11
MISLAN HEARS THE MAGHRIB call for prayer, which also signals the breaking of fast. Putting on a pair of jeans and a polo T-shirt, he leaves. Driving out, he notices the time is 7:32 p.m. Iftar, or the breaking of fast, is 7:29 p.m., and he figures his assistant must had left the office to break his fast. Hitting the Middle Ring Road 2, he lowers the window and lights a cigarette, thinking—everyone is breaking fast with someone except me. The thought saddens him. Somehow during the end of Ramadan and approaching Syawal, his feeling of loneliness has grown. He misses his son, his ex-wife, and Fie. He laughs at the thought of how few people in his life matter to him—three. Yes, there are others, like his assistant, Superintendent Samsiah, and his co-investigators, but he doesn’t miss them like those three. His boss once said he’s not a people person, whatever that meant.
Mislan drives toward Ampang and cuts into Kampung Pandan, intending to take the road above the SMART Tunnel, but gets caught in a traffic crawl caused by a Ramadan market. He swears continually for fifteen minutes as he inches his way through the maze of stalls selling food, Raya cakes and cookies, and traditional clothing put up ad hoc during the fasting month. Ironically, it reminds him of days with his ex-wife and their shopping there. He finally manages to get past the bazaar and the randomly parked vehicles and drives through Jalan Imbi to his office in Jalan Hang Tuah.
Every year it’s the same thing, the last-minute shopper crowd. Those bargain hunters looking to save money as Ramadan is coming to its end and stall operators are offloading their stock. His assistant told him that Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman, where most of the stalls are located, is like a huge parking lot at night. Traffic control has no effect. Then again, it is the festive mood and the traffic police tend to close one eye and let the situation work out by itself.
He makes a call to his assistant, asking his whereabouts. Johan tells him he’s breaking fast in the office with some of the detectives.
“Oh, OK.”
“Have you eaten?” Johan asks.
“No, not yet.”
“Don’t buy anything, we got plenty here.”
“OK, thanks.”
He makes another call. “Murad, Mislan. Did you brief the OCCI on the case?”
“No, the OCPD and SIO. Why?” The OCPD is the Officer in Charge of a Police District.
“He has just given a press conference, said the motive was a possible love triangle. Also, that the case seemed like a murder-suicide.”
“I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he talked to the SIO. The OCCI doesn’t speak to district IOs like me. I’m too low down the ladder,” Murad says, laughing. “Mislan, are you keeping the case?”
“Looks like it.”
“Thanks, that’s one less on my plate.”
Walking to the lobby, he bumps into Superintendent Samsiah coming out. She is on her way home, and he decides to follow her back to the parking lot.
“Just leaving?” he asks.
“Why are you back?” she asks, ignoring his question.
“Why? Am I banned from coming to work?” he jests. “Ma’am, where did the OCCI get the information for the press conference?”
“Which information? He said a lot of things.”
“About there being no third person in the car thing, the love triangle . . . Who fed him that crap?”
“Please accept my apologies, I didn’t get a chance to ask him,” the head of Special Investigation Unit answers sarcastically. “I’ll ask the next time I see him.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Look, Lan, he’s the OCCI, he has his sources. And you know what? He doesn’t have to clear everything he wants to say with me, like I don’t have to explain everything to you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m out of line.”
“Forget it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take this out on you. So, what do I owe you for escorting me to my car?”
Her smile reappears.
“Raya lunch . . . the real deal, with rendang, ketupat, and lemang.”
She laughs.
“Come over with Jo and the boys if you have some free time.”
“For the whole spread, I’ll make the time. ma’am, I’m sorry again.”
Mislan heads for the detective standby room and finds Johan talking with one of the detectives. On the table in front of them are packs of rice, grilled fish with spicy sauce dip, fried chicken, several Malay traditional cakes, and a large pitcher of syrup.
“Sir,” the detective greets him, standing.
Mislan pulls a chair from a detective’s table and joins them.
“Syed, you’re not off for Raya?”
“I went last year,” the detective replies.
Johan pushes a pack of rice to his boss and Syed pushes the dishes closer to him. Mislan washes his hands in the tiny bowl of water and starts eating.
“This grilled fish is good, where’d you get it?” he asks.
“Syed went to Keramat Ramadan bazaar,” Johan replies.
“That far?”
“Worth the trip. I’ve been buying from this stall for years. The fish is fresh and the sauce is tasty,” Syed says. “If you go after six, everything is sold out.”
“What do we have, Jo?”
“Many unverified stories, both good and bad. I’ve summarized them into two groups. Here,” Johan opens and pushes over his notepad for Mislan to read.
He studies the list.
“Says here, the vics are scamming villagers, stealing their heritage. What’s that about?”
“I was just asking Syed the same thing.”
“A group of four men were talking about the vics buying kampong land cheaply, on the pretext of developing it for the benefit of the villagers. After that, the vics merely mined the sand and made millions. There was no development,” Syed says.
“This one says the vics were married.”
“Yes, but I was not able to confirm that. Most said they’re a couple and that he employed her to avoid a scandal.”
“A scandal because she was his lover?”
Syed nods, smiling impishly.
“Jo, assign Syed and his partner to get confirmation on this, this, and this,” he says, pointing to the list. “Names, dates, places, whatever they can get. Get in touch with the Selangor police in PJ and Klang. I’m sure they knew Mahadi. Why don’t you guys visit the vic’s house, pretend to be one of hundreds attending the gathering, and find out more?”
“Don’t forget to dress appropriately,” Johan calls after Syed as he leaves.
Mislan finishes his dinner, washes his hands, and thanks his assistant for the meal. He walks back to his office, drops on his chair, and lights a cigarette. Inspector Tee is missing from his desk, probably out for dinner. Dinner was really good and filling, now he feels heavy and lazy. He starts to wonder what was bothering his boss. Superintendent Samsiah is not one to be easily upset by power plays, rank-pulling, and interference. Nor is she one to give in without a fight. Something was bothering her, something personal, or maybe it was him, his attitude. Selfishly putting himself before others, especially her. Johan comes into the office looking questioningly at his boss.
“What are you thinking about?” the detective sergeant asks.
“Eh? Nothing. Did anything happen here while I was away?”
“Like what?”
“I met ma’am downstairs. She seemed a little tetchy, not her usual self.”
“Maybe she was tired.”
“Maybe,” Mislan says and lets it slide. “You said you went through the vics’ cell phone records. Who were the last people they spoke to?”
“The male vic’s last call was from his son Hashim, while the female’s last call was to Ayn. Remember the vic’s mother saying Ayn was her close friend?”
“OK, I’m thinking we’ll go to Zaleha’s house to pay our last respects. What do you think?”
“Let me rephrase that . . . We go snooping to Zaleha’s house.”
“Hell no. We’re going to pay our last respects,” Mislan says, grinning.
“You’re groping in the dark, aren’t you?”
“It’s something I’ve learned about motives: when it’s not obvious, examine the vic’s life and you’ll find it. The other thing is, if the deceased were a couple, the chances are the motive will have something to do with the woman.”
“You’re only making this up to impress me and justify your intention to snoop.”
Mislan laughs.
The shift investigator, Inspector Tee, returns from his break. Seeing Mislan and his assistant, he asks what they’re doing in the office.
“You two don’t celebrate Raya?”
“We are,” Mislan says.
“Here in the office? You don’t have a home and family?”
“This is our home, and you guys are our family,” Mislan deadpans.
“Yeah, right.”
“What . . . you don’t want to be family with me?”
Tee and Johan laugh.