1

A BLACK MERCEDES E200 cruises in the slow lane toward the city on the wet and slippery surface of the DUKE—the Duta–Ulu Klang Expressway. Its occupants are in cheerful conversation accompanied by a soft medley of Hari Raya songs from the radio. It is an exceptionally quiet night, hot and humid after a late evening shower. The traffic on the expressway is lighter than usual, with speeding cars taking advantage of the fact that most city dwellers are still at dinner or are at the mosque for the supplementary Tarawih prayers during the holy month of Ramadan. The Mercedes E200, however, is traveling at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to get to its destination.

A female passenger in the car trailing it is astounded by a bright flash of reddish glow that is immediately followed by a muffled bang from inside the Mercedes. She sees the Mercedes losing speed, swerve hard to the right, jerk, and roll forward. Then a second bright reddish glow flashes, followed by another muffled bang, and the car comes to a rest, hitting the safety guardrail at the road divider. It is at the eleventh milestone marker. The driver of the trailing car hits his brakes and veers left, narrowly escaping a collision, and swears “Idiot!” As he maneuvers past the black Mercedes, the woman in the passenger seat sees a third bright reddish glow and hears the final muffled bang.

“Did you see that?” the passenger asks her husband.

“See what?” he answers, still cursing under his breath at the idiot driving the Mercedes.

“Those bright flashes in the Mercedes.”

“No.”

“What about the explosions, did you hear them?”

“No!”

“There was a bright flash and a bang just before the car swerved, then another and another as we passed it,” the wife says excitedly, turning in her seat to look back at the Mercedes.

“You probably saw reflections of fireworks from the flats down there, you know, the rocket type that shoots up and explodes. Sound travels far at night,” the husband says, trashing his wife’s claim.

“No, I’m sure it was from inside the Mercedes. Aren’t you stopping to help?” she asks, turning to gaze at her husband.

The husband glances at his rearview mirror.

“It is only a minor accident, I’m sure he’s all right. Probably drunk,” the husband says, taking another glance in the rearview mirror.

The wife sighs, disappointed at her husband’s attitude. She turns around and looks back again, concerned.

“The driver could be injured.”

“Serves him right for driving like an idiot. Look, we have a long journey, and I don’t want to waste half the night at the hospital or the police station. Unless you want to change your mind and spend Raya here with my parents?” the husband growls. “I didn’t think so. Anyway, I’m sure someone will stop to help.” He takes another peek at the rearview mirror, “There, you see, people are already stopping.”

The wife continues to stare at the fast-vanishing black Mercedes as her husband steps on the accelerator to continue the long journey back to their hometown.

Several passing cars stop to investigate. More follow suit, and before long both sides of the once-quiet expressway turn into a free-for-all parking lot. Traffic is moving at a snail’s pace. Drivers slow down as they and their passengers gawk. The ones who play the lottery jot down the license plate numbers of the unfortunate vehicle, which could be a winning number to bet on—someone’s misfortune could well be your fortune.

The emergency lanes are soon packed with parked cars, accident-chasing tow trucks, motorcycles, and curious motorists on their way home. With the right lane blocked, vehicles have to squeeze left through the bumper-to-bumper crawl, causing tempers to flare, feverish honking, and swearing with middle-finger gestures.

A Good Samaritan who had stopped to lend a hand peeks inside the black Mercedes and retreats in shock. He calls 999 to report two bodies covered in blood inside a car on the DUKE. A Mobile Patrol Vehicle (MPV) is dispatched immediately by Operations Center.

One of the patrolmen shines his flashlight into the car and shouts to his partner, “Ali, better get the station to send an IO.”

“Yes, I’ve already called the Traffic Police,” Lance Corporal Ali replies.

“No, call the investigating officer on duty. I think we have a double homicide here.”

Lance Corporal Ali calls the district police headquarters, gives their location, and requests for the investigation officer on duty to report a possible double homicide. Ali also requests another MPV to help with traffic control and the growing number of onlookers.

“I think we should instruct the other MPV to redirect traffic down the slip road and block access through here,” Ali suggests.

“Yes, why don’t you do that? I’ll get the caller to sit inside the patrol car. I’m sure the IO would like to talk to him. Where the hell is he, anyway?” Lance Corporal Yatim snarls. “Ali, can you check with the station again?”

“Just did, they said he’s on his way.”

“On the way, on the way . . . For all you know, he’s not even at the station,” Yatim grumbles.

The Kuala Lumpur Police Contingent Forensics (D10) team headed by Inspector Lily Chin arrives at the scene and asks for the investigating officer. Yatim tells her that he’s on his way.

“Who’s the IO?”

“Ali, who’s the IO?” he asks his partner.

“Inspector Murad.”

Lily is just about done when district investigation officer, Inspector Murad, arrives.

“Amoi, what happened here?” Amoi is the generic term used by non-Chinese to address a young Chinese woman.

“Not good news. Two deceased—gunshots. Murad, I need to call in Forensic HQ. Here, put on these gloves.”

After Murad puts them on, she hands him the wallet and handbag.

“Why?” Murad asks, looking at the items.

“This is more than we can handle. That guy was an executive chairman of a company, and she was his managing director. Two corporate figures shot in a car, nothing stolen. Money, cell phones, valuables all untouched. That’s always a bad sign.”

“You think this was a hit?”

“I don’t know, but it’s better to be safe.”

“Okay, I’ll call Major Crimes to see if they’re willing to look at this.”

“You mean Special Investigations?”

“Yeah, Special investigations Unit, I can never get used to the new name. I still think Major Crimes is a more fitting name for D9. More oomph,” he says with a tiny smile.