18

ON THE WAY BACK, Mislan tells his assistant to make a detour to a McDonald’s drive-through, where he orders a McChicken to go. As the inspector devours it, Johan shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. Mislan wipes his mouth, making sure he eliminates any evidence of the McChicken or fries on his lips.

“You missed a spot,” Johan says.

As his boss wipes his mouth again, looking into the rearview mirror, the detective sergeant laughs.

“Funny,” Mislan says, lowering the window, and lights a cigarette.

Their office is so quiet they can hear the echoes of their footsteps along the empty corridor. Mislan drops his backpack, lights up another cigarette, and goes into the emergency stairwell for a quiet smoke. Halfway through the cigarette, Johan pokes his head in the stairwell, telling him, “Ma’am is here.”

“Shit,” Mislan swears. “I thought she was already on leave.”

The inspector hurriedly drops the cigarette, squashes it, and follows his assistant into the office.

“What were you doing back there?” Superintendent Samsiah asks, curious. She knows it’s his hideaway smoking place, but it’s the fasting month.

He smiles and takes his seat at the desk.

“Anything, ma’am?” he asks ignoring her question and knowing stare.

“I don’t feel like working today. I guess the festive spirit is getting to me.” She smiles. “Jo, come over and join us. You’re fasting, I hope?”

“Haven’t missed a day yet,” Johan answers proudly.

“Good, your boss has a lot of qualities that you should emulate as an investigator but when it comes to religious practices, keep your distance,” she jokes. “So, how’s the case coming along?”

“We just came back from Forensics. Chew has completed the GSR tests. He said the GSR on the female vic’s clothing show intermediate range residue. On the male’s clothing, he found traces on the right-side collar and shoulder, and his right hand tested positive, too.”

“That’s consistent with the shooting,” she comments.

“Yes, but it puzzles me that there are no GSR traces on the male vic’s shirt, particularly around the front left shoulder or the shirt’s pocket,” Mislan says, indicating the areas on his shirt with his hand. “If Mahadi shot Zaleha with his right hand, his hand position would have been here,” he demonstrates with his hand. “Unless he shot her with his left hand, but that is not possible, because there are no traces of GSR on his left hand. The GSR traces on Zaleha’s clothing are of intermediate range, ten to twelve inches. Again, if he had used his left hand, the GSR would be of contact or near contact range. I’m sure the autopsy reports will confirm my suspicions.”

Superintendent Samsiah nods.

“Chew said he saved this for last, and I am, too. The swab taken by Forensics of the vics’ gunshot wounds found powder soot, which means a contact or near-contact shot. But it was only on the female vic—the head shot.”

Superintendent Samsiah raises her eyebrows.

“That would mean the gun was very close to her head. That’s only possible if there was a suicide pact and she agreed to it.”

Samsiah remains silent.

“Unless.”

“Unless what?”

“Unless she was caught by surprise, didn’t expect it, and didn’t see it coming.”

“Your third-person theory.”

“The other thing that really bothered me is that there’s no trace of contact or near-contact wound on the male vic. No powder soot overlaying the searing.”

“Meaning?”

“Who blows off his head in a suicide with the barrel not pressed against his temple or under his chin or jammed into his mouth? Especially if you’re doing it while driving. You want to be sure you hit your target—your head.”

“OK. That’s another indication. You have an idea of how it played out?”

“Nope.”

“How about this, they got into an argument, it got heated, he pulled out the gun, shot her in the chest and again in the head. When he realized what he had done, he blew his own head off,” Superintendent Samsiah suggests, playing the devil’s advocate.

“He’d have had to be really pissed off to do that.”

“She might have been playing him behind his back,” Johan says, “or cleaned him out. Remember what Mama Bee said?”

“There’s no proof of that, it’s just angry allegations,” Mislan replies. “Let’s say he did kill her in a blind rage. Why commit suicide immediately? He could’ve continued driving, reflected on what had happened, and then acted on it. Surrendered himself, dumped her body, or if he still felt like killing himself, parked the car to do it.” Mislan shakes his head and reaches for a cigarette before continuing. “He carried a semiauto. You don’t cock your gun unless you’re going to use it, and to do that you need both hands. Who was holding the wheel when he cocked the gun? The gun makes a rather loud noise when you cock it, and I’m sure she would have been alerted and panicked or retaliated.”

