Singapore Girl: An edge of your seat thriller that will have you hooked (An Ash Carter Thriller Book 2)

by Murray Bailey

  I expected a moment to recover, but there was to be no respite. Stevenson immediately rained blows at me and all I could do was back away, arms square in front of my face and body, blocking the punches.

  I backed into the mob and was pushed back towards my opponent.

  They were braying now. They could see an end in sight. “K-O! K-O! K-O!” they screamed, willing the Slugger to knock me down again.

  I straightened my arms against the blows and managed to push Stevenson back, giving myself time to get my posture and footing right. I tried to dance right and weave, but my injured calf didn’t want to move.

  I stumbled and Stevenson lunged, catching me with a glancing blow to the head. My right leg crumbled and my knee hit the ground.

  Slugger closed in, winding up a haymaker.

  The thought briefly passed through my mind that I could go to ground and end it. But quitting wasn’t in my nature. If I were to go down, it would be fighting.

  I tried to push up with my leg but it was weak and I hardly moved the knee off the ground.

  Time slowed. I saw Stevenson’s grin, sweat dripping from his nose. I saw him wind up and draw back his right, ready for the knockout.

  I raised my arm as a block. I tucked in my chin. And prepared for the blow.

  SEVENTEEN

  The punch never came. Instead of landing it, Stevenson grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, and I heard real concern in his voice.

  The bottom of my right trouser leg was scarlet. Blood ran freely over my shoes.

  “You’re hurt bad!” he said to me. And then to the mob he bellowed: “Get back, you scum! Give him space! Cranny, get me a jeep!”

  There was still a wall of noise from the crowd, but for a moment all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.

  Stevenson put me onto the stool.

  Using his teeth, he tore out his laces, removed his gloves and then attended to mine.

  I heard an engine, and the men parted as it pulled up beside me.

  As Stevenson helped me into the passenger seat, a soldier asked, “Who won the fight?”

  Stevenson ignored him.

  “I bet good money. Did you win?”

  Stevenson swung around and poleaxed the man. “Any bugger else?” he yelled. “The fight’s over. Nobody won.”

  The driver, Cranny—real name Matt Cranfield—bounced us across the scrubland to the main buildings. He stopped outside First Aid and Stevenson insisted on offering his arm.

  I hobbled into a small room and sat on a bench. Stevenson and Cranfield stayed outside watching through the door.

  The man who looked at my leg wasn’t a doctor. He probably had field training at best. After cutting away the bottom half of my right trouser leg he hesitated at the sight. Perhaps the sodden bandage made it look worse.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” I said.

  He carefully unwound the gauze and looked hard.

  “Stop the bleeding,” I said.

  “Yes, but I can’t fix this. You need to get to the hospital.”

  I tied a strip of my trousers above the wound to stem the flow. The man nodded.

  “Right. Right. I’ll clean you up and we’ll get you to hospital.”

  Five minutes later I was back in the jeep with Cranfield driving. Stevenson was beside me in the back. I had the front seat folded forward so my injured leg was raised.

  We followed the twisting road south, elephant grass on either side.

  Stevenson said, “You should have told me you were injured.”

  I didn’t respond straight away. My arms ached and my ribs hurt from Stevenson’s punches. He was undoubtedly the strongest opponent I’d ever fought.

  “You beat me,” I said, “injury or no injury.”

  “Your injury made a big difference. You’ve still got lightning quick hands.”

  For the first time I saw a different side to the man. He wasn’t the Slugger. He wasn’t just a bruiser in a boxing ring out to win at any price.

  I said, “Your eye… It was just an awful accident.”

  I think Stevenson gave a slight acknowledgement.

  “Your injury put me off boxing for life,” I continued. “That was my last time in the ring.”

  “I always knew you were a damn fool, College Cop.” Stevenson grinned. “But I guess you’re not quite the pussy I thought you were.”

  I hadn’t been paying attention to the route. We’d come off Route Three, and Stevenson said, “Where you going, Cranny?”

  “Majidi Barracks. The medical centre there.”

  “We need to get my friend to a hospital.”

  “What, the Alexandra?” Cranfield responded with surprise, referring to the one in Singapore. It was probably almost an hour’s drive away.

  “The local one,” Stevenson said. “The Sultana Aminah Hospital. Let’s get him there.”

  I insisted that they didn’t wait for me at the hospital. But before they went, I asked Stevenson again about the drugs.

  He looked at me, up close, so I could see his honesty. “It may not be the proper army but in the aid unit we do a good job.”

  “What about the flights?”

  “Jeevan again?”

  “He’s deviating, probably landing someplace else. The FTC squadron leader showed me the flight logs. Your Jeevan is up to something.”

  Stevenson shook his head. “Not Niroj. If you met him, you’d understand. Niroj isn’t running drugs. He was busted out of Fleet Air Arm for making a mistake. No way would he make a mistake again. Definitely not drugs.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He shook my hand. “As sure as I am that my face hurts,” he said with a grin.

  “You probably cracked my ribs,” I said. “If it weren’t for the leg, I’d be here for the ribs.”

  He laughed. “The name’s Scott.”

