The Best I Could

by Subhas Anandan

  When Johnny was released from prison, he went back to being a conman. This time he impersonated an immigration officer. Somehow, based on his intelligence network, he knew who were overstaying in Singapore and who were doing businesses without the valid permits; these were situations that would get them into trouble. Roping in the same friend to assist him, he would target the rich overstayers like the Taiwanese and Malaysian Chinese. However, he didn’t get much money from these scams, usually between $20,000 and $30,000, sometimes $50,000. He was eventually caught again. I managed to negotiate for a lesser charge, but because of his history of convictions, like the gun case in Genting Highlands, he was sentenced to five years of corrective training.

  I was frustrated with him during this case. “You’ve made a lot of money, why are you doing this? I am sick of this. Enough is enough. You’ve been a good client but you’ve not been listening to me and this is goodbye to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all he said and he shook hands with me. I still remember we had this conversation in Court 2 of the Subordinate Courts. The district judge who heard his case was Francis Remedios. Johnny was taken away.

  After a few years, Johnny Tan hit the news once again. But he did not come to see me. I read in the newspapers that he was arrested for pretending to be an available bachelor. He had registered himself with marriage brokers, hitting on young women looking for life partners, sharing his sob stories with them and enticing them to release their savings to him. I think he was given the maximum preventive detention of 20 years.

  When I read the report, I was quite sad because this was a man who was very intelligent, more intelligent than many other conmen I have defended. He came on as almost a simpleton but his schemes were so beautifully plotted and carried out. He made millions of dollars. He used to take me around in brand new Mercedes Benzes or Jaguars which he had paid for in cash. All the time his skinny, mousy-looking hyperactive wife would be at the wheel. When he picked me up, he would move to the back of the car and sit with me. I felt quite embarrassed and suggested that he should sit in front with her. He would just respond: “No, it’s OK. I’d like to discuss matters with you. Let her drive.” He also used to give money to my staff, in one instance he gave $500 for lunch. The latest I’ve heard about him is that he’s in Changi Prison and running a four-digit racket there. I do not know if this is true but knowing Johnny Tan, anything is possible.

  The reason I’ve chosen to write about Johnny is because he is a unique character. He had the animal instinct to survive and the intelligence and courage to do things which others were not able to do. If he had used the same intelligence in a lawful business, I’m very sure he would have been a success. Unfortunately, his addiction to gambling stood in his way. If he wasn’t obsessed with gambling, the money that he made out of his scams could have been used to set up a good business and he would have been a very wealthy man. But he never did it because he always had the urge to gamble.

  That is why I always advise young lawyers never to get hooked on gambling. It’s an addiction that can completely ruin a person. When you’re addicted, you might be tempted to take your clients’ money to gamble, just as my friend and colleague did. K S Ong was a high-flying lawyer in Drew & Napier. He left the firm and started his own company with some of his clients. But he was not satisfied with the money he was making and started to gamble in every way possible. He lost heavily and took money from his clients’ accounts and gambled that away too. When he heard the police were looking for him, he told me that he would surrender but he never did. I was concerned and told him that if he did not surrender and the police caught him, the mitigating factor of surrendering would not hold any weight.

  One day, he came to my office to discuss his case. I called Yeo Poh Teck of the Commercial Affairs Department. I told him that K S Ong was in my office and asked him to come and arrest him. Of course, K S Ong was upset with me.

  “How can you do that to me?”

  “Look, somebody’s got to save you. I’m doing it for your own good.” K S Ong realised that I meant well. The CAD officers, who were then in the CPF Building, came over to my office, which was then in International Plaza, to arrest and charge him. They charged him for criminal breach of trust and I pleaded guilty on his behalf in Court 26. It was a very sad moment. Many of his friends, mostly lawyers, came to the court to listen to my mitigation plea and to see the outcome. K S Ong had such a brilliant future but he wasted it. He was sentenced to jail and subsequently struck off the lawyer’s registry.

