Rage of Angels (35 page)

Jennifer flew from New York to London to Singapore, with a two-hour stopover in Bahrain. The almost-new airport at the oil emirate was already a slum, filled with men, women and children in native garb, sleeping on the floors and on benches. In front of the airport liquor store was a printed warning that anyone drinking in a public place was subject to imprisonment. The atmosphere was hostile, and Jennifer was glad when her flight was called.

The 747 jet landed at Changi Airport in Singapore at four-forty in the afternoon. It was a brand new airport, fourteen miles from the center of the city, replacing the old International Airport, and as the plane taxied down the runway Jennifer could see signs of construction still going on.

The Customs building was large and airy and modern, with rows of luggage carts for the convenience of passengers. The Customs officers were efficient and polite, and in fifteen minutes
Jennifer was finished and headed for the taxi stand.

Outside the entrance, a heavy middle-aged Chinese man approached her. “Miss Jennifer Parker?”

“Yes.”

“I am Chou Ling.” Moretti’s contact in Singapore. “I have a limousine waiting.”

Chou Ling supervised the storing of Jennifer’s luggage in the trunk of the limousine, and a few minutes later they were headed toward the city.

“Did you have a pleasant flight?” Chou Ling asked.

“Yes, thank you.” But Jennifer’s mind was on Stefan Bjork.

As though reading her thoughts, Chou Ling nodded to a building ahead of them. “That is Changi Prison. Bjork is in there.”

Jennifer turned to look. Changi Prison was a large building off the highway, surrounded by a green fence and electrified barbed wire. There were watchtowers at each corner, manned by armed guards, and the entrance was blocked by a second barbed wire fence and, beyond that, more guards at the gate.

“During the war,” Chou Ling informed Jennifer, “all British personnel on the island were interned there.”

“When will I be able to get to see Bjork?”

Chou Ling replied delicately, “It is a very sensitive situation, Miss Parker. The government is most adamant about drug use. Even first offenders are dealt with ruthlessly. People who
deal
in drugs…” Chou Ling shrugged expressively. “Singapore is controlled by a few powerful families. The Shaw family, C. K. Tang, Tan Chin Tuan and Lee Kuan Yew, the Prime Minister. These families control the finance and commerce of Singapore. They do not wish drugs here.”

“We must have some friends here with influence.”

“There is a police inspector, David Touh—a most reasonable man.”

Jennifer wondered how much “reasonable” cost, but she did not ask. There would be time enough for that later. She sat
back and studied the scenery. They were passing through the suburbs of Singapore now, and the overwhelming impression was of greenery and flowers blooming everywhere. On both sides of MacPherson Road were modern shopping complexes alongside ancient shrines and pagodas. Some of the people walking along the streets wore ancient costumes and turbans, while others were smartly dressed in the latest western styles. The city seemed a colorful mixture of an ancient culture and a modern metropolis. The shopping centers looked new and everything was spotlessly clean. Jennifer commented on that.

Chou Ling smiled. “There is a simple explanation. There is a five-hundred-dollar fine for littering, and it is strictly enforced.”

The car turned on to Stevens Road, and on a hill above them Jennifer saw a lovely white building completely surrounded by trees and flowers.

“That is the Shangri-La, your hotel.”

The lobby was enormous, white and immaculately clean, with marble pillars and glass everywhere.

While Jennifer was checking in, Chou Ling said, “Inspector Touh will be in touch with you.” He handed Jennifer a card. “You can always reach me at this number.”

A smiling bellman took Jennifer’s luggage and led her through an atrium to the elevator. There was an enormous garden under a waterfall, and a swimming pool. The Shangri-La was the most breathtaking hotel Jennifer had ever seen. Her suite on the second floor consisted of a large living room and bedroom, and a terrace overlooking a colorful sea of white and red anthuriums, purple bougainvillea and coconut palms.
It’s like being in the middle of a Gauguin,
Jennifer thought.

A breeze was blowing. It was the kind of day Joshua loved.
Can we go sailing this afternoon, Mom? Stop doing that,
Jennifer told herself.

