“All right, but nothing moves until I give the okay. When can you come back on this?”
“I’ll chat with him tonight and let you know.” With that, Di leaves.
Johan looks discouraged when asked if the CCTV recording has yielded anything. He says there is not a single frontal shot of the man parking the Cayenne. The man has made sure he has his back to the cameras constantly and there is nothing significant on his clothing to give him away. He asks Nathan to zoom into some footage, focussing on the head. All they can make out is the back and top of a baseball cap.
“Nathan, is that the best we can do?”
“You see, Inspector, the system only enhances what is captured. If it’s not there, the system cannot do anything. Very sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” he says, regretting letting out his frustration on Nathan.
After they zoom-in and zoom-out on other footage several times, they leave.
25
They drive back to the office in silence. The excitement of discovering the primary crime scene, closing in on the killer or killers, is fast fading. It is mentally tiring, and emotionally unsettling. Perhaps it is possible to commit a perfect crime. Were all the unsolved cases perfect crimes or sloppy investigation? He has the primary crime scene, he has the CCTV recording, he has a partial fingerprint, he knows what the murder weapon is, yet he has nothing. Maybe he is sniffing round the wrong bush, maybe he is not sniffing hard enough, or maybe he is just not the investigator he thinks he is.
Mislan parks the car and asks Johan if he wants to knock off for the day. His assistant says he wants to hang around a little, listen to some mata gelap gossip.
“Any news on the security guard?”
“According to the gelap, one of the guard’s former coworkers said he has joined another company and might be working at Central Market. They’ll bring him in as soon as they locate him.”
“I want to go over the CCTV recordings again. Do you have the DVD with you?”
Johan digs into his bag and hands it to him. “You think we have missed something?”
“Maybe not; I just need to do something.”
When he walks into his office, the desk officer tells him that the Head of Major Crimes wants him in her office as soon as he is back. He asks his assistant if he wants to tag along and update the boss.
Supt Samsiah Hassan is a tall Malay woman in her mid-forties, short hair, handsome features, elegant in uniform, and does not wear the tudung. She is soft spoken. A Kelantanese. she was a teacher before she joined the police force as a probationary inspector. She was posted to Melaka as an investigator, then transferred to the Federal Police Headquarters in Bukit Aman as Head of Criminal Records, before becoming Head of Major Crimes in Kuala Lumpur.
She is leaning back in her chair, gazing out of the window when he knocks. She swivels around, straightens herself, and invites them in.
“Trouble, puan?” he asks with apprehension.
“Hi, Jo,” she greets him. “Nothing more than the usual. How’s your case coming along?”
Mislan sighs.
“Not good, eh! Want to kick it about?”
“You up to it?”
“Let’s hear it. Maybe, a fresh mind can see a new angle.”
“We’ve got the primary scene nailed, but so far Chew’s not getting much from it. The CCTV recording is another dead end. No frontal images. The phone number is that of a prepaid card with a false name. Looks like we are back where we started.”
The sergeant nods in agreement.
“Sounds like a pro job.”
“It’s definitely not an impulse crime. The knowledge, planning, preparations and executions are detailed and painstaking. It’s intriguing, like nothing I’ve worked on before; and the risks they took were crazy.”
“Maybe there were no risks. Knowledge eliminates risks.”
“They still had to reckon with the uncontrollable factors, like someone dropping in when they were staging the vics, the police stopping the SUV while the bodies were being transferred, or the maid deciding to come home early. I just can’t figure out why they were willing to take such risks with the elaborate display. The motive’s a mystery. We can rule out robbery,” he says, standing and walking to the window. “Revenge? If it were revenge, it would’ve been bloody, to satisfy the bad blood. But why do the wife and kid?” Walking back to his chair, he continues, “Teach them a lesson? They are dead, what lesson can they learn?”
“Someone else?”
