Singapore 52 Page 3

“When? How’d it happen?”

  “Ten days ago.”

  “We don’t know the detail,” the gaffer said. “Really bad downpour. An accident. Just lost control they think.”

  “Who thinks?”

  “The police.”

  I nodded. That made sense. But an accident? He’d sent me a telegram asking for help ten days ago, so he’d died that night.

  “Did he tell anyone of any concerns?” I swept my gaze across the group. To a man they all looked baffled. I switched back to the gaffer. “And the police definitely think it was an accident?”

  “That’s right.” Now he looked uncertain. “Are you suggesting otherwise?”

  “I don’t know but you can be sure of one thing. I’m going to find out.” Again I turned to the group. “If you find out anything, hear anything that might be remotely significant, please let me know.”

  “How will we…”

  At that moment I decided I was staying. I also knew I was moving out of The Queens Hotel. “Get a message to me. My name’s Carter. Ash Carter. I’ll be at Gillman Barracks.”

  Gillman Barracks was the home to Singapore’s Military Police 200 Provost Company. I figured I needed to be either close to the police or MPs and my background made the army the obvious choice. Of course there was also the consideration that they had quarters whereas I didn’t know the situation with the police.

  Back at the hotel I spoke to the operator again and was put through to Secretary Coates.

  “I have two conditions,” I said. “Firstly, we draw up a proper contract. I will work for you until the incident you are concerned about occurs or three months. No more. After that, I am free to leave the country.”

  “What’s the second condition?”

  “You get me into Gillman.”

  Coates actually laughed. “Of course, dear boy. I’ll agree to both of those. I’ll have our agreement drawn up by the end of the day. In fact I’m one step ahead of you. Major Vernon is already expecting you at the barracks. I’ll also send you the government warrant card in case you need it.”

  I checked a map and decided to get a proper taxi. However, before that, I walked to the police HQ. It was an imposing building on the corner of Hill Street and River Valley Road. There was an open door on the corner and I went through. I expected it to be a staff entrance, however it led to a piazza and what looked like a parade ground. There was no one around. I continued round the side and found a door marked Public Entrance. Oversized, aged teak doors were closed but opened as I pushed one. Warm stale air and the smell of a day’s worth of body odour immediately assaulted me. Giant fans slowly turned in the vaulted ceiling causing air to circulate, but do little else. It was warmer inside than on the street.

  The room was crowded, people standing in the centre or sitting on benches around the side. For the large number of people, I was taken by how quiet and calm they were. Or weary. I eased my way to the desk where a sergeant was dealing with a small Chinese lady surrounded by a gaggle of children.

  The sergeant, himself Chinese, glanced at me as I approached and called something over his shoulder that I didn’t understand. A moment later another sergeant appeared. This one was maybe Malay but spoke excellent English.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  I looked around at the many faces watching me. I had jumped the queue but saw no malice.

  “I’d like details of an accident—I have discovered my friend was killed in a car crash ten days ago.” I showed the sergeant my new warrant card and he almost leapt out of his skin and then stood to attention. He took a couple of beats to compose himself and then ushered me around the desk. Moments later I was sitting in an office. The window was open and I moved the chair to get as much air as available.

  “My name is Inspector Anand Rahman.” The man in the doorway had a generous smile on his Indian face. He held out a bony hand and pumped mine warmly.

  I introduced myself.

  “Yes,” he said, “I’ve been expecting you. Secretary Coates himself spoke to me this morning. Welcome Captain.”

  “Please, just Ash. But that’s not why I’m here.” I went on to explain about my friend’s unfortunate death and asked if I could view the file.

  He nodded and then shook his head. “I am afraid I do not know about this accident. As I am sure you appreciate, there are many, many incidents that occur each day. Most of those involve the soldiers off the boats and my role is to work with the military—the military police in particular. But if you would excuse me for a minute, I will request the report… Mr Silverman you say.” He checked a calendar. “On the twenty-third.”

  He spoke to someone in the corridor and I glanced around the office. It had certificates on the wall and a photograph of a large family gathering. There was a clock the size of a dinner plate that ticked slow and loud. His desk was small and functional: just an in-tray and out-tray with papers and nothing personal.

  When he returned he gave me the generous smile again. “It won’t be long, Captain… Ash.”

  While we waited he asked about my background and experience in Palestine. Half an hour went by and he talked about the need to work more closely with the MPs. An operation had recently gone wrong because of failed communication. The MPs had ruined an investigation into drug smugglers by chasing a soldier who had tried to deal in the stuff. Rahman grinned. “I think with your help, we will find we work so much better together.”

  “How do you find the Special Investigation Branch officers here?”

  He cocked an eyebrow and waggled his head. “I have never met them.”

  I was surprised, being SIB myself—at least I had been until two weeks ago.

  “I believe they are mostly in Malaya because that is where the trouble is.”

  And yet the inspector had just described a classic SIB issue: a soldier involved with drug smugglers. I took a mental note to ask about it at Gillman. For now I moved on and handed him the flyer of the circle with a paw print and said, “Secretary Coates gave this to me.”