She walked over to the telephone. “I would like to place a call to the United States. New York City. Person-to-person to
Mr. Michael Moretti.” She gave the telephone number.

The operator said, “I’m so sorry. All the circuits are busy. Please try again later.”

“Thank you.”

Downstairs, the operator looked for approval to the man standing next to the switchboard.

He nodded. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

The call from Inspector Touh came an hour after Jennifer checked into the hotel.

“Miss Jennifer Parker?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Inspector David Touh.” He had a soft, indefinable accent.

“Yes, Inspector. I’ve been expecting your call. I’m anxious to arrange—”

The inspector interrupted. “I wonder if I might have the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening.”

A warning. He was probably afraid of the phone being bugged.

“I would be delighted.”

The Great Shanghai was an enormous, noisy restaurant filled, for the most part, with natives who were loudly eating and talking. There was a three-piece band on a platform, and an attractive girl in a
cheongsam
was singing popular American songs.

The maître d’ said to Jennifer, “A table for one?”

“I’m meeting someone. Inspector Touh.”

The maître d’s face broke into a smile. “The inspector is waiting for you. This way, please.” He led Jennifer to a table at the front of the room, next to the bandstand.

Inspector David Touh was a tall, thin, attractive man in his early forties, with delicate features and dark, liquid eyes. He was beautifully and almost formally dressed in a dark suit.

He held Jennifer’s chair for her, then sat down. The band was playing a deafening rock song.

Inspector Touh leaned across to Jennifer and said, “May I order a drink for you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You must try a
chendol.
”

“A—what?”

“It is made with coconut milk, coconut sugar and little pieces of gelatin. You will like it.”

The inspector glanced up and a waitress was at his side instantly. The inspector ordered the two drinks and
dim sum,
Chinese appetizers. “I hope you do not mind if I order your dinner for you?”

“Not at all. I would be pleased.”

“I understand that in your country women are used to taking command. Here it is still the man who is in charge.”

A sexist,
Jennifer thought, but she was in no mood to get into an argument. She needed this man. Because of the incredible din and the music, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation. Jennifer sat back and looked around the room. Jennifer had been to other Oriental countries, but the people in Singapore seemed extraordinarily beautiful, men and women both.

The waitress put Jennifer’s drink in front of her. It resembled a chocolate soda with slippery lumps in it.

Inspector Touh read her expression. “You must stir it.”

“I can’t hear you.”

He shouted, “You must stir it!”

Jennifer dutifully stirred her drink. She tasted it.

It was awful, much too sweet, but Jennifer nodded and said, “It’s—it’s different.”

Half a dozen platters of
dim sum
appeared on the table. Some of them were odd shaped delicacies that Jennifer had never seen before, and she decided not to ask what they were. The food was delicious.

Inspector Touh explained, yelling over the roar of the room, “This restaurant is renowned for the
Nonya
style of food. That is a mixture of Chinese ingredients and Malay spices. No recipes have ever been written down.”

“I’d like to talk to you about Stefan Bjork,” Jennifer said.

“I can’t hear you.” The noise of the band was deafening.

Jennifer leaned closer. “I want to know when I can see Stefan Bjork.”

Inspector Touh shrugged and pantomimed that he could not hear. Jennifer suddenly wondered whether he had chosen this table so they could talk safely, or whether he had selected it so they could not talk at all.

An endless succession of dishes followed the
dim sum
and it was a superb meal. The only thing that disturbed Jennifer was that she had not once been able to bring up the subject of Stefan Bjork.

When they had finished eating and were out on the street, Inspector Touh said, “I have my car here.” He snapped his fingers and a black Mercedes that had been double-parked pulled up to them. The inspector opened the back door for Jennifer. A large uniformed policeman was behind the wheel. Something was not right.
If Inspector Touh wanted to discuss confidential matters with me,
Jennifer thought,
he would have arranged for us to be alone.

She got into the back seat of the car and the inspector slid in beside her. “This is your first time in Singapore, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, then, there is much for you to see.”

