Kit Siang was subdued when he returned from Gua Musang, and it was not just because he was attaining maturity and acquiring a wife. It was a motorcade which deposited him back at his family home, with a line of black cars holding his aunts, their husbands and children, his bride-to-be and her entire family. Kit Siang was not entirely sure there wasn’t at least one other person he didn’t know who somehow hitched a ride to Kota Bharu, but what did that matter?
After welcoming his guests, his father quickly drew him into a private room for an urgent talk. Ah Pak had noticed the Thai thugs Noriah had imported, and knew immediately there would be trouble with them – at least for Noriah if no one else. He was sorry for her, finding herself in that kind of situation, for it was easy to call these people down from Patani, but quite another thing to send them back. And though neither Ah Pak nor his son owed Noriah anything now, he feared that in the future, his son might be tempted to visit Noriah’s new gambling palace and place himself squarely in the hands of these men.
(And he wasn’t even sure about present debts, though he devoutly hoped Kit Siang had not done anything remarkably stupid before he was whisked down to Ulu Kelantan). He could at least talk to Yusuf; he doubted very much the same could be said of this far less communicative group.
The Kit Siang he sent down to Gua Musang would have bristled at the suggestion he stay away from all forms of gambling for the time being and might have argued with his father, or withdrawn into sullen silence which presaged his doing exactly what he wanted to as soon as his father was out of earshot. This Kit Siang showed no signs at all of disapproval, but nodded his head quietly as Ah Pak explained the situation to him, and listened closely to the explanation. He promised to stay away in a tone which suggested it would not be a problem, that he meant what he said.
‘What is it?’ his father asked, when he had finished giving his directives.
Kit Siang shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
Ah Pak crossed his arms and waited. They could hear the animated conversation going on outside the closed doors, and he knew that politeness demanded they soon join everyone.
‘It’s just been a difficult time,’ Kit Siang began, picking his words carefully. ‘I know how much trouble I caused, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.’Ah Pak was amazed, but said nothing. ‘I feel so bad about it.’
He fell silent, picking at the knees of his pants. ‘It’s about time I settled down, got married. You know.’ He paused. ‘Did they find the person who killed Yusuf?’
Ah Pak shook his head.
Kit Send mumbled something, and Ah Pak strained to hear it.
‘Dad,’ he began, and Ah Pak began to worry. He never used the diminutive, had always used the formal ‘father’. ‘Dad, I’m in trouble.’
This is what Ah Pak had feared. ‘Gambling again?’
‘No, nothing like that. Not now, before. Before I went to Gua Musang. I … I did something wrong,’ he began in a rush. ‘I fought with Yusuf, and I think I may have …’
‘When?’Ah Pak demanded.
Kit Siang hung his head. ‘The night he died.’
Ah Pak leaped from his chair and clutched his head. ‘No, no, no – don’t say it,’ he implored his son. ‘No. You didn’t do anything. You never saw him.’
He began pacing in the small room. ‘Kit Siang, did you owe him more money? After I paid?’
Kit Siang, looking even more hangdog, shook his head. ‘No, no more. But Yusuf, he kept asking me, he wanted me to come back and gamble again. I know what he wanted, Dad.’ That word again. ‘He wanted me to lose more money, and I knew I couldn’t do it again to you. But you know, he kept asking me. It was hard to say no. He even said he would get me … a woman.’
‘A woman!’ What had Yusuf been thinking? ‘Who?’
‘Khatijah,’ Kit Siang whispered. ‘But I didn’t…’
‘I should hope not,’ Ah Pak shouted. A sudden cessation in the murmur of conversation outside made him calm himself. This was not for the ears of the in-laws.
‘Son,’ he continued, suddenly intense, ‘tell no one about this. Don’t talk about it. Don’t think about it. You didn’t do anything. It didn’t happen.’ He looked deeply into Kit Siang’s eyes as though to bore into them the necessity for silence. ‘You’re getting married now, starting your whole life. Forget about all of this. It’s gone.’
He walked over to the door and opened it, pasting a smile on his face and motioning for Kit Siang to do the same. They walked out to discuss marriage plans in earnest.
Zainuddin had been visited by one of the men from Thailand, though the conversation remained short and unadorned. How could it have been otherwise? Neither was a conversationalist, neither spoke the other’s language. Still – and when Maryam heard about it, this was the thing she found most noteworthy – they understood each other. At least, Din understood enough to know he was being threatened and, even more amazingly, decided to take it directly to the police. Osman called her in when Din was ensconced in the interview room at the Jalan Sultan Ibrahim Police Station so she could hear his story for herself.
He sat in the familiar chair, surrounded by the familiar catering offered to their most favoured visitors: iced coffee, curry puffs and cigarettes – the perfect police trifecta. Din had earned such treats as the first person involved in this case to come voluntarily to the police and offer information. He looked up as Maryam entered and instinctively attempted to smooth his hair, which was a mess. She wondered if he ever rose above a state of dishevelment, or inhabited it permanently.
