Singapore Sling Shot (32 page)

Sami came in smiling, bearing gifts in the form of clothes. He had arranged for my bag to be retrieved from the Miramar and was now carrying it. We embraced as old friends do. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and we talked.

First we talked about the dead before he thanked me yet again, which made me uncomfortable.

“Your instincts are remarkable.”

“Not remarkable enough,” I replied bitterly. “If only I'd realised sooner, we could have saved everyone.”

“You know in life that's not the way it works, Daniel.”

“Yeah, I know. On the island, I cried a million tears.” I stopped when I realised what I had said. “Jesus, I sound like a fucking love song, but I've never really cried in my life before and I just couldn't stop.”

“Grief,” Sami replied softly. “You needed to grieve for Simone.”

“Not just Simone. I had a dream, a hallucination maybe. All my dead were there speaking to me. Maybe I needed to grieve for them all. Maybe they needed to see me cry.”

“Maybe.”

“What about Lu? Have you figured out the how and the when?”

“Yes,” came the reply. “He thinks I've withdrawn back to Thailand. Remember my little old street peddler in Bangkok?”

“I'll never forget him.”

“Well, he's back. Slight change of costume, but it's him all over again. He's been sitting watching Lu's place and planning, and that plan is very nearly ready to be put into action. Before we get to that though, the police will want to question you. They have been questioning all the survivors, as you would expect. They are waiting for Sami Somsak to return to Singapore. They are apparently not at all happy that he left so suddenly.” Sami gave me a tired smile.

“I'll just play the amnesia game,” I replied. “I think after the past three days, they'll buy that.”

Sami chuckled at that and nodded. “Yes, I think you're right. Your background checks out. I had to provide a photograph, it was a close likeness, but it was not you.”

“Okay. I'm David Crewe. I thought I recognised the name they were calling out to me, but I didn't know it was me,” I admitted. So, all I had to remember was my fake name. I could do that now, but yesterday, I wouldn't have had a chance.

Thanks to my years with The Firm, Mr Crewe, along with all of my purloined passports and identities, had a history and everything that went with it. I'd become an expert at this over the years. David Crewe had an apartment and a business address in Hong Kong and the import-export company he worked for, Kavac International Ltd, actually existed. On computer records at least. An answer service meant someone always responded when the company telephone number was activated. A quick electronic shunt and David Crewe could answer from anywhere in the world. Incidentally, that guy also lived in my apartment, which was actually quite cramped, considering about twelve other identities lived there as well.

“Remember they're not stupid, Daniel. They're just lost in the mist,” Sami said softly. The warning was clear. “The enormity of the bomb on top of everything else that's happened over the past few weeks has them very agitated. Play it safe, my friend. Amnesia is good. You did business with Stanley. You developed a relationship with his assistant Simone. You came back for the funeral. Got it?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “So what about Lu?”

“They put out the full media list of the dead and injured two days ago. I'm not on it. So he finally knows I'm alive. He's holed up in his palace.”

“Damn,” I muttered. It would have been perfect if Sami had managed to swing things so he appeared to be dead.

“I spread the word that I've gone back to Thailand to recuperate and bury Jo,” he added. “I had his body shipped back to his family.” It obviously hurt Sami that he wasn't there for his friend's funeral. I could see the effort it required to move on. “I have a plan and I'll tell you about it in time.”

“One question: Simone … was she in that coffin?” I asked. That had been uppermost in my mind since I'd got it back in working order. I couldn't stand the thought of her having being blown to pulp in the blast. Sami was shaking his head.

“The police found her in her original coffin in the warehouse the undertakers use as a transit depot to store their coffins and equipment. The coffin containing the bomb was an exact duplicate. The undertaker's assistant and the driver didn't notice the difference when they reloaded it back into the hearse.”

“Transit depot?” I was struggling to keep up with Sami's words. My brain was understandably still sluggish and the painkillers didn't help.

