THE DEAD AMERICAN (The Inspector Samuel Tay Novels Book 3) (17 page)

“So what are we talking about, Sergeant? Days? Weeks? Until the next millennium?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’m sure he’s working as fast as he can.”

Tay was less certain of that. He thought the industriousness of anyone who insisted on calling himself the Wangster was very much an open question. But he didn’t say that. He just nodded and closed the door behind Sergeant Kang.

TAY WENT OUT
into the garden, sat down at the table, and leaned against it on his folded forearms. It was time to smoke. Occasionally he did ask himself what smoking was doing to his lungs, but this wasn’t one of those times. Besides, by now they must be like asphalt. They could take another pack. Or two.

He was surprised to see his hand shaking as he lit up. He watched it with disembodied interest. After all the death and brutality he had seen, why was Emma Lazar’s murder so hard for him to accept?

He hardly knew her, yet something about her had given him hope that he might. His history with women was abysmal. The ones to whom he was attracted always ended up walking away from him, or even on a couple of occasions dying. The one
s to whom he was not at
tracted wouldn’t leave him alone. Was that the story of every man’s life, he wondered, or just the tale of his?

When Tay realized what he was thinking, he closed his eyes in shame. Emma was dead and here he was feeling sorry for himself about losing a girlfriend he hadn’t had. He had lost nothing, not really, and Emma Lazar had lost everything. She was young and beautiful and intelligent, and now she was gone. And for what?

Was Emma’s murder connected to the murder of Tyler Bartlett? Of course it was. Tay had no doubt of that. To say it wasn’t connected would be to say it was just a coincidence she was murdered while she was investigating Tyler Bartlett’s death. The Maxwell Road Food Centre was only a few hundred yards from the shophouse where Tyler was found hanging from his bathroom door. Was that another coincidence?

Horseshit
, Tay said to himself. Emma had left him a note saying she had found something significant. She had found whatever it was, and they had killed her because of it. But what had she found? And
who
had killed her?

Tay’s gut told him that Tyler’s murder had something to do with the work he was doing at The Future, but what exactly? The development of software for driverless cars leading to two murders? That was ridiculous. There had to be another explanation, something he just couldn’t see. But… what?

There was one thing at least of which Tay was certain. Tyler had stumbled over something he wasn’t supposed to know, and he had been killed for it. Emma had been trying to find out what Tyler had discovered. She may have, and now she was dead, too. Did that mean that now he was in danger, too? Surely not. He knew nothing. Less than nothing, to be honest. But did whoever killed Emma realize that? Maybe they thought Emma had already told him what she had discovered.

Tay got up and went back inside his house. Upstairs, on the table beside his bed, his old Smith and Wesson .38 wheel gun was just where he had left it. Since he was on suspension, he wasn’t authorized to carry it. If he got caught with it, he could think of half a dozen people who would take delight in using that to roast his ass. On the other hand, if somebody came after him the way they had come after Tyler and Emma, not having it would be worse. Being dead was a hell of a lot more permanent than getting your ass roasted.

He scooped the .38 off the bedside table, clipped the holster to his belt, and went back downstairs.

Tay thought briefly of calling John August to tell him about Emma’s murder, but he didn’t really see what good that would do. It wasn’t like August could tell him who was responsible. Besides, calling August involved an annoying rigmarole. Tay had a number for him, but nobody ever answered it. The only way he could reach August was to call that number, hang up, and then wait for August to call back. Sometimes August did, sometimes he didn’t. It pissed Tay off, but that was the way it was.

Tay took out his cell phone, but before he could decide whether talking to August was worth jumping through all his hoops, it rang. Tay looked at the phone in surprise. He didn’t get many calls. Almost none, really, especially now that he was on suspension. He looked at the displa
y, but it said UNKNOWN CALLER. Of course it did.

Tay didn’t really want to answer it, but ignoring a ringing phone was a hard thing to do. Sometimes Tay could. This time he couldn’t. Maybe he was just tired.

“Hello?”

“Inspector? I’m sorry to bother you at home. I hope you don’t mind.”

It was a woman’s voice. Pleasant, nicely modulated, but not one Tay recognized.

“How are you today?” she continued.

There were a great many things that annoyed Tay, and he noticed the number of things that annoyed him had steadily increased as he grew older. But there was one thing that had been right at the top of his list of supremely irritating crap for as long as he could remember: people who started talking when he answered the telephone without first clearly identifying themselves.

There was only one way to deal with people like that. He punched the disconnect button and hung up.

Tay was inside making coffee when his phone rang again. He glared at it. Why had he brought the damn thing into the kitchen with him?

