“Do you ever think of fellatio?” Quincy’s tone was ingratiating.
Lenny shook his head. “I don’t know her, doctor.”
“Notice the immediate association between a demeaning act and a woman,” Lum pointed out to his colleague.
Quincy nodded agreement. “Right,” he said. “Enough psychodata in this session alone to associate him with the crimes.” He turned to me. “But we like intuitive confirmation from someone who has actually been at the scene of a killing.” I shook my head and he said, “Too bad. We’ll see what you can do with our next suspect.” He handed me another print-out.
From this I discovered that the suspect Oh Kwee was the last of six children. His father was a carpenter and his mother a washerwoman. He dropped out of school at sixteen and was apprenticed as a motor mechanic. He was dismissed from his apprenticeship because of the theft of some spark plugs and fuses. Soon after this it became known that he was a catamite.
“What’s a catamite?” I asked Lum.
“A man who indulges exclusively in receptive anal intercourse. Often this is for financial gain,” he replied in a disinterested voice.
I continued reading.
It was not established when Oh Kwee began hiring himself out to S & M groups. However, it was clearly a sadomasochistic episode that resulted in him being admitted to the Singapore General Hospital with peritonitis. This was found to have been caused by rectal perforations with a sharp object. He was also diagnosed as suffering from both syphilis and rectal gonorrhoea. Psychological profiling showed that he had a very low self-opinion. This was consistent with him allowing himself to make a living by being sodomised. There were genetic markers to the personality type. The suspect had a bullet-head, indicating severe brain abnormality. It was also to be noted that he had exceptionally long arms and pointed ears with attached lobes. He was much darker than his siblings and his name, Oh Kwee, which in the Hokkien dialect means “black devil”, became, in this context, of significance. His hatred for women stemmed from his having to compete with them as a male prostitute, and from the fact that he blamed his mother for his name. That he had allowed himself to be systematically brutalised indicated a vicarious desire for violence. However, the suspect had not, thus far, been actually implicated in acts of aggression, sexual or otherwise. This was, more than likely, because he had been under adequate surveillance.
Even though his name gave an indication of his complexion, Oh Kwee was surprisingly dark, almost negrito in colour. He was short, with well-rounded hips which he swung about as he walked. He shot me sidelong looks while Lum asked him numerous questions in Hokkien. Oh Kwee answered these amiably and with much gesticulating.
At the end of the interview, the psychiatrist turned to Quincy and said, “There is no doubt in my mind that he has a marked hostility towards the female sex. This hostility could well turn to violence but he has it well concealed from himself. As things now stand, he is unaware of his hostility, and I would suspect that he would be amnesiac for acts of violence committed against women.”
Quincy seemed a little dejected by what Lum said. Then he nodded several times and said, “It must be evident, even to your out-of-date police force, that four of the five victims were women. What is more, the murderer passed up the opportunity to stab a man,” he glanced at me, “who by his own account was in a deep, post-coital slumber.”
Jafri smiled ingratiatingly and said, “I’ll draw this gender preference to the attention of the relevant authorities.”
“Do that,” Quincy instructed, before turning to me. “What now interests me is the effect the second suspect has had on How Kum.”
“None whatever,” I announced happily.
Quincy’s face fell. “No fear reactions, no sweating, no palpitations?”
“None whatsoever.”
“We should have had him on a polygraph,” he said to his colleague. “Then we could detect changes in his physiological parameters of which he is not aware.”
“As things stand, I see no option except to wait for the arrival of Madam Zoroastris, who will be in Singapore in a few days. We have worked together on several cases like this and, I might add, with one hundred per cent success.”
I asked the question that was on the tip of all our tongues. “Who is Madam Zoroastris?”
“One with more powers of perception than has been given to any human I know. Zelda Zoroastris hails from England but now lives with me in California.” He allowed himself a tiny smile. “We shall reconvene as soon as the dear lady is in town.”
