Aunty Lee's Deadly Specials (14 page)

“Anyway, I heard Sharon is planning everything. You know how people always put ‘No
Donations’ when they announce such things, or ‘All donations will go to . . . whatever
abandoned-cats or lame-dogs or sick-babies charity the dead person supported? Apparently
Sharon didn’t. She’s just going to let her mother’s friends pay for her mother’s funeral.”

“Poor girl,” Aunty Lee said. “Maybe she forgot. It must be so difficult to plan a
funeral for somebody who might have been either a murderer or victim. I know there’s
supposed to be an Order of Service to cover every possible case, but I haven’t seen
this one yet. Anyway, I’m sure all Mabel’s friends will want to help.”

“They’re a lot of old busybodies who want to see what’s happening.”

Aunty Lee thought that was probably true and all the more reason for being there.

“I should go. Just to show them there’s no hard feelings. After all, we all have to
go one day.”

Though death was not something people usually prepared for, Aunty Lee liked to be
prepared for everything. She was almost sidetracked into wondering what would be served
at her own funeral, perhaps she ought to draw up a menu in advance (curry puffs, perhaps;
a reminder to take pleasure in life while you still could) just to make things easier
for Nina or Mathilda or whoever had to plan that day . . . but she pulled her mind
away from this tantalizing thought. Always deal with the current funeral first, she
reminded herself. There would be plenty of time to plan her own later.

In Commissioner Raja’s Office, New Phoenix Park Police HQ

“Tell them they can go ahead and have whatever services they want but we cannot release
the bodies to them until we finish with them.”

“Sir, they are not happy about that. In fact they are not happy that we are performing
autopsies without their permission and without letting them observe.”

“Say whatever you have to, to keep them happy. But we cannot release the bodies to
them until we are finished with them.”

Commissioner Raja’s aide left his room to face the angry Sungs.

Commissioner Raja turned to look at Inspector Salim, who had sat quietly, apparently
uninvolved, through the exchange.

“Satisfied?”

“Thank you. We just need to give the labs a bit more time to make us all satisfied.”

“That’s not the only reason I asked you here today. I hear you paid a visit to an
NMP yesterday, Mycroft Peters?”

Commissioner Raja was one of those keeping an eye on Inspector Salim in the Bukit
Tinggi Neighborhood Police Post. A great many influential people had homes in the
area and it was vital that they felt safe in the hands of Inspector Salim. And now
Nominated Member of Parliament Mycroft Peters, one of the most influential of those
people, had complained.

“I got the feeling Mr. Peters was not comfortable with his wife talking to us, sir,”
Salim said. “But he did not indicate he intended to make a complaint.”

“Did you get anything useful from the interview?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you expect to?”

Staff Sergeant Panchal had appeared confident she could get something useful from
Cherril. Salim, who thought she was following up a hunch and believed it was important
to empower his staff, had backed her up. But then back at the station the officer
had admitted that her intention had been to record Cherril saying it might have been
the
buah keluak
that killed Mabel and Leonard. In Panchal’s words, “Mrs. Peters is not a cook. She
doesn’t know what she’s doing. All we had to do is get her to say maybe it was her
fault and we can slam a fine on them and wrap up this stupid case. But you saw how
her lawyer husband wouldn’t let her say anything.”

Salim did not say anything either. He would save it for Panchal’s assessment report.

But it was as Panchal’s supervising officer that Salim now said, “I had to follow
up all possible leads, sir.”

Fortunately Panchal’s clumsy attempt at entrapment had not been too obvious. And the
governing party would be pleased to have “nobody is above the law” so plainly and
publicly demonstrated. Sometimes it was as important to show they were investigating
as to actually investigate. Commissioner Raja waited for Salim to put it in words
while Salim waited for Commissioner Raja to acknowledge that some facts were best
accepted unspoken.

“What do you suggest I do with the complaint from Mycroft Peters that the police have
been harassing his wife at her home as well as at her place of work?”

“I will send an apology, sir. But, sir—it was too short a visit to ask questions.
Nothing that could be interpreted as harassment.”

