Singapore Noir

“There, there,” said Joyce, patting the old man’s head again. “If this is the right place, we won’t have to drive around anymore. Just open your eyes and have a look. It’ll only take a second.” She spoke in the tone of a kindergarten teacher coaxing a recalcitrant child to do something. “I’ll say, Three, two, one, and then you jump up and take a look. Then you can put your head down again. Three. Two. One. Up you go!”

She grabbed his shoulders and heaved him upward.

They had stopped in front of Ngee Ann City, a shopping mall on Orchard Road. It had dark brown walls. There was a wide expense of gray pavement in front of it, a small fountain, and several palm trees. Joyce wound the window down so they could hear the fountain.

“Yes, that’s it. Go inside and find him. Can I go home now?” Keung closed his eyes and lowered his head back into Joyce’s lap.

Wong told the driver to move ahead slightly, where some construction was underway. The line of trees and stone buttresses preventing drivers from parking on the pavement was interrupted by a pile of pipes. The car edged onto the pavement just behind a road work sign.

The geomancer scanned the scene. “Wait here,” he told the others. “I go see.”

It didn’t take long to find the right place. Two police officers were hurrying into the building. Recognizing one of them, Wong followed.

The case was open-and-shut, said Detective Inspector Jonathan Shek, who was given to using ancient clichés from crime movies. As they moved up the escalator, the officer explained that it was a special day for the victims: “Today is Lap-ki and Hester Wu’s annual dinner. I think we all knew it was only a matter of time before that little tradition turned dark.”

Wong nodded.

The Wus were a “colorful” couple often described as “known to the police.” Lap-ki Wu had moved to Singapore from Southern China forty years ago as an industrious young man. There, he met a pretty actress called Hester Lum. They had married and enjoyed an astonishing run of luck on the shadier side of the business world. They moved five times in their first two years, upgrading each time. By their second decade together, he was an influential property developer, his land bank boasting holdings in several prime areas.

But their relationship had been increasingly fiery, and they eventually learned to hate each other. Divorce was the obvious option — until they got the idea, probably planted by one of Wong’s colleagues in the feng shui industry, that doing so would ruin their luck. The pair was led to believe that their legendary good fortune would instantly vanish. So they separated, but did not divorce — and agreed to meet once a year for a token dinner, which they had been advised was the least they could do to keep the luck alive.

As the years had gone by, each became convinced that if they died, the other would have somehow “won.” So they started to fear poisoning. Thus, they agreed to take turns organizing the food at the annual dinner, and an independent consultant provided a taster: this year, it was the young gourmand Alberto Siu Keung, who had actually taken a course in this unusual skill.

As the two men marched toward the restaurant, Shek said: “I’ve had a full report from my men at the scene. Alberto Siu Keung tasted all the food, pronounced it clean, and watched it be taken into the room where Mr. and Mrs. Wu were having their annual dinner. The couple ate it, and seemed to be getting along reasonably well — in that they were stabbing their steaks, not each other. But after about ten or twelve minutes of eating, or so Alberto says, something went wrong. Lap-ki Wu started groaning and rubbing his stomach. Then whatever it was hit Hester Wu, and she started moaning too. The husband fell forward into his meal, spilling the drinks and smashing a glass. Mrs. Wu dropped her cutlery and her glass and slumped off the chair onto the floor. My man arrived just before the ambulance. He thought one or both of them had already stopped breathing. Extremely powerful poison.”

Wong put his hand on the police officer’s upper arm. “Wait. So each one expects the other to be the killer. But both get killed at once?”

“Yes. