21 Immortals

by Rozlan Mohd Noor

  “It’s not,” he says harshly, inciting a watch-it expression from his boss. “Sorry. It’s not SS related. If it were, they would’ve asked for the case when I filed in the twenty-four-hour report. Four Finger Loo’s death may be SS related, but not my case. I mean, any officer who has done murder can tell the difference between the two,” he argues, lowering his tone.

  “Does this mean you’re not willing to let them have a crack at The Yee Sang Murders?”

  “Not the way they intend. Puan, is this one of his instructions to prove himself right?” He jerks his thumb upwards. “If it is, this case could be buried.” His hand reaches for the cigarette packet in his pocket.

  “Don’t you dare smoke in my office,” she cautions him. “You think they intend to bury the case?”

  “I know you don’t want to discuss it, but Four Finger Loo’s death may be a result of …”

  “Okay, let’s not go there. I hear you, and let’s just leave it at that unless it’s proved otherwise,” she says firmly.

  “I’m sorry, that’s the basis of my objection. I’ve a feeling that’s what they’ll do,” he insists. “You see, the PC might have caused Four Finger Loo’s death. If Four Finger Loo’s death is investigated by a district investigator, it may be revealed that he was killed because of the PC. If my case is solved with the accused having no links to SS they, I mean the OCCI, will look bad. Puan, you gave me till Sunday, it’s still four days away. Let me have the four days,” he pleads.

  “And?”

  “And,” he pauses, “If I can’t close it, you give it to D7. They’re going to bury it anyway.”

  “Thought you were going to tell me you would have solve it by then,” she says smiling.

  “I’m not Horatio. I don’t make promises. I don’t wear shades, or talk standing sideway. Puan, you should stop watching the CSI shows. It doesn’t work that way,” he smiles, more at ease.

  “Okay, let’s see what they say. I think I can hold things up for a few days before the heat goes up.”

  “Puan, can I be excused from ‘morning prayer’?”

  “Why, what have you got?” She is curious.

  “I think I know what the primary scene is. I want to seize it before it’s moved or used.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “I think it’s the vic’s car, more precisely, the SUV. I think the Porsche Cayenne was the primary scene. The gas chamber. It was at RT House when I went to interview the manager. She told me the vic was supposed to use the Cayenne for his holiday and was surprised to see it at the office parking lot. At first, it didn’t strike me as odd that there was only one car, a BMW 3-series, at the vic’s house until I went over the interview recordings again this morning.”

  “All right, keep me updated,” Supt Samsiah says, gathering her files for ‘morning prayer’.

  “Thanks, puan.”

  “You should get new shades. You are already thinking like Horatio,” she says as they walk out.

  21

  Mislan calls RT. Irene’s secretary tells him that she will be coming to the office at nine-thirty for about fifteen minutes, before she goes off to a meeting. He says he needs a few minutes of her time to clarify one or two matters.

  At nine-twenty he drives into RT’s compound. As he expects, the Cayenne is still in the lot where he last saw it. He thinks of two possibilities. First, it has not been driven by anyone since it was last parked there and all evidence it may hold is intact. Second, the lot is reserved for the Cayenne and it could have been driven after he last saw it but parked back in the lot reserved for it, in which case whatever potential evidence, may be either contaminated or removed. He hopes for the former. He does not see Irene’s Beamer in the lot. He decides to wait in his car and walk in with her when she arrives. His phone rings; it is Irene telling him she will be a few minutes late.

  He notes Johan watching the Cayenne, like it’s a tranquillised monster that is going to awake and run off at any moment.

  “Relax, it’s not going to run away,” he jokes.

  “That’s obvious!” Johan chuckles. “If you’re right, that car could be the break we need. I’m not letting it out of my sight until it’s under our care.”

  “Don’t get too excited. Even if I’m right, it may still not reveal anything. These people are good. Let’s just hope Chew and his boys are better, and we’re smarter.”