“Maybe he cocked it and put the safety catch on before they left,” Johan suggests.

“No, I don’t think so. Remember what Ayn said? They’re breaking fast together, two lovebirds. He was happy and being his usual self. I don’t think the killing was premeditated. Ma’am, do you carry a pistol? Do you cock it all the time and put the safety catch on?”

“No, I don’t, and don’t you dare smoke. Please respect those of us here who are fasting.”

Mislan grins and drops his packet of cigarettes.

“As I thought.”

“OK, let’s go with your hunch. What was the motive?”

“I think it was jealousy,” Johan says. “I’m not being insensitive, but, ma’am, you should have seen Mama Bee. She was so brutally hateful of the female vic, accusing her of seducing and cleaning out her husband. I don’t know how to describe her. . . . She was like a character from a bad B movie, stone cold eyes and a stare that could freeze water. She was scary.” Johan shivers. “Wooh.”

“Her husband has just been found dead with a young woman, what do you expect? I can’t imagine what’s going through her mind, the public scrutiny of their marriage, her husband’s scandalous behavior, the humiliation, her friends talking, joking and laughing behind her back. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.” Samsiah pauses inhaling deeply shaking off the thought of it all. “Are you saying she killed them out of jealousy?”

“She could have done it herself,” Johan says.

“I doubt that. She may be capable of plotting it. And there’s no way in hell the vic would have let her into the car, not with Zaleha in it. Even if he was somehow tricked into letting her in, she would have been seated in front where she would have belonged, and Zaleha would have been at the back. No, I doubt very much if the vic was so dumb as to let Mama Bee ride with them.”

“A contract hit?” Johan suggests.

“Possible, but the thing is . . . contract hits normally are done openly. I mean from outside the car or in some isolated area or, in the more spectacular cases, in the open,” Mislan says.

“Good theory, but why kill the husband? Why not just do the woman? She was the threat, not him,” Samsiah says. “I agreed with Mislan, the vic has full control of the car and Mama Bee would never have been allowed in with them. But, a contract hit is a possibility. Find evidence of a third party in the car and you’ll have a case.”

“Well, that’s the problem. So far we cannot find any evidence of a third person in the car. The DUKE tollgate CCTV shows only two of them . . . a happy, smiling, laughing couple.

“Twenty minutes later they were dead. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would a happy couple do a murder-suicide?” Johan adds.

They ponder in silence.

“Apart from jealousy, do you have other theories?” Superintendent Samsiah asks.

They shake their heads.

Superintendent Samsiah stands, takes a few steps toward the door, and stops.

“There’s another reason why I doubt jealousy was the motive.”

“The third-party interference,” Mislan answers. “That’s been bugging me, too.”

She nods.

“Tomorrow is Raya, and then it’s the weekend. I know the timing is bad, witnesses will be away, but I suggest you use the three days. Come Monday, we don’t know what’ll happen.”

They nod in agreement.

“OK, keep at it. By the way, don’t forget to come for lunch tomorrow, if you can,” Superintendent Samsiah says as she leaves.

Holding a much-needed cigarette, Mislan takes out the crime scene photographs and spreads them on his desk. He looks at the door to make sure that his boss is gone before lighting up. He puts aside the photos of the victims, leaving only those of the Mercedes E200 spread out.

“What are you looking for?” Johan asks.

“Evidence of a third person in the car. If he was there, he’d leave some sign. What’s the one thing we can leave behind without realizing?”

“Prints? But he could be wearing a glove or wiped the car clean.”

“I don’t think he wore gloves, because that would’ve alerted the vics. As for wiping his prints, I doubt that he would’ve had the time or taken the risk of being noticed by passersby. Now, where would he leave his prints? The doors were locked from the inside, right?”

“That’s the reason the OCCI gave to justify closing the case,” Johan says.

“I think I know how it was done.”

“How?”

“The doors were locked from the inside. Come on, let’s go before they knock off for the holidays,” Mislan says, grabbing the photos, stuffing them into his backpack, and rushing for the door.