Okay,” she said. “I will.”
Axel left and Maris stood up as a tall Chinese man in a grey suit opened the door to his office and signalled for her to enter. He pointed to a chair and she sat. The office was not large and seemed even smaller because of the file cabinets lined up along two of the walls. There were files stacked on top of the cabinets, and more files piled on Inspector Lam’s desk. The chair she sat in was upholstered in a woolly brown fabric and had wooden arms. Lam sat behind a large wooden desk half-covered with a green blotter. He had very short black hair, high cheekbones, and black eyes that revealed nothing.
“I’m Inspector Simon Lam,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Maris Cousins,” she said, “and I have evidence in a murder case.”
This got his attention and he raised his eyebrows, which were like two straight black lines that had been painted on with a brush, the kind used in Chinese calligraphy.
“A murder,” he repeated. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” said Maris, reaching into her handbag for Peter’s letter. “I recently found this letter in a trunk that was left to me by Peter Stone. He was a friend of mine. He owned an art gallery until his untimely death. I’m an artist and he used to sell my paintings there.”
“I see,” said Lam, reaching for the letter. He put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and read the letter. He appeared to read it twice. His face revealed very little, but he seemed to be considering what he read very carefully.
“And you think he was murdered,” he said.
“He was murdered,” said Maris. “I was there when he died. It’s an unsolved crime. Look it up.”
Lam sighed and turned toward a computer that was sitting on the side of his desk. He punched a few keys and read what Maris assumed was the file on Peter’s death.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s an unsolved homicide.”
“Do you think this letter might be a clue?”
Lam looked at her and said, “Leave it with me. I’ll look into it.”
“I’ll want it back,” she said. “Can’t you take a copy?”
Lam shook his head. “No, but I’ll see that you get it back.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a plastic bag with a zip top. He dropped the letter in and wrote something on the front of the bag. “It’s evidence,” he said.
As soon as she walked out of Inspector Lam’s office, Maris remembered Axel. What had he been doing here? Did it have something to do with his job? When she thought about it, she realized she knew very little about what Axel did for a living and why he was in Singapore. Whenever she asked, he put her off by saying it wasn’t very interesting or he didn’t want to talk about work while he was with her. “It’s just a job,” he said. “I work for a company with international interests and I sometimes have to go in and re-organize things. I’m kind of a troubleshooter. I solve problems.”
It sounded kind of interesting to Maris. “What kind of problems?” she asked.
“You know,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Low productivity, bad management, that kind of thing. Boring stuff. And you’re making me talk about it.”
“Okay,” she said, giving in. “But if it’s so boring, why do you do it?”
“The paycheque,” he said. “It pays well, and I get to go to exotic places and meet exotic women like you.”
“I’ll bet you’re good at it,” she said.
“What? Meeting exotic women?”
“No. Troubleshooting. I’ll bet you don’t give up until you solve the problem.”
“You’re right about that,” he said. “That’s why they pay me so well. I get results.”
“But I’ll bet you don’t make many friends.”
“Friends?” he said. “What are they?”
She laughed. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Am I missing something here?” he said. “I thought we were more than friends.”
She smiled. “Just checking,” she said.
Now Maris wondered how a major crimes inspector could be part of Axel’s troubleshooting job. Or had he said it was personal business? That was even harder to fathom. He could have discovered some sort of crime in the workplace; that would be understandable. But personal business? What could that mean? Was he in some kind of trouble?
Maris was back on the 197 bus heading for Raffles. Then she realized Axel would probably want to know why she was seeing Inspector Lam. They would be playing “You Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine.” But she would make him talk first.
Axel was waiting for her in the Writer’s Bar in the lobby of the hotel. He stood up when he saw her and said, “Let’s go out to the Courtyard. Less chance of being overheard.” She was glad, in a way, that he hadn’t invited her up to his room for a drink, but she thought it was strange. Was he afraid she’d make a scene?
They ordered a pitcher of Tiger beer and Maris said, “What’s up?”
Axel didn’t answer right away. “I’ve been debating all afternoon whether I should come clean with you,” he finally said.
Come clean? Was this going to be some kind of confession?
“What do you have to come clean about?” she said. “Aren’t you who you say you are?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m Axel Thorssen and I’m from Sweden. But I’m not a businessman. I’m a police officer and I’ve been seconded to Interpol to investigate a crime.” He waited while she absorbed this. “I’m working with the Singapore police to track down an international smuggling operation.”
