by H. Y. Hanna
“Are you saying you don’t know where your husband kept the Ru-Yi?” asked Leah.
Mrs Beng nodded sullenly. “Yes. Don’t know! Don’t know! I look in the house, in the car—look everywhere—but don’t find it. Then I get visit from pai kia” Her eyes widened. “Asking for Ru-Yi. If I don’t give to him, he will kill me. So scared! So I tell him give to you already. No more my problem.”
“But you didn’t give it to me—so it should still be somewhere in your house,” said Leah.
Mrs Beng shook her head emphatically. “No. Beng keep all lucky charms and talismans in small bag, always carry with him. For fishing, especially—good for always catching big fish, he say. But this bag I don’t find.”
“What about here?” asked Leah. “Maybe he kept it somewhere here?”
The woman shrugged, waving a hand around the stall. “Also can look. But see already, very small place. Nowhere for hiding. I also check but I find nothing.”
Leah heard Toran let out a breath of frustration next to her—it echoed her own feelings. They had been so close and now it was all leading to a dead end again.
“What about fishing?” Toran asked suddenly. “You said that your husband always took the talismans and lucky charms with him when he went fishing. Did you look in his fishing bag?”
The woman shrugged again. “Don’t know. Also don’t find.” She was beginning to sound like a broken record. “Just go fishing, you know—sometime bring back big fish for us to cook, sometime nothing.” She paused, then added hesitantly, “One time, Beng talking about ‘fishing uncle’—give good discount, best hooks and lines but the cheaper price one … maybe keeping fishing bag with him?”
“What’s the name? Where does this ‘uncle’ work?”
She shrugged again, infuriatingly. “Don’t know. I don’t ask.”
Toran sighed. “All right, if you do think of anything else, please contact me. You’ve still got my card, right?”
“Yes, okay, lah,” the woman muttered. “If finding something, I call you.”
“Somehow, I very much doubt that,” said Toran dryly, as they stepped out of Lau Pa Sat into the street. For once, the sun wasn’t blazing down. Instead, the skies were overcast with heavy grey clouds, and a strong wind was already blowing, riffling the tops of the palm trees. It looked like a thunderstorm was on the way. “If she ever did find something, I wouldn’t be surprised if she followed her husband’s example and tried to offer it to the highest bidder.”
“After what happened to him?” said Leah with a shudder. “I would have thought that she learnt a lesson from that.”
Toran gave a grim smile. “Greedy people never learn.”
“What do we do now?”
“We’ve got to find this Ru-Yi. The fact that this ‘thug’ is also looking for it and wants it so badly suggests that it holds the key to everything. Maybe it’s got some identifying characteristic… I don’t know… but I have a feeling that if we can just find it, we’ll be able to find the driver of my parents’ taxi.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “I have an idea… I had a look into Beng’s background and he had several fines for illegal fishing. I’m willing to bet that he spent most of his time at the illegal spots. I’m going to do some digging and see if I can find out the popular places for illegal fishing around Singapore. Maybe visit a few and see if I can speak to some of the fishermen, get any leads for this ‘fishing uncle’ that Beng’s wife spoke about.”
“That’s going to be tedious,” said Leah.
“A journalist’s work is mostly tedious research like that,” said Toran wryly. “It’s only in Hollywood movies that you get a perfect clue that takes you straight to the answer. Ask any detective: most cases are solved by painstaking legwork rather than convenient discoveries.”
“Do you mind if I don’t come with you?” asked Leah. “I’d like to go and see my old driver, Ah Song. I’ve got something I want to ask him—about my mother’s death.”
Toran’s eyes softened. He reached out and brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw in a tender gesture that made Leah shiver. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like me to come with you?”
Leah shook her head. “No, I think Ah Song is more likely to talk to me if we’re alone. I think he knows more about my mother’s suicide than he’s letting on. He was the one who kept telling me that I didn’t really know my father.”
“Has Ah Song said anything about your father’s involvement with my parents’ accident?” asked Toran.
“He wouldn’t really talk about it,” said Leah. “Other than the fact that he brought the news to my father that night, he just kept telling me that my father was a good man and that sometimes, good men make bad choices… that sort of thing. Plus, he’s Chinese, so he must believe in maintaining respect for your parents and your elders. I got the impression that he didn’t like me questioning my father’s motives.” Leah brightened. “But he might be willing to say more when he learns that I know the truth. He might have been reluctant to speak before because he didn’t want to tell me about what happened to my mother.”
“Fine, you go speak to him—and I’ll catch up with you later.” Toran leaned close and gave her a swift, hard kiss, then he turned and strode away.
