HIS MOTHER WAS dead.
Right after the bombings, he had a psychotic episode of some sort and the sense of talking to his mother had been very real, but it had not been real. His mother was dead. And the living did not carry on conversations with the dead. No one would ever be able to persuade him otherwise. Not really.
“For Christ’s sake, Samuel, answer me! You’re acting like you’re as dead as I am.”
Tay cautiously swung his feet down and pulled himself up straight in his chair. His eyes flicked left and right, but he saw nothing except gloom.
“Pay attention, Samuel! I’m over here!”
The voice came from his left, over in a corner of his garden where the banana trees were a little thin and he had been thinking about planting some bamboo or something else that grew rapidly to fill out the otherwise thickly planted insulation of his sanctuary.
At first he saw nothing.
But then he did.
It was nothing more than a swirl of tiny points of light in an area no larger than a person’s head. The swirl made him think of a tiny gathering of fireflies, very tired fireflies, too exhausted to generate anything other than a passable glow. It was so dim Tay wondered if it was there at all.
“Please say something so I’ll know you’re listening to me, Samuel. I’m not going to hang around here all night waiting for you to wake up. I’ve got better things to do.”
Did the dead have obligations and appointments like the living? Tay found the possibility disconcerting. He had always figured one of the advantages of being dead was that the irritating minutia of everyday life would come to an end. If all it really meant was accumulating an entirely new set of responsibilities and commitments, then what was the point of being dead?
“Goddammit, Samuel, speak up!”
Tay cautiously cleared his throat, “Yes, Mother?”
“Ah, he lives!”
“How are you, Mother?”
“I was dead the last time you asked and I’m still dead.”
“I know, Mother.”
“Then why do you keep asking me how I am?”
“I was just being polite.”
To that, Tay heard a snort so loud it seemed to echo off the walls of his tiny garden.
“I heard you’ve been making some inquiries about your father,” the voice continued.
Tay almost asked how she had heard that, and from whom, but then he thought better of it.
“Yes, Mother. It’s connected with a case.”
“And exactly how is your father connected to this case?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stop asking questions. That seems simple enough to me.”
“But, Mother—”
“Look, Samuel, I’m telling you to stop asking questions about your father.”
“But why?”
“Because you may find out things you don’t really want to know.”
Tay wasn’t sure what to say to that. The same thought had crossed his mind, of course, more than once, but hearing the warning coming from a ghost somehow made it more real.
No, that doesn’t make any sense, Tay thought. Hearing something from a ghost does not make it real.
“You’re not going to pay any attention to me, are you?”
“It’s not a matter of not paying attention to you, Mother. It’s just that this case—”
“Yes, I know. You think figuring out the relationship between the three men in the photograph will help you find out who killed Johnny.”
“How in the world did you know that?”
“How in the world did I know that? Are you trying to make a joke, Samuel?”
“No, I was just asking—”
“I know because I am not in the world, as you put it. That’s how I know.”
Tay’s first thought was that she certainly had him there, but then he quickly had a second.
“So you know everything I know?” he asked.
“And a great deal more, my boy. It’s what I know that you do not know that you ought to be thinking about here.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me something, Mother.”
“Because I am. As much as I’m enjoying our little chat, this isn’t a social call.”
Tay said nothing.
“I’m here to help you.”
Tay remembered he had once heard someone say that the scariest line anyone could ever utter was, We’re from the government and we’re here to help you. Now he knew that was wrong. I’m from the afterlife and I’m here to help you was far, far scarier.
“Help me how, Mother?”
“I thought you wanted to know about your father. Who better to ask than me?”
Who indeed, Tay thought, although up until now he figured his mother being dead constituted a bit of a hurdle to make any direct inquiries of her.
“Ask me anything,” the voice continued. “Anything at all.”
“Was my father a spy for the CIA?”
That brought complete silence.
“I thought you said I could ask you anything, Mother. Aren’t you going to answer me?”
“Of course I am. I was just pausing a moment to contemplate your regrettable lack of manners.”