“Yes, I agree. The fact Mr. Peters took the trouble to file a complaint over this
is interesting, but what you make of it is up to you. Putting that aside for the moment
I also have a complaint from Staff Sergeant Neha Panchal, currently serving at Bukit
Tinggi Police Post. She says that your close friendship and ties with residents in
the area is obstructing you from carrying out your duties. She says she repeatedly
recommended you shut down the café that provided the food that caused two deaths but
you ignored all evidence and refused.”

“The forensic evidence is not in yet, sir. Aunty Lee’s Delights has been in operation
for almost three years now and we have not received any other complaints about them.
And, sir, may I point out Mr. Peters’s complaint regarding harassment at his wife’s
place of work contradicts SS Panchal’s complaint?”

Commissioner Raja sighed. He not only had a law degree from a Singapore university
but degrees in criminology and criminal psychology from Cambridge and Harvard. Though
most of the time he did his best to conceal the facts of his education, it occasionally
proved useful.

“She is an ambitious officer?”

“I believe she is trying to do what she thinks is right.”

“You don’t agree with her methods?”

“We don’t even agree on what’s right, sir.”

Commissioner Raja allowed himself a wry laugh. “Sorry to haul you down here. But best
to get these things out of the way as fast as possible. And it’s easier to clear up
things face-to-face.”

“Not a problem at all, sir. In fact it’s good I came by HQ.”

“Okay, what else do you have on your mind. I can tell there’s something.”

“It’s a ‘who’ actually. And she sent you these curry puffs.”

Elsewhere in New Phoenix Park

Staff Sergeant Timothy Pang was staring at the computer monitor in his cubicle. Tim
Pang was one of very few men who found good looks a disadvantage. He suspected his
looks had blocked his boyhood dreams of becoming a detective. His superiors were always
joking (at least he hoped they were joking) that SS Timothy Pang was only useful as
bait for toilet vice raids. Even now, in International Affairs, colleagues were constantly
asking him out for drinks and trying to set him up for dinners with their daughters,
their sisters, or themselves. He was still very new to the department—perhaps this
was just how they welcomed all new staff?

So it was not surprising that Timothy winced when footsteps approached his cubicle,
heralding the interruption of his report writing.

“Tim! How are they treating you in Special Ops?”

“Staff Sergeant! I mean Inspector Salim!” Timothy whirled around and rose to his feet
in one smooth move. “Inspector Salim, good to see you, sir. What are you doing here?
Can I do anything for you?”

“Are you free? Have you got a couple of minutes to spare?”

These days SS Timothy Pang felt he was never free, yet nothing ever seemed to be achieved
or accomplished. Now his biggest frustration with criminals was the amount of administration
paperwork they generated. But paperwork, like the poor, would always be with them,
and Inspector Salim would not be visiting without reason.

“Buy you a coffee, sir? Not as good as in the old place, unfortunately—”

Timothy Pang had once thought Salim Mawar unambitious and the Bukit Tinggi posting
dull. Now he appreciated his former boss’s fairness and avoidance of favoritism. And
he missed the food in the vicinity of his previous posting!

“You miss the old place?”

“Yes, every day—every lunchtime and break time, to be precise!”

“Someone there misses you too.” Salim gestured to the doorway, launching a multicolored
whirlwind that had been held back till now.

“Yes! That’s who that man at the gate reminded me of! Of course I know it wasn’t Timmy
Pang. But so much like! Timmy, do you have any brothers? Or any cousins who look like
you?”

Staff Sergeant Pang grinned to see the short, stocky woman who somehow managed to
look soignée in an embroidered pink blouse, pink-and-yellow floral sarong skirt, and
pink-and-white sneakers. Aunty Lee had dressed up in all her finery for this visit
to the police headquarters but she must have left her decorum back at the shop as
she flew over to throw her arms around him.

“Aunty Lee, good to see you again!” Aunty Lee’s frequent treats had been one of the
things Timothy Pang missed most about his previous posting. It was a sign of his sweet
nature that he was as glad to see Aunty Lee as he was to see the basket Nina carried
in her wake. His new colleagues were already looking up and sniffing.