  A blue Beamer Z4 arrives with its tires screeching, and makes a sharp drifting turn into a parking lot. Irene Rijanti steps out of the car to Johan’s low whistle. Both the Beamer and she, on their own merits, deserve admiration. They get out of their car to Irene’s greetings and apologies. They shake hands and he introduces her to Johan, who seems to have forgotten about the Cayenne coming to life and taking off. They follow Irene to the front door and she punches in some numbers on the keypad, opening the door. He hears the voice greeting her from behind the Plexiglas, to which she responds with a wave. As he expects, there is no need to register. He hears a click and she pushes a door open and goes in, with them close behind. As they make their way to her office, he wonders if his assistant, too, is drooling over Irene’s swaying rear.

  The secretary greets them when they reach the office, and comes around from her desk and follows them in. Irene waves them to the sofa, deposits her handbag on her table while asking if she can get them coffee. Mislan declines, saying they will not be taking too much of her time as she has another appointment. She tells the secretary to call her next appointment to tell them she is running a little late, and to bring an ashtray. He takes the cue, lights a cigarette and hands it to her. She then sits on a single-seater across from them and crosses her legs, exposing acres of smooth creamy thigh. She is good, he thinks.

  “You said you have a few matters to clarify,” she says, pulling the edge of her skirt over her knees, to the sergeant’s disappointment.

  “In our last meeting, you told me you thought Mr Tham was taking the Cayenne for his holiday.”

  She nods, “That’s what he said.”

  “You also told me Mr Tham does not have a driver.”

  “Yes, he drives himself.”

  “Do you know which car he left in, on Friday evening?”

  “I don’t, but I can find out.” She asks her secretary. “May I know why?”

  “We were wondering why both of Mr Tham’s cars are here. How did he leave the office? We noticed only one car, a BMW 3-series, at his house.”

  “That’s his wife’s car. He might have left with a friend. He did that sometimes when he felt like a night of drinking.”

  The secretary returns and hands her a piece of paper.

  “He left in the Cayenne at about four-thirty,” Irene says.

  “I notice you have CCTV. What’s your storage turnaround?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think its fourteen days, unless there is an incident. Then we make copies and store them for reference.”

  “Do you have a security guard here?”

  “Only at night, on weekends or on public holidays.”

  “Who has the keys to the Cayenne, apart from Mr Tham?”

  “I think he kept a spare in his office. Why?” Irene looks puzzled.

  “We have reasons to believe the Cayenne is the primary crime scene and we need to take possession of it, together with all documents related to it. I’ll also need a copy of the CCTV recording from Thursday, when Mr Tham left, up to midnight on Monday.”

  “I’ll get Esther to help you. I have to leave now, or I’ll be late for my appointment,” Irene apologises. She calls her secretary, instructing her to help them in any way they need, except on design drawings or financial statements. She snatches her handbag, apologises again, says her goodbyes and leaves.

  Esther, the secretary, is in her early thirties. She is a short woman, thin as a pencil, wearing designer jeans, T-shirt and open-toe slippers. She has a charming personality, but nothing like her boss. Johan’s phone rings and he steps out to answer it. Coming back in,
he says Chew and his team are outside. Mislan asks Esther if she can allow them in. She hesitates, not sure if she should leave them in her boss’s office by themselves, unmonitored. The inspector tells her they will not touch anything, and will wait for her. Only then does she leave, but not before scanning the room to see if there is anything she should lock up. He makes a mental note of her loyalty and decides not to waste his time asking her anything about her boss’s activities. A few minutes later, Chew and two of his technicians enter, led by Esther.

  “Hey, Chew. Did you see the Cayenne out front?”

  “Yup, a beauty.”

  “I think it’s the primary scene.” He then turns to Esther, “Irene said the spare keys are in Mr Tham’s office. Can you show us?”

  She nods, leads them across the general office to another room that’s bigger, but not as elegant. She is about to walk around the table when Mislan tells her to stop.

  “Is it in there?” he asks, pointing to the drawers.

  “Yes, Mr Tham keeps the spare keys in the lowest drawer,” Esther replies nervously.