CHAPTER 25
If he was going to check out Beng’s favourite fishing spots, the logical place to start was the one place Beng had admitted to being on the night of the accident: the area around Yishun Dam. Toran steered his Audi onto the Central Expressway and headed north, towards Lower Seletar Reservoir. As he drove, his mind drifted back to the conversation he just had with Leah outside Lau Pa Sat. Something was niggling him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Toran frowned. It felt like something obvious was glaring at him and yet he hadn’t noticed the connection…
The Lower Seletar Reservoir was a large body of water in the north-eastern part of the island, vital in providing water for the booming population of Singapore and popular with the locals as a recreational area. The mouth of the reservoir—where it joined the Johor Strait—was closed off by the Yishun Dam. It was on the causeway road across this dam that the taxi with his parents had skidded that fatal night five years ago. He hadn’t been back to the dam since his parents’ deaths, when he had gone to see the site of the accident for himself. There was a sharp curve in the road that joined the causeway on the western end and, at the time, it had seemed perfectly possible that a car might have swerved as it was making that sudden turn, especially if the car had been travelling fast and in heavy rain. He hadn’t thought to question it himself, until he saw the police reports recently and noted the strange detail about the seat belts.
Toran felt the familiar surge of anger at the thought of his parents’ lives being cut short. He parked the car near the dam and yanked on the handbrake with a savage movement. He needed to find everyone responsible and bring them to justice, to avenge his parents’ deaths.
He left the car and made the rest of the way on foot, approaching the dam from the east. It was not really a dam in the usual sense of the word—it was more of a low earth wall with a floodgate used to control the water levels in the reservoir. Especially during the rainy season, it would often be opened to release water from the engorged reservoir into the open sea. Popular game fishes like the giant snakehead, peacock bass, and tilapia could be spotted along the coastal shoreline and easily caught beside the floodgates, which was one of the reasons this was such a popular fishing spot, despite it being illegal.
Toran started walking across the causeway above the dam, enjoying the quiet beauty of the scenery around him. This was one of the less touristy parts of Singapore and had a remote, rustic feel—despite only being thirty minutes from the downtown city. On one side of the causeway, the still waters of the reservoir looked almost like glass; on the other side, the water stretched out into the Johor Strait—the strip of sea that divided Singapore from Malaysia—and just visible on the horizon was the long, hulking mass of the Malaysian Peninsul
a.
Closer in, he could see the thin, rickety wooden jetties that stretched from the east shore out into the Strait. These were the remnants of the “last fishing village in Singapore”—makeshift structures erected by local fishermen who used the piers to dock their boats cheaply, and the traditional kampong-style huts to store fishing nets, buckets, and fuels for the boats.
There were plans to develop the area around the dam, turning the causeway into a multi-lane highway, and the quaint little fishing village would probably be one of the first casualties. Toran felt a slight pang for the loss of this quiet, forgotten corner of Singapore. As he walked towards the western end of the causeway, heading for the grassed area by the floodgates, he could see another group that would miss this seclusion: the hobby fishermen.
The sun was just beginning to set, turning the sky above the Johor Strait pink, and it was the perfect time to mingle with the fishermen who had come to try their luck for the night. They were standing along the edge of the water, casting their rods, talking, smoking, and laughing. As he walked slowly amongst them, however, most of them eyed Toran warily—there were not many Westerners here—and made it clear that they weren’t interested in starting a conversation. Finally, at the very far end of the group, he came across an old man sitting alone on a rock, a rod secured next to him. The old fisherman looked up as Toran approached and gave a friendly nod as his fingers continued to absently untangle some fishing line.
Toran made a quick decision. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get anywhere by asking direct questions about Beng. The minute he mentioned the murdered man, he could see this small community closing ranks and giving him the cold shoulder. But there were other ways of getting information…
He noticed the battered pack of cigarettes poking out of the old man’s shirt pocket and smiled to himself. It was a good thing he had come prepared. Squatting down next to the old man, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes that he had picked up earlier just for this purpose. It was an expensive brand—something the average local workmen wouldn’t normally indulge in—and Toran offered it to the old man, whose eyes brightened with delight. Toran lit up a cigarette for each of them, pretending to smoke his alongside the old man’s as they sat for a while by the water.
Finally the old man’s curiosity got the better of him. “You fisherman?” he asked, looking at Toran and obviously noting the lack of fishing paraphernalia.
“Sometimes,” said Toran carefully. “I was just passing by today after work and thought I’d stop by to enjoy the view. Bit of peace and quiet away from the city, you know?”
The old man nodded. “Everybody always rushing, rushing… What for?”
“And you, uncle?” asked Toran. He saw the old man’s eyes warm with pleasure. The term “uncle” was widely used in Singapore as a respectful way to address older men—even those not related to you. But it was primarily used by Asians. Having a Western expat use the term showed great respect and sensitivity for the local culture and Toran could see that the old man was impressed.
“Wah lau, fishing is the best,” said the old man with a toothy smile.
“I’ve only been here a few times, but it seems to be very good for giant snakeheads,” said Toran casually. “Last time I caught one weighing about six kilos.”
“Ah…” The old man nodded approvingly, his liking for Toran growing. “You use live bait or artificial?”
“Well, we’re not supposed to use live bait in the reservoir,” said Toran with a conspiratorial smile. “But, you know, sometimes you have to break the rules a little to get the best catches, eh? I’m just careful about not setting the hook too quickly—let the snakehead swallow the live bait whole, then they’ll be gut hooked.”
The old man looked at him with respect. “Yes, yes, very good—that is also how I do. You use chicken liver? Or beef?”
