“Wow, doc. English please, I failed my science in school,” Mislan laughs.
“The brain, heart, and lungs,” she says, amused. “All you need is one breath, and that’s it. It was a favourite with spies during the Second World War and the Cold War. Don’t you watch spy movies? How, when they are captured, they pop cyanide pills into their mouths to avoid torture?”
The two men chuckle at the way she says it.
“Doc, if the vics were put in a chamber together won’t there be markings on their bodies from hugging one another tightly just before death?”
“I thought of that, too, but there were no marks on their bodies to indicate they did. Don’t forget they were embalmed, that could be a reason for the marking not being visible.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but we would still be able to detect markings if they were there.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Nope.”
“Could they have been gassed separately?”
“Possible,” she agrees.
He shakes his head. “The killer would need three gas chambers, and with only one it would have taken too much time to finish the job. Impossible.”
The others agree.
“Why not poison their food.”
“Unpredictable and unmanageable. Poison is good if there is only one vic. I don’t think the killers wanted to take the risk of some people not eating or drinking the poison once they saw what was happening to others.
“Then why not just shoot or stab them; simple, no hassle, and sure?”
“Too messy, room for mistakes and leaves evidence. No, these killers were good. This crime was very well-planned; it was not an impulse killing. It needed intelligence, preparation, and determination. A masterpiece. Something special, but I just don’t understand it.”
“You sound like you admire them. I have to go now; I’ll leave it in the good hands of Inspector Sherlock and Watson to figure it out.” Safia stands. “Got a group of young Deputy Public Prosecutors coming to watch me do my magic. Hope there are some cute ones there.”
“I respect their means, not their end,” he smiles. “Thanks, Fie. Please don’t forget to call me when Prof Teh has something.”
She gives him the thumbs up as she walks towards the door. Watching her, Johan says, “Stunning, isn’t she; brains and beauty. What else could you ask for?”
Mislan ignores him. “Now what?”
“Now, we go get some real food. I’m hungry.”
9
One the way back, Mislan takes a detour through Jalan Cheras and Kampung Pandan and drives to Seri Ratu, the famous Indonesian nasi padang restaurant. It was also one of his exwife’s favourite eateries. It brings back memories of happier times with her. He thinks of her, the roads they drove through, the shops and restaurants they liked, the songs they sang, and the special times they shared. He still sees her, talks to her, smiles at her in his mind, in his memories, and is often swept away by grief and longing. It is a part of his life where time refuses to move on. How could he ever be resigned to never seeing her again?
“Something’s wrong?”
He sees Johan looking at him.
“Just wondering if I left something in the car,” he lies, quickly recovering.
They find a table, and two waiters immediately approach, each bearing a large tray, with several plates of food, which they place before them. When the waiters finish, more than twenty dishes are spread before them. Johan is astounded, “How are we going to eat all this?”
“You eat what you want and the food not consumed will not be charged. Or, you could tell the waiter to remove dishes you don’t want. That’s how it’s done in Indonesia.”
With his anxiety put to rest, Johan starts eating, but Mislan has lost his appetite. He is troubled by Safia’s report. Something about the method bothers him. He cannot put his finger on it, yet it nags him. It is probably the key to the case. Unless he pins it down, he is no nearer to solving the case than he was when he filed his twenty-four-hour report. He has no theory, no leads, and many unanswered questions. Maybe the OCCI is right after all; maybe the case should have been given to someone with more experience. Maybe he should go talk to his boss and surrender.
“Are you all right?” Johan says this for the second time since they came.
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re not eating. Something bothering you? It’s Dr Safia, isn’t it?”
“It’s not Dr Safia, not what your dirty mind is thinking,” he says, guessing where his assistant was leading the conversation. “It’s what she said. Anyway, looking at all the food makes me full. You go ahead and stuff yourself.”
