38

MISLAN, SLUMPED IN HIS wing chair, lolls his head against the soft cushion and closes his eyes, feeling exhausted and frustrated. He dozes off and dreams. He is alone in a train, looking out of the window. It’s dark outside, but he can sense the trees, houses, and bridges whooshing by. He has always been fascinated by long train rides and has always wanted to take one through Southeast Asia, into China and ending in Russia. It is on his to-do list—to take Daniel along on a father-and-son trip. In his dream, he is finally taking that trip but without his son and best friend. He sees a group of foreign backpackers talking in a language he doesn’t understand, probably German or Dutch, he thinks. One of them starts plucking her guitar and sings what sounds to him like a folk song. He doesn’t know what the lyrics mean, but by her sweet voice and the slow beckoning melody, it has to be a sad love song. He looks away from the window and watches them enjoying their carefree lives. He hears the sound of whistling but can’t figure out where it’s coming from. After a while, the whistling stops and he continues watching the backpackers. The blonde girl starts another song, and he recognizes a few of the words as being Malay: Where is my house? He asks the singer the title of the song, and she tells him it’s called “Rumah Saya.” It is a Dutch evergreen and the title is Indonesian, meaning “My House.” He smiles. He asks himself, Where is my house?

The whistling starts again and becomes louder. He snaps out of his dream, opens his eyes, and realizes it is his cell phone ringing. Reaching over he answers, “Mislan.”

“Mislan, this is Superintendent Malik. I understand you arrested a man by the name of Arif, suspected of snatch theft.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Eh, oh yes.”

“Since when has D9 started going after petty criminals, like snatch thieves?” Malik mocks him. “Look, don’t you give me a cock and bull story! You cut him loose, and we’ll forget all about your little activities.”

“Since the power of arrest was given to all police officers by our laws,” Mislan replies sarcastically. “Since when is Selangor Commercial Crimes interested in KL D9 arrests? So, you knew about my little side business. Damn, I thought I was discreet.”

“Listen,” he hisses, “one of these days, you’re going to be working under me, and when that happens, you’ll regret we ever crossed paths.”

“You must remember that when your days in the force are over, I’ll still be serving. So the regret thingy might well become reversed.”

The line goes dead.

He checks the WhatsApp messages on his cell phone—one from Inspector Reeziana informing him the detainee has been processed, another from Johan asking how he was. The last was from Audi, asking if he has seen the prime news. Shit, I overslept. He replies to Reeziana’s and Johan’s WhatsApps, gets dressed, and drives to the mamak restaurant near his condominium for dinner. While waiting for his order, he calls Daniel. As usual, his son is busy and asks if he can call back later. He tells Daniel it is all right, that he only wanted to hear his voice, missed him, and for him to have fun. He reflects on Superintendent Malik’s call. He had heard whispers of Team A and B in the police force but hadn’t paid any attention to them. In the old days, it was about clean cops and dirty cops, my men versus your men. Now, a new dimension has crept in—politics. It was tough to stay neutral.

When he returns home, he makes some extra-strong coffee, takes out the suspect’s cell phone listing, and sits at his desk. He WhatsApps Audi to inquire what was said on the news. She calls.

“You. By the way, there’s also an upload of the video on YouTube. Boy, you looked good . . . just like Horatio,” she says, chuckling. “Have you guys run out of serious crimes for you to go after snatch thieves?”

“Funny. What’s the YouTube title?”

“Try . . . Vote KL versus LA Cop. You know what, I voted for the KL Cop.”

“Hey, I need another favor from you.”

“You’ve not even returned my first one, but since I voted for the KL Cop, this is FOC. Shoot!”

“Can you find out from your MACC friend the names of all those involved in the allegations against the deceased? I mean all.”

“All may not be possible, but if you’re specific about who it is you want, it’ll be easier for me to get something out of him.”

“OK, how about those closely related to the case?”

“Easier, I guess. I’ll check if he’s on duty tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll arrange lunch with him when he’s back.”

“Thanks.”

“Just so you know . . . the lunch will be on you.”

He returns to the suspect’s cell phone listing, searching and highlighting frequent incoming and outgoing phone numbers. He does the same with the Mahadi listings. He leans back and cross-references the two. One number matched and he jots it down. It is Hashim’s cell phone number.

“Bingo,” he says, smiling, and he rewards himself with a cigarette. This discovery excites him, and he calls his assistant, “Jo, I found the link.”

“What link?”

“Between the suspect and our vic. It’s Hashim, the vic’s son.”

“How?”

“Phone listing, there are numerous calls between the two of them. Didn’t Jamie say the suspect was a bodyguard for a big shot?”

“Yes, but she didn’t know his name.”

“But she had seen him before. You have a photo of Hashim?”

“No.”

“Can you get one?”

“I can try.”

“Do that and show it to Jamie, see if she can recognize him.”

“OK.”

Mislan returns to the listing and makes a note:

On the night of the murder

Hashim called the suspect—7:40 p.m.

Hashim called his father—8:02 p.m.

Hashim called the suspect—8:04 p.m.

Mislan theorizes:

The first call was to inform the suspect it was going down tonight. Mahadi and Zaleha are breaking fast with friends and if Mahadi is to leave, they’ll leave together.

The second call was to tell Mahadi something to make him leave the breaking of fast.

The third call was to inform the suspect where to rendezvous with Mahadi.

Jamie told them the suspect received a call and canceled his plans and dropped her at the Petronas gas station around 8 p.m. That would have been after the suspect received the call from Hashim at 7:40 p.m. Then at around 10 p.m. the suspect called, and they went clubbing. Mislan checks the listing and finds the call to Jamie made at 10:15 p.m. It had to have been made after the suspect went home to change his shirt.

Mislan plays the scenario in his head: so, how did it go down? Hashim makes the call, gets his father to pick up the suspect, who then kills him and Zaleha.

He laughs at how stupid he sounds.

You don’t need to be a criminal lawyer to get the judge to throw your theory out the window, Lan. “How about the gun, how did the suspect get hold of the vic’s gun? Remember what Fred the Dutchman from the Blabber group said? He said the vic even took his gun into the shower, that he wouldn’t let it out of his sight. Then, what about the getaway?”

He knows he is on the right track, but he has to work out the modus operandi to get his closure. He needs someone to kick his thoughts about, someone with a wild enough imagination, someone not afraid to challenge his theories.