WHEN I RETURNED to the office I found, to my disgust, a stack of documents on my desk, all of them tagged IMMEDIATE. I knew I would be working overtime and called Ma. Instead of being upset, as she usually was when I was late home for dinner, she seemed happy about it.
“Your Uncle Oscar and I will wait for you,” she said cheerily. “I’m cooking a laksa and the longer the gravy simmers the better.”
Ma’s laksa was something to look forward to. No restaurant got the mixture of coconut and prawn sauce right, nor did any cook I know prepare the noodles to a point where they were just soft without being soggy. The dish had to be painstakingly produced, and I knew why Ma was making laksa tonight. It was Oscar’s favourite dish. I also realised why Ma didn’t mind my being late. Though Oscar was sixty and they had lived together for twenty-eight years, their relationship remained tender and touchingly physical. The thin walls of our flat assured me of this often enough. My resentment at the stack of documents on my desk diminished slightly.
I got home a little after eight and was surprised to find D’Cruz there. He was drinking with Oscar. Ma was clearly less than ecstatic about his presence, and sniffed several times as she bustled about getting the meal on the table. The inspector’s unexpected visit had, no doubt, cut short her reconciliation with her man, for the two had clearly been drinking for some time.
As soon as I came in, D’Cruz put down his glass and said, “I came to speak to you, How Kum. I hear you have had some sort of a session with our midget conman.”
“Yes,” I said apologetically. “He wanted me to…” I stopped. I wondered what Quincy wanted me to do.
“He wanted you to do what our temporarily deranged Arab is doing. He wanted you to lick his arse and tell him what a clever boy he has been to have unearthed those two,” he couldn’t control his laugh, “killers.” He laughed again. “Anyway, tell me what happened?”
I did. When I finished Ozzie said, “You play along with him for a while. That’s the only way I have of keeping tabs on the little squirt.
“The DCP is a well-lubricated political cunt who’s playing some game of his own. I don’t give a shit what happens to him. What’s got me as cross-eyed as an idiot in Disneyland is the way our normally level-headed Arab is behaving.”
I told Ozzie what Zainah had said about Jafri being dissatisfied with his profession, and the doubts he had expressed over conventional notions of justice.
“Only an ostrich with its head stuck up its arse is completely happy with any system of justice. Being unhappy is one thing. Believing the kind of shit the little squirt from California is spraying all over the place is another.” He finished what was left of his drink and rolled it around his mouth. “I’ll see what I can do to get our Arab’s brains unscrambled.”
Oscar realised that the inspector had completed his business and put down the glass he had been nursing. “I did, dear boy, suggest earlier that this was some kind of mass slaying. If I remember correctly, I referred you to Jack the Ripper.” He picked up his glass and pointed to the inspector’s empty glass. D’Cruz shook his head and Oscar continued. “After my sortie into the other world, I am convinced that this is not some kind of gangland terror stunt, nor is it the work of a lunatic. I am also of the opinion, dear boy, that your lady was the murderer’s real target.” He smiled weakly. “I cannot give you chapter and verse but that is the overall opinion of my friends.”
Ma began serving the laksa. We
ate in silence for several minutes. We began talking again when our bowls were empty and after D’Cruz and Oscar had complimented Ma on her cooking.
“I don’t know what goes on in California, but murderers in Singapore kill for a purpose. Usually it’s money.” D’Cruz hesitated. “Except for my Tessie who was killed by an animal out of lust. And I’ll say this here and now. Whatever he’s got wrong with his limbic system or his hippocampus or whatever, that bastard’s going to swing for it when I catch him.”
A strange look crossed Oscar’s face when D’Cruz started talking about his sister. I had never seen it before. I wondered if it was fear. Then, as if to change the subject, he said, “Though I did say that this dear boy’s lady seemed the murderer’s target, I cannot for the life of me think of a motive for her murder.”
“Look to money first,” the inspector advised.
