THE DEAD AMERICAN (The Inspector Samuel Tay Novels Book 3)

by Jake Needham

  TAY WALKED AROUND the apartment next door until he worked out which wall was opposite the one he had been examining in Tyler’s bedroom. When he found it, he ran the penlight back and forth at about the same height where the filled-in hole was on the other side. It only took him a few seconds for him to find it.

  The crater was about a half-inch deep. A hole had been punched all the way through the wall separating the two apartments, and whatever was used to fill the hole had been meant to make it invisible from the other side. Making it invisible from his side was apparently not nearly so important.

  “Why would the hole go all the way through, sir?”

  Tay shook his head.

  “It’s almost like some kind of peephole into Tyler’s apartment,” Kang said. “But nobody would do that anymore. Not with all the tiny cameras you can buy.”

  Abruptly Kang stopped talking and looked at the hole.

  “You don’t think, do you, sir, that…”

  Tay said nothing. He just stood there contemplating the crater high up on the wall of the empty apartment.

  “Who would install a camera to watch Tyler’s apartment, sir?”

  “Didn’t you say both of these apartments were rented by the company Tyler worked for?”

  Kang nodded, and Tay flicked off the penlight.

  “I think that’s your answer then, Sergeant. Tyler’s employer wanted to find out what he knew.”

  “About what?”

  Tay shrugged. “No idea.”

  It was after midnight before they walked back down Duxton Road to Kang’s car. A warm breeze from the south carried the smell of the sea, and the air was even breathable again, more or less. At least it was clear enough for Tay to see all the way to the three soaring towers of the Marina Bay Sands a mile or two to the east. Stretching over the tops of all three buildings was an aerial platform fancifully called the Sky Garden, but the platform was blunt at one end and rounded at the other and it always made Tay think of a giant, slightly beaten up surfboard lying across the three buildings. He was pretty certain there was an architect somewhere who was having a huge laugh at Singapore’s expense.

  “Did Tyler leave a note, Robbie?”

  “They say he did, sir.”

  “I don’t see how there can be much doubt. Either he did or he didn’t.”

  “The final report has a printout of something Inspector Chin says he found on Tyler’s computer.”

  “On a computer? They’re claiming Tyler wrote a suicide note on a computer?”

  Tay shook his head. He supposed he shouldn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand. People, particularly younger ones, thought differently now. He understood that. But it was still incomprehensible to him that even in someone’s last moments they would still disdain picking up a pen to commit whatever last words they might have to an actual, tangible piece of paper.

  Words mattered, particularly if they were going to be your final ones. They should be tangible, not left behind as electrical impulses. If Tay ever wrote a suicide note, he would do it by filling a Montblanc pen with Platinum Carbon Black ink and inscribing his final thoughts on sheets of Crane thirty-two pound pearl white kid finish stationery. If he were going to go out at his own hand, he would damn well do it with class.

  “Yes, sir. Tyler typed the note on his computer. That is, he did… if he really wrote it.”

  “Do you have reason to doubt that he did?”

  “Only that there’s no way to connect the note to Tyler, sir, even if it was on his computer. There’s no signature, no way to show he really wrote it.”

  Another good reason to use paper and pen for your last words, Tay thought, but he held his tongue.

  “What did the note say?” he asked Kang instead.

  “That’s another thing, sir. It’s full of praise for the company he worked for. If he loved his job so much, why did he quit?”

  “Was the note addressed to anyone in particular?”

  “Yes, sir. His parents.”

  “What did they say about it?”

  “They say he didn’t write it. That it doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  Tay and Kang walked past an Italian restaurant called Ricco’s and Tay remembered what Kang had said back at the apartment.

  “Is this the place where—”

  “Yes, sir. This is where Tyler’s girlfriend ran after she found the body. They called the police.”

  The restaurant was dark and empty, long closed for the night. Tay glanced around but there wasn’t anything to see, so they walked on.

  “This laptop Tyler supposedly wrote the note on, where is it?”

  “I’m not sure, sir.”

  “They haven’t returned it to his parents yet?”

  Kang shook his head. “We must still have it, sir. It hasn’t been released.”

  “Do you know exactly who has it?”

  “No, sir, but I could guess.”

  “Don’t guess, Sergeant. Do you know for sure who has it?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  They reached the bottom of Duxton Road and turned left.

  “What did the apartment look like when you arrived, Sergeant?”

  “It looked like Tyler was packing to move out. There were boxes sealed with tape, stacks of clean clothes folded on the couch, and more clothes in the dryer.”

  “Any dirty laundry?”

  “None that I can remember seeing, sir. It looked like he had washed and dried everything, but still had a few clothes to fold and pack.”

  “Did you find a mobile phone?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t see one. I imagine whoever took the laptop took his mobile phone, too. But I did see his airline ticket. It was lying on the kitchen counter.”

  “Did you look at it?”

  “It was one way to San Francisco on Korean Airlines.”

  “Had they finished the photographs by the time you got there? Or was the photographer still working?”

  “I don’t think there are any photographs, sir.”

