Crime Scene: Singapore

by Stephen Leather

  Contents

  INTRODUCTION

  Singapore ‘Inspector Zhang Gets His Wish’ by Stephen Leather

  ‘Lead Balloon’ by Lee Ee Leen

  ‘Decree Absolute’ by Dawn Farnham

  ‘The Corporate Wolf’ by Pranav S. Joshi

  ‘The Murder Blog of Wilde Diabolito’ by Chris Mooney-Singh

  ‘A Sticky Situation’ by Alaric Leong

  ‘The Madman of Geylang’ by Zafar Anjum

  ‘The Lost History of Shadows’ by Aaron Ang

  ‘Nostalgia’ by Ng Yi-Sheng

  The House on Tomb Lane’ by Dawn Farnham

  ‘The First Time’ by Carolyn Camoens

  ‘Unnatural Causes’ by Richard Lord

  COPYRIGHT NOTICES

  EXPLORE SINGAPORE NONFICTION

  EXPLORE SINGAPORE FICTION

  COPYRIGHT

  Introduction

  There’s an old German saying which, roughly translated, reminds us that ‘there where you have a lot of light, you’ll also find a lot of shadows’. That could well be the motto for this book, as the intrepid authors in this collection have chosen to poke through all the light in order to better probe the various shadows in Singapore life.

  As the local law enforcement people here like to remind us, low crime does not mean no crime. Which is actually pretty good news for those of us putting this anthology together. Presented with the challenges of producing good crime fiction set in a society with little crime, nearly a dozen talented writers have released the full force of their imaginative powers to come up with absorbing narratives.

  These authors persuasively show us that low crime may also mean interesting crime. Concealed there in the shadows of ‘squeaky-clean Singapore’ is the stuff of solid crime fiction and our writers make the most of it.

  One can even argue that the fact that there isn’t much crime in Singapore makes the crime that does occur that much more interesting and more tempting to deal with in fiction. Crime that occurs in a nation where the law is largely respected and adhered to tends to rock our sense of order more; it somehow seems a greater transgression and thus a more fertile field for writers of fiction.

  Whatever the motive, the twelve stories making up this volume give us a broad view of the crime scene in the Lion City.

  The collection opens with an engaging piece by famed author Stephen Leather. In Inspector Zhang Gets his Wish, Leather serves up a self-reflective piece of fiction that takes us step by step through the solution of a crime with a course in writing crime fiction thrown in as a bonus. And it’s done humorously and deftly, showing us again why Leather is a master of the genre.

  Another piece that plays with the conventions of the crime fiction genre is A Sticky Situation, an affectionate bit of persiflage that makes fun of outsider’s attitudes about Singapore and its restrictions by probing a uniquely Singaporean type of crime.

  Actually, many of the stories here feature crimes that are, if not uniquely Singaporean, at least typically Singaporean. For instance, Pranav S. Joshi’s The Corporate Wolf shows us how business practices which strive to cut corners (a not uncommon practice here) can actually open a back door to some serious crime.

  Lee Ee Leen’s Lead Balloon is a convincing and alarming consideration of the ways in which school pressures can lead to crime. Decree Absolute (by the renowned local novelist Dawn Farnham) casts an ironic eye at a standard Singapore marriage with clearly recognisable strains that ends with a twisted, and ingenious, version of divorce, Singapore style.

  A few of the stories in this volume even add a bit of social criticism into their well-knit plots. The House on Tomb Lane, for instance, looks at the abuse of maids by their employers, a not infrequent crime sometimes overlooked because its victims stay silent and unseen.

  The Madman of Geylang also casts a critical eye at the situation of a foreign maid, in this case one who seeks to marry a poor Singaporean. The problems this pair encounter result in a cascade of sad consequences that are as upsetting as they are believable.

  The First Time, by local radio personality Carolyn Camoens, is a treatment of another crime that is sadly not too uncommon, but is overlooked because its victims often seize silence as a shield. The skill and tact employed by Camoens in her handling of this story only makes its effect that much more chilling.