He tried to ignore the buzzing, but whoever was calling simply refused to hang up and the telephone kept right on buzzing like a pissed off bee. Tay wondered if it could be the same woman who called before calling back to apologize. A nice thought, he knew, but much too nice to be true. More likely she was calling back to make his life miserable for having hung up on her. He gritted his teeth and picked up the telephone.

“Hello.”

“We were cut off. I really don’t understand what—”

“Who is this?”

“Oh… uh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. This is Susan Hoi.”

Susan Hoi was a pathologist at the Centre for Forensic Medicine, whom Tay had occasionally worked with on cases. She was young and attractive, and Tay had never been able to figure out how she had ended up in a profession in which cutting up dead bodies was the daily routine. She just didn’t seem the type to him, even if he wasn’t entirely certain what the type might be.

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” she said. “How are you?”

Indeed it had been a while. Susan Hoi had made her interest in Tay so plain that he had fled without a second thought, and he avoided her whenever possible. It was his usual reflex, he knew, nothing to do with Susan Hoi really, and the older he got the more he wondered why he did it every time a woman showed interest in him. Unless he stopped, he was going to end up a lonely, disgruntled old man living all alone. Of course, there were plenty of people who said that’s what he was right now, but he tried not to think about that.

“Look,” Susan Hoi went on before Tay could decide what to say, “this isn’t a social call. Sergeant Kang asked me to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? About what?”

“I’ve had a preliminary look at a woman’s body that was brought in early this morning. Sergeant Kang said you had an interest in the case.”

“Did Robbie tell you what my interest in the case is?”

“No, but I don’t really care.”

“You do know I’ve been suspended from CID, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And that telling me anything about your examination would be completely improper?”

“Yes, I know that. Now look, Sam, do you want to hear what killed this woman or don’t you?”

Tay said nothing.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Susan Hoi said. “All of the usual features of asphyxial death Sergeant Kang observed at the scene are present. My preliminary conclusion is that the cause of death was ligature strangulation.”

“Robbie didn’t say anything about a ligature mark.”

There was a brief silence.

“Would you like me to go on?” Dr. Hoi asked.

Tay cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Please.”

“A mark on the neck is generally the principal external sign of ligature strangulation, bearing in mind, of course, the possibility of coincidental signs of strangulation. The appearance of the ligature mark naturally depends on the nature and texture of the ligature material. When there is a pronounced pattern, such as the weave of a cord or plaiting of a thong, the same pattern may be imprinted into the skin. When a fabric, such as a scarf or towel has been used, the marks on the neck may be difficult to interpret. A broad, flat band, for example, may leave no mark at all. In this case, there was
almost
no mark. It was present, but it would have been difficult to observe
in situ.
Hence, Sergeant Kang’s assumption of manual strangulation rather than ligature strangulation.”

“Are you saying she was strangled with a towel?”

“Possibly, but my guess is something even softer. Perhaps a cotton or silk shawl.”

“She was strangled by a woman?”

“I said nothing of the sort, Inspector. I’m a pathologist, not a psychic. I can tell you about the instrument that was used to strangle her, but not who used it.”

“Isn’t the use of a shawl as an instrument of strangulation odd?”

“Yes, it would be. Frankly, I’d never seen it before, and seeing it twice now in two cases so close together is particularly odd.”

For a moment, Tay wasn’t certain he had heard that right.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “What’s the other case?”

“The American, of course. Tyler Bartlett.”

“He was strangled with a shawl?”

“Not necessarily. But he was strangled with something soft enough not to leave much of a mark, and what mark there was, was mostly obliterated by the post-mortem application of the rope.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying that you
knew
Tyler Bartlett didn’t commit suicide? That he was strangled and then hung up to make it
look
like a suicide?”

“Yes, of course. Ligature marks produced after death do not show bruising. They simply leave a grooved impression in the skin and a yellow or brown abrasion without any signs of vital reaction. The noose was unquestionably placed around his neck following ligature strangulation with some relatively soft fabric and then he was hung post-mortem.”

Tay was very nearly speechless.

“Why wasn’t that in your report to the police?”

“It was. But they rejected my conclusion as inconsistent with the physical evidence.”

“You told the police that Tyler Bartlett was strangled with a ligature and then hung after he was already dead and they ignored you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a copy of that report?”

“It doesn’t exist anymore. The director of the Centre for Forensic Medicine rewrote it to indicate suicide by hanging.”

Now Tay
was
speechless.

Dr. Hoi talked on for a bit after that and Tay tried to inject listening noises now and then out of courtesy, but he registered little of what she was saying. His mind was racing.

He just couldn’t yet see where it was racing
to
.

WHEN TAY FINALLY
managed to get off the telephone, he decided to walk over to the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on Orchard Road and get a sugar fix. If he stayed home, he knew he would just end up sitting in his garden smoking one cigarette after another, and what was worse for him: a whole pack of Marlboros, or a couple of apple fritters and a cup of black coffee? That was a fine justification, Tay thought. He liked it a lot.