“You don’t think that’s a reasonable question for me to ask? When I talked to the daughter of that woman who used to work for him—”
“I know who you talked to and what she told you.”
Now it was Tay’s turn to fall silent. This was a little like having a conversation with himself.
Hey, maybe that’s it. Maybe I am having a conversation with myself.
“Your father was an accountant, a very good accountant. While it’s true he did some accounting work for American intelligence, he was not a spy.”
“So he was a money launderer for the CIA.”
“Has anyone every told you, Samuel, that you put things too bluntly?”
“Frequently. And yet I continue to do it.”
“Your father and two of his friends—”
“Johnny the Mover and Vince Ferrero?”
“Yes. They started a company which provided logistical support for the CIA.”
“What was it called?”
“It was called Paraguas Ltd.”
Of course it was.
“What did Paraguas Ltd do?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not absolutely sure. Your father always said it provided support services to government agencies. Things like accounting and transportation.”
“What government agencies? What government?”
That brought nothing but silence.
“Okay, then let’s try this one. What happened to the company after my father died?”
“Vince and Johnny continued to operate it. It was very successful. I got checks for years as a dividend on your father’s shares, but then about twenty years ago I sold his shares back to the company.”
Tay wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the next obvious question, but he did anyway. “Is it still operating?”
“I have no idea. You’d have to ask Vince or Johnny.” The voice paused. “Well…with Johnny dead now, I guess you’d have to ask Vince.”
“I can’t find Vince. Maybe you could just ask Johnny for me?”
“Very funny.”
“What’s funny about it? Both of you being dead, I thought—”
“You think I see everybody who’s dead? That’s not how it works.”
Tay was considering asking just how it did work when the voice started up again.
“Besides, finding Vince can’t be all that hard.”
“Maybe not for you, but it is for me. I don’t even know if he’s in Singapore anymore.”
“He is.”
“How do you know that?”
There was no answer.
“Okay,” Tay went on, “even if I believe he is still here, I still don’t have a clue where to start looking for him.”
“Then let me give you one. Find the best looking woman in Singapore and I’ll bet Vince won’t be more than twenty feet away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Vince could never resist the ladies. He always had two or three stashed away somewhere. Lord, he spent money on them like he was printing it. Nothing but the best apartments, the best clothes…”
And just like that Tay knew.
“Mei Lin Lee,” he said.
“Is that a question?” the voice asked.
“Not really.”
“Good. I’m tired of giving you all the answers. From here on, Samuel, you’re on your own.”
So that was why the Paraguas Ltd safety deposit box was at HSBC. That was who was paying for Mei Lin’s elaborate apartment. That was why Mei Lin had that peculiar look he had noticed in her eyes every time he asked about the safety box and the man who was signing in for access under the name Joseph Hysmith.
But why would Mei Lin finger Ferrero to Tay simply because he asked her to? Wouldn’t she have lied to protect him? He would have to ask her about that. He’d bet it was a good story.
***
“Thank you, Mother.”
No response.
“Are you still there, Mother?”
Silence.
“Were you ever there, Mother?”
Silence.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tay shouted at the banana trees. “I’ve been sitting her like an absolute idiot and talking to myself this whole time, haven’t I? There was never anyone there at all!”
Tay’s cell telephone rang. He had forgotten he had left it lying on the table next to his chair, and it startled him. His phone almost never rang, not even in the afternoon or evening, and this was the middle of the night. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then he snatched it off the table and punched the answer button.
“Hello?”
But there was no one there.
He listened to the empty buzz of the dial tone and after a moment he very slowly hung up and returned the telephone to the table.
***
For what might have been five minutes or forty-five minutes, Tay sat there in the dark of his garden without moving. There was no wind and the silence was nearly absolute. Once he thought he heard a car pass somewhere far away, but he might have been mistaken.
Eventually he gave up listening to the darkness, and he stood up, stretched, and looked over at the banana trees from where he thought he had heard the voice.
“Good night, Mother,” he said.
Then he turned away, went inside, locked the French doors behind him, and climbed the stairs to bed.
The banana trees, they said nothing at all.