“Who? What’s the lesson? You screw us, we wipe you and your family out, and oh, one more thing, after that we put you guys on display? Is that the lesson?” Mislan pauses, rubbing his forehead, “Unless we have a motive, we don’t have an angle.”
“The staging; have you considered ritual?”
“You mean hocus-pocus stuff, like black magic?”
She nods.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing found at the secondary scene indicates ritual. No joss, prayer items or utensils related to ritual.”
“Hmm. I’m going to bend the rules here. You may smoke if you wish,” she says, opening the file cabinet, pulling out a crystal ashtray with a police logo on it.
Taking a drag, Mislan starts, “The way I think of it, the killers hacked into the Cayenne’s ECUs and …”
“What are ECUs?”
“Electronic Control Units that regulate the vehicle’s functions. That way, the killers could take control of the vehicle remotely. When the vics were in the SUV, the killers disabled it and released the gas. Once the vics were dead, they were driven to an unknown location, embalmed and driven back to the house for the staging. The SUV was then cleaned and returned to the RT office.”
“Jo, do you agree with the theory?”
Johan nods, saying, “I believe we’re on the right track.”
“All right; why park the SUV at RT? Why not leave it at the house?”
“The killers needed to do the cleaning. Doing it at the house was too risky. They, possibly, needed special equipment that was not available at the house.”
“What might that be? The special equipment.”
“I don’t know; maybe a machine to discharge the hydrogen cyanide. This part is still guesswork.”
“Oh, okay, sound reasoning.”
“Anyway, by doing it elsewhere, they minimised the risk of being seen. Sending the SUV back to the house after the clean-up was also risky, so parking it at RT makes sense.”
“Why was it more risky to park it at the house than RT?”
“The vics. Someone might have already found the vics by the time they finished, so going back to the house was an unnecessary risk. The neighbours might see them. Once was bad enough, but repeated goings and comings was too much.” He shakes his head.
“That makes sense,” she says, writing something on her notepad. “And to support your theory?”
“Chew found traces of hydrogen cyanide in the Cayenne, confirming it as the primary scene. Chew’s failure to lift any prints from it proves the clean-up. The CCTV recording confirmed the Cayenne was sent back to RT. My guess is, the ECUs were hacked during the Cayenne’s routine maintenance service a few days before the intended holiday, or at one of the many times it was sent for repairs. The IT tech, what’s her name, Fadillah Hanum, ‘Di’ as she insists on being called, says technically ECUs can be hacked if you know the protocol, and control programs are easy to write and install.”
“That could well be your break. What makes you think the hacking was done during the servicing?”
“It’s the most sensible time to do it. Who is going to question what you’re doing when the SUV is in the garage? The workshop working on the SUV must have a diagnostic system to communicate with the ECUs,” he says, killing his cigarette. “And because we don’t have any other lead.”
They laugh.
“What do you think, Jo?”
“I’ll go with Tuan Mislan, he’s
dialled in on this.”
“I’m waiting for Di to come back with her findings before I go for the workshop. I don’t want to spook them.” He then hesitates before adding, “Di is not sure if you can hack a Porsche’s ECUs, so she’s consulting a friend.”
“What does ‘a friend’ mean?” she asks, brows rising.
“Someone from her circle of friends who, how shall I term it, is a ‘vigilante’ hacker. I know it’s against procedure but it’s the only way of determining whether the ECUs can be hacked, or was hacked. I’m sorry, I should’ve consulted you before agreeing to it.”
“When is this going to take place?”
“In her words, she’ll chat him up tonight. If he says it’s possible, I seek your permission for him to check out the ECUs. The way I figure it, the killers needed to control the locking, engine, and air-conditioning systems.”
“Why those three?”
“To disable the locking system so the vics cannot escape, kills the engine so the vics cannot engage the gear and ramp the vehicle allowing them to break out or attract attention, and disable the air-conditioner’s control so it cannot be turned off.”