“I’ve tried both,” said Toran. “Snakeheads eat anything, don’t they? I usually use tilapia for live bait.”
The old man nodded in agreement. “Yes, tilapia good.”
“What about barra?” asked Toran, injecting his voice with just the right amount of respectful curiosity. “I hear you can sometimes get good barra here…”
Barra—barramundi—were one of the ultimate game fish for hobby fishermen. The fish’s aggressive nature and tendency to fight the line made them an attractive challenge for enthusiasts of the sport. Everybody wanted to brag about catching a monster barramundi.
The old man made a face. “Wait a long time here also don’t have…” He shook his head. “Best place for barra is Esplanade.”
“Esplanade? You mean the Esplanade Bridge?” asked Toran.
The old man nodded eagerly. “Government even release many fingerlings into Singapore River, many years ago—wah lau, now must be big size, eh? Yes, good barra fishing there—but of course, have to be careful: illegal fishing fine.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I went there last week, near the flyer. I saw some other fishing brothers with hand line there so I ask them what they catch. They told me big barras, can get two or three in one night if you’re lucky.”
“Sounds great. I must check it out,” commented Toran. He eyed the old man next to him, then gave an exaggeratedly wistful sigh, “What I really need is a place to find good supplies. It gets really expensive, you know? I was thinking one of the big shopping malls on Orchard Road might have a specialist store—”
“Aya! Don’t go there! Orchard Road for tourists and stupid expats—big rip off! Many small local shops around Singapore, much better.” The old man looked around and lowered his voice. “If you want best price, go to Sunshine Fishing. Very good fishing uncle there. Best brand jigs and reels, top Shimano rods… he will give you good price—but only cash under the table, you know.”
Toran felt a quickening of interest. “Fishing uncle? I think I’ve heard of him.”
“Yes, also good for getting news about best spots for fishing. And can keep some things with him—can store for you, then no need to show wife you are going fishing when you leave the house,” said the old man with a grin.
“Thanks,” said Toran, trying not to show his excitement. “I’ll remember that. Anyway…” He rose and dusted off his jeans. “I’d better get going, otherwise my wife will have something to say if I’m home late,” he said with a rueful smile.
The old man snorted. “Women talking all the time—talk talk talk! This is why I come here. Get away from my wife.”
Toran offered him another cigarette and gave him a nod of thanks. “I might see you around the next time I come down here.”
The old man beamed. “Yes, maybe we catch snakehead together!”
CHAPTER 26
Leah had hoped to be able to see Ah Song immediately, but when she called, she was informed that he was attending an awards nomination in the city.
“It’s very exciting!” the secretary babbled over the phone. “Maybe Mr Song will win the Singapura Businessman of the Year Award! They say he did great work to build this company up from nothing. It’s a true example of Singaporean achievement.”
She added that he would probably be back any moment. Leah thanked her and went straight to the SONG TAXICAB ENTERPRISES offices. When she was shown into Ah Song’s inner office late that afternoon, the old driver’s face creased with delight upon seeing her.
“Missy Leah! You’re back!”
“Yes, Ah Song.” Leah smiled. “I got back yesterday. Congratulations on your award nomination, by the way. I heard from your secretary. That’s a wonderful achievement.”
He beamed. “Yes, so happy. They say good chance I will be winner. They are announcing next week. So exciting, huh? Must tell my son! Make him proud of old father.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sorry, you wait long time, Missy Leah? Very busy-busy today. Also have many meeting because my company doing sponsor for parade tonight.”
“Tonight?”
He nodded. “Singapore Celebration Parade. You go? I go with wife.”
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br /> Leah remembered Toran telling her about the event. “Oh, yes, I’d heard about it. They’re closing Marina Boulevard for it, aren’t they? I probably won’t, Ah Song… I only got back yesterday and I’m still a bit tired from my trip.”
He looked at Leah curiously. “You have good time in London?”
“In a way,” said Leah. She sat down in the chair opposite his desk and gave him a serious look. “Ah Song, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.”
He leaned back in his chair, his expression wary. “Yes, Missy Leah?”
“I know the truth about my mother,” said Leah. “About her committing suicide when I was three months old. I found out when I was in England. But you knew all along, didn’t you?”
Ah Song went a bit pale. “Yes, Missy Leah, I know. I hear your father talking about sometime—you know, when he is drinking too much. It is like a pain in his heart that never goes. He tell me once that he can hear her voice, that she is with him all the time.” He shivered. “In Chinese culture, we say this is gui—ghost—and they bring bad luck. I tell him to send her away, but he doesn’t listen. He said better to have her like that than not at all.”
Leah felt her skin prickle uncomfortably. She didn’t believe in ghosts herself, but she could understand how the memory of a loved one could haunt you from the grave. Perhaps if her father had sought psychiatric counselling… something to help him cope with his grief… but instead, he had turned to drink and buried himself in work.
“Don’t think too bad about your father,” said Ah Song. “He try very hard, but he just cannot forget. That is why he is so angry when you want to be with Mr Toran.”
Leah stared at him. “What do you mean? What does Toran have to do with anything?”
Ah Song looked uncomfortable. “You don’t know?”