Watching his assistant eat, his mind drifts again to his exwife. How she used to enjoy the food here, especially the grilled fish and prawns. She loved seafood. Although he is allergic to prawn, he never stopped her from ordering and enjoying them.
Johan’s phone rings and he answers it with his mouth full. After several ‘hmms’ and ‘okays’, he explains that the call was from the standby gelap. Maria’s story checks out. “What’s our next move?”
“I don’t know. Just can’t make sense of the case. I’m going back to the office, to go through what we have so far. Maybe there is something we have missed. I want you to run down the secret society lead. Track down Four Finger Loo, and any other known members of 21. See if we can get some inside story on the vic. At this point, that’s all we can do; dig deeper. I’ll see if Inspector Song can point us in the right direction.”
After Johan finishes his meal, Mislan shouts for the bill. As he waits for it, he notices a woman in her early thirties staring at them. She looks familiar, but he cannot place her. She is dressed casually in jeans and designer T-shirt and, when their eyes meet, she smiles. She is probably Indonesian, he thinks, smiling at the way Johan is eating like a foreign tourist. Maybe it is his lucky day; a woman is hitting on him. Not having been with a woman after his wife left, he feels elated, yet apprehensive. He sees the row of wash basins behind her table, and heads nonchalantly towards them as if to wash his hands. He walks slowly, moving close to her table as he does. Then, when he is about five feet away, the woman stands abruptly, smiles, and extends her hand. “Inspector Mislan. Hi, I’m Rodziah. You can call me Audi, like the car.”
Surprised, he mumbles, “Hi.” After an embarrassing moment of silence, he notices her extended hand and says, “Sorry, my hands are dirty. Let me wash them first,” and hurries towards the wash area. Turning the tap on, he pretends to wash his hands as he watches her in the mirror. Who the hell is she? Do I know her? He wipes his hands and his mouth with several paper towels in exaggerated motions to give himself more time to think, then slowly walks back to her table.
“Audi like the car, right? Do we know each other?”
“Yes, like the car; and no, you don’t know me. I’m from Astro Awani. I did the reporting on the late Mr Robert Tham. I was wondering if you will give me an exclusive.”
The words ‘Astro Awani’ places her face as the newslady he saw on television, and his libido instantly plummets. “Damn,” he swears. “Sorry, I can’t help you. It’s an investigation in progress,” he says. “By the way, how did you know where to find me?”
“I was trying to meet the pathologist at HUKM when I saw you leaving. I followed you.” Audi brims with pride.
“Sorry to tell you, but your effort has been for nothing.”
“Inspector, maybe we can work together on this. You know, I’ll give you what I’ve got on the late Mr and Mrs Robert Tham, and you give me an exclusive.” She gets up and follows him.
Mislan stops in his tracks, and Audi bumps hard into him. “Ow! That hurts,” she squeals, rubbing her chest.
“What do you mean by ‘what you’ve got on them’?”
“I did some research. Our archive, as you know, is full of unpublished stories. I can share them with you, or you can use me to get access to it. For that privilege, you give me an exclusive. What
say you?” Audi is trying hard to sound like a seasoned journalist.
He continues walking, with her in tow. “How about I pick you up for withholding information, or how about me getting a court order to access the archive?”
“Sure you can, but that’ll attract attention. I’m sure that’s not what you want at this juncture.” Audi dares him. “My guess is the police have nothing. Otherwise, your publicity junkie, the OCCI, would’ve called for a press conference by now.” When he does not respond, she says, “Off the record, do you have a lead?”
“There’s nothing off the record with you people,” he sneers, but he is more upset at the fact that she is right. “You give me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do. How’s that?”
“That’s not fair,” Audi protests.
He turns to her with a sarcastic smile, “Who says life is fair?”
“Chill it, okay, no need to get upset. We’re both just doing our jobs. It’s a deal.” Audi pulls a thumb-drive from her pocket and holds it out to him. “Do I have your word?” she pulls her hand away as he reaches for the thumb-drive. “If you base your investigations on this info, I get the exclusive?”