I remembered the business about the meat tenders and told D’Cruz about them. I also told him about Loong saying that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to safeguard the interests of his son.
D’Cruz brooded over my statement for a bit. “I think I may have exaggerated the Chinko and son situation a little. The business of the meat tenders is, however, interesting. Except for one thing. You lied when you said that Vanita had information that everything was not squeaky clean about awarding tenders…”
I interrupted, “I thought about that and believed that Symons had no motive for her murder. Then I thought again and wondered if Loong had not confessed to Symons that he had in a weak moment told Vanita about the tenders. They would both want her dead because of what she knew, and Loong had additional incentive for wanting her dead.”
“Very good, big guy. Except for one thing.”
I nodded. “That there were five murders instead of there being just one. Which brings us back to Quincy’s mindless lunatics.”
Oscar, who seemed to have suddenly become terribly drunk, said in a slurred voice, “You are forgetting, dear boy, the insights I gained by my sojourn in my other world. Insights which tell me that, however much you wish to believe it, your lady’s death was not a mindless affair. In fact, it was very much a matter of mind.”
Suddenly everything about Oscar irritated me: his drunkenness, his old-fashioned language, his long-windedness. I spoke in a voice so quiet that I could barely recognise it as my own. “Uncle Oscar, you brought me up to speak the truth always.”
Indeed, dear boy, so press on with what you want to say.”
“The friends you talk about, the pimps and prostitutes and outdated scoundrels, have nothing to do with the world of today. They have no right to have opinions about Vanita’s murder. They are just a bunch of has-beens like you…”
D’Cruz clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Hang on, big fella.” The grip on my shoulder tightened. “This man has been more than a father to you…”
“It’s all right, dear fellow,” said Oscar, leaning unsteadily forward to remove Ozzie’s hand from my shoulder. “This boy of mine has been brought up to be unafraid of speaking the truth, however painful it may be, and to whoever.” He sat back in his chair and took a swallow of brandy. “And I think he has a right to say his piece about these murders.” He looked blearily around him but his manner was not that of a hopeless drunk. He continued, “There was something I wanted to avoid bringing up till this present mess was cleared up. Something that has waited for a long time and will keep for a little longer.”
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh God, I must be drunker than I thought. Whatever else, I do not want you, How Kum, to see your Uncle Oscar as an absolute no-good.” He sipped his brandy for a while. “I may not have anything to contribute towards the solution of the present crop of murders but I did discover something about one that took place long ago. So my going ‘walkabout’ was not entirely a pointless exercise.”
I was so intent on what Oscar was saying that it took me a while to notice the change that had come over D’Cruz. His eyes had sunk beneath his brows and his breathing had quickened. Once more he had become the brute who had interrogated me in the room marked SIR. His voice too had become hoarse and unreal. “You haven’t found out anything about Tessie, have you Oscar?”
“I’m not quite sure yet what I am on to but…”
“If you’ve got anything at all, I’ve got to know about it. You understand…” D’Cruz had risen slightly from his seat.
Oscar shook his head. “I was moved by the drink and this boy’s contempt.” He touched my arm. “I should have waited for a more opportune moment, till the picture was clearer.”
Ma stood up and moved behind her man. She slid her arms round the front of his chest and squeezed him to her. “You are responsible to neither of these men, Oscar my love,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “This is your home, this is my home. Here you can say and do exactly as you like.”
Though his voice became more gentle and he was back in his seat, Ozzie was not going to be put out by Ma’s action. “Listen, Oscar, I’ve been with Tessie’s ghost all these years. You must give me a chance to catch the man that did it.” Some of his old venom returned. “You must give me a chance to catch the bastard that did it and hang him.”
“I have, dear friend, just the tiniest hint, just the swirl on the surface of the sea, not even the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn’t even whisper about it, and, but for the way this boy of mine feels,” he patted my hand, “I would have said nothing, nothing at all.”