“Timmy, I must tell you this funny thing that happened. Last week I was catering a
party and a man that looked so much like you came to the house. He looked so familiar
but at the same time not familiar at all; it was driving me crazy. But now of course
I understand why. Timmy, he looked so much like you but he was not you!”

“You have a brother who looks like you?” Salim asked.

There were times Timothy Pang wished he did not have a brother, especially not one
like the brother he had. Their lives ran on strictly separate tracks, but now it seemed
his brother had done a crossover.

“I have one brother. People say we look alike but I don’t see it myself. Why didn’t
you just ask him?”

“They wouldn’t let him in the gate. I thought the doctor was going to break his arm!
Then they found the dead bodies and I didn’t get the chance to go after him.”

“The dead bodies?”

Aunty Lee nodded many times, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Inspector Salim nodded once.

“Come with me,” said Staff Sergeant Timothy Pang as he headed for another door. “The
meeting rooms should be free—Kiruthiga, I’m taking the key to room one—”

“Kiruthiga? Please try some of my special buttery pineapple tarts,” Aunty Lee said,
pushig the box at her as she followed in Timothy’s wake.

“Something about your jaw and forehead is quite distinctive . . .” Aunty Lee said
as they settled around the small table, Nina taking a chair by the door.

One of Timothy’s new colleagues appeared with cups of coffee and was rewarded with
golden pastries and instructions to make sure they were not disturbed.

“I haven’t seen much of Patrick since he moved out of our parents’ place.”

Timothy Pang still lived among his noisy extended family in Queenstown, the Housing
Development Board estate they had grown up in. His mother’s sisters’ families and
his father’s cousins and children all lived within walking distance. Timothy hoped
to get his own flat in the same area someday (on his marriage or thirty-fifth birthday,
whichever came first). Patrick had got as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

“Pat was a music teacher for a while but I think most of his money comes from writing
songs for other people to record. He even wrote one of the National Day songs a few
years back. Actually he called me last month, said a friend of his was missing. But
he didn’t want to file a missing persons.”

“What did he want you to do?” Salim asked.

Timothy Pang could not shrug his shoulders to a senior officer, no matter how friendly,
so he said nothing.

“That friend of his. You didn’t think he was missing?”

“He’s missing all right. But I don’t know whether he’s missing on purpose.”

“Ah.”

“Ben Ng,” Aunty Lee supplied.

Timothy nodded. “I think that was the name. Yes.”

“Why makes you think he’s missing on purpose?”

“No reason. Just that Pat’s friends are sometimes . . . no reason.”

“Do you know what kind of work his friend was doing for the Sungs?”

“I didn’t ask.” Timothy saw Salim make a note of this and wished he had paid more
attention to his brother.

“Why don’t we go and visit your brother?” Aunty Lee proposed brightly.

“What? Now?”

“Why not? I got some extra
kueh
in the car we can bring.”

Timothy looked at Inspector Salim. It was Salim’s turn to say nothing. Most important,
he did not say no.

“All right. But not right away. Let me talk to him first and I’ll get back to you.”

Pat answered his phone immediately.

“Kor?”
Timothy automatically used the Chinese honorific for older brother. “It’s Tim. Can
you meet me?”

“It’s Ben. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

They met downstairs of Patrick’s flat in a recently upgraded estate and went to the
hawker center food court nearby. It was early for lunch, not quite eleven thirty,
but in Singapore a meal is always the best solution to initial awkwardness. Patrick,
who knew the area, bought
mee kia
for both of them.

The teasingly rich and tender freshness of perfectly cooked pork liver was the taste
of loving nurture, however fleeting. Along with crispy fried cubes of lard and the
slightest sheen of vinegar, the enticingly chewy
mee kia
linked the brothers to each other and their shared childhood.

“That time you called you said a friend of yours is missing.” Timothy Pang pushed
his empty bowl aside. “Still haven’t heard from him?”

Patrick shook his head. “He’s not just a friend. He’s—a very good friend.” He took
a sip of his plum juice to prepare himself. Timothy Pang suddenly felt an irrational
panic rising and had to stop himself from pushing back his stool and shouting, “Don’t
tell me! I don’t want to know!”