He smiles. “I thought you don’t trust us? What makes you think I’ll keep my word?”
“Let’s just say, I know you,” Audi smirks.
10
When Inspector Mislan peeks through the door of his boss’s office, she sees him and signals him in, closing the file she is reading. He drops heavily into the chair like a boxer who has just suffered a humiliating round of brutal pounding.
“You look terrible,” she says.
“I feel terrible,” he admits. “I hate to tell you this, puan, but I think the OCCI was right. You should’ve given this case to someone senior. This case is too much for me.”
She crosses her arms, leans forward on her desk, and says softly, “I’ve worked with you for years. I’ve never seen you given up on a case, yet. Don’t you start now! Maybe you are tired of working with me and you want a new boss. Is that it? Do you have any of the OCCI’s lapdogs in mind?”
Her low soft tone is scary. He realises she is getting heat from the top and his giving up could dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s on her transfer papers. Supt Samsiah Hassan is a professional, never compromises her integrity, and has never played the arse-kissing game. She is respected for her professionalism, yet loathed by some superiors and peers. Given a chance, she could be replaced instantly. He enjoys working with her and knows she will always be there to take the heat for her team. At the same time she will always be the first to reprimand them, if it came to that.
“I’m going nowhere on this case. It’s like a perfect crime,” he whines.
“That is not the Inspector Mislan I know, coming in here to throw in his towel; and don’t you dare give me the perfect crime crap. There’s no such thing. There’s always a mistake, a clue, a hint, a lead. You just have not found it yet. Go back to the crime scene, talk to your witnesses again, review your investigation diary; I’m sure you’ll find it. It’s always waiting to be uncovered. Get out of here before I take you up on your offer. Go and do some real police work,” she hisses, ending the conversation.
“Thanks, puan.” He knows she is right, and she has just reaffirmed her decision to keep him as the lead.
“You can thank me by solving The Yee Sang Murders, and stop whining.”
Back at his desk, he plugs in the thumb-drive from Audi into his computer. He sees a folder titled Unpublished – Robert Tham of RT Fashion with twenty-two files. He picks one at random and opens it. It is a report called RT Fashion Accused of Stealing Design by Tammy Ong. Browsing through the article he decides it has no relevance to his case. He examines the file list and one titled Are They More Than Friends? catches his attention. He clicks it. A picture of the late Mrs Robert Tham wrapped in the arms of a Hong Kong actor pops up. She holds a drink in her hand, and is being hugged from the back, all smiles. The photograph looks like it was taken at a party; small groups of well-dressed men and women hold wine glasses, chatting. The article is about three months old and describes the actor as her new ‘toy boy’, implying the late Mrs Tham might have had others. It says that he is fifteen years younger than she, and had recently broken up with his girlfriend because of this latest escapade. According to the story, it is the first time they are posing for the cameras in public. When asked if the two were a couple, the late Mrs Robert Tham smiled without commenting. The report also said Mr Robert Tham was abroad on business.
He makes a note to ask Audi about the late Mrs Robert Tham. He wonders if Mr Tham was not the primary target. Maybe it was Mrs Tham. He runs through the other filenames and decides to read them later. Picking up the phone, he asks the operator for Inspector Song Chee Chin of Petaling Jaya Police. While waiting for his call to be put through, he reviews the case log and sighs. He remembers he has to forward the recordings of his interviews to the district investigator for it to be transcribed and signed off by the witnesses, for inclusion in the investigation paper. As he plugs his digital recorder to his computer to make a copy of Maria’s interview, the phone rings.
“Inspector Song Chee Chin is on the line,” the operator tells him, putting him through.
“PJ Police, Inspector Song.”
“Hey, Song. This is Mislan here, Major Crimes, KL. How are you?”
“Hey, Lan. Fine, fine. How’s KL?”
“Usual, lah. Song, you heard about Robert Tham?”
