by H. Y. Hanna
Toran nodded. “I’ve been spending a lot of time at the police station in the past few days, going over old evidence and trying to clarify the sequence of events. There’s very little to go on though. They never considered it a criminal case. It was always written off as a tragic accident.”
“And they have no leads at all on this driver who disappeared?” asked Leah.
“No, none. It looks like they didn’t even make much effort to look for him at the time. In fact, they didn’t announce my parents’ identities or put out a request for any information about the accident until late the next day.”
“Yes, Beng said he didn’t hear the announcement about the accident until the next evening,” said Leah. “It was only then that he realised the man he picked up might be the driver. You know, he said he dropped the man off at the top of Orchard Road. Is there any way of tracing the man from that information?”
Toran shook his head impatiently. “Orchard Road is in the heart of the city—it could lead to any number of places. The only residences nearby are exclusive serviced apartments and luxury penthouses—or five-star hotels. I doubt he was living in one of those. No, I think he asked to be dropped off there so that it would be difficult to trace him.”
“What about the car in the accident?” asked Leah. “Who was it registered to?”
“It was a rental from one of the big taxi operators. It’s quite common for taxi drivers to hire cars from the big companies at a daily rate, rather than have their own.”
“So wouldn’t the company have records of who rented it?”
“They do, but the man who rented it actually sub-leased it to another driver.”
“Seriously?”
Toran nodded. “That’s quite common as well. A typical cab driver works a twelve-hour shift, so many of them will sub-lease the car to a second driver. That’s what this guy did. I went and questioned him myself. He said it was a cash deal; someone he met at a kopitiam—you know, those traditional Singaporean coffee shops where local workers congregate—who said they wanted to earn a bit of money on the side.”
“And he couldn’t describe what the man looked like?”
Toran gave a sardonic smile. “It was five years ago. I doubt he could remember what he himself looked like then. He was spitting mad about what happened to the car though. Since he had hired it, he was responsible for the repairs. All he told me was that the man was Singaporean and not very tall, wore glasses, and had a moustache.”
“That really narrows it down.” Leah rolled her eyes.
“Yes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the glasses and moustache were fakes, used to disguise the driver’s real features.”
“I suppose the alibi of the guy who actually hired the car checked out?”
Toran inclined his head. “He’s clean. So the police decided that the mystery driver must have been someone who wanted to earn some extra money, had an accident, realised that he could be held responsible for manslaughter, got scared, and fled the scene. A sort of hit-and-run, I guess. Since they had no luck finding him and they had no reason to believe it was foul play, they closed the case.” His mouth twisted. “It’s a totally different story, though, if the driver of the car planned the whole thing on purpose, because he was hired to do so.”
Leah knew that they were both skirting around the elephant in the room—the topic of her father. She decided to take the bull by its horns. “I still don’t think it’s my father, you know.”
Toran didn’t say anything. His silence, ironically, made Leah feel more defensive than if he had argued with her.
“I… I know he did some morally reprehensible things, especially when he was working for Bentley Warne. I’m not saying that he’s a saint or anything,” said Leah hastily. “But I just don’t think he would stoop to something like this. There’s a difference between white-collar crime and organising a cold-blooded murder. I mean, the reason that the whole Bentley Warne affair blew up was because my father refused to help him cover up a murder.”
“He practically confessed to being responsible in that letter,” said Toran coldly.
“Well, maybe… maybe he didn’t realise what he was saying or he was confused or something!” Leah said. “It’s obvious that he was drunk when he wrote that letter and he might not have been clear in his own mind what he meant to say. Maybe he—”
“He was guilty about something,” said Toran through clenched teeth. “Even you can’t be so blind as to not see that.”
Leah gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath. She didn’t want things to spiral into another ugly argument. Perhaps Toran felt the same way because he took a deep breath as well and sat back in his chair.
“I’m sorry,” he said, in a quieter voice. “Leah, I know you don’t want to see your father as a murderer. I know you want to see good in him. I get it. He was the one parent you had left and especially now that he’s dead, you want him to be the type of father you would like to have in your memory.” He leaned forwards across the table. “But that doesn’t change what he actually was. You and I both know that he was ruthless and immoral and willing to do anything to get what he wanted. You saw what he did to keep us apart in our teens, the lengths he went to, to control you. Don’t believe for a second that he wouldn’t do the same in another situation. If, for whatever reason, he felt that my parents needed to be eliminated, he wouldn’t have hesitated. And the fact that he had contact with Black Buddha means that he would have had access to the kind of thugs who could help him.”
“No, you’re wrong,” said Leah stubbornly. “I know I’ve got nothing to go on except my gut instinct but—I can’t explain it to you—I just know that he could not have done this.”
Toran sat back and let out a breath of exasperation. “Fine! Fine, so he didn’t do it. Then who was responsible? Tell me, why would anyone want my parents dead? They weren’t involved with politics or religion or gangs or even the cutthroat world of business. They were simple, middle-class folk.”
