54

MISLAN IS EXHAUSTED. HE asks Johan if he wants to go for some teh tarik and get something to eat. They decide to go somewhere besides the usual mamak stall where other personnel hang out. Johan drives to Taman Maluri and parks the car in front of a stall.

“The food here is not too bad,” Johan says as they take their seats. “I come here for supper sometimes.”

They order chicken tandoori and teh tarik.

“You know what puzzles me? Why did he keep the gun in the safe?” Johan says.

“Sheer arrogance, because he thinks he’s untouchable. He thought the police would take the case at face value and classify it as murder-suicide, and that would be the end of it.”

“Well, he nearly got that right.” Johan shakes his head.

“In this case . . . nearly was not good enough.”

His cell phone rings. It’s Audi asking if he has seen the news. He tells her he has not.

“Too bad, there is some great footage of you, Johan, and the victim’s son,” she said, chuckling.

“I’ll try and catch it later tonight.”

“Where are you? Can we meet?”

“Not now, maybe later.”

“I heard there’s going to be a press conference by the OCCI at 6 today. Do you know anything about it?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t kid me. The word is, the OCCI is going to announce the killer of the DUKE murders. You have to know about it, you arrested him.”

“I arrested Hashim Mahadi. I don’t know who the killer is, at least not yet.”

“If not him . . . who?”

“I really don’t know. Why don’t you go to the press conference and find out, then you can tell me.”

“I will, and Inspector, if it’s about DUKE, I should be told first. We have an understanding, remember?”

Mislan tells his assistant that Audi said there will be another press conference by the OCCI.

Johan looks at him, disturbed. “The admission?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t bet against it.”

“We’re screwed then?”

“We’re always screwed, but we have the tools to unscrew it,” he says, laughing.

The food comes, and they eat in silence. They order another drink each and lean back, allowing the food to settle. The evening air is humid, and it looks like it is going to rain. Mislan feels uncomfortable, as his overnight clothes are sticky and smelly.

“Jo, it’s already five. Let’s go home, shower, and change. The humidity is making me lethargic.”

“OK, I’ll drop you off and pick you up later.”

“No, I don’t feel like going to the office tonight. Why don’t you drop me off and take the car with you? I’m going to try and catch up on my beauty sleep,” Mislan says, “Pick me up tomorrow at seven.”

“OK, call me if you need the car. I can always take a taxi or borrow a friend’s bike to the office.”

Mislan is unable to get used to the empty house—the absence of Daniel’s voice, his inquisitiveness, and the sound of him playing. He peeks into his son’s empty room, sighs, and goes to his bedroom. It has been a while since he spoke to his son. He speed-dials his ex-wife and waits.

“Hi, Daddy, I’m busy, can you call me later?”

“Are you playing with your friends, kiddo?”

He hears his ex-wife’s voice in the background telling their son to tell his daddy that they’re watching a movie and to call later. He feels good hearing her voice, although she’s not talking to him.

“I’m watching a movie,” Daniel says.

“Oh, OK. Miss you, love you, kiddo.”

His cell phone rings just as he terminates the call to Daniel.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can you talk?”

“Yes, I’m home, thought of taking a shower and a nap. Anything?”

“I have inside information that Mama Bee is undergoing treatment for some critical illness at University Hospital. Why don’t you pay them a visit and find out about it? Perhaps it’ll shed some light. By the way, what’s happening with the suspect?”

“In our lockup, enjoying our hospitality. Who knows, it may be good for his soul.”

“OK.”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“You can thank me by heeding Amir’s advice.”

University Hospital, renamed University of Malaya Hospital in Petaling Jaya, is a teaching hospital once reputed to have the best equipment and staff. That was before the country became a hub for private specialist hospitals. Johan takes the Federal Highway, exiting right at the Employment Provident Fund building. The drive is filled with anticipation.