  “Ash,” I said.

  “A pussy name.” He shook his head. “No, I think I’ll keep calling you College Cop.”

  We were from different sides of the track but he wasn’t the one-dimensional thug I’d taken him for. We would never be friends but I figured I could respect him as a fighter and a human being.

  The Malay doctor, on the other hand, seemed too busy for a show of humanity. He cleaned the calf and swabbed the area with iodine. Then he restitched the wound. There was no gentleness, but I trusted that he knew his job and it looked neat enough.

  He gave me some Aspirin for the pain.

  “Anything stronger?” I asked.

  He just smiled like I was making a joke.

  “Walk on it as little as possible,” he said by way of conclusion. “Use a stick. In two weeks’ time, come back and have the stitches removed.” And then he bustled out.

  A nurse gave me water and I gulped it down with a couple of the pills. Then she handed me a walking stick and helped me to the door.

  I decided I’d jump in a taxi back to the hotel, get changed and then head for home. The drugs investigation could wait—if there even was a drugs problem.

  I stopped and stared in disbelief. Parked outside the hospital, in a VIP space, was a pale blue Bentley that I recognized. It was one of Andrew Yipp’s cars.

  EIGHTEEN

  I wandered the corridors looking for the Chinese businessman. When I passed a sign to Adoptions, an idea struck me.

  I smiled at the middle-aged lady behind the desk. Her dark forehead showed years of worry or stress, or maybe both.

  “Adoptions?” I asked with a smile.

  She looked at me suspiciously.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  She took a breath and pushed aside a ledger as if to demonstrate that she was being diverted from important work.

  I said, “I’m looking for a girl. Twelve years old, blonde hair, brown eyes. Her name is Laura van Loon.”

  The lady did a slow blink. “No.”

  “No what?”

  She pulled her book back.

  “
No twelve-year-old girl.” She looked up at me with hard eyes and I wondered what was going on in that worried head of hers.

  I said, “Laura is missing. My friend thinks she came to the adoption centre, here.”

  Again with the slow blink. “Not here.”

  “Could you check your records please?” I took out my government ID.

  She didn’t bother looking. “Babies only here,” she said. “No twelve-year-old girl. You need the adoption centre.”

  I looked up at the sign that said “Adoptions”. “There’s another adoption centre?”

  “This is the adoption department. You need the adoption centre.” She scribbled something barely legible on a piece of paper and handed it to me, then jabbed a finger at the writing. “The address of the adoption centre. Ask for her there.”

  “Ash?”

  A woman’s voice behind me made me turn. Su Ling was standing in the corridor, curiosity etched on her face.

  “What are you doing here?” And then she glanced down at my torn trousers and bandaged leg. “Ouch!”

  I walked towards her and she met me halfway. I hoped for an embrace but got a cool handshake.

  “You’ve been fighting,” she said.

  “You should see the other chap.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” I smiled and she smiled back. “Get a cup of tea?”

  “I can’t. I’m waiting for Mr Yipp.”

  “What’s he doing here? Not fighting as well I hope?”

  She laughed and I remembered how much I liked it, whether it was genuine or not. “No, no, no. He’s a patron here,” she said. “He’s in a board meeting.”

  “A patron of this hospital?” I knew he was described as a philanthropist but I wondered why here. Why this hospital.

  “One of his many investments.”

  “Investments?”

  “Of his time. Though I think he donates as well. The public hospitals are pretty basic, you know.”

  I did know. The doctors were clearly overstretched and they’d given me Aspirin as a painkiller. I’m sure the MO at the barracks would have provided morphine. Only a lack-of-drugs problem here then.

  “Let’s walk,” she said, and I wondered why her tone sounded off.

  After a turn into a new corridor, she opened a door and we entered a storage room. There were shelves and brooms and buckets.

  She shut the door behind me.

  I said, “What—?” But before I could finish, she pushed me against the wall. She pressed her body against me and kissed me hard. I felt my loins stir and she responded by gripping my buttocks and pressing even closer.

  I was lost in the embrace and didn’t notice the door open. But Su Ling did. She kicked against it and shouted, “Occupied!”

  We held each other tightly, listening, panting.

  The door stayed shut.

  She pushed herself away, keeping one hand on my chest. I could feel my heart beating against it. Fast.

  After a moment she seemed to relax and let out a small laugh. “That was a bit foolish.”

  I grinned. “It was nice—while it lasted.”

  She straightened my shirt and then smoothed down her dress.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “European and Oriental Hotel.”

  “I’ll come to you later… If I can get away.” She nodded at the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, you should leave first. It wouldn’t be seemly…”

  I nodded, kissed her and slipped out into the corridor. She shut the door behind me.

  At the hotel, the receptionist handed me a letter. It was from Jane. She started by apologizing for being drunk last night and thanking me for not taking advantage. She mentioned how much she enjoyed our conversation but thought she hadn’t made much sense.

  She wrote: You were a scientist. You said yourself that science teaches you to look for evidence. I remember you said that there was a similarity between that and detective work. I can find no evidence of what happened to Laura van Loon. Please, please, please help. I think the lady at the adoption centre will talk to you. Because of who you are. And you are a detective, so you will know what to ask, what to look for.

