13

ON THE MIDDLE RING Road 2, the traffic into the city is light, while that in the opposite direction, to the East Coast, is at a crawl. Operation Sikap targeting irresponsible road users has recorded a double-digit death toll on its first day during this festive season. Mislan looks at the crawl, recalling that his ex-wife and son had taken seven plus hours to reach her hometown. He shakes his head in disbelief at what people are willing to endure during the festive season. And this exodus is not unique to Malaysia; it happens all over the world during major festivals.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Johan says.

“Yup, that’s one reason I don’t do the back-to-hometown thingy. The best place to be during festivals is here, in the city. Look at that. It’ll take them at least eight hours to reach the East Coast, if they’re not killed on the way,” Mislan says. “Jo, can you check if the detectives are back from the vic’s house?”

Johan calls the office.

“They’re on their way to the office. Syed says they heard some interesting stories about Leha.”

Walking into the empty lobby, they acknowledge a sad-looking policeman on duty and wait for the elevator. Johan tilts his head and says, “I’ll bet his leave was not approved.”

In the office, Johan goes to the makeshift pantry to make two mugs of coffee. “What do we do now?”

“We wait for Syed and Jeff. In the meantime, let’s have another look at the crime scene photos.”

He takes out a brown envelope and spreads the photographs on the desk.

Johan picks one up, examines it, and moves on to the next.

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t fit or something we can follow up on.”

“You mean like this?” Johan hands him a photo. “The male vic was shot on the right, but you don’t see blood splatters on the window or the door. This is a picture of the dashboard in front of Leha. Here you can see spots of blood,” Johan says.

“Good eyes,” Mislan says. “It doesn’t make sense, unless the blood was wiped off. But I doubt there was time. I’ll get Chew to check the doors for blood traces. They’ll spray some magic liquid: If there are traces of blood, it’ll turn blue-green. Luminol, that’s the name.”

“I know it. I’ve seen it on CSI.”

Just then Detective Syed and Detective Jeff arrive, joking and laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Johan asks.

“Syed, he went into the house and sat with the family, pretending to be a friend of the vic. After a while one of them asked who he was, and Syed lied that he was from a law firm and quietly made his exit.”

“OK, you had your fun. Let’s hear what you’ve got.” Mislan says.

Jeff flips his notepad, “The female vic, Zaleha, was not well liked by the male vic’s family. They called her a bitch, whore, and homewrecker. The children blamed her for their father’s death and said she must have cast some black magic love spells on him to make her the managing director of one of his companies, buy her a house, and so on. They said they went to see a shaman in Kampung Broga and were given the remedy, a counterspell. When their father finally snapped out of the vic’s love spell, they got into an argument. The female vic threatens to expose their affair, and the only way for their father to save his family was to kill the ‘bitch’ and take his own life.”

“Who said that, one of the children?”

“They all did. It was an open discussion, where they’re all speculating why their father acted the way he had. They concluded that their father had reached the limit when the ‘bitch’ refused to let him go. They were really going at her. Now, here’s the eerie part: When the mother came out, everyone shut up. Then, the eldest,” Jeff pauses to check his notes, “Latiff . . . no, Hashim, was all over the mother like she was a Mama Bee or something.”

“You mean queen bee,” Mislan suggests.

“Yes, Mama Bee. You think there’s something there?”

“Do you mean kissing up in fear or kissing up as a slave to a master?” Johan asks.

“More like the witch’s black cat that purrs on her lap and stares at you with its red eyes, ready to claw your heart out if you make a wrong move.” Syed says.

“What movie have you been watching?” Johan asks, raising his eyebrows at the detective.

“Maybe he’s concerned for his mother. That’s understandable. She just lost her husband, and Hashim, being the eldest, was staking his claim, and assuming the role of the man of the house,” Mislan suggests.

“Could be, I didn’t think of that.”

“All right, what else?”

“There was one guy there, Wan, who said the female vic had a noisy argument with Mokthar, the third son, in her office about a month ago. Something to do with delayed payments, after which Mokthar threatened her and stormed out.” Jeff says.

“What sort of threats?”

“Let’s see. Ah, here it is: Don’t think you can push people around. One of these days you might push the wrong people. You think you’re the boss here, that people are afraid of you.’”

“That sounds like a motive to me,” Johan butts in.

“Let’s get more details on this. Do you have this Wan’s contact info?”

“No, but he worked with the female vic. It would be easy enough to find him.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Plenty, but we put most of it down as gossip.”

“What about the rumors of the vics being married or having a child?”

“That’s what I meant by gossip. No one could confirm it. All claimed to have heard, but no one knew.” Jeff explains.

“OK, let’s call it a day then. I want you two to contact Wan. I’d like to know more about that argument,” says Mislan, giving them their instructions.

After the two detectives have left, Johan says, “What do you make of all this?”

“Hard to say. They could simply be angry with their father’s betrayal, especially now that it’s public knowledge. The reaction is not surprising, it’s to be expected. It is bad enough for the family that the man committed suicide, as a Muslim, and to be found with a young woman . . . Imagine what they’re going through.”

“Jeff talked about the threats, the rage. That could be a motive.”

Mislan shrugs.

“Could be, but I doubt it. You can always tell a rage killing by the multiple injuries. Multiple stabs, slashes, or gunshots, the telltale of an overkill. I don’t see that here.”

“You’re saying it was not murder-suicide. If it was murder, what was the motive?”

“I’m not convinced it’s a murder-suicide, but I could be wrong. Jo, can you get a copy of the CCTV from the DUKE tollgate between eight and, say, nine that night? I want to see if we can identify the vic’s car. I’m quite sure he already has a copy,” he says, jerking his head upward, indicating the OCCI’s office.

“Why don’t we get it from him then?”

“I don’t want to give him reasons to think we’re checking on his comments at the press conference. He’ll jump and put the heat on ma’am.”