She smiled. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not, Maris. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to jeopardize the investigation.”
“How could telling me jeopardize your investigation? Don’t you trust me?”
Axel poured more Tiger into his glass. Maris had barely touched her beer. “Of course I trust you,” he said. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I’m investigating the gallery. I
was undercover when I met you. That’s why I didn’t identify myself.”
“Are you investigating Peter’s murder?”
“No, not exactly. But Simon Lam called me after you left and told me about the letter. I’m investigating the smuggling of animal parts, endangered animals that are being killed for those body parts. It’s a huge, billion dollar industry and it involves a number of countries. Peter Stone stumbled onto something that probably got him killed. These people don’t fool around.”
“So you got chummy with me and Dinah to find out what we knew?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. The gallery was on a list of places I was checking out. We didn’t know how the stuff was being transported, and one of the possibilities was through the shipment of artifacts. Galleries came up as a possible conduit. I had no idea when I walked in that there was anything going on. I got curious when I found out that Peter’s ex-wife spent a lot of time in Germany and shipped stuff from there on a regular basis.”
“Angela?” she said. “You think she’s involved?”
“I don’t know. I just know that there are complex networks set up to throw us off the track. These shipments go through Europe and North America and most of them end up in China and other parts of Asia, where the demand is high. I thought Singapore might be a link in the chain, mainly because it was so unlikely. Regulations here are so strict that it would be hard to get stuff in and out. But in a way that made it perfect. If they could circumvent all those regulations, they’d be home free. They could ship anywhere. And what better front than a gallery like Peter’s?”
“But Peter couldn’t have had anything to do with it,” she said. “I know he couldn’t.”
“No, you don’t know that,” said Axel. “Not for sure. He and Angela might have had a lucrative sideline that you knew nothing about.”
“But the letter,” said Maris. “Why would he write the letter?”
“I don’t know,” said Axel. “That’s something Lam and I are going to have to look into.”
Maris felt like she was talking to a stranger. Axel wasn’t the man she thought he was. She had fallen in love with the other Axel. Was she in love with this one, too? Could she love someone who might destroy everything that mattered to her?
“I don’t know who you are,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “I’m Axel. I’m still the same man I was before.”
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re a man with secrets; you must have lied to me. You were thinking things about my friends that could destroy them.”
“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you going to arrest Angela?”
“Look,” he said, opening his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I don’t have any evidence yet connecting Angela or Peter to the smugglers. But I have to look into it, especially now that we have the letter. I have no choice.”
Maris shook her head. “Am I in some kind of alternate universe?” she said. “I feel like my whole world has just been turned upside down and I have no control over anything. Do you know what that feels like?”
Axel shook his head. “No, not really. But I’m trying to understand.”
“You’re trying to understand?” she said. “I don’t think so. You’re just doing your job, isn’t that right? And nothing’s going to get in your way.”
“Please, Maris. I’ve already said too much. This is an ongoing investigation and I shouldn’t be talking about it. I just wanted you to know the truth. For me it’s a relief to be able to tell you, but I can understand that for you it’s a terrible revelation. I do understand. These are your friends. I’m sorry it had to happen this way. There’s no way I could have known.”
“Will you tell me what happens next?”
“I don’t know what happens next. Obviously we’ll have to talk to Angela and to Dinah. Something was delivered to the gallery that shouldn’t have been. We have to find out how that happened.”
“Oh, so now Dinah’s involved, too, is she?”
“Please, Maris. If they haven’t done anything, it will be a non-issue.”
“If?” said Maris. “If they haven’t done anything? It sounds like they’re already prime suspects.”
“Just let me do my job, Maris. I’m sure we can clear this up quickly.”
Maris stood up to go. “Yes,” she said. “Clear it up quickly and then we’ll examine the wreckage.”
He looked at her and understood her anger. “I have to ask you for one favour,” he said quietly. “Please don’t say anything to Angela and Dinah. Will you promise me? Just for the next few days. Please.”
“Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Maris was angry when she left the hotel. Angry and hurt. Axel had lied to her from the beginning and now he was asking her to lie to Dinah and Angela. He was a policeman, of all things. She went back over some of their conversations and wondered if she had said anything that might put the gallery in a bad light. No, of course she hadn’t. Because there was nothing wrong. The gallery had a reputation that Peter — okay, and Angela; give her some credit — had painstakingly built over the years. The gallery did well. Why would they be involved in smuggling?
The artifact that Peter had broken must have been sent by mistake. But would they be able to prove it? Or would there be a permanent shadow cast on the gallery because she had gone to the police with Peter’s letter. She felt guilty, and then she was angry at herself for feeling guilty. None of this was her fault, but had she been stupid to trust Axel? Should she have seen something, a sign that told her he wasn’t who he said he was? But she hadn’t. She had fallen in love with him, which meant she had fallen in love with a lie. Did that mean he wasn’t in love with her? Maybe this wasn’t any easier for him. He was in the middle of an Interpol investigation that had led him to Peter’s gallery. He had either used her and Dinah to get information — although she couldn’t think what information they had given him — or he had fallen for her and everything he’d said was true. Fifty-fifty. Which was it?
Maris didn’t go back to the gallery but took the bus to Dinah’s apartment so she could be alone for a while. Dinah wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. Maris decided to pick something up for dinner so they wouldn’t have to cook. She stopped at the food court near the apartment and got some fish sambal and rice. They could re-heat it in the microwave if Dinah was late. She also bought some beer at the 7-Eleven and some ice cream. Then she got a video — something called The Bourne Ultimatum with Matt Damon. Dinah loved Matt Damon. Maris figured the more they were eating, drinking, and watching the movie, the less they would be talking. And the less they talked, the fewer lies she would have to tell.
She hated the idea of lying to Dinah. True, she had told a lie when she said she was going to the dentist, but she had intended to confess and tell Dinah where she really had gone and why. But now she wouldn’t be doing that. She would be continuing the lie, dragging it out, compounding it. She felt a little sick.
The following Monday, Angela told Maris and Dinah to unpack a shipment that had come from Frankfurt ten days before Angela arrived back in Singapore. It was one of the shipments she had instructed them to hold. Now she was supervising the unpacking and repacking of items to be shipped out to customers, or “clients,” as Angela liked to call them.
Most of the items were very old or antique — pots, jugs, small statues, carved boxes inlaid with ivory, hand-painted dishes, and various spice jars and perfume bottles. Angela had a list of clients and their addresses, many of them in Singapore, but some in Japan, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and South America, especially Argentina. Maris and Dinah were told which items were to be sent where, and how they should be packed. Wrapping them involved cotton batting, aluminum foil, bubble wrap, newspaper, and waxed butcher paper. Angela filled out the shipping and customs forms, as well as the address labels, and affixed them herself to each of the packages. Some items were being shipped to o
ther galleries, but most went to individual clients. Lim was put to work cutting paper, tape, and string, occasionally stopping to make tea or go out for food. Angela wanted the work done in one day while the gallery was closed. She didn’t want to have to stop for customers because she didn’t want any mistakes made. She was a taskmaster and wouldn’t even let them listen to music while they worked. No distractions, she said. They had to concentrate.
Maris and Dinah found the work tedious and a little mind-numbing, especially since Angela discouraged conversation, so they took frequent breaks just to annoy her, and also to alleviate the boredom. Eventually, though, they could see the pile of wrapped packages exceeding the pile of unwrapped ones. Angela, however, did not relax. “Remember,” she said, “the first nine miles of a ten-mile journey is only halfway.” They looked at her and shook their heads. What had Peter ever seen in her? Maris wondered. It certainly hadn’t been her sense of humour that had attracted him. But Maris knew what it was. Angela’s shrewd business sense had been a perfect fit with Peter’s excellent taste and his savvy way with clients. They had been a team and the partnership had outlasted the marriage.
Just after three o’clock, when they were tying up the last of the parcels, someone started pounding — not knocking — at the front door of the gallery. They all stopped and looked at one another. The closed sign was squarely in the middle of the door, so no one could mistake the fact that the gallery wasn’t open. The pounding persisted and Dinah finally went to see who it was, even though Angela told her to ignore it.
After a minute, Dinah came back with Axel, Simon Lam, and two uniformed police officers. Axel looked at Maris with an expression that seemed to ask for understanding. But Maris didn’t understand. He had led her to believe things would move more slowly.