  Another local personality, writer-educator-impresario Chris Mooney-Singh, gives us an engrossing piece which skilfully weaves together literary allusions from the past with conjecture on how social networking on the Internet might serve as an accomplice to a crime.

  This volume’s shortest piece, Nostalgia, is a poetic slice of speculative fiction by Ng Yi-Sheng, whose earlier book Last Boy won the coveted Singapore Literature Prize in 2008. The most atypical story in this collection, it is a haunting piece with strange echoes of things that have never happened but may be lurking just around the corner.

  The longest story in the collection, The Lost History of Shadows, begins in 1930’s Singapore and then traces how one horrific crime plays into a handful of follow-up crimes and then shows us how the crimes of the fathers are visited upon the sons and the grandsons. It also questions some of our comfortable notions of innocence and culpability.

  As the collection opens with a story of a Singapore police investigator, it closes with the tale of a private investigator. In Unnatural Causes, a top private detective gets a reprieve from the near lethal tedium of his standard assignments when a beautiful woman strides into his office and offers him a most unusual, but very dangerous commission.

  Crime fiction is in some ways our most existential form of fiction. Not only does it often (though not always) deal with life and death matters, but it brings us to question our sense of the world we live in and our own place in that world. When a crime shakes the comfortable reality we like to feel is so fixed, we start considering other prospects, be they good or bad. The writers in this anthology appreciate this fact and turn it to the advantage of their stories. In so doing, they assure us that even though Singapore may boast low crime rates, it can also now boast its production of strong crime fiction.

  Richard Lord

  Singapore ‘Inspector Zhang Gets His Wish’ by Stephen Leather

  Inspector Zhang walked out of the elevator and looked left and right. ‘Which way, Sergeant?’ he asked. He took out his handkerchief and polished his thick-lensed spectacles which had clouded over when he had walked from the cloying Singapore night into the blistering air-conditioning of the hotel.

  Sergeant Lee was in her mid-twenties, with her hair tied up in a bun that made her look older than her twenty-four years. She had only been working with Inspector Zhang for two months and was still anxious to please. She frowned at her notebook, then looked at the two signs on the wall facing them. ‘Room 634,’ she said, and pointed to the left. ‘This way, Sir.’

  Inspector Zhang put his spectacles back on and walked slowly down the corridor. He was wearing his second-best grey suit and pale yellow silk tie with light blue squares on it that his wife had given him the previous Christmas, and his well-polished shoes glistened under the hallway nights. He had been at home when he had received the call and had dressed quickly, wanting to be first on the scene. It wasn’t every day that a detective got to deal with a murder case in low-crime Singapore.

  They reached room 634 and Inspector Zhang knocked on the door. It was opened by a square-shouldered blonde woman who glared at him as if he was about to try to sell her life insurance. Inspector Zhang flashed his warrant card. ‘I am Inspector Zhang of the Singapore Police Force,’ he said. ‘I am with the CID at New Bridge Road.’ He nodded at his companion. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Lee.’

  The Sergeant took out her warrant
card and showed it to the woman who nodded and opened the door wider. ‘Please come in; we’re trying not to alarm our guests,’ she said.

  Inspector Zhang and Sergeant Lee slipped into the room and the woman closed the door. There were four other people in the room—a tall Westerner and a stocky Indian wearing a black suit, a pretty young Chinese girl also in a black suit and a white-jacketed waiter. The waiter was standing next to a trolley covered with a white cloth.

  The woman who had opened the door offered her hand to the Inspector. ‘I am Geraldine Berghuis,’ she said, ‘I am the manager.’ She was in her thirties with eyebrows plucked so finely that they were just thin lines above her piercing blue eyes. She was wearing an elegant green suit that looked as if it had been made to measure and there was a string of large pearls around her neck. She had several diamond rings on her fingers, but her wedding finger was bare. Inspector Zhang shook her hand. Miss Berghuis gestured at a tall, bald man in an expensive suit. ‘This is Mr Christopher Mercier, our head of security.’ Mr Mercier did not offer his hand, but nodded curtly.

  The manager waved her hand at the Indian man and the Chinese woman. ‘Mr Ramanan and Miss Xue were on the desk tonight,’ she said. ‘They are both assistant managers.’