He considered leaving his gun at home, then he thought about the two people who had been killed so far and he went upstairs and put on a suit coat that was cut generously enough to cover the holster clipped to his belt. The coat didn’t match his trousers, but he couldn’t be bothered to change. After all, he was going to a Coffee Bean in the middle of the afternoon, not to Raffles for dinner.

There were two Coffee Beans within a short walk of Tay’s house.
Sometimes the most in
teresting thing he did all day was to decide which one he was going to. Today he chose the one across Orchard Road and a bit to the east. He was pretty sure the last time he had gone to the one across Orchard Road and a bit to the west, so it seemed only fair.

Tay ran his conversation with Susan Hoi back and forth through his mind while he walked. Could it be a coincidence that Emma had been murdered exactly the same way Tyler Bartlett had been murdered, when the only thing they had in common was that Emma was trying to find out who killed Tyler and why? No, of course it couldn’t be a coincidence. The note Emma had left him said she had found out something significant. And whoever killed Tyler Bartlett must have killed Emma Lazar to make sure she didn’t tell anyone what she had found. What else could explain them both being killed in exactly the same way?

Tay bought his apple fritters and black coffee at the counter and took them over to a table by the window. As he sat down he had a sudden recollection of ending his telephone conversation with Susan Hoi with a vague promise they would have dinner one night soon. The thought caused him to spill part of his coffee, and he had to go back to the counter and get a handful of paper napkins to sop it up. The napkins were brown, of course, so you would know they were made out of recycled paper.

Tay chewed deliberately at his apple fritters and sipped at his coffee and tried to keep his mind as empty as possible. When his telephone began buzzing in his pocket, he thought it might be Dr. Hoi calling to tell him something she had forgotten so he fished it out and looked at the screen. He was surprised to see the main number for Singapore CID.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Inspector. This is Nora Zaini.”

When Tay said nothing, she added, “The Senior Assistant Commissioner’s secretary.”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly. “I was just swallowing. My mouth was full of coffee.”

“Oh, sorry. The SAC just wonders if you might have time to come in for a quick word?”

Tay wasn’t sure what that meant. The last time he had been invited in by the SAC for what he called a quick word, he had been suspended. Since that was no longer on the table, he could only think of two possibilities that remained. Either they were going to return him to duty, or they were going to fire him. Of the two, he had no doubt which one was more likely.

“When does he have in mind?” Tay asked.

“Could you come right away?”

Uh-oh
, Tay thought.
He’s going to fire me. He wouldn’t be in that big a hurry if he were going to return me to duty.

“Say, four o’clock?” she prompted.

Tay thought about the .38 clipped to his belt. Carrying it to a meeting with the SAC didn’t seem particularly prudent. Four o’clock would give him enough time to walk home and put it away before he went to the Cantonment Complex. It would even give him time to change his trousers. There was something about getting fired in mismatched clothes that seemed to him profoundly depressing
.

“Four o’clock will be fine,” Tay said.

When Tay arrived
in the Senior Assistant Commissioner’s office he was shown in without delay, which only deepened his already cavernous sense of foreboding.

The SAC stood up behind his desk and they shook hands.

“How are you, Sam? You’re looking well, I must say.”

“Right as rain, fit as a fiddle, bold as brass,” Tay said, stealing John August’s answer to the same question. “Take your pick, Chief.”

Tay had always thought the SAC looked more like a math professor at a not very prosperous college than he did a policeman. He was small and slim and altogether unremarkable in appearance, and he wore a plain short-sleeved white shirt and dark wash-and-wear slacks. His glasses were black-plastic framed and inexpensive looking.

“Glad to hear that, Sam. Really glad to hear that. Sit down, please.”

Tay took a chair in front of the desk and the SAC fell silent. Tay watched him fidget with a stack of papers, and he thought,
Uh-oh, here it comes.
Tay braced himself. Being a policeman was all he had ever known. He could not imagine what would become of him if he could not be a policeman.

“Look, Sam, how would you feel about returning to duty?”

Tay stared at the SAC. He was too dumbfounded to speak.

“Or you could take another week or two if you want, but we’d like to have you back as soon as possible.”

“I’m ready to return any time, Chief,” Tay said when he had regained his voice.

“Good, good. Say, the first day of next month, then? That would be… what, next Tuesday? Bright and early.”

“Tuesday would be fine, Chief.”

Tay wasn’t so sure about the ‘bright and early’ part, but if that was the price of getting his job back he figured he could fake it for a few days.

“There’s just one other thing, Sam.”

The SAC’s eyes drifted away from Tay’s and he started fiddling with that stack of papers again.
This can’t be good
, Tay thought.