  “Of course there’re photographs, Sergeant. There are always photographs.”

  “If there are any, sir, they weren’t in the report. I certainly haven’t seen them.”

  Tay was still chewing that one over when they got to Kang’s car. Kang hit the unlock button on his remote and they both got in.

  “Do you really think somebody was using that other apartment to watch Tyler?” Kang asked.

  “Possibly.”

  “There could be another explanation for that hole, sir. Something completely innocent.”

  “Such as what?”

  Kang shrugged, but he didn’t say anything

  They sat in silence for a while after that. Then Tay shifted his gaze to Kang.

  “Tell me what you really think, Robbie.”

  “I don’t know what to think, sir. But something’s not right. Maybe Tyler committed suicide, and maybe he didn’t, but our investigation was shut down before it got started. No one really tried to find out what happened.”

  “Are you claiming there’s some sort of vast conspiracy to cover up Tyler’s murder, Sergeant?”

  “Well… maybe there is, sir.”

  “I don’t see it. What was significant enough about the death of this one young American to make something like that happen?”

  “I guess that’s the question, isn’t it, sir?” Kang shifted in his seat and turned toward Tay. “I don’t know who’s behind shutting us down, but it must have come from high up. That’s the only way to explain how this investigation was handled.”

  Tay nodded again. He figured a good nod generally made him look thoughtful even when he didn’t know what to think, so he nodded a lot.

  “Do you have any reason to think anyone else was in the apartment with Tyler when he died?” Tay asked after a moment. “Witnesses? Fingerprints? Anything like that?”

  “If there were any witnesses, their statements didn’t make it into the report. And they didn’t fingerprint the apartment.”
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  “They didn’t look for prints? Not at all?”

  “No, sir.”

  “At least there was an autopsy, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes, sir, but it was only what you’d expect. Cause of death was determined to be asphyxia due to hanging. What else?”

  “What did the toxicology report say?”

  “Nothing really. No drugs or alcohol in his system.”

  “Who conducted the autopsy?”

  “The Institute for Forensic Medicine, sir. Just like always.”

  “I meant the name of the pathologist.”

  “Oh sorry, sir. I don’t remember.”

  The street where Kang was parked was deathly quiet. It crossed Tay’s mind that it was a suitable place for talk of autopsies and toxicology reports.

  “Are you going to help this reporter investigate Tyler’s death, sir?”

  Tay didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing at all.

  “I know it’s not my place to say so, sir, but I think you should. Somebody needs to stir this up.”

  “Let me just be absolutely clear about this, Sergeant. Are you telling me you think Tyler Bartlett was murdered and then the scene was doctored to make it look like he committed suicide?”

  “No, sir, I'm not saying… well, I don’t really know.”

  “Is that a yes, Sergeant, or a no?”

  “It’s a maybe, sir. It’s possible he was murdered and the scene was doctored. It’s possible.”

  “So let’s say I go poking around and decide you could be right about that. Let’s say I even find some solid evidence you’re right. And I give that evidence to Emma Lazar. What then?”

  “I guess she writes a story about it.”

  “You’re telling me you think the police will reopen their inquiry into Tyler Bartlett’s death if the Wall Street Journal runs a story saying they were wrong?”

  Kang hesitated. “Probably not, sir.”

  “So what good does it do for me to find evidence that the police were wrong?”

  “There’s a coroner’s inquest coming up. The boy’s parents can give the evidence to their lawyer to present.”

  “Do you think a coroner’s inquest in Singapore might arrive at a verdict contradicting the conclusions of the police inquiry?”

  Kang hesitated again. “I suppose not, sir.”

  “Then why in the world would I get involved, and why would you—”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do, sir. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

  Tay sighed and consulted the back of his left hand, but he found no useful guidance there.

  “Look, Robbie, these days I’m just another old duffer spending his afternoons sipping lattes at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Even if I wanted to help this woman, I don’t see what I can do for her.”

  Kang looked at Tay for a long moment, and Tay saw the disappointment in his eyes. Without another word, Kang started the car and pulled away from the curb.

  Kang stopped on Orchard Road in front of Peranakan Place, a lively bar area still thronged with drinkers even that late at night. Emerald Hill Road came to a dead end just on the other side of Peranakan Place so a short stroll among the tables of cheerful drinkers would see Tay emerge not a hundred feet from his house. If ISD was logging his comings and goings, that was a far better way to return home than to have it recorded somewhere that Sergeant Kang had dropped him off.

  Tay got out of the car, and then he turned back and bent down.

  “Thanks for dinner, Robbie.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “One other thing. Can you get me a copy of the investigative papers in the Tyler Bartlett case without telling anyone that they’re for me?”

  A slow smile spread over Kang’s face. “I thought you weren’t going to ask, sir.”

  “I’ll read the investigative papers, and then I’ll decide what I’m going to do. I can’t promise you any more than that, Robbie. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  Tay straightened up, closed the passenger door, and walked toward home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TAY ANSWERED THE door at three o’clock the next afternoon and saw a white OCS Courier Service van parked at the curb in front of his house. The young man standing at his gate in a blue uniform asked if he was Samuel Tay. Tay confessed that he was, and he signed for the large envelope the man pushed between the bars. He checked the envelope for a shipper’s name and return address, but he found neither. He was anything but surprised.