  They both nodded at Inspector Zhang and smiled nervously. Ramanan was in his early forties and the girl appeared to be half his age. They both wore silver name badges and had matching neatly-folded handkerchiefs in their top pockets. Inspector Zhang nodded back and then looked at the waiter. ‘And you are?’ Inspector Zhang asked.

  ‘Mr CK Chau,’ answered Miss Berghuis. ‘He delivered Mr Wilkinson’s room service order and discovered the body.’ The waiter nodded in agreement.

  Inspector Zhang looked around the room. ‘I see no body,’ he said.

  Miss Berghuis pointed at a side door. ‘Through there,’ she said. ‘This is one of our suites; we have a sitting room and a separate bedroom.’

  ‘Please be so good as to show me the deceased,’ said Inspector Zhang.

  The manager took the two detectives through to a large bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the lights were on. Lying on the king-size bed with his feet hanging over the edge was a naked man. It was a Westerner, Inspector Zhang realised immediately, a big man with a mountainous stomach and a pool of blood that had soaked into the sheet around his head.

  ‘Peter Wilkinson,’ said Miss Berghuis. ‘He is an American and one of our VIP guests. He stays at our hotel once a month. He owns a company which distributes plastic products in the United States and stays in Singapore en route to his factories in China.’

  Inspector Zhang leant over the bed and peered at the body, nodding thoughtfully. He could see a puncture wound just under the chin and the chest was covered with blood. ‘One wound,’ he said. ‘It appears to have ruptured a vein but not the carotid artery, or there would have been much more blood spurting.’ He looked across at the Sergeant. ‘Carotid blood spray is very distinctive,’ he said. ‘I think in this case, we have arterial bleeding. He would have taken a minute or so to bleed to death, whereas if the artery had been severed, death would have been almost instantaneous.’

  The Sergeant nodded and scribbled in her notebook.

  ‘Note the blood over the chest,’ continued the Inspector. ‘That could have only happened if he was upright so we can therefore deduce that he was standing up when he was stabbed and that he then fell or was pushed back onto the bed.’ He walked around to look at the bedside table. On it was a wallet and a gold Rolex watch. Inspector Zhang took a ballpoint pen from his inside pocket and used it to flip open the wallet. Inside was a thick wad of notes and half a dozen credit cards, all gold or platinum. ‘I think we can safely rule out robbery as a motive,’ he said.

  Sergeant Lee scribbled in her notebook.

  Inspector Zhang walked back into the sitting room. Miss Berghuis and Sergeant Lee followed him.

  ‘So, what time did you discover the body?’ Inspector Zhang asked the waiter.

  ‘About ten o’clock,’ replied the manager, before the waiter could answer. ‘Mr Chau called down to reception and we came straight up.’

  ‘By we, you mean the front desk staff?’

  ‘Myself, Mr Mercier, and Mr Ramanan and Miss Xue.’

  Ramanan and Xue nodded at the Inspector but said nothing. Miss Xue looked over at the bedroom door fearfully, as if she expected the dead man to appear at any moment.

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully. ‘The corridor is covered by CCTV, of course?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the manager.

  ‘Then I would first like to review the recording,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Mr Mercier can take you down to our security room,’ said Miss Berghuis.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Inspector Zhang. He looked across at his sergeant. ‘Sergeant Lee, if you would stay here and take the details of everyone in the room, I will be back shortly. Make sure that nobody leaves and that the crime scene is not disturbed.’

  ‘Shall I call in Forensics, Inspector Zhang?’ asked the Sergeant.

  ‘Later, Sergeant Lee. First things first.’

  Inspector Zhang and Mercier left the suite and went down in the elevator to the ground floor. Mercier took the Inspector behind the front desk and into a small windowless room where there was a desk with a large computer monitor. On the wall behind the desk were another three large monitors, each showing the views from twenty different cameras around the hotel.

  Mercier sat down and his expensively manicured fingers played over the keyboard. A view of the corridor on the sixth floor filled the main screen. ‘What time do you want to look at?’ asked Mercier.

  ‘Do we know what time Mr Wilkinson went to his room?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘About half past eight, I think,’ said Mercier.