  I can provide similar stories about other lawyers but there’s no point in doing so. I’ve chosen to write about K S Ong because I knew him as a friend and a colleague. I played mahjong with him. We were good friends. Loyal friends raised money for him but that was not enough to help him. He’s out of prison now and I don’t know what he’s doing but I wish him well.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  UNIVERSITY MARTIN

  The Public Prosecutor vs The Bomoh

  Everybody during my university days knew Martin. He was once a boxer but became a security guard at the university library. When he married a Muslim girl, he converted to Islam and adopted the name, Abdul Razak. He had a reputation of having connections with the underworld. He was a likeable man and his job at the library was to make sure that students did not take out books they were not supposed to. He would be at the library’s exit checking people’s bags. Those whom he trusted, he would wave them on. There were some students, though, who abused the trust and arranged with him to take books out and return them a day or two later. It was not a racket but a small group of students benefited. I was quite close to Martin because some of my friends who knew him had asked him to keep an eye on me.

  In 1970, when I was doing pupilage at Shook Lin & Bok under my master, Mr Chan Sek Kiong, the present Chief Justice, I had an urgent call from Martin. He said he was being investigated by the CPIB and would be charged in court under the Prevention of Corruption Act. He told me a student who was looking for a book had asked for his help to locate it. Martin asked him directly: “What are you going to give me as a reward for doing you this favour?” They agreed on a small sum. Later, the student reported the matter to the university authorities, who decided to inform the CPIB. The next thing we knew, Martin was charged in court.

  Since I was not called to the Bar yet, I had no choice but to ask Leo Fernando, a prominent criminal lawyer of the time, to defend him. I told Leo that I would assist him in the case and he was quite happy to do it. The case came up before District Judge K T Alexander, an elderly man known in the legal profession to have a kind heart and a lot of integrity. He was also partially deaf, I think. If I remember correctly, the trial was held in Court 3 of the old Subordinate Courts, which was then located on South Bridge Road. (The courts were affectionately referred to as cowsheds as there was hardly any air-conditioning. There were only fans, some wooden, and mostly creaking slowly in most parts of the building. I don’t know why they had the audacity to call it the Subordinate Courts. Only Courts 1, 2, 3 and 4 on the top floor were air-conditioned.) Judge Alexander’s court was quite large. Most of the gallery was occupied by university students who knew Martin personally at some point in time or other. Before the trial started at 9.00 am, Martin stopped me at the coffee shop downstairs and pleaded with me, “Please Subhas, make sure the case doesn’t end today.”

  “Why?” I asked him. “I don’t think the case will end today as it has been fixed for three days.”

  “Whatever it is, please, you must promise me that the case will not end today.”

  “Well, before I make such a promise, you must tell me why it is so important that it doesn’t end today,” I replied.

  Martin spoke earnestly: “My kampung bomoh is only coming back from Malaysia tomorrow. I need him to be in court.”

  “What has he got to do with your case?” I asked.

  He tried to explain. “You don’t understand, Subhas. If he’s in court, the situation would definitely favo
ur us. Please, somehow, prolong the case. Make sure it won’t be over today.”

  “There’s no need to try very hard to prolong it. It will definitely not end today because there are too many witnesses, formal and informal, material and non-material.”

  He was pleased and looked relieved. We went up to Court 3. Leo was already there with some other lawyers. The case started around 9.30 am. The prosecutor, ASP M Amaladass, told Leo and I that we had a very bad case. “The complainant is a university student and there’s no reason why the judge will not believe him. And your client is telling all sorts of stories,” he told us. Leo, as brash as usual, said: “Just go on and do your work and I’ll do mine.” That ended the conversation.

  The trial started and witnesses were called. Whenever Leo Fernando stood up to cross-examine a witness, Judge Alexander would get irritated and shout at him: “What’s the purpose of asking this question? Why are you doing this? What’s your defence after all?” From the time the case started till around 4.45 pm, Leo was getting hell from the judge. We all knew that Martin was going to be in very serious trouble.