  Tay carried the envelope out to the garden and sat down at the table. He tore it open and took out a copy of CID’s final investigative report on the death of Tyler Bartlett. Sergeant Kang had wasted no time.

  Tay lit a Marlboro and started reading the report. The type was small and he had to hold the pages out away from his face at an unnatural distance to keep them in focus. He didn’t remember ever having to do anything like that before. Did that mean he needed glasses? My God, Tay thought to himself, I turn fifty on one day and on the very next day I start going blind.

  In spite of the awkward way he had to hold the pages, it didn’t take Tay very long to read the report. It was only six pages long and included neither photographs nor an autopsy report. The text of the report was unequivocal in its conclusion that Tyler Bartlett had committed suicide by hanging himself in his apartment. It left no room for doubt. The report was signed by Inspector Eddie Chin. Not Edward Chin. Eddie.

  When Tay finished reading, he tapped the six sheets of paper into a neat stack and slid them back into the envelope. He finished his cigarette and thought about what he had read and what Sergeant Kang had told him yesterday about the case.

  Tay had to admit that none of it looked exactly right, that was true enough, but he didn’t detect any obvious odor either. The inconsistencies between the report and what Sergeant Kang had seen could be explained simply as mediocre police work. Stupidity and laziness were common enough in the Singapore police force, as Tay suspected they were in police forces all over the world. Stupidity and laziness were real life. Government plots to cover up crimes were mostly fiction. What possible reason did the Singaporean police have to present Tyler Bartlett’s death as a suicide if it really was a murder? Tay certainly wasn’t naïve enough to doubt that such a thing was possible. He just didn’t think it was likely in this case.

  The face Singapore showed the world was that of a modern democratic state. For the people who lived there, however, the reality of it was quite different. Singapore was an authoritarian society in which most of the citizenry had willingly exchanged personal freedom for material prosperity. Westerners had difficulty understanding that such a bargain existed because, by and large, they already had both.

  Singapore held elections, at least they looked like real elections, but they never changed anything. The same party always stayed in power and more or less the same tiny group of men who had ruled absolutely over the country from its very beginnings continued to rule without challenge. It was simply accepted now. It was the way life was.

  If one of those men had decided that Tyler Bartlett’s death was a suicide, whatever his reasons for wanting that to be true, then a suicide it would be. Tay just couldn’t see how Tyler’s death could possibly be significant enough to any of those men for one of them to get involved in this case. He had seen nothing in the police report about Tyler being connected with political dissent or any other activities that could be considered a threat to the government, but then he wouldn’t, would he? Still, that seemed unlikely. Foreigners didn’t get involved in politics in Singapore. The only reason foreigners came to Singapore was to work and make money. They were there temporarily, and they were well paid for being there. Rocking the political boat didn’t come into it.

  What Emma had said about Tyler’s job still bothered Tay. According to her, Tyler had told his parents he learned something that frightened him and that he had learned it through his job. Tay hadn’t pursued her comment at the
time. He hadn’t even gotten a clear picture of exactly what Tyler’s job was because he had been so busy at the time trying to think of a way to ease Emma out of his house.

  Now Tay was annoyed with himself for not asking enough questions to understand what Tyler was doing in Singapore. Could it have had something to do with politics, after all, something that might explain why the government could be interested in him? That seemed unlikely but, whatever it was Tyler was doing in Singapore, that was the missing piece of the narrative. He would at least like to know what that piece was before he extracted himself from all this. Purely to satisfy his curiosity. Absolutely nothing more than that, of course.

  His musings overtaken by a sudden craving for caffeine, Tay stubbed out his cigarette and went inside to make coffee.

  By the time Tay came back outside with a mug of coffee, he was thinking about getting in touch with Emma and asking her about Tyler’s job. He didn’t want to give her false hope that he was going to get involved in the case, but he did want to fill in the narrative a bit before he let this go completely.

  He could always just telephone her at the Ritz-Carlton, of course, but he had never much liked asking people questions over the telephone. Tay understood very well that almost no one ever gave him a complete answer without a little probing. Some people simply lied, but almost everyone at least rearranged the truth a bit to make it prettier. Tay liked to look people in the eyes when he asked them questions. Over the years, he had become confident that he could get to the truth when he did that. There was really no other way to be sure.

  He would telephone Emma and ask her to come around again at her convenience. That was the best way to handle it.

  Tay went into the house, found a telephone book, and looked up the number for the Ritz-Carlton. Was he the last man on earth who used a telephone book rather than getting phone numbers off the internet? Yes, he thought he probably was, but he didn’t particularly care. He would keep using telephone books as long as they existed, and that was that.

  He was about to punch the number into his cell phone when he stopped. What Sergeant Kang had told him about meeting at the Highlander yesterday came to mind, and he stood and held the telephone and thought about that.