“You do exactly as you want, Oscar…” Ma began.
“I’m sorry, madam,” D’Cruz cut in, “but if this man here has knowledge about a felony, it is my duty to warn you that it is against the law to keep this kind of information, from the police.”
“Are you threatening him?” Ma shouted.
“Not threatening, just telling him what the law says.” Then suddenly he collapsed. In a voice softer than I believed D’Cruz capable of he said, “I’m begging him, madam. Can’t you see, I’m begging him.”
“If you’re begging,” said Ma with a waspishness I didn’t think she possessed, “you can’t be choosing when and what he is to be giving.”
“Bravo, Lili,” said Oscar, applauding loudly.
“Whoever this person is, or these people are, who know something about my Tessie, I’d like to meet them with you.” D’Cruz had begun to sweat. “I’m a policeman…” he changed his mind, “I know more about this case than…” he stopped again. “Oh God, Oscar, I just gotta know.”
“Of course, you do, Ozzie old chap. That’s not in question. The question is whether the people I know will talk with you around.”
“My Oscar is right, Police Inspector,” said Ma, pulling herself upright but still keeping a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. Suddenly a thought struck her and she smiled. “I think you, How Kum, should be with your Uncle Oscar when he meets these people.”
I began to protest. I had no wish to be involved in yet another murder investigation. Then a weird thought began to form in my mind. There could be a possible connection between the murder of Tessie D’Cruz and Vanita. I realised, nevertheless, that unless I understood everything about Tessie’s death, I would never come to terms with Vanita’s. It was the murder-rape of his sister that had caused D’Cruz to assault me and to bring our lives together. I could not, now, wash my hands of the circumstances of Tessie’s death.
“Okay, Ma.”
“I would be more than happy to have the dear boy alongside when we come to resolving things but I’ll have to make the first contact myself.” All traces of drunkenness had left Oscar, and he looked at Ma as though he was a sixteen-year-old in love for the first time. “It won’t take long, Lili. And I assure you there will be no danger involved. It’s just a matter of getting a trusted old friend to set things up.”
Ozzie seemed to have given up completely. “Will it be possible for you to tell me what you plan?”
“If you put your hand on your heart and swear that you won’t interfere with my…with ou
r plans.”
The inspector seemed to have regained some of his composure. Smiling slightly he stood up, placed his right hand on his heart and said, “I swear.”
Oscar pushed aside his glass and leaned back. “We were discussing the present troubles when someone, I forget who it was, began talking of all the unsolved killings we had had and suggested some absurd way in which they all might be connected. I didn’t think there was much mileage to be gained from that kind of runaround, but the group enjoyed it and we gassed about things for a while. Then Uncle Choo, who is usually silent about everything except football, piped up and said that he knew something about one unsolved murder, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with any of the others.”
Uncle Choo was one of the few of Oscar’s friends that I knew something about. He was one of those great soccer coaches who could pick up a bunch of scallywags and, in no time at all, make them into a great football team. His methods were notoriously unorthodox and ranged from witchcraft to getting wives to deny husbands conjugal rights, but the players trusted him more than God and loved him more than their women.
Choo was a diabetic who smoked heavily and considered it cowardly not to indulge in the food he enjoyed. When gangrene struck and one of his legs had to be amputated, Choo said that it was too much to expect a man to change the habits of a lifetime simply because of the loss of a leg. In six months the other leg had to go too. He now propelled himself or was trundled about in a wheelchair, but still frequented his old haunts and carried on with his old ways. It seemed unlikely that he would know anything about murder, the present lot or one that occurred years ago.
Oscar, reading my mind, said, “I was surprised too, How Kum, when Uncle Choo claimed to have inside knowledge of a murder-rape. I felt that any opinions the legless wonder expressed outside of football were to be discounted, but the coach insisted that a footballer was in some way connected with the death of the D’Cruz girl, and his boys had no secrets from him.”
Moonrise, Sunset Page 18
