35

SERENDAH IS A SUBDISTRICT of Hulu Selangor, with Kuala Kubu Bharu as its administrative town. Hulu Selangor literally means “Upstream Selangor” or “Upper Selangor,” one of several districts in the state of Selangor—a state that Inspector Mislan had just been told by Superintendent Samsiah to stay away from for the time being. Hulu Selangor is a rural area, known for its forests, waterfalls, whitewater rapids, and the dam. A favorite family picnic destination, especially to those from the city. At one time, it had a Police College that had long since been shifted to Cheras. Kuala Kubu Bharu is about forty miles north of Kuala Lumpur.

It is Sunday, and traffic leaving the city is light, but coming back into it is bumper-to-bumper. The normal workday after the long Eid weekend holiday starts on Monday. They exit the North-South Highway at Bukit Beruntung and drive along the country road. It is a pleasant change from driving among buildings in the city, stopping at numerous traffic lights, constantly caught in jams. On the country road, the going is slow, especially if caught behind a truck, but the scenery is beautiful—green trees on both sides of the road.

At Serendah town, Mislan stops at a gas station to tank up. He goes to the ATM to withdraw some cash. As the inspector is walking back to the car, his assistant notices his red face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Here,” he says, handing Johan his transaction slip.

“Wow! You’re rich.”

“I withdrew some money for Daniel’s expenses a few days ago, and my balance was RM800. Shit, Jo, I think someone is setting me up.”

“Maybe it’s a banking error, these things happen, you know. Maybe the money will be debited and you’ll go back to being a poor civil servant again,” Johan says, chuckling. “I suggest you use this opportunity to dream.”

“I’m serious, Jo. First the karaoke bill, now this. Let’s stop at Rawang police, I want to make a confidential report.”

After the unscheduled stop, they pause at a mamak restaurant for a drink and make some inquiries. They are given directions and told they can’t miss the house, a blue bungalow. Driving past the house, they notice several cars in its compound and many others parked along the road outside.

“Jo, I need to ID this guy. Do you feel like role-playing?”

“You want me to go in?”

“I’d do it myself, but he’ll recognize me. Who knows, this might be your lucky day. He might have a beautiful daughter,” Mislan says.

“Yeah, right. What’ll you be doing?”

“It’s nearly time for afternoon prayers. I noticed a mosque back there. I think I’ll go and perform my spiritual duties.”

Johan burst into laughter.

“Text me when you’re done submitting yourself.”

He drops Johan about thirty yards beyond the blue bungalow and drives to the mosque. The imam and a few elderly men in the prayer hall are waiting for the call for prayer. When Mislan walks in, they greet him, and he joins them. He listens to them talk about politics, the community, and other affairs while waiting for the muezzin’s call for prayer. When the time comes, the congregation forms two rows for the midday prayer. After prayer, Mislan approaches the imam and asks if he can talk to him, in response to which the imam invites him and a few others to his house behind the mosque. In the midst of their conversation, he receives a WhatsApp message from Johan asking him what’s taking him so long. Mislan excuses himself, thanks the imam, and replies saying he is on his way.

“It’s him, Daud Nordin. I don’t know the other guests. For your info, he has no beautiful daughter. The women in there are not even remotely beautiful. How was your soul salvation?”

“Pretty good, I strongly recommend it. The imam and some of the villagers recognized our dead suspect. You remember the suspect’s assault case? It was for assaulting one of the villagers here who confronted our vic’s company representative during a dialogue over sand mining. Dig up the case and see if we can link it to our vics or Daud.”

“So our suspect worked for our vic?” Johan asks.

“Looks like it.”

“Our vic was sand mining here?”

“That’s what they said.”

“That’s mega-money. From what I heard . . . worth hundreds of millions. One of my uncles is in construction, and he said sand is like gold to them. One ton costs something like RM100 and the miner only pays like RM10 to the council for the mining ticket. Nine hundred percent clean profit. No manufacturing cost, just extract and sell.”

“Nine hundred percent . . . wow . . . and sand is a natural resource.”

“I remember reading about a company being investigated for illegal sand mining in Rasa, Hulu Selangor.”

“I know big companies sand mining are mostly owned by politicians or affiliated to political parties. Permits are controlled by the state governments, so you can imagine who will get them.”

“Free resources and sold at a premium to contractors.”

“Politicians cannot have their names or family names on the permit or company issued with the permits—that’ll attract too much attention. Remember, according to Audi, our vic is a proxy holder for politicians. I guess it had to be for sand mining, too.”

The inspector’s cell phone rings.

“Mislan.”

“Inspector Mislan, this is Superintendent Malik.”

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

“I was informed you’ve requested a confidential report be lodged at Rawang station. May I know what the report was about?”

A confidential police report is where a report number is allocated by the police station, but the station itself will not receive the report. The report will be forwarded to the respective authority that will be conducting the investigation.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you, but can I assure you it has nothing to do with commercial crime.”

“I’m sure it does not. Look, the report was made in Selangor, and I’m a superintendent of police, a superior officer, and I’m asking you, a junior officer. I don’t want to take this to your boss, but if you wish I will,” Superintendent Malik says intimidatingly.

“I’m aware of all that, and it’s your prerogative to do whatever you wish. I’m telling you, my confidential report has nothing to do with commercial crime, and I’m under no obligation to reveal its contents to you. By the way, shouldn’t this be the concern of the OCPD and not the head of Commercial Crimes?”

“Listen, you’re way out of your league here, Inspector.”

“And what league would that be? I thought we were on the same team, playing in the same league.”

The line goes dead.

“Superintendent Malik?” Johan asks.

Mislan nods.