  Rahman studied it, turned it over, studied it some more and handed it back. “What is it?”

  “Coates’s evidence of a security issue. Have you seen it before?”

  “No. But then…”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, I wondered whether the source was us, the police. And we have a large force—almost a thousand men. So it could have come from us. I’ll try and find out. I was also thinking about the numbers.”

  “Numbers?”

  “The writing appears to be a series of numbers: four, ten, two, ten. I’ll ask around about those. I’ll also ask whether anyone has come across a lion’s paw in a circle before.”

  “Lion’s paw?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me. Of course lions feature a lot in Chinese imagery.”

  He passed the flyer back to me as a young policeman came into the room. He gave the inspector a file and I noticed how deferential the junior man was towards his superior. The chap practically bowed as he backed out of the room.

  Rahman opened the file in front of me. It was typed and in English but consisted of two pages of foolscap paper and five photographs about eight inches by six. I read it. The report was by an officer called Sergeant Kee and was reasonable for someone whose first language wasn’t English.

  Tom had been driving south on the road from Nee Soon to Singapore City. The road was made of small stones called laterite and was rutted in places. There was thick jungle on either side of the road. It was judged to be about one in the morning. The sky was overcast and it had rained heavily in the hours before. It was totally dark except for the headlights of his small car. It was referred to as a Toyota SA Compact. I didn’t know it.

  There were no other vehicles on that stretch of the road. The report said the car was old, the tyres were bald and the windscreen wipers broken.

  During a sudden torrential downpour, the car hit a rut and the driver lost control. He couldn’t see where he was goin
g and drove at speed into a tree. He travelled through the windscreen and died immediately from the impact.

  I put the report down and studied the black and white photographs. There were two from the front, one focused on the impact and the other on my friend’s body trapped between the car and tree. The windscreen was in two main parts but looked like it had come out whole and broken when it hit the ground.

  The third photograph showed a tyre with no tread. The next was a shot from the rear showing the ground and what looked like a skid mark. The back of the car was clearly visible on this photograph. However the next picture showed a dip in the road. It was filled with water and the stones again appeared to show something heavy had skidded over it.

  I sat back.

  “Satisfied?” Rahman asked with a smile.

  “No,” I said with concern. “There are many things wrong with this report.”

  “Really?”

  I handed the inspector the photograph of the skid. “I’m not convinced this was an accident.”

  SIX

  Now Inspector Rahman’s face creased with unease. “Please explain.”

  “Is your sergeant available—the one who wrote the report?”

  Rahman ducked out and a few minutes later returned with a sweaty Chinese police sergeant. They were a similar height—about five foot eight but where Rahman was wiry, Kee was about three times the width. His demeanour was also less friendly than the inspector’s.

  I handed Kee the report.

  “This is yours I understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been trained in investigative work?”

  Kee frowned and looked at Rahman and then back at me. “Of course I have.”

  “Then why haven’t you followed procedure? This is not a thorough accident report. It’s a bloody story.”

  “I—”

  “Where’s the coroner’s report?”

  “The death wasn’t suspicious so I—”

  “Where are the witness statements?”

  “There were no witnesses. It was late at night. There was no one else around.”

  I nodded. “And yet you know the time of the crash. You know the weather conditions. And stating that there were no witnesses is pure supposition. You wrote the report at 11am the following day and it’s clearly daylight when the photographs were taken.”

  Kee bristled but said nothing.

  I continued: “You have written a story that explains what you saw. It sounds convincing but does not mean that is what actually happened.” I pulled out the photographs and spread them on the table before continuing. “I agree that it looks like the car skidded into the tree. I can see evidence that the tyres are bad. However you cannot possibly know that this occurred during a downpour. And the windscreen wipers broken? I can see that the wipers were down so they don’t appear to have been on. If indeed you checked whether they worked then it could have been a result of the accident. Did you check?”

  “No.”

  “There is no connection between the hole in the road and the skid. That mark on the road could have been caused by any vehicle. And even if we accept that the wipers didn’t work and that he hit a rut, why would he be travelling at speed in those conditions? Let’s assume you are right and it was pitch black, then it would have been hard to see the edge of the road even if it weren’t raining.”

  Rahman nodded thoughtfully.

  But I hadn’t finished. “Your statement that there were no other vehicles on the road achieved two things: it reinforced your view that there was utter darkness. It also removed the problem of witnesses. This accident required a proper investigation. Not a story.” I handed Rahman the photograph of the skid in which the rear of the Toyota could be seen clearly.

  “The bumper appears to be damaged,” I said.

  Kee looked at the photo and Rahman nodded. The left hand side was flattened and buckled.

  “That didn’t happen as a result of the impact with the tree. In this one—” I handed Rahman the photo from the front “—we can partially see the left hand side of the car. That looks dented to me.”

  “An old car,” Kee said.

  “The car was heading south to the city and was on the correct side of the road?”

  “Yes.” He used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead.