Smiling, Supt Samsiah says, “There you go. You have it solved. Good work. Going by what you’ve just told me, your best bet is the workshop. I know motive is crucial. Sometimes the motive becomes evident only after you peel off all the layers. About this vigilante hacker, exercise the need-to-know policy strictly,” she cautions him.
He nods. “Thanks. If it leaks, I’ll take the heat for it. You don’t have to say you knew. This meeting never happened.”
“Told you. Everything that happens in this department is my responsibility. If there’s heat to take, I’ll do the taking. Next time, if you even think about breaking the rules, let me know first so I’m not caught with my skirt up. That’ll be it; good job, both of you,” she says, dismissing them.
After leaving the boss’s office, Johan goes into the mata gelap room and comes back with some goreng pisang. He asks Mislan if he is going to work late. The latter shrugs, “I’ll hang around for a while. I’m hoping Di will call, I want to meet her friend in person.”
“I’ll be in the gelap’s room then,’ Johan says. “Call if you need me.”
26
It is ten past seven and the office is deserted except for the shift investigator, his assistant and the standby mata gelap. Going through his ‘in’ tray, Mislan pulls out a few messages with his name on it. Three are from Audi, one from Melaka Major Crimes with the message ‘Kamaruddin Abdul Majid checks out. Retired government servant. Has knows nothing about the SIM card – Inspector Tay, D9, IPK Melaka ’. Mislan is not surprised.
He drops his backpack next to his desk, lights a cigarette and calls home to check on Daniel. His son has just taken his bath and is having dinner.
“Hey, kiddo, how was school?”
“Good. Can you call me later, I’m eating now.”
“What’re you eating?”
“Rice with egg. Daddy, can you call me later?”
“Okay, I will call later. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, love you, love you, love you ...”
Turning on the computer, he loads in the DVD and waits for the Windows Media Player to play it. He drags the time to the three-fifty Monday morning frame and lets it run. An image of the parking lot and the gate appears and, except for the running timer counter at the bottom, there is no other movement. At eleven seconds after three-fifty-seven he notices something move. It is the security guard coming out from the side of the building, pushing a motorcycle, probably from his ‘snooze zone’, a hideaway somewhere by the side of the building out of the camera’s view. The guard stands the motorcycle, walks to the entrance and opens a previously-unnoticed side gate. The guard kicks back the motorcycle-stand, pushes it through the side gate and disappears out of camera range. The gate closes, and the image becomes still again. Occasionally, the image brightens a little from headlights of passing vehicles.
At four-twelve twenty-one the image becomes very bright. The gate slowly opens, the Cayenne rolls in and turns right to the parking lot. The gate remains open. The brightness goes back to normal as the Cayenne’s headlights are turned off. After a lapse of fifteen seconds, the driver door opens; a figure steps out, reaches into the Cayenne as if looking for something, stands upright, closes the door and casually walks towards the gate. The figure’s back is constantly towards the camera mounted on the wall. He notices the gate starts closing as the figure closes the Cayenne’s door and walks toward it. He thinks the driver must have closed the gate using the remote control in the Cayenne. The unhurried walk is another indication of a sound knowledge of the gate’s speed and timing. At four-thirteen and thirty-three seconds the gate is completely closed and the image is still again.
Mislan continues looking at the monitor for a moment longer but is not rewarded with anything else. He fast-forwards it to four-thirty, and lets it run. At four-thirty-two and forty-four seconds the image brightens again, the side gate opens, and the guard rides his motorcycle in and disappears. A moment later the guard reappears, locks the side gate, and disappears. He rewinds the video to four-twelve and replays it until four-fourteen.
The inspector replays the segment a few times until he is sure of what he has seen. Satisfied, he calls Forensics asking for Nathan, but they tell him he has left for the day. He calls Johan, who says he is out for teh tarik with some mata gelap and will be over soon. Just as he puts down the phone, Supt Samsiah pops in for a last look before she goes home. He waves her over, eager for a fresh pair of eyes. She comes over and he invites her to view the segment.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“See if you can spot anything peculiar; I don’t want to influence you.”