“That was quick. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, yet. I’ll talk to ma’am. See what she says. Jo, watch your step, I have a bad feeling about this. Take a break from Jamie for now, you know what I mean?”

The detective sergeant nods.

At the office, Inspector Reeziana hands him the suspect’s cell phone call listing. Thanking her, he sits at his desk without looking at it. Reeziana notices his lack of interest, which is not in character for him or an investigator chasing hot leads.

“Hey, you OK?” she asks.

“Yes, why?”

“You didn’t even look at the telco listing I gave you.”

“I will, just not now.”

“Hmmm, losing interest in the case,” she says, narrowing her eyes at her coinvestigator.

When Mislan doesn’t answer, she walks over to his desk and puts both hands on it, facing him. “What happened?” She stares intensely at him, her face a foot from his. “I know something happened. Tell me what happened.”

“Ma’am still around?”

“Left around noon.”

Mislan takes his pack of cigarettes, lights up, and hands the pack to Reeziana, who follows suit. Mislan pulls the ATM slip and shows her.

“Shit, Lan, with your smoking and a kid to support, you can still save this much?”

Mislan forces a grin. “The last time I checked I had about 800.”

“So where did this money come from?”

Mislan shrugs.

“This is what’s bothering you?”

Mislan nods.

“This is serious shit. You got to tell ma’am.”

Mislan nods. “I’ve asked for a confidential report number from Rawang. I need to write it before someone writes one against me.”

“OK, I’ll leave you to it,” Reeziana says and walks back to her desk.

Mislan writes the report, seals it in an envelope, stashes it in his backpack, and leaves for home. As he approaches his condominium’s guardhouse, the security guard flags him down.

“Boss, there’s something for you.”

“What?”

“Hampers, they’re in the guardhouse.”

He parks the car by the roadside and follows the guard to the guardhouse.

“There.”

The guard points to three large hampers. He steps closer and sees a card with his name on it.

“Who sent them?”

“A Chinese man in a van.”

“Did you get his name or the van number?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me he tried to deliver it to your unit but no one was home, so he dropped them here for us to hand it on to you when you came home.”

Using his cell phone, he snaps several photographs of the hampers, takes down the security guard’s particulars, and puts the hampers in the back seat of his car. Leaving them there, he calls to inform his assistant of what he just received and goes up to his unit.

After a shower, he makes a mug of coffee. He’s thankful Daniel and the maid aren’t home. Otherwise, they would have accepted the hampers, probably opened them, and eaten some of the goodies. It would have been difficult for him to explain to them. He doesn’t want them to be involved in any way. Someone is setting him up. Who? And why? Is it to get him out of the way? Or is it payback, revenge. Over the years, he has made more enemies than friends. Of that he is sure. Whatever happens, he knows he can trust two people to stand by him— Superintendent Samsiah and his assistant. He hears the doorbell.

“Coming,” he shouts, thinking it is Johan.

When he opens the door, he sees two men outside the grille gate.

“Inspector Mislan Latif?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Senior Enforcement Officer Yusuf and this is Enforcement Officer Redzwan. We’re from MACC. May we come in, please?”

“Can I see some IDs?”

The two men show their IDs, and they are indeed from the Malaysia Anti-Corruption Commission. Mislan unlocks the grille gate.

“How may I help you?”

“We received information that you solicited and received some hampers of considerable value,” Yusuf explains. He mentions a car registration number and asks, “Is that your car?”

“Let me answer your question in chronological order. Solicited: no, Received: yes. And car: yes. Is all this recorded?”

Yusuf smiles.

“You’re a funny guy, aren’t you? Would you mind following us to the office for questioning?”

Enforcement Officer Redzwan casually wanders toward the back room, and Mislan stops him.

“Excuse me, I invited you in, but I said nothing about searching my house.”

“I was looking for the bathroom,” Redzwan offers lamely.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You should stop watching too many police movies. That excuse doesn’t work in real life. To answer your question, yes, I do mind, but I’ll come anyway. Let me change, and don’t you dare snoop around in the meantime. This house is booby-trapped, and you don’t want to accidentally set off the nerve gas and get killed.”

The two MACC officers smile nervously, unsure if he is kidding. Mislan sees their expressions and walks into the bedroom, grinning. As they come out of the elevator at the basement level, Johan is standing in front of the door.

“What’s going on, boss?”

“Jo, this is MACC Senior Enforcement Officer Yusuf and Enforcement Officer Redzwan,” Mislan replies, emphasizing their designations. “They’ve cordially invited me to their office for a chat.” Turning to the officer he says, “This is my assistant investigator, Detective Sergeant Johan.”

“Questioning for what? Is he under arrest?” Johan stands his ground.

“No, Inspector Mislan is not under arrest,” Yusuf answers. “We’re only going to interview him over some allegations.”

“What allegation? He’s being set up.”

“It’s OK, Jo. I’ll be all right. The suspect’s cell phone listing is on my desk. Go through it and see if you can match any of the numbers with those in our case.”

“Boss, show them the confidential report, that will clear up everything.”

“Can I speak to my assistant in private for a moment?” Mislan asks the MACC officers.

Yusuf nods, and they step away.

“Jo,” Mislan says softly, bending his head to his assistant’s, “I want you to see if there’s anyone tailing us. I have a feeling someone is watching me, monitoring what’s going on, and giving instructions. Call ma’am and tell her what’s happening. I need you to stay calm. Look, I’m playing along so we can draw whoever is behind this out. I need to know what these clowns were told and who is pulling the strings.”

Johan nods, and they follow the MACC officers to Mislan’s car, where two more officers are waiting, watching over it.