  “If the car skidded and went straight off the road, the left would be the most likely direction.”

  Kee shrugged then reluctantly agreed.

  I looked at Rahman. “The car will be in a compound somewhere?”

  “Yes. Eventually it will be junked, but it’s too recent so it will still be there.”

  “Good,” I said switching back to Kee. “Then I want you to go and take another look at the car. I want you to examine the car thoroughly.”

  Again the sergeant wiped away the sweat. “What am I looking for?”

  “Confirmation that the dents and scrapes weren’t old. There will be rust in them if they were. And—” I pointed to the side of the car where there may have been a light coloured line against the black paint of the Toyota. “If this is paint, I want to know what colour it is. This doesn’t look like an accident to me. I think my friend was forced off that road.”

  Outside the police station a Land Rover jeep was parked half on the kerb. Sergeant Hegarty waved at me from the driver’s seat.

  I was still in a foul mood from the confrontation with Kee and his useless report. Rahman had been apologetic and wanted to give me a tour of the station but I had declined.

  “Everything all right, sir?” Hegarty said with his Welsh lilt.

  “No it isn’t, Sergeant. I hope I don’t find the 200 Provost Company is as ineffective as the Singapore police appear to be.”

  Hegarty grinned. “Well let’s cut and run and you can find out.” He then used his thumb to point to my suitcases on the back seat. “Already picked up your stuff, sir.”

  I jumped in beside him and tried to shake off the bad temper. I tapped the dashboard. “OK let’s go, and there’s no need to call me sir. Ash will do just fine.”

  Hegarty gave me a natural grin. “I’ll call you Boss then if that’s all right… Boss?”

  We bumped down the kerb and followed the same route I’d taken earlier in the trishaw. At Empire Docks he pointed out the naval HQ, a house more than an office, on the opposite side of the road to the main Keppel Harbour entrance.

  “Cut and run,” Hegarty said.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s an old naval term for getting away quickly when under attack.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “They would cut the anchor and run on the wind.” He grinned. “Just saying that’s all. It’s an interest of mine… understanding where expressions come from.”

  We headed north through a tangle of roads. Ten minutes later we were on the outskirts of the city. Around a sweeping bend we came to a drive and a gate manned by a redcap. Hegarty didn’t slow and the guard jerked the barrier up for us. Just in time.

  Gillman Barracks, home to the British Royal Military Police 200 Provost Company, was set on a small hill and surrounded by a high wire fence. A third of the way up, we passed a single storey building. White and plain except for square pillars. A Union Flag hung limply on a pole outside.

  “Offices,” Hegarty said.

  Over to the left I could see the MT yard. To the right I could see what looked like a diving board.

  “Swimming pool,” Hegarty confirmed.

  Ahead I could see a three storey block that was clearly the main barracks. As we got closer I saw a bathhouse and a block that Hegarty told me housed the rec-room where we could play billiards.

  He stopped outside a smart building that could have been a grand two storey home.

  “We’ve put you in the Officers’ Quarters,” he said as he took hold of my two cases and showed me to my digs.

  It was a simple room, not unlike the one I’d had in Palestine but larger. Stone floor, unadorned white walls, a single be
d with sheets and a grey blanket—which I doubted had ever been used—a freestanding wardrobe and a chest of drawers. At least I had a room to myself.

  A shower room and toilet was shared by four officers in the house. Hegarty also told me where the mess hall was. I was suddenly famished. It was almost the middle of the afternoon and I’d had nothing since my watery porridge.

  Hegarty said, “You’ve got a few hours.”

  “Until?”

  “Major Vernon.” Hegarty pulled a face and I realized then that the sergeant didn’t think much of the major. “You have an appointment with the major at nineteen-hundred hours.”

  I cleaned myself up for the second time that day. The humidity clawed at my skin and my clothes were damp just from walking around. At the rate I was going I would need to buy new clothes every day.

  Due to the size of the company, there was no separate Officers’ Mess but they were happy to serve me in the canteen providing I had sausages and mash. Due to the hour I was the only one eating and got talking to the Indian chap who served me. I mentioned the humidity and my clothing and he promised to send someone straight over to collect my laundry. It would be returned by the evening. He also fetched me a map of the city.

  After eating my fill, I strolled around the grounds. I chatted to a few men and gained a little information. Finally I stood alone at the top of the rise and got my bearings.

  Gillman Barracks was in an area called Pasir Panjang. The centre of the city was a little over three miles to the east. To the south I could see the straits with its islands and shipping. The islands appeared to be uninhabited jungle from this vantage point. In fact I could see jungle in every direction, except the city. I knew there was thick jungle to the north that ended at the Straits of Johor and that there was a causeway between Singapore and Malaya up there somewhere called Woodlands Crossing.

  Tom Silverman had died somewhere to the north and I decided I’d need to visit the scene of the crash myself.

  The main army barracks at Tanglin was also north—about two miles as the crow flies—although the obvious route was circuitous—along the coast road, past the docks and then up through the city.