As they expected, at the hospital, the D9 officers are confronted with unyielding bureaucracy. Even the mighty police authority card is powerless. Armed with only the patient’s name, Mislan and Johan are directed and redirected to several sections on different floors of the complex. After twenty minutes, Mislan feels as though they have covered the entire hospital. He stops a group of interns in the corridor and asks for directions. At the general administrative office, he introduces himself and asks for the person in charge. Without a word, the receptionist points to another member of staff, whom he approaches. He introduces himself again and asks to see the administrator. She asks his reason, and when he explains, he is told the administrator is not in. Sensing his boss is about to lose his cool, Johan comes forward and asks if there is anyone who can assist them. The clerk suggests they check with the Clinical Support Section at the Patient’s Information Desk down the hall.

Johan takes the lead, introduces himself, and asks the desk clerk if the hospital has a patient by the name of Rahimah Mat Jan. The clerk keys in the name and says, “We have three of them. Which one are you referring to?”

Johan looks at Mislan, who shrugs.

“Do you have her identity card number?” the clerk asks.

“Sorry, I don’t. Can you tell me their ages?”

“One is thirty-two, one is fifty-three, and the other fifty-four?”

“Forget the one who’s thirty-two. How about the two others, can you check their personal particulars and see if the husband is named Mahadi Mokshin?”

The clerk keys in some data, looks up, and says, “She’s under the care of Professor Dorai, Radiation Oncology.”

“Is the professor in?”

“Let me check.”

She talks to someone on the other end of the phone and says, “Yes, but he’s leaving soon.”

“Where can we find him?”

“Take a left and go right to the end, past the imaging department.”

“Thanks, you’ve been a real help.”

They bump into Professor Dorai, who is about to leave. Mislan introduces himself and asks if the professor can spare them a few minutes. The professor steps back into his office.

“Yes, Inspector, how may I help you?” he asks rather hastily.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I understand you have a patient by the name of Rahimah Mat Jan. May I know what her illness is?”

“I’m an oncologist, what do you think my patients’ illnesses could be?”

Smiling, Mislan answers, “I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with medical terms.”

Dorai smiles. “Sorry. An oncologist deals with cancer. Who is it again?”

“Rahimah Mat Jan.”

“Yes, she’s a patient of mine, but I’m not at liberty to reveal to you her illness or condition, unless she consents to it. It’s the patient-doctor privilege.”

“I understand that, but I’m investigating a double murder. It would be really helpful if I could get some information, especially on her condition.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m bound by my code and hospital, and I can be sued. I suggest you get a court order, and I’ll be very glad to give you a copy of her records. I really must go. I have students waiting.”

They walk with Professor Dorai. As they walk past the clerk stations, Mislan asks the professor the way out, pointing to the general direction of the clerks. He makes sure the clerks notice them and his pointing.

After they part company with the professor, Mislan motions Johan to follow him back to the general office. He seeks out the clerk whose name he noted earlier.

“Miss Norliza, Professor Dorai said he has students waiting and asked us to check with you on Mrs. Rahimah Mat Jan’s record.”

The clerk looks at him doubtfully.

“Oh, sorry, I’m Inspector Mislan, and this is Detective Sergeant Johan,” he says with a smile, displaying his best impersonation of a holy man blessed with a police authority card. His impersonation does not fool the clerk, but the authority card does the trick. She retrieves the record on her computer screen.

“What do you need to know?”

“Her illness, condition, and the treatment she’s undergoing.”

She reads it out to them, the patient’s illness and the type of treatments, pointing to the screen that only she can see.

“I really don’t understand medical lingo. Can you print it for me so that I can just include it in my file for future reference,” Mislan says, playing the role of a not-too-bright police officer.

“I’m not sure if I should. Normally, all printed records must have the approval of the Prof.”

“It’s OK, we’re not using it for anything official. I only need it to show my boss that we’ve come here as she instructed.” To further convince the clerk, he says, “If you wish, I can call the professor, but I’m sure he’s with his students now and wouldn’t like to be disturbed.”

Mislan takes out his cell phone and pretends to punch in the professor’s number.

“It’s OK, you don’t have to bother him,” the clerk replies, punching the print key.