“When they have several funerals scheduled throughout the day and are busy, they don't go back to their parlour which, as you know, is quite small,” Sami patiently explained. “Like a lot of funeral parlours, they have a warehouse they use as a way station. Because of the prior bookings at the cathedral, we had to have the service early while the burial had to be scheduled later, for the same reason. They needed the hearse in between times, so after the service, they stopped off and unloaded Simone and the flowers and went back to the parlour for another pickup. After that funeral, they returned to warehouse, reloaded the coffin with the bomb in it, and drove to wait for us outside the parlour in Clementi. Apparently, this sort of thing happens all the time.”

“Someone must have been on the inside to switch the coffins.”

“Obviously,” Sami replied grimly, “and we have a traitor on our team.”

To me, even lying there trying to get my brain back into full working order, I realised what he was getting at. “You were in Thailand when you heard the news of Simone's death. Did you specify which funeral home to use?”

“No. I left that to my people back here.”

“Lu can't have people in all the funeral homes in Singapore, but he either had someone on his payroll in one already, or he managed to get someone into that home at short notice. Right?”

“Right! Remember that it wasn't the home itself, but their transit warehouse. So it was probably a labourer who made the switch and not one of the morticians.”

“So it appears that someone on Lu's payroll and on your team selected the funeral parlour.” I wasn't surprised really. To me, the huge money on permanent offer in Sami's world meant there would always be a traitor.

“I haven't been to the apartment since the bombing. My own people think I'm back in Thailand. I've been routing my calls through Bangkok. I've told them you are coming, so you go there when you're released in the morning. K will be there. Go in through the front entrance, but later when you want to get in and out unseen, there's a basement service tunnel that links three of the buildings in the complex. Access is through the parking garages via this key.” Sami handed it to me. “I suggest you use the tunnels when you want to be invisible. Just in case Lu has anyone watching, which he probably does. Be very careful and trust no one, not even K.” There was a deep sadness in Sami's voice.

“You suspect he's the rat?”

“I honestly don't know, Daniel. There were six people in the apartment when I called from Bangkok: K and five others. One was Stanley's former in-house accountant, Paul Wang. Paul was out at a meeting when the office was attacked. That in itself raises suspicion. There were two house staff there and two others from Jo's crew when I called. I haven't had the time to play detective. I'd hate to think it was K.”

“So would I.” We all went way back. To have to kill a man you once called friend was the pits.

“I'll be in touch, Daniel! By the way,” he paused, “on the subject of spies. Michael, my man in Lu's camp, has been severely tortured and is in intensive care in KL. Obviously, his cover was well and truly blown.” Sami's expression was grim. “Another score to be settled, Daniel. We'll bury Simone and the others when Lu is gone. It will be more fitting then. Take care, my old friend.” Sami patted me on the arm and walked out of the room without a backward look.

Shortly after Sami's departure, the detectives arrived.

To the police officers, David Crewe was an injured man with blank eyes and very little memory. I could see they were frustrated by my act, but I was convincing. Given I'd spent the past three days hiding in the jungle on Pulau Ubin helped give credence to the amnesiac angle. That and the nurse who was hovering in the background like an anxious mother.

Eventually, after asking questions that drew only the vaguest of confused responses, the interview or interrogation or whatever it was came to an end.

“I don't think he has anything for us,” one of the detectives said to the other.

“No. He checks out with Hong Kong, no problem.”

The two of them were still standing at the foot of my bed. They were speaking Mandarin. I didn't let on I knew what they were saying, I just stared blankly up at them.

“Thank you, Mr Crewe. We will be in touch if there is anything else we may need. Here is my card.” The conversation was now in English again. The more senior of the pair put his card on my side table and they turned for the door.

“If I remember anything at all, I will contact you,” I called after them as the door swung shut. I could have added a big fat “Not!” to the end of the sentence, but didn't.

Soon I would be out of this place.