“Maybe… maybe it really was just an accident!” said Leah helplessly. “I mean, it was raining heavily that day. Maybe the driver genuinely swerved and lost control of the car in the slippery conditions. Why can’t you accept that it could have all just been a tragic accident?”
“Because it wasn’t!” Toran growled. “There was no way my dad would not have been wearing a seat belt. You say you know your father—well, I know mine. The seat belts had to have been tampered with. And there is still the issue with your father’s letter: whatever else you may think, you have to admit that he is involved in this somewhere, otherwise why would he have mentioned it?”
Leah didn’t say anything. He was right. She couldn’t deny it—she still couldn’t work out in her own mind why her father would mention the accident. But everything in her rebelled against the thought of him being a cold-blooded manipulator who could arrange the murder of two innocent people.
The food arrived, breaking the tension. Leah turned gratefully to the caviar platter and busied herself choosing a blini. As if by tacit agreement, Toran followed suit and they didn’t talk about the case again for the rest of dinner. The tension remained in the air between them, though, and something else as well. A sizzling awareness that made Leah’s heart beat faster and made her hyper-conscious of every move Toran made across the table—from the way his fingers caressed the stem of his wineglass to the sweep of his dark lashes against his cheeks as he concentrated on his steak. Perhaps he felt it too because she caught him looking at her several times, his gaze brooding, and once when her hands brushed his as they both reached for the pepper, she sensed his whole body tense across the table.
The awareness was still simmering between them as Toran saw her to the door of his apartment.
“I’ll come pick you up at nine tomorrow morning, to go and see Beng’s wife,” said Toran.
He paused and hesitated next to her. Leah’s pulse quickened, but after a second, all he did was say, “Good night” and turn to go
.
On an impulse, Leah reached out and grabbed his arm. “Stay.”
He stopped and looked at her, his green eyes burning into hers.
“I… I mean, you don’t have to run away. This is your home after all.” Leah’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Toran looked at her searchingly for a moment, then he gave a slight nod. “I’ll stay in the spare room,” he said.
Leah flushed with embarrassment. Had she sounded that wanton? That hadn’t been what she meant. She had simply wanted him near her, just to know that he was there. Her cheeks still burning, she followed Toran into the apartment and helped him set up the spare room.
“Good night,” she said, pausing in the doorway and looking back at him.
He came towards her, his handsome face inscrutable but something—some intense emotion—flickering in his eyes. Leah felt him lean forwards and her heart pounded suddenly with anticipation. Maybe she hadn’t been honest with herself earlier. Maybe this was part of what she had meant when she had asked him to stay—a desperate yearning for Toran to take her into his arms and kiss her, make love to her; to connect with him in the one way she still could, despite their differences.
She raised her face to his, her eyes wide and hopeful. There was a breathless moment… then he stepped back. Leah felt the sharp sting of disappointment, coupled with embarrassment.
“Good night,” said Toran in a flat voice.
Leah left and went to the master bedroom, the room she normally shared with Toran. She cleaned her teeth and got ready for bed, then switched off the lights and crawled under the sheets. Somehow, the bed felt even bigger and colder now that she knew Toran was in the room next door. Curling into a ball, Leah turned on her side and shut her eyes. She should have been exhausted after the flight and the long day she had had, but she found that her mind was buzzing, full of awareness for the man in the next room.
She had been so certain that Toran still wanted her—she thought she had seen desire smouldering in his eyes when he looked at her earlier, had felt the caress in the touch of his fingers out on the rooftop terrace—but had she been wrong? She curled up tighter, burying her face into the pillow, as the pain of rejection hit her. Maybe she had been deluding herself. After all, by choosing to sleep in the spare room and his cool behaviour just now, wasn’t Toran making it very clear that he didn’t want her anymore?
CHAPTER 23
Toran tossed and turned in the spare bed, his mind in turmoil. All he could think about was Leah in the next room and his body hardened in response every time he thought of her. He wanted to feel her softness against him, her mouth under his, her hands in his hair… He remembered the way Leah had looked, standing in the doorway with the light behind her, framing her in a soft halo. Her deep blue eyes had seemed almost luminous as she looked up at him. It had taken all his self-control not to reach for her and pull her to him, to crush her lips against his.
But it wasn’t just the physical desire. He remembered the pain in Leah’s eyes when she had talked about her father over dinner. There was something there that she hadn’t told him. He wondered if it was something to do with her trip to the U.K. He longed just to hold her in his arms, to soothe her and comfort her. Every cell in his body ached to get up and go into the next room.
But he knew he couldn’t. However much he wanted it, making love to Leah now would only complicate things further. There was still too much unresolved between them.
Toran sighed and turned over. Then he stiffened and lifted his head from the pillow. What was that sound? He strained his ears to listen and felt his heart lurch as he realised what it was. The sound of sobbing. He was out of his bed and across the hallway in a flash, flinging open the door of the master bedroom without knocking.
“Leah?” He stood in the doorway, straining to see in the dark.
