59
IN THE INTERVIEW ROOM, Johan asks what the meeting was about. Mislan tells him and notices the suspect’s eyes lighting up. Turning to the suspect, he says, “Don’t hold your breath, you won’t be seeing them for a while. Let’s say, not until you are charged.”
The suspect flashes him a smug smile.
Switching on the recorder, he says, “OK, let’s continue. In the last interview, you said you didn’t know how your late father’s lost gun got into your office safe, is that right?”
Hashim nods.
“Please answer verbally.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” he snaps.
“Did you, at any time, handle the gun before it was found in your safe?”
“No.”
“Can you then explain how your prints were found on the gun?”
Hashim remains silent.
“Mr. Hashim, can you please answer the question?”
“You’re lying,” Hashim explodes. “You’re trying to trick me into admitting.”
“Forensic does not lie,” Mislan answers calmly and pushes the fingerprint match across the table.
Hashim stares at the printout, his eyes red with anger, and Mislan thinks his stare might set the printout on fire.
“I’ll tell you how your prints got onto the gun, and you can correct me if I’m wrong.” Observing the suspect’s face for giveaway signs, he says, “You knew your father kept his gun in his car when he played golf. You knew this because you’ve been with him to the club to play golf. Your father’s golfing buddies, the club sports manager, and the security guards can testify to that. You also knew where the spare remote key to your father’s car is kept. You, or someone on your instructions, stole the gun when your father was playing golf and used the remote key to unlock your father’s car and steal the gun. Then you stashed it away to be used later. You knew your father would use his connections to get a replacement and that would be the end of the story about the lost gun. That was how your prints found their way onto it.”
The suspect remains silent, but his eyes tell Mislan he is right. “I figure you aren’t too bright, so who planned the break-in to steal the gun, your mama?”
“Leave my mother out of this!” the suspect screams. “Leave her out.”
“Ooo, touchy,” Johan teases him.
“You claimed earlier that you did not meet Mahyudin Maidin a.k.a. Mamak Din, after your father was killed. Is that right?”
Hashim nods.
“Does the nod mean yes?
“Yes.”
“How do you explain the bloodstains found on the passenger seat of your car?”
The suspect stares at Mislan, his eyes narrowing, burning with rage, “You’re lying. You planted it there, you’re trying to frame me.”
“And why would we want to do that?”
Hashim remains silent, his eyes blinking rapidly. Mislan spots panic in his eyes.
“I take your silence to mean that you do not have an explanation. The blood DNA results will be in soon, and I bet my career they’ll match your father’s or Zaleha’s or even both.”
The suspect remains silent.
“You don’t give me the impression you’re smart enough to plan the murders, so someone must have done that and then you executed it. Maybe it was one of your brothers. Or was it your sister?”
The suspect lunges forward toward Mislan but is held back by his hand cuffed to the chair. “I said leave them out of this,” he shouts. “They’ve nothing to do with it. Do you understand? Nothing!”
“Are you saying, you have something to do with it? Maybe not all of them are in on it, just the hotheaded brother of yours, Mokthar.”
“You leave my family out of this. Do you fucking hear me?!” he hisses, still standing, staring at Mislan menacingly.
“You’re in no position to make any demands, so please sit down,” Johan advises.
“And why is that? Why should we leave your family out of this? Unless you can give us an acceptable reason, they’re all potential suspects,” Mislan taunts.
Hashim slowly sits back in his chair, realizing his relatives have somewhat implied having knowledge of the murders. The room is quiet, except for the humming sound of the air-conditioning.
“I think, your little sister, Laila, may have been in on it, too,” Johan says, adding to the provocations.
The suspect stares at Johan, then Mislan, his jaws clamped and the fingers of his free hand clenched. For a moment, Johan thinks he is going to snap the cuffs and beat the hell out of his boss. Keeping one eye on the suspect, Mislan nonchalantly lights another cigarette. The wall clock shows five minutes to 1 and they have been at it for almost two hours. He’ll have to stop soon and allow the suspect to have his lunch and a reasonable period of rest, in compliance with the Lockup Rules.
“I’m going to allow you time to think about what I’ve just said. If you do not wish your family to be pulled in for questioning, give me plausible reasons.” He stands, switches off the recorder, tells Johan to arrange for the suspect’s lunch, and leaves.
An envelope with Rahimah’s medical report is on his desk when he returns to his office. In it he finds a note from Dr. Safia summarizing Rahimah’s conditions in lay terms:
Discovered the cancer late, it was already at an advanced stage
• has been undergoing treatment for six months but not responding well
• has been treated four times with radiation with no improvement shown—tumors are spreading to other organs rapidly
• recommended for brachytherapy (planting of radioactive seeds in the body)
• by the look of things, patient may not have long to live
“Just as I thought,” Mislan says. He calls Dr. Safia and thanks her for the note. He walks to his boss’s office, finding her enjoying a home-cooked lunch while catching up on the news.
“Sorry to disturb your lunch. May I come in?”
“Sure, had your lunch?”
“Not hungry. What happened after I left?”
“They went upstairs, I suppose. How was the interview?”
“Slow, but I think he is about to cave in. I have a feeling the suspect feels it’s his responsibility to protect his family . . . not only his mother but the entire family.”
“So, he’s playing the alpha male.”
“That’s what I think.”
“We live in a vicious world, Lan. Lives are worthless. Money has risen to the top. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
His cell phone rings, it’s Chew telling him that the blood samples from the polo shirt, water in the pail, and the suspect’s car match the DNA of both Mahadi and Zaleha. He’ll fax over the report once he receives it. Mislan thanks Chew and informs his boss.
“Good job, Lan. Go get your closure.”