“Yes, only what’s in the news. Are you the lead?”
“Yes, I am. Song, I need to ask you something. You were the case officer for the vic when he was in 21, but his file was closed. Any light there?”
“It was long ago, Lan. Seven, eight years?”
“More, but it’s not something you’d forget,” Mislan prompts him. “Instructions to close a file have to come from the top. I’m reaching out here.”
“I don’t know if I can help you, Lan. I don’t have sufficient clearance,” Inspector Song is evasive.
“All right, I understand. What if it comes from another source?”
“What do you mean?”
“Four Finger Loo. Can you put me on to him? I’ll make sure your name does not come up.”
A long silence follows.
“Song, you still there?”
“Let me make some calls and get back to you,” Inspector Song finally says.
“Thank you very much. I owe you one, Song.”
“Let me make some calls. What’s your mobile number?”
He gives it to him and hangs up. Lighting a cigarette, he turns on the digital recorder to continue copying.
11
The bout with his boss weighs heavy on Mislan’s mind. He calls Chew to ask if he will be in the office working late, then Johan who is in the canteen having teh tarik with a friend who used to be attached to D7. He tells Johan to wait, that he will be down shortly. He signals his assistant from the canteen door before he walks towards the car park. Johan arrives just as he starts the engine.
“Where are we headed?”
“Forensics.”
“They got something?” Johan is excited.
“No, I just cannot sit around the office doing nothing. Anything from your friend?”
“He said, the 21 Immortals was wiped out in the nineteen ninety-five sweep. Most of them were either sent to Pulau Jerejak or placed under Restricted Residence on the East coast. By now, many would’ve settled down,” he pauses to collect his thoughts. “He heard some of them did make their way back to KL after serving their time. Fatty Mah, the godfather, was never picked up. Some say he got wind of the sweep and scooted off to Thailand where he still is. My friend says he’ll ask around, but he is ex-D7, so he is not promising anything.”
“That’s good,” he tells his assistant. “Are you buying it? Is Fatty Mah back, and did he do this?”
“It is possible.”
“I spoke to Song, and he’s not saying anything. By the w
ay, the newslady at the restaurant this afternoon gave me some material from their archive. I’ve not gone through all of them, but there’s one article about the wife. There was some gossip surrounding the late Mrs Tham and a young Hong Kong actor. Maybe we should look into that, maybe she was the primary target. I’ll go through the rest tonight and see if there is anything worth following up.”
“Juicy, extramarital activities … never thought of her as the primary vic. Hmm. She was good looking; husband always away on business, could be something there.”
“You have actor friends, don’t you? Why don’t you do some sniffing, see if you can verify the rumours?”
“I’ll try, but I don’t think they know the Hong Kong actors.”
The Forensic Department is housed within the Royal Police College complex in Cheras. Making a U-turn under the KL-Kajang flyover immediately after the Police Field Force camp, he turns into the college complex, stops briefly at the guardhouse and identifies himself. The uniformed guard directs him to the parking lot behind the administrative building. He is familiar with the layout of the complex. He drives to the administrative building, takes a left turn behind it and parks the car in one of the visitors’ lots. Before killing his engine, he calls Chew to ask where he is.
The Forensic building runs parallel to the administrative block and Chew’s office is on the first floor. They climb the stairs, and head for the lab where they find Chew engrossed in studying a bloodstained piece of clothing under a large magnifying glass mounted on the table with lights. A technician at the next table is also examining another piece of clothing that looks like one worn by the victims in his case. The lab smells of stale blood and rotting vegetables.
“Hi, Chew.”
“Oh hi, Inspector,” Chew is startled. “I’d shake your hand, but I’ll have to change gloves, and that would be a waste of taxpayer’s money.”
Mislan and Johan nod at the technician they recognise as one of the team members at the crime scene. “No, you don’t want to do that,” he says, playing along. “Got anything for me?”
21 Immortals Page 6