  However, when the case was adjourned, Martin held my hand and said: “Thank God it’s not over and will be continued tomorrow. My bomoh will be there and he will know what to do. Please come early tomorrow morning around 8.30 am. I want you to meet him before he goes into the court.” I agreed to the request but was feeling a little depressed as I thought for sure that Martin would be convicted. There was a possibility that he could even go to jail as I didn’t think he had a clean record.

  The next day, at the agreed time, I met Martin outside the Subordinate Courts. We walked to the coffee shop where he introduced me to a man who looked about 40 years of age. He was sitting alone and having a cup of coffee. He immediately stood up and shook my hand. “How are you?” he asked me.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  He then asked me, “Would there be any problem if I sit at the back of the court and say a prayer while the hearing goes on? I will be holding a glass of water.”

  I replied that it should be alright as long as he did not make any noise. If his prayers were loud, it would definitely not be tolerated. “No, no, no. I’ll be just praying to myself, holding the glass of water,” he said.

  “Then,” I said, “I don’t think it should be a problem. Anyway, what are you going to do?”

  He assured me. “Don’t worry about what I’m going to do. We will win this case today.”

  I was quite amused at his confidence and even more amused at the happiness on Martin’s face. He had so much faith in the man. I laughed as we went to court. We went up earlier as we wanted the bomoh to get a good seat. As Martin and I walked off to our designated places, I asked him: “How old is he? He looks pretty young.”

  Martin replied: “You won’t believe it but he’s in his seventies!”

  I was shocked and exclaimed: “What? He’s in his seventies? He looks very young!”

  “Do you remember the racial troubles in 1964?” Martin asked. “The Chinese tried to attack our kampung but retreated. When the situation settled down and there was peace and calm, I asked my Chinese friends why they came to attack but ran away instead. One of them said, ‘I don’t know what you all did, but we saw many people waiting to attack us’. I didn’t believe it. But my friend said, ‘Ya, really, giants. We could see giants. They were exceptionally tall people, 10 to 15 feet tall. We got frightened and ran away.’” According to Martin, the bomoh made a charm and threw this illusion into the minds of the attackers. “That seems to be a fantastic feat, whatever it was. This is law, you know,” I reminded him, unconvinced.

  Martin laughed. “Never mind, it’s all the same.”

  As soon as the trial restarted that day, judge Alexander scolded Leo again and I thought that we were in for the same pattern of outbursts as the day before. But after about 20 minutes, we could see his attitude changing. The judge suddenly started picking on the prosecutor. What Leo got the previous day the prosecutor received worse that day. I was confused and wondered what was happening. All of a sudden, the prosecution closed its case. Leo Fernando got ready to make his submission: there was no prima facie case to answer because the prosecution had not established its case. But even before he could stand up, the judge asked him to sit down. He then turned to ASP Amaladass and asked, “Prosecutor, tell me, what is the offence that is being disclosed in this case?”

  The prosecutor started to answer but the judge retorted: “No, no, no. Cut it out. The only offence that is committed in this case is the offence of you wasting the court’s time. You have no case. You have no business to bring this matter to court. I don’t know who advised you.” He told the prosecutor to sit down and asked Martin to stand up. He told Martin, “I am discharging and acquitting you.” The students in the gallery were overjoyed and started to applaud. I signalled to them to be quiet and sit down. Thank goodness K T Alexander, who was partially deaf, only stared at them and walked off.

  Everybody congratulated Leo but he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Neither was the prosecutor sure of what had just transpired. Martin and I looked at each other, both of us equally confused. Finally, when everybody had left, Martin and I walked over to the bomoh and I asked him, “What did you do?”

  “Well, this judge is a good man. It took me a little longer to get through to him but in the end, everything is alright.”

  I really didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but whatever it was, there was an acquittal for Martin who went back to work at the library. Even till today, Leo feels it was an unusual case. That was one of my first experiences with black magic, or whatever magic you can call it, being used in court.