42

They took the staples out of my head and washed off the iodine. The scars are vivid, but they will fade or vanish under my hair when it grows back. However, I made a decision about my appearance. The photo of the man Sami told the police was David Crewe had been all over the newspapers and on television. I needed to make myself as dissimilar to that photo as I could.

A nurse brought a razor. She carefully shaved my head, and then I shaved off my moustache. It was the first time in two decades I actually saw my upper lip. It came as a shock, but suddenly I looked nothing like the man in the media.

My good doctor Dr Chang was on his way to give me a final assessment. I was hoping to be released before lunch. I needed to get out. There were things I had to do. People I had to kill—just joking!

Dr Chang did give me the all clear with the instructions I was to contact him directly at the first sign of any problems. There was a stark white bandage turban on my head. I had some painkillers and sleeping pills. He wanted to see me in a week's time. That, of course, was supposing I was still alive.

I thanked the doctor and was escorted down to a waiting taxi by a pretty young attendant. I gave the driver the Cairnhill Circle address Sami had given me and sat and undid my bandages as we travelled. I looked stupid in a turban. I would get a tanning agent to hide the vivid paleness of my scalp. It would glow in the dark the way it was.

We pulled up at the entrance to the condominium complex. It was imposing. There was a uniformed doorman. He made a call and K appeared in less than a minute and greeted me with a big grin as he took my bag and led me to one of the elevators. I noted that he pressed the button for “Penthouse Only”. It was key controlled. I wondered if Sami owned the apartment building. I suspected he probably did.

Sami's domain was magnificent in every way. The rooms were large and airy, the furnishings expensive. There was much wood, but that was to be expected; Sami Somsak loved wood and used it extensively in all of his homes that I had seen. There were several of them I knew about but doubtless he had many more.

K showed me into a bedroom; or rather, into a suite, a large suite. The bedroom itself was the size of a normal lounge, plus there was a sitting room with a bar and a small kitchen off to one side. The bathroom had an enormous spa bath and double shower. It was magnificent.

The first thing I needed to do was meet the other residents. K gathered them in the main lounge. Apart from K, there was the accountant, Paul Wang. Following the firebombing, he had been relocated to the apartment. He had known Simone, so why hadn't he been at the funeral? I couldn't remember seeing him there, and what about his absence from the office when it had been attacked? These were things about Mr Paul Wang I would need to find out about.

That's the thing about not trusting people. Everyone is a suspect. Everyone can be a traitor. That's a great way to judge people.

Then there was Kaylin, the apartment's housekeeper. She was a short, attractive Chinese woman in her mid-thirties. She was all smiles and helpfulness. There were two Thai minders, Quong and Dep. I'd met Quong before, of course. Dep, however, was new to me. He was a young guy, maybe thirty, handsome, with a physique that suggested a lot of hard gym work. He was potentially a real lady-killer. Regardless, he was too young to be one of Jo's original core group of Special Ops people, so he had to be a new recruit. Maybe he was the traitor?

The last of the group was a young Singapore Chinese named George Hu. He was the live-in chef. A considerable waistline showed he loved his food. He was another who smiled easily. That's the problem with smiles, of course; they are an easy shield and can hide a multitude of sins.

These, then, were the six people who had been in the apartment when Sami had phoned following the news of Simone's death. He told me Kaylin had answered the phone and taken down his instructions, but had she personally made the funeral arrangements? I would be asking her that question when the opportunity arose.

I couldn't help but think that because the arrangements that our Judas had made with Lu had been aimed specifically at killing Sami Somsak, he or she would assume there would be no follow-up. If the plot had succeeded in killing Sami, as intended, there would certainly have been no follow-up. In fact, there would have been no one left to investigate the “how” of it all.

On that basis, I figured that the insider wouldn't necessarily have bothered with an elaborate scheme to cover up the plot. Time would surely tell on that one. My arrival here would probably shock the traitor, more so if he or she knew the real reason for my presence.