60

MISLAN NOTICES A PACKED lunch on his desk. Johan tells him it’s his favorite, sambal petai, fried beef and petai beans cooked in spicy chili sauce.

“I know you don’t feel like eating, and I hope the petai will spur your appetite.”

Mislan smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’ve not eaten, I was waiting for you to have lunch together. Also, I got you some iced syrup.”

He picks the packed lunch and goes into the makeshift pantry. He doesn’t really have an appetite, but he doesn’t want to disappoint his assistant. Johan calls after him.

“Go ahead and taste it. Bought it from a new stall near Puduraya. I asked the seller for plenty of petai for you.”

Mislan starts eating, and the sambal petai is very good, “How do you know about this place?”

“One of the detectives told me, said it’s a relative of his.”

“You know what the English term for ‘petai’ is? Smelly beans . . . Parkia speciosa. I Googled it, can you believe that?” He laughs.

“To white people, everything good is smelly, like durian. They just don’t know what they’re missing,” Johan says, chuckling. “In China, these things are worth their weight in gold.”

“The DNA results matched.”

“Yes! We got him,” Johan exclaims excitedly.

Mislan nods.

“You don’t seem excited. Is something wrong?”

He sighs. “Somehow, I wanted to be wrong, I wanted the DNA not to match. I still have a desire to believe in the human race. I guess, ma’am is right. Nothing is beyond us anymore when it comes to money.” He finishes his lunch, lights a cigarette, and asks, “Has Hashim had his lunch?”

“Yes, Syed bought something for him.”

“OK, let’s end this today.”

The suspect’s food is again untouched. Syed tells them the suspect refuses to eat but did drink the iced tea. Mislan excuses Syed, and they take their seats.

“Why don’t you eat something? We can wait.”

Hashim ignores him, remaining silent.

“Suit yourself.” Mislan pushes the packed lunch aside and switches on the recorder. “Let’s continue from where we last stopped. You asked us to leave your mother and siblings out of this case. Do you know something that’ll prove they’re not involved?”

“Just leave them out of this. They don’t know anything,” Hashim says softly.

“By that, are you saying you do?”

Hashim turns his head toward Mislan, looks him in the eyes. Mislan holds his stare. As he continues staring into the windows of the suspect’s soul, he sees the rage and resentment fading, slowly being replaced by equanimity. As if the suspect is discovering an inner peace.

“They deserved what they got,” Hashim says softly, like he’s talking to himself.

“What did you say?” Mislan asks, surprised.

“They got what they deserved. The bitch thought she could destroy my family, steal from us. . . . She was wrong. And the old man, an ungrateful old man whom my mother stood by from when he was only a clerk. When he became rich, he discarded her like an old hag and screwed around with the bitch. Bought the bitch a house, car, and gave her a company while my mother suffered at home. Afraid to go out, afraid to be ridiculed by her friends, and because of him she became ill. They didn’t deserve to live.”

“Tell me what they deserved and how they got what they deserved

” Leaning forward, Mislan pushes the recorder closer to the suspect. He sees a subtle transformation in the suspect’s manner, a part he has not seen or believed the suspect had in him. His voice is soft, almost pleasant, and he appears to be at peace. Mislan thinks he sees a hint of relief and resignation.

“Can I get a drink?” Hashim asks politely.

Mislan nods, and Johan leaves to get one.

“How about a cigarette?”

Mislan nods and watches the suspect calmly reach for the cigarette, light it, and take a long drag, letting the smoke out slowly. Johan comes back with a plastic cup of cold water for the suspect.

“Thanks,” the suspect says, surprising Johan. He sips the water. “They were going to get married, you know. My mother nearly died when she heard that, when the old man asked for her consent. She was hospitalized for three days. She refused to eat, and the doctors had to force-feed her. The old man knew she was dying, that she has advanced-stage cancer. He could’ve waited until . . . until”—Hashim just couldn’t bring himself to say the word died—“when she’s not around, to marry the bitch. He could’ve spared her the humiliation and suffering. No, he had to do it now, when my mother needed him most.” Hashim pauses, takes another sip of the cold water, and lights another cigarette. After a long silence, he continues, “I tried reasoning with him, pleaded with him to postpone the marriage, at least until Mother was gone, to spare her the shame. He agreed, but the next thing I heard, the marriage was being planned for two weeks after Raya. That’s next week. They had planned to get married in Hat Yai. That’s when I knew I had to put an end to it.”

Mislan looks at the suspect and feels sorry for him, carrying the burden of seeing his mother suffering and dying while his father had already found a replacement. Being the eldest, Hashim must’ve felt it was his responsibility to hold the family together and to keep his ailing mother happy until her last day. No one should be made to shoulder such responsibilities. However, whatever his feelings, Mislan has his responsibilities as a police officer to bring closure to the case and for justice to take its course.

“Tell us how you planned and executed their murders.”

“You know how it was done. You have all the evidence. You know, when I first saw you at the morgue and our eyes met, something inside me said that you’re someone I had to be wary of. Something about the way you brushed powerful people aside, not cowering in their presence. I made some inquiries about you, and I learned that you’re a worthy adversary,” Hashim says, laughing. “I tried to buy you, but you didn’t take the bait. Most people would’ve taken it. I applied pressure, you grew stronger, and when I set you up for a fall, you simply kept fighting back.” He lights another cigarette, “Even my supporters backed out,” he says, shaking his head.

“Your mother has admitted to the killings.”

“Rubbish, she is only protecting me. She doesn’t know anything about it. Ask her how it was done, and you’ll see she knows nothing.”

“What about Tan Sri KK, YB Ibrahim, and Daud?”

“They’re just protecting their own asses, afraid of being implicated for their roles in the business. With the MACC investigation going on, it was easy to make them believe the case was going to reveal everything. People like them, they’re the first to come at the smell of money and the first to run for cover at a sign of trouble,” Hashim says with a cynical smile.

The room falls silent.

“What will happen to me now?”

“You’ll be charged with abetting the murder of your father and Zaleha.”

“And the punishment?”

“If found guilty, it would be the same as if you had committed the murders yourself.”

“Death,” Hashim says.

Mislan nods, searching the suspect’s eyes. They are clear and calm, with not the slightest sign of fear.

“Can I see my family?”

“I’ll arrange it as soon as it’s possible.”

“Thank you.”