  Soon after, I was called to the Bar and was practising on my own in Winchester House. A man called Talib, an employee at Shook Lin & Bok where I did my pupilage, brought a drug trafficking case to me and asked if I could help. I agreed. Before the trial started, Talib came to see me and asked: “Can you do us a favour and let us know who is the most important prosecution witness? When he’s giving his evidence, could you just turn around to signal to us that he’s the one?”

  Of course I was curious and said: “Why do you need me to do that?”

  “Please, just do me a favour. Trust me. Just do it,” he pleaded.

  I agreed as it made my client and his family happy, but I think Talib felt I might be upset with him. He proceeded to explain that the family had a bomoh sitting there with them who they believed would help them win the case. “Whatever,” I replied.

  The most important witness for the prosecution was the arresting officer who had seen the accused throw away the drugs when he was being chased. As he came forward to give evidence, I turned around and signalled to the family. I remember cross-examining him for nearly two hours and managed to create doubt in the judge’s mind as to whether he actually saw the accused throwing the drugs away. When it came to my submission, I again submitted that the evidence of the arresting officer was not reliable because he had given so many versions under cross-examination. The judge agreed and acquitted the accused. I thought I had done an excellent job in cross-examining this witness and tearing him to pieces. But when I walked out, everybody was congratulating the bomoh. They all believed that the witness had broken down and given inconsistent versions only because of the man’s magical powers. My cross-examination had nothing to do with it!

  I wasn’t very sure who did what, but there are many other instances of lawyers being approached by the families of the accused to do unusual things. For instance, they would ask the lawyer to pass a sweet to the accused to eat or they would ask the lawyer to give the accused a piece of thread to hold. We try to oblige them most of the time and more often than not, it appears to work, strange as it may seem. So much so that I really don’t know whether it’s my skill as a lawyer or the skill of the bomoh behind the acquittals I have obtained for some of my clients. For this reason, I will not come to any sort of conclusion about black magic. I have see
n black magic working in my lifetime during my university days and while living in Kampung Wak Hassan. I will not say anything damning about black magic.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  PUBLIC PROSECUTOR vs

  HENG BOON CHAI

  The last case that I want to include in this book is that of the Public Prosecutor vs Heng Boon Chai. It first hit the headlines in September 2007. The Straits Times reported that Heng Boon Chai was charged with the murder of his uncle, his father’s brother. It was a violent murder that caught the public’s attention because of the close relationship between the two men.

  A few days later, while I was in my office, Sandra, my secretary, put a call through from a woman enquiring whether we were prepared to meet with her parents. She was the sister of the accused. She and her parents wanted to discuss the matter in the press report. One of the first things they said to me when they came to my office was that they had difficulty tracing me. They thought that I was still with Harry Elias Partnership. After some enquiries, they managed to track me down at KhattarWong. My nephew, Sunil, who assists me in my cases, was with me as usual when they eventually came to the office that day.

  Heng’s parents are illiterate and poor, and their story is a sad one. Their eldest son suffered from schizophrenia and committed suicide. Their younger son, the accused Heng, saw his brother jump from the flat and that triggered something in him. His parents said there was a drastic change in his character after that which became worse when his grandfather passed away shortly after. He had been very close to his grandfather, spending hours playing Chinese checkers with him. His parents had no idea why he killed his uncle. They said Heng had been mumbling to himself in the past few months. Heng had told them that he heard his grandfather’s voice talking to him and asking him to do things. Heng also said that he could feel the weight of someone sitting on him when he was asleep. His parents tried to pacify him as much as they could. They also brought him to see a Chinese medium who gave them powders to mix in his drinks as well as a talisman for him to wear. But nothing helped and he killed his uncle. He was arrested, charged and taken for psychiatric evaluation which confirmed that he was a paranoid schizophrenic. As he was diagnosed with a mental disease, the prosecution reduced the charge from murder to one under Section 304a of the Penal Code, which is culpable homicide.