‘So, Din, here you are.’
He nodded enthusiastically.
‘What happened?’
‘These guys came to see me. From Noriah. Collection people. From Patani.’
Maryam considered his telegraphic style. ‘What did they say?’
‘I’m not so sure.’ He finished his curry puff, and looked longingly at another one. ‘They spoke Thai. I don’t speak Thai,’ he explained helpfully, ‘so I don’t know what they said. But I could tell what they meant, they wanted me to pay up what I owed Yusuf. But Yusuf’s dead,’ he continued, ‘so I can’t owe him any money. But I don’t want these guys coming back for me.’
‘But you still owe …’
He frowned and lowered his head, for all the world, like an angry bull. ‘No,’ he stubbornly maintained. ‘Yusuf is dead.’ His look dared her to disagree.
‘That’s not relevant,’ Osman interjected. ‘It’s still illegal to threaten people, especially over illegal debts.’ Din looked smug.
‘That’s it,’ he informed Maryam. ‘They can’t do that to me. Neither can Noriah. It’s illegal.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, they came to my house, three of them. They don’t speak Malay, but I knew what they wanted.’
He turned to Osman. ‘I wasn’t surprised: I kind of expected it. I knew Noriah would try something.’ He shrugged. ‘But I don’t have it, so what’s the point?’
‘Yusuf’s death was certainly lucky for you,’ Maryam said neutrally.
He frowned again, and Maryam realized this was his default expression: brooding, angry and, yes, stupid. She sighed.
‘I don’t see that,’ he said shortly.
‘Without Yusuf, you don’t think you have any debts. If Yusuf were still with us, would you say the same thing?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘No, you’d have to pay him. But now, all of a sudden, you don’t think you do.’
He glared at her, but said nothing.
‘So,’ she continued, speaking slowly so he might be better able to follow her, ‘Yusuf dying was a lucky thing for you. You benefited from it.’
‘No.’ If he could have pawed the ground, he would have.
She corrected him. ‘Of course, you did. How much did you owe him?’
He mumbled something she couldn’t decipher, but what did the amount matter? He couldn’t pay it whatever it was. ‘Where were you the night Yusuf died?’
Din rose from his chair, snorting. ‘I came here to report a crime: I’m being … what’s the word for it? Threatened. Yes, these guys are threatening me. The police are supposed to protect me, isn’t that right?’ He turned to Osman. ‘Aren’t you? And instead of finding out about them, you’re accusing me of other stuff. You have to help me first!’
Osman seemed to take this to heart, and he nodded at Din. ‘We’ll take care of it. Now tell me again, how did you know who sent these men?
He shrugged elaborately. ‘Who else would want to? I don’t owe any money anywhere,’ He thought briefly, running through possible debts, but came up with nothing else worth dunning him for. ‘Of course, it’s Noriah. These guys probably knew Yusuf from when he did business in Tak Bai.’
‘Is that where they’re from?’
Another shrug. ‘I can’t really understand them. They speak Thai.’
Osman remembered that. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered the Bull, as he put his cap on, then straightened it and walked to his car, motioning for Rahman to follow him. Maryam stayed where she was, but did manage to catch the eye of a young officer and order more coffee and cigarettes. Well, nowhere was it written that one could not be at one’s ease while investigating a crime!
Noriah’s stomach turned as she watched Osman and Rahman alight from the car. She was supervising workmen, as she had been for the last week or so, and she dreaded a scene in front of them which would be reported all over Kota Bharu in a matter of minutes. She stepped towards them in an effort to head them off.
‘Sir! What are you doing here?’ she warbled, though she had a fairly good idea of what it would be. The Thais were definitely more trouble than they were worth, and they hadn’t yet given her a single ringgit, though they ate heartily nevertheless.
Osman surveyed the work before answering. This was apparently going to be quite the destination when completed. ‘Very nice,’ he told her, smiling. ‘Cik Noriah, I hope you remember me.’
‘Of course, I do.’ She bridled, her eyes sliding to the men ostensibly working, but starting to cast interested glances at the police. This talk was bound to cost her money and time, and in order to minimize her losses, she beckoned Osman off to the side, where the workers couldn’t hear anything. She stood silently, willing Osman to go away, while maintaining a neutral expression.
‘Cik Noriah,’ he began slowly, as he always did. Rahman leaned in attentively. ‘I have heard that there are some men here from Patani, men coming to speak to your husband’s customers.’
Her first instinct was to bluster, to deny, to demand an apology and stalk away, but she steeled herself to stand stonily before the police and give away nothing. She concentrated on breathing slowly, and trying to keep herself from turning red. She was somewhat successful.
‘You know Che Din?’
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘These men visited him. They came to collect his debts to your late husband.’
She tried to look only mildly interested.
‘You know gambling is illegal.’ She said nothing. ‘You can’t collect an illegal debt: that’s also illegal.’ He looked around again. ‘What are you building here?’
She cleared her throat. ‘A restaurant.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘Very nice.’ He lit a cigarette and offered her one, but she declined. Rahman accepted gladly.
‘So these men from Patani, are they staying with you?’
‘Men?’ she squeaked. She was unhappily surprised by how high her voice sounded.
Osman nodded.
‘I don’t know …’ She decided to suspend her understanding of standard Malay, and began speaking in the broadest accent she could muster. ‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about … men … from Patani, you say? I can’t really understand what you’re saying, so I’m just guessing here … so difficult … from Perak, are you? Hmmm … well, I myself don’t go to Patani much, it was my late husband. Me, I was just a housewife, I don’t really know much about his business, you know how it is … I mean, really … what do I know?’
She was ready to continue, but was gently interrupted by Rahman, speaking with as broad an accent as she was.
‘Mak Cik, please. Chief Osman is from Perak, true, but I’m from Kota Bharu, and I understand everything you’re saying. We’re not all orang luar (foreigners). Besides,’ he seemed almost unhappy to tell her this, ‘We’ve spoken to the Patani police.’
He smiled at her sadly, neglecting to mention how very difficult that conversation had been, with neither side understanding most of what the other said, and yet they managed to ascertain that three men very well known to the Patani police had been hired by a Malay woman from Kelantan whose husband had often come to Thailand to buy whiskey.
The three got drunk before they left (not that rare an occurrence, actually) and told all and sundry in the bar they were being paid good money to go and collect debts, which they had every intention of pocketing. At least one of the bar patrons sought to trade the information for consideration of his own misdemeanors, and the information was passed from Patani to Kota Bharu in the course of an afternoon.
‘Naturally,’ Rahman continued while Osman watched him, ‘we don’t want people like that coming to Kota Bharu and threatening our people, or helping people in illegal pursuits. Like collecting gambling debts, you see.’ He stood there politely, waiting for Noriah to speak.
And then, suddenly, a divine inspiration came and she saw her way out of the thicket – if she dared take it. And seeing no ready alternative, she did dare. Clearing her throat, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for tears, she adopted the position of a damsel in distress. And if not quite a damsel, then a Mak Cik in distress; pretty much the same thing. She opened her eyes with an imploring look on her face and a trembling voice. (She acknowledged this had probably been more effective when she was younger, but, hopefully, she still had something.) She put her hand on Osman’s arm and looked around her as though threats lurked all around her.
‘Din isn’t the only one being threatened,’ she breathed, her eyes locked on Osman’s. ‘They’ve threatened me as well. They came down here, I suppose they knew Yusuf had died and thought that as a woman alone, I’d be an easy victim.’ She bit her bottom lip, but thinking that might be too much, she quickly released it.
‘They’re almost keeping me prisoner,’ Osman didn’t see how, as she was out here surrounded by men who would be happy to thrash any upstart Thai gangsters if it came to that.
‘They’re not working for me. No, they’re all for themselves, trying to come to Kelantan and prey on us.’ Now she actually cried, whether from the pathos of her tale or from real fear she’d be found out and thrown into jail.
‘In fact, sir, I was thinking, could it be possible that they came to kill my poor husband just to create such a situation? Thank Din, yes, thank heaven for Din coming to you when I was too afraid to say a word. Such a brave man, so much braver than I …’
She remained staring at the ground after this extraordinary confession. Would they believe it? Was Din even believable as a brave, upstanding citizen? Osman didn’t know him well, so it was possible he would not reject it out of hand. But really, just looking at that unkempt mess might make the police doubt he was anything but the failure he actually was.
Still, Noriah was aware this was her only chance, and she certainly felt no compunction about throwing the Thais to the police. They were odious, and if they hadn’t actually killed anyone yet, it was only a lack of opportunity or initiative; they would not be constrained by conscience. In fact, she told herself what she’d just done was a public service and she ought to be congratulated.
Thus buoyed, she looked up at Osman and Rahman, who stood there staring at her, clearly astounded by what they had heard. Well, she had offered them the solution to the case wrapped up with a silver bow, and no one on this side of the border would mourn the incarceration of those three. And it was likely no one in Thailand would either.
Osman could not credit his ears. Just because he wasn’t from Kelantan, did she really believe she could tell him this story and he’d believe it? Of course, Rahman was standing next to him and she expected him to swallow it as well, so perhaps it was not a slur on his Perak heritage, but rather a blanket belief that men could be convinced of anything. Even so, casting Din as the hero of the story seemed rather a stretch. He had Din back at the station, and a more unprepossessing specimen would be hard to find.
But Osman had to give credit where credit was due: this account tied up everything, with few loose ends. He’d have the Thais for Yusuf’s murder, and he was sure if he mentioned Ruslan’s death, Noriah would oblige him by connecting them to that too – as were-tigers if necessary. He could not quite separate his thoughts to offer an intelligent answer to her. He felt like laughing, but smothered the impulse. It would be unseemly in a Perak gentleman.