  ‘Start at 8.20 and run it on fast-forward if that’s possible,’ said Inspector Zhang.

  Mercier tapped on the keyboard. The time code at the bottom of the screen showed 8.20 and then the seconds flicked by quickly. The elevator doors opened and a big man and a small Asian woman came out.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Mercier. He pressed a button and the video slowed to its proper speed.

  Wilkinson was wearing a dark suit with a Mao collar. His companion was a pretty Asian girl in her twenties with waist-length black hair, wearing a tight white mini-dress cut low to reveal large breasts. She was holding Wilkinson’s hand and laughing at something he had said.

  ‘Freeze that, please,’ said Inspector Zhang as Wilkinson and the girl reached the door to the suite.

  Mercier did as he was told and Inspector Zhang peered at the screen. He recognised the woman. ‘Ah, the lovely Ms Lulu,’ said Inspector Zhang.

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘She is an escort for one of the city’s more expensive agencies, and when she isn’t escorting, she can be found in one of the bars in Orchard Towers looking for customers.’ The woman was wearing impossibly high heels, but she barely reached Wilkinson’s shoulder.

  ‘The Four Floors of Whores?’ said Mercier. ‘She’s a prostitute?’

  ‘Come now, Mr Mercier, as head of security in a five-star hotel, you must surely have your share of nocturnal visitors,’ said Inspector Zhang.

  ‘We have a policy of not allowing visitors in guests’ rooms after midnight,’ said Mercier primly.

  ‘And I’m sure that your guests adhere strictly to that policy,’ said Inspector Zhang. He looked at the time code on the video. ‘Ms Lulu is from Thailand, though she travels to Singapore using a variety of names. Now, from the time code we can see that Mr Wilkinson and Ms Lulu arrived at 8.30. Can you now please advance the video until the time she left the room.’

  Mercier tapped a key and the video began to fast-forward. Guests moved back and forth up and down the corridor, hotel staff whizzed by, but the door stayed resolutely closed. Then at 9.30 on the dot, the door opened and Ms Lulu slipped out. Mercier slowed the video to real time and they watched as she tottered down
the corridor in her stiletto heels.

  ‘So we can assume that Mr Wilkinson paid her for one hour,’ said Inspector Zhang. ‘Now, when did Mr Wilkinson order room service?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Mercier. ‘We will have to talk to the waiter.’

  ‘Then please fast-forward until the waiter arrives with the trolley.’

  Mercier did as he was told. At five minutes before ten, the waiter appeared in the corridor, pushing a trolley. He knocked on the door, then knocked again.

  ‘What is the hotel policy if the guest does not open his door?’ asked Inspector Zhang.

  ‘If the “Do Not Disturb” sign is on, then the member of staff will phone through to the room. If it isn’t, then it’s acceptable to use their key.’

  The waiter knocked again, then used his key card to open the door. Inspector Zhang made a note of the time. It was 9.58.

  ‘And at what time did the waiter call down to reception to say that he had found Mr Wilkinson dead on the bed?’

  ‘Just before ten,’ said Mercier. ‘You’ll have to ask Miss Berghuis. She’ll know for sure.’

  They watched the screen. After a minute or so, the waiter appeared at the doorway. He stood there, shaking, his arms folded, then he paced back and forth across the corridor. The time code showed 10.03 when Miss Berghuis appeared, followed by her staff. They hurried into the room.

  Mercier pressed a button to freeze the screen and pointed at the time code. ‘Three minutes past ten,’ he said. ‘No one went in or out of the room except for Mr Wilkinson and his guest. His guest left at 9.30 and the next time he was seen, he was dead.’

  Inspector Zhang nodded thoughtfully as he put away his notebook. ‘So, please, let us go back to the room. I have seen everything that I need to see.’

  They went back to the sixth floor. Two uniformed police officers had arrived and were standing guard at the door to the suite. They nodded and moved aside to allow the Inspector and Mercier inside.

  Sergeant Lee was scribbling in her notebook and she looked up as Inspector Zhang walked into the room. ‘I have everyone’s details, Sir,’ she said.