  “Okay, thanks. Can you step aside, please?”

  He asks Chew if he wants to handle it from here. The Forensics team members put their bags on the floor, pull out surgical gloves from their pockets, and slip them on to a chorus of snapping rubber. One of the technicians dusts the drawer, shakes his head, pulls it open, fishes out two sets of keys, dust them, shakes his head and hands them to Chew. Chew takes a closer look at the two sets of keys, shakes his head and hands them to the inspector, who is getting increasingly frustrated with every shake of a head.

  “What?”

  “No legible prints. You want to log that in your search list?’ Chew says.

  “All right. Let’s check out the Cayenne. Esther, can you get us the file for the car, with the insurance, registration, hire purchase agreement, servicing records, repairs, everything, and give it to …” looking around, he notices one of the technicians holding up his hand, “… him. Please don’t touch the documents inside the file. Before I forget, can you get the CCTV recordings from last Thursday to Monday, the security company’s telephone number, and give it to Sergeant Johan.”

  They approach the Cayenne like it really is a tranquillized beast, expecting it to regain consciousness at any moment. Mislan presses the unlock button on the remote but nothing happens, no blinking signal lights, no beeping sound, normally associated with remote devices. He moves closer and tries again. Still, nothing happens. He thinks the battery in the remore control is flat, and swears under his breath. He is about to turn around and go into the building to ask Esther if she has a spare battery, when he sees Chew pointing to the SUV’s interior.

  “What’s it?” he mutters, expecting more complication.

  “The key’s inside,” Chew says, pulling the driver’s door and opening it. “It’s not locked.”

  “Shit! A million ringgit SUV parked here for days unlocked, with the key inside, and no one notices it? Jo, can you call the security company; find out who was deployed here from Friday to Sunday. When I came on Monday, the Cayenne was already here. Get a duty gelap to bring him in for questioning.”

  Johan nods and disappears into the building.

  “Chew, are you doing it here?”

  “Just the cursory. I’ve called for a flatbed truck to take it back to the garage. Before they move this baby, I need to do the external and bag loose items so we don’t damage or contaminate evidence.”

  “You still need the spare key?”

  “Yup.”

  “Can you do an overnighter on this? I need something urgently to hold on to this case.”

  “Someone’s snatching it away?” Chew asks, surprised.

  “It was hinted. D7.”

  “It’s true, then?”

  “What’s true?

  “The news, saying its SS related.”

  “Just between us, that’s crap. You heard of the killing in Petaling Street last night? That is SS style. Me and the vic, we had a talk the night before. The OCCI gave a PC yesterday morning and the vic got whacked. Now D7 wants to take my case and bury it to save someone’s arse.”

  “Wow, you guys do that, meh?” Chew is appalled.

  “We guys don’t. Just him. Now you know why I need something asap.”

  “Okay, Inspector. I’ll do what I can.”

  22

  On the way back to the office, Johan tells him the security guard has left the company. The guard had not come to work since Tuesday and a mata gelap is trying to locate him at his last known address. The news disappoints, but does not surprise Mislan. Guard turnover is high in the security industry and it is common for guards not to show up for work after payday. It is a cutthroat industry with price wars being the main marketing strategy.

  Walking into the office, he runs into several unfamiliar faces, around the mata gelap area, engrossed in small talk. The front desk officer tells him that the big boss and D7 are in the meeting room with puan. He has a feeling it has something to do with his case and feels blood rushing to his head. He wants to barge into the meeting, dump the case on the fools, and tell them to do whatever they want with it.

  Instead, he says to his assistant, “Jo, you want to run through the CCTV to see if you can make out the Cayenne coming in? I figure it’ll be Sunday night or early Monday.”

  “Sure. What’s going on in there?” Johan asks, thumbing towards the meeting room.

  He shrugs.

  “It’s about our case, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. You’ve got the Cayenne file?”

  The sergeant gives him the file. “We’re going to lose it, aren’t we? Shit! It’ll be my first.”