“Y-y-yes…?” She hiccupped, trying to hold back sobs. She was curled up in a miserable huddle against one of the pillows. In the light from the hallway, her face looked puffy and blotchy—but to Toran, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Leah? What’s the matter?” He crossed the room to the bed. His fingers itched to reach out for her and he curled his hands into fists at his side.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she gulped back a sob. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I wasn’t sleeping,” said Toran. Against his will, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. “What’s wrong?”
She took a shuddering breath. “Oh… just… lots of things together…” She gave a watery laugh. “You must think I’m pathetic…”
“You know I never think that,” said Toran. “This is something that happened in London, isn’t it?”
Leah nodded slowly. “I… I learned something about my mother.”
“Your mother?” said Toran in surprise.
Slowly, haltingly, Leah told him the whole story. Toran’s heart ached as he saw Leah’s distress while she recounted what had happened to Natalie Fisher. He had to admit that in spite of his contempt for David Fisher, he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the man, coming home and finding his beloved wife dying like that. For the first time, he felt a wave of compassion for Leah’s father.
“I… I don’t know why I’m crying,” said Leah with another helpless sob. “It’s all in the past now… and… and… at least I know the truth… maybe I’m just overtired from the trip and everything that’s happened… and lying here thinking that—” She broke off abruptly.
“Thinking what?” asked Toran.
Her voice was so low that he had to strain his ears to hear her.
“That you don’t want me anymore.”
Toran pulled her roughly to him. “How could you think that?” he demanded.
And then he was kissing her and it was as if he was a man who had been deprived of water for so long finally slaking his thirst. His mouth was hot on hers, drinking in the sweet taste of her, and she whimpered softly and pressed herself closer to him. Suddenly feverish for the feel of her skin against his, Toran broke the kiss only long enough to tug his T-shirt over his head, then pulled Leah close again. She was wearing a babydoll nightgown with thin straps that left her arms and shoulders bare, and a scooped neckline that showed a tantalising hint of her cleavage. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and where their bare skin met and rubbed, Toran felt like he was on fire.
He eased Leah gently backwards onto the pillows and she arched up into him as he dropped his lips to the exposed column of her throat. He trailed a string of hot kisses all the way down to her collarbone and then lower across her chest, lower, still lower… until he eased one strap off her shoulder and brought his lips to her breast.
“Toran!” Leah gasped, clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. Then she dropped her head back and a moan left her lips as she shuddered in pleasure.
He grasped the hem of Leah’s babydoll and yanked it over her head. He heard the sound of fabric ripping, but he didn’t care. Tossing the silky garment aside, Toran pulled Leah against him, moulding her naked body to the hard length of his. His hands skimmed over her curves, teasing and caressing, and he felt himself fighting for control as Leah writhed against him, moaning and gasping with pleasure.
He rolled over, pinning her underneath him and raising himself to look down at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, letting his eyes rove down her body, drinking in the sight of those tantalising curves and shadows, the seductive length of her long legs. Her lips were swollen, her eyes languorous, and her hair spread out across the pillow. She looked the very picture of wanton gorgeousness.
“Toran, please…” Leah whimpered, moving restlessly against him. Her breath was coming in short gasps now, her eyes dark with longing.
Her seductive movements against him were a sweet torment. He caught hold of her hands, pulling them high above her head and pinning them in place. Her eyes
widened in surprise, then she arched up against him again, moving her hips against him.
He gave her what she wanted, capturing her mouth in another hot kiss just as she gasped with pleasure. Then they were moving together in an urgent, primitive rhythm, his groans and her soft cries mingling in a crescendo of mindless ecstasy.
CHAPTER 24
Everything felt slightly surreal as Leah walked through Lau Pa Sat towards the sugar cane juice stall the following afternoon. In a way, it was as if time had turned backwards and she was retracing her steps from almost a week ago—except that this time, Toran was by her side.
He should have been all along, Leah admitted to herself; then there wouldn’t be this terrible breach that they were trying to heal now. But she had made her mistake and there was no point agonising over it anymore, wishing she had done things differently. And perhaps, Leah thought—her cheeks warming as she remembered what had happened last night—they were slowly building bridges again. Of course, one night of passion and tenderness didn’t solve anything—and there was still the spectre of her father’s guilt between them—but at least it was a beginning.
Mrs Beng was standing at the juicing machine, feeding sugar cane stalks into it and preparing drinks for a pair of tourists standing by the counter. Leah breathed a small sigh of relief on seeing her. They had come earlier in the day and found the stall shut up—so it was good to see that this return trip wasn’t a wasted one. They waited for the tourists to leave before they went up to the woman. Her face blanched when she saw Leah and her eyes darted fearfully to Toran.
“You lied to me,” said Toran pleasantly, although there was a hint of steel in his voice. “You never gave the talisman to Leah. So what did you do with it?”
The woman made a flapping motion with her hands. “I don’t know!”
“Don’t lie to me again,” said Toran, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Is true!” said the woman wildly. “I don’t know, lah! This why I tell lie! Hope can go away, problem go somewhere else.”