“You do understand, don’t you, Sam, that you’re going to have to drop this private investigation into the suicide of Tyler Bartlett, the one you are doing with that woman—”

“Emma Lazar is dead, Chief. Apparently she was murdered.”

“Yes, well, that hasn’t been established yet.”

Tay raised his eyebrows. Not established yet? It was going to be pretty hard to classify a woman found strangled in an alleyway as a suicide.

“Regardless, Sam, I will need your assurance that you will drop whatever inquiries you are making about the death of Tyler Bartlett when you return to active duty.”

Tay cleared his throat. “Why is that, sir?”

“I would have thought that’s obvious, Sam. We can’t have a serving police officer attempting to undermine a decision that has already made by senior officers. It just wouldn’t be right.”

Tay nodded his head slowly and shaped his face into a thoughtful expression.

“I see what you mean, Chief,” he said.

He did indeed see what the SAC meant. He meant there were people far up the chain of command who wanted Tay to stop looking into the death of Tyler Bartlett so badly they would let him back into CID as a payoff to keep him from doing it. If this thing was big enough for those people to swallow their pride and give him his job back just to shut him up, it had to be
really
big.

Tuesday, huh? Today was only Thursday, so that gave him a good four days. If that turned out not to be enough time, when Tuesday came he could always tell the SAC to stick his job. Although he knew he wouldn’t do that. At least he probably wouldn’t.

“I understand, Chief. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

The SAC bounced to his feet as if his ass were spring-loaded and thrust out his hand. “Good, Sam. Just great. See you Tuesday.”

Indeed you will
, Tay thought as they shook hands.
One way or another.

Tay left the Cantonment Complex and walked north on New Bridge Road in the dir
ection of the Singapore River. He had no particular destination in mind, so when he came to a local bar on the corner of Temple Street he went in, took a stool facing the door, and ordered a Tiger beer. The bartender poured it into a glass without asking. It was the kind of bar in which Tay had a strong urge to wipe the rim of the glass with his handkerchief before he drank from it, but he resisted. And for the next half hour he sat and sipped at the beer while he thought about everything that was swirling around him.

When Philip Goh had pulled him into New Phoenix Park and leaned on him not to help Emma, he really hadn’t thought that much about it. Everyone knew ISD was paranoid, and leaning on people was what they did. At the time, Tay just figured there was something out there that might be mildly embarrassing to ISD and Goh was trying to protect his people. The idea that a fully-fledged cover-up of the murder of Tyler Bartlett was underway hadn't even occurred to him.

The moment Dr. Hoi told him the director of the Center for Forensic Medicine had disregarded her findings and rewritten the autopsy report to support a finding of suicide, Tay realized how big this whole thing really was. And now the SAC offers him his job back if he’ll only shut up and go away? Tay had no idea yet what was at the bottom of this pile of shit, but he had no doubt it was going to turn out to be something extraordinary.

Why was half the government of Singapore apparently determined to keep the secret of Tyler Bartlett’s murder? Was it just that Goodnight-Jones had powerful friends? Or was it going to be something worse than that? Yes, Tay told himself, it
was
going to be something worse than that.

Tay took out his Marlboros and placed the box on the bar. He had barely removed his hand from it when the bartender quickstepped over.

“No smoking in here, sir. It’s the law. Absolutely no smoking.”

Tay nodded, but he didn’t say anything. And he left the box of Marlboros where it was. That was a small and futile gesture, he knew, but he felt like a gesture was required. Singapore, he realized now, was being governed by men more interested in stopping smoking than they were in stopping murder.

The thought brought him face to face with a more troublesome question, one he had no idea how to answer.

Two people had been murdered to cover up whatever secret was at stake here. Did he really think that the government of Singapore would murder two foreigners just to make certain a secret was kept? They might well threaten, as Philip Goh had, or they might offer a bribe, as the SAC had. He could believe all that easily enough because it had happened to him. But would his government order two innocent people murdered? However little Tay might think of the men who governed Singapore, he did not believe that could be.

Regardless, the fact was that two innocent people
had
been murdered. Which meant that
somebody
did it. And if it hadn’t been the same people in the Singapore government who seemed determined to keep him from looking into the death of Tyler Bartlett, who the hell
was
it? And
why
had it happened?

Tay still had four days, and by Christ he was going to know both things by the time those four days were over.

He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through the address book, and called Robbie Kang.

“Can you meet me in an hour?”

“An hour, sir? Couldn’t we make it—”

“An hour, Robbie. Meet me at place you took me for my birthday.”

“You mean—”

“You don’t have to say the name, Sergeant. Just tell me you know where I mean.”

“I know where you mean, sir.”

“Fine. One hour.”

Tay dropped a ten-dollar bill on the bar and went outside to look for a taxi.