  No investigator likes losing his case to another investigator, for whatever reason. It is a humiliation, with all the innuendo, stigmas, and fabricated stories that come with it. It’s worse if the case is later solved by the other team.

  Flipping through the file, a service requisition catches his eye. It was for a sixty-thousand kilometre routine checkup, dated a few days before the victims’ intended trip. The order was made to Pro Care Service Centre in Sungai Besi. Several other requisitions went back three years. Picking up the phone, he calls Esther and she confirms Pro Care Service Centre as the contractor who repairs the company’s cars. She also confirms that the Cayenne was sent to the workshop on Wednesday evening and returned on Thursday afternoon at Mr Tham’s request. According to their agreement with the garage, Ricky, the supervisor, came for the pick-up. She tells him that as far as she knows, it is the only workshop they used, but if Mr Tham has sent it elsewhere, it was not paid for by the company.

  When he puts down the receiver, the phone rings instantly. It is the front desk officer telling him that his presence is required in the meeting room. He slams the receiver down hard, startling Johan and the others in the room. “Here we go,” he sneers.

  “Come in, take a seat.”

  Mislan nods to his boss who greets him with a warm smile.

  “I understand you have not made any progress.” The OCCI says it more as a statement than a question.

  He squeezes his way to a seat at the end of the table. ASP Theresa Yip and Inspector Mahani, the two PR dolls, are seated next to their current boss, again looking as if they have just stepped out of a beauty salon. Supt Henry Lau from D7 is flanked by two of his officers. The others are his boss and ASP Ghani, Head of Special Projects. The seat reserved for him is a chair directly facing the OCCI.

  “I’m sure Supt Samsiah has told you D7 will be taking over your case. Henry feels it’s related to last night’s murder of a known SS leader,” he continues.

  “An old ex-SS that you got killed, you fool,” he wants to answer, but does not. He looks at his boss, hopeful of a sign permitting him to have a go at the fool. None is given.

  “As you know, Four Finger Loo was assaulted and killed by those we believed to be SS gangbangers. We managed to roundup eight known SS members immediately afte
r the incident. The info we got from them, and collaborated by our CI, was that the order for Four Finger Loo’s hit came from the top. We’ve good reasons to believe it came from Fatty Mah, to cover his involvement in your case,” Supt Henry says without conviction. “We feel it’s best if we treat both cases as one and take the lead, with you as secondary, of course.”

  “Of course,” the OCCI butts in.

  “May I ask what good reasons make you to believe the orders came from Fatty Mah?” Mislan asks, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “Well, none of those rounded up knew who gave the order, but they said it came from the top. Our internal sources are telling us the same thing,” Supt Henry mumbles avoiding eye contact with him. “We hear rumours of Fatty Mah being in town.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said,” he says, wanting Supt Henry to repeat himself, hoping the rest, or at least his boss, will see through the bullshit.

  “I said, we don’t know who gave the order for the hit, but our info indicates it came from the top. We have heard rumours that Fatty Mah is in town.”

  “That’s your good reasons to believe? If Fatty Mah is in town, your internal sources will surely know where he is. We’re talking about Fatty Mah here, okay, not some lowlife gangster. It’s just a rumour. Even if he is in town, he’ll not do Four Finger Loo; they’re close. Fatty Mah knows Four Finger Loo will never snitch on him. Your files will tell you that.”

  “Things change, friends turn into enemies,” the OCCI says, coming to the defence of his D7 lapdog.

  Supt Henry Lau Tuck Meng is legendary, not for his fights against organised crimes, but for his closeness to vice and gambling operators. If there is a need for a fun-filled night of forbidden pleasure by visiting brass, local or foreign, Henry is your man. He can arrange it in minutes, twenty-four-seven. Whenever a district’s Crime Prevention Unit does a gaming raid, Henry would show up like the mystical black mist, well before the raiding party’s report is filed. In the gaming and vice world, everybody knows Henry, the longest serving D7 officer in the country.