She pulls a chair from the next desk, sits next to him as he restarts the segment. At the end of the recording, she asks him to run it again.
“There,” she says, pointing to the screen. “Bring it back.” As he drags the frame control back, she guides him saying, “A bit more, a bit more, pause! You see that, the way she gets off the car. That’s a woman.”
“What makes you say it’s a woman?”
“Go back a little, there, pause. See the way she got off the driver’s seat with two legs closed, slanting out towards the door? That’s how a woman slides off a car seat. They don’t want to expose their panties to watching weirdos. She may be in pants, but habits are habits. Men don’t have such habits.”
“You still have it, don’t you?” he smiles at her. “If it’s a woman, it’s a new lead.”
“Yes, I still have it. Once you’ve got it, you’ll never lose it,” she says laughing, pleased with herself. “What’s next?”
“I want to get the IT guys to confirm what we think. Maybe they’ve some system, or software, or scientific method to measure the figure and confirm if it’s a man or woman.”
The Head of Major Crimes nods. “Does this mean the target has now shifted to the vic’s wife? We know she’s been fooling around. Jealousy can be a strong motive.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Jealousy can drive people to do things you cannot image. It’s like love, but in reverse.”
“Hmm.”
Johan comes with some teh tarik for him. He runs the video segment again, and after the second viewing, his assistant says, “What?”, much to the amusement of his bosses. She points out the way in which the figure steps out of the Cayenne, and only then does the sergeant notice it. “You guys are good,” he laughs.
“We’re not good, we are experienced,” she says.
Supt Samsiah bids them goodnight and good luck, and leaves. Mislan calls Chew. He asks if the Forensics supervisor can arrange for the video tech to come back in for a short while to verify something on the video. Chew says he will do it within the hour. He then asks if he can have Di’s mobile number and Chew texts it to him. He calls the number and after several rings, the messaging system announces
, ‘If it’s important leave a message after the beep, otherwise try again later’. He leaves a message for her to return his call.
A mata gelap comes into the office escorting an Indian man. It is the security guard who was stationed at RT.
“Do you want to interview him?”
The sergeant nods, and turning to the mata gelap, instructs him, “Put him in room one and get the gelap to check with D6 if he has any previous convictions. I’ll join you in a minute.”
The security guard, K Kuppusamy, is in his late fifties. He has bloodshot eyes probably from lack of sleep and a five-day stubble. His discoloured uniform smells of dried curry, sweat, and alcohol. He wears no socks, and a pair of shoes that should have been replaced months ago. Kuppusamy’s eyes dart wildly, as if looking for some hidden danger. He is so jittery he almost jumps out of the chair when Johan enters the room, and as the sergeant takes the seat facing him, he leans as far back as he can without tipping over. The inspector joins them, lights a cigarette, leans against the door and signals for the interview to begin.
“Kuppusamy son of Kulasingam, is that your name?”
The guard nods.
“You were working at RT Fashion House in Bukit Bintang last Sunday?”
He nods again, his eyes shifting to the inspector leaning against the door.
“Why did you run way?”
“I don’t like the place. I asked to be posted somewhere else, but they still put me there,” Kuppusamy answers without taking his eyes off the cigarette in the inspector’s hand. The nicotine craving overcomes his fear and he pleads, “Aya, boleh kasi satu rokok?”
Mislan shakes his head, not because he is insensitive to a smoker’s needs, but for fear that his goodwill would be misrepresented by the suspect as inducement, should the suspect be charged.
“Did anyone ask you to leave at four on Monday morning?” Johan draws the detainee’s attention back to the interview.
“No lah, I always leave about that time for a drink. That place does not have any drinks or food. I go to the stalls behind KL Plaza,” Kuppusamy answers, his eyes straying towards the cigarette.
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