  She included the address of the adoption centre. The same one I’d been given at the hospital.

  Please help me find Laura. With Love. Jane Dobson.

  I already had the description of Laura. Jane had given it to me last night, but the letter included it again. She also gave me her contact details at Minden Barracks, Penang. I figured she’d forgotten or maybe she was worried I’d thrown the note away.

  In my room, I cleaned myself up and got re-dressed. My face glowed unnaturally in places and my left eye was bloodshot and puffy. I guessed it would be a couple of days before the swelling went down.

  I had been intending to visit Majidi Barracks and find out how the interrogations were progressing. If there was time later, I’d continue to search for Laura.

  My plans changed when I got downstairs. Hegarty was waiting for me.

  “Boss!” he called out.

  He took in the walking stick and facial bruising.

  “Wow! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Have you come to take me to the barracks?”

  “No. The opposite in fact. Pole… I mean Cole has been and gone; finished at Majidi and now back in Sinagpore.”

  I heard disdain in the sergeant’s tone.

  “Does he think that’s a wild goose chase too?”

  “Didn’t say as much. He interviewed four men and said no one was talking.”

  “So where does that leave the investigation?”

  “Nowhere.” He shrugged. “I thought you’d want to know, so I’ve come to take you home.”

  “I was thinking of staying. Another night at least.” I paused and could see he was intrigued.

  “What happened? Did you get into a fight at Ulu Tiram? At the Sin Sin bar?”

  I shook my head. “I have a favour to ask. Would you be my taxi?”

  “You’re onto something?”

  “Maybe, but I have a personal matter I’d like to deal with first. I made a promise… to myself at least.”

  I told him about Jane Dobson and the missing girl.

  After a moment’s thought, he agreed. “But only on the grounds you tell me about the fight.”

  The adoption centre was an inauspicious building on the eastern fringe of the town. In the reception, there were pinboards with photographs of children. I scanned them and estimated at least three hundred photographs.

  “That’s not all of them.” A woman who looked Chinese, late forties maybe, stood at my shoulder. “I’m in charge here. How can I help you?”

  I introduced myself and she said her name was Miss Liang.

  “I’m looking for a child.”

  Her eyes narrowed, suspicious maybe.

  “She’s a friend of a friend and has gone missing. Her name is van Loon, Laura van Loon.”

  “Half Dutch, half Malay,” the woman said. “Twelve. Though looks younger. Blonde hair and brown eyes, so I would recognize her, right?”

  For a moment I couldn’t tell whether she was mocking me or giving me good news.

  “You know her?” I asked.

  “Your friend came in yesterday. She asked me, now you’ve asked me.” She smiled without humour. “I don’t know her and, as you can see, I’m very busy.” She pointed to an office where I could see piles of boxes on the floor and an open one on a desk.

  I took out my government ID. “Can we just talk for a minute, please?”

  Miss Liang led me into the office, avoiding the boxes. She sat at the desk and I took the opposite chair.

  “Moving out?” I asked.

  She sighed, and for the first time she seemed to let down the barrier. “Trying to sort it out. It’s very disorganized. Not like how I’m used to running things.”

  She pulled a ledger from the open box and ran her finger down a column. I guessed she was scanning a list of names.<
br />
  She went through a few pages before saying, “I have to tell you that she doesn’t ring a bell. But then I’ve only been here for a couple of days so it could be she was in and out quickly.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “I don’t know.” She stopped searching and closed the ledger. “I’ve checked the past six months. The name van Loon isn’t there. I’m sorry.”

  “Could she have been registered in the adoptive parent’s name?”

  “I very much doubt it… although based on how disorganized this place is, it could have been or maybe she was never recorded. I have no idea how thorough my predecessor was. I am trying to sort it all out. Trying to rehome these poor kids.”

  I felt sorry for the woman. She clearly cared and worried about the orphans. I said, “What about other orphanages. Could she have been transferred?”

  She shook her head. “Then we’d at least see her name come in and go out again. I should also have an address. Although…”

  “Although the records aren’t all complete?”

  “Right. You could try the one just outside the town. It’s in Pasir Gudang.”

  She wrote down an address and I thanked her. I also gave her my office address and said she could call.

  “Is this a military police matter?”

  I realized she was looking over my shoulder. Sergeant Hegarty was standing in the reception area. I’d asked him to wait for me and assumed he’d stay in the Land Rover.

  “Government in Singapore and military police?” For a brief instant I thought she seemed concerned. Maybe I’d been wrong about her before. She continued: “Is this something more? Is your friend really looking for Laura or are you investigating something bigger?”

  I said nothing for a moment and watched as her composure returned. I said, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Her eyes told me she was flip-flopping between saying something and not. Finally she just said, “No.”

  I said nothing. The old interrogators’ technique: wait and they will fill the silence. She did.

  “I was just interested, that’s all,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “Just wondered if there was more to this than looking for a girl from Penang. If you don’t mind me saying so, it really doesn’t seem to be a Singapore government issue.”