“I didn’t come here to sight-see, Inspector. I must return home as quickly as possible.”

Inspector Touh sighed. “You Caucasians are always in such a rush. Have you heard of Bugis Street?”

“No.”

Jennifer shifted in her seat so that she could study Inspector
spector Touh. He had a face that was highly mobile and his gestures were expressive. He seemed outgoing and communicative, and yet he had spent the entire evening saying exactly nothing.

The car stopped for a
trishaw
, one of the three-wheeled carriages pedaled by natives. Inspector Touh watched with contempt as the
trishaw
carried two tourists down the street.

“We shall outlaw those one day.”

Jennifer and Inspector Touh got out of the car a block away from Bugis Street.

“No automobiles are allowed in there,” Inspector Touh explained.

He took Jennifer’s arm and they started walking along the busy sidewalk. In a few minutes, the crowds were so thick it was almost impossible to move. Bugis Street was narrow, with stalls on both sides, fruit stalls and vegetable stands and stalls that sold fish and meat. There were outdoor restaurants with chairs set around small tables. Jennifer stood there, drinking in the sights and the sounds and the smells and the riot of colors. Inspector Touh took her arm and shouldered his way through the crowd, clearing a path. They reached a restaurant with three tables in front of it, all occupied. The inspector gripped the arm of a passing waiter, and a moment later the proprietor was at their side. The inspector said something to him in Chinese. The proprietor walked over to one of the tables, spoke to the guests, and they looked at the inspector and quickly rose and left. The inspector and Jennifer were seated at the table.

“Can I order something for you?”

“No, thank you.” Jennifer looked at the teeming sea of people thronging the sidewalks and streets. Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed this. Singapore was a fascinating city, a city to share with someone you cared about.

Inspector Touh was saying, “Watch. It is almost midnight.”

Jennifer looked up. At first she noticed nothing. Then she saw that all the shopkeepers were simultaneously beginning to close up their stands. In ten minutes, every stall was closed and locked and their owners had disappeared.

“What’s happening?” Jennifer asked.

“You will see.”

There was a murmur from the crowd at the far end of the street, and the people began to move toward the sidewalk, leaving a cleared place in the street. A Chinese girl in a long, tight-fitting evening gown was walking down the center of the street. She was the most beautiful woman Jennifer had ever seen. She walked proudly and slowly, pausing to greet people at various tables, then moving on.

As the girl neared the table where Jennifer and the inspector were sitting, Jennifer got a better look at her, and up close, she was even lovelier. Her features were soft and delicate, and her figure was breathtaking. Her white silk gown was slit at the sides so that one could see the delicately curved thigh and small, perfectly formed breasts.

As Jennifer turned to speak to the inspector, another girl appeared. She was, if possible, even lovelier than the first. Two more were walking behind her, and in a moment Bugis Street was filled with beautiful young girls. They were a mixture of Malaysian, Indian and Chinese.

“They’re prostitutes,” Jennifer guessed.

“Yes. Transsexuals.”

Jennifer stared at him. It was not possible. She turned and looked at the girls again. She could see absolutely nothing masculine about any of them.

“You’re joking.”

“They are known as
Billy Boys.
”

Jennifer was bewildered. “But they—”

“They have all had an operation. They think of themselves
as women.” He shrugged. “So, why not? They do no harm. You understand,” he added, “that prostitution is illegal here. But the
Billy Boys
are good for tourism and as long as they do not disturb the guests, the police close an eye to it.”

Jennifer looked again at the exquisite young people moving down the street, stopping at tables to make deals with customers.

“They do well. They charge up to two hundred dollars. When they get too old to work, they become Mamasans.”

Most of the girls were seated at tables now with men, dickering for their services. One by one, they began to rise and leave with their clients.

“They handle up to two or three transactions a night,” the inspector explained. “They take over Bugis Street at midnight and they must be out by six in the morning so that the stands can open for business again. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

As they moved along the street, an unbidden image of Ken Bailey flashed through Jennifer’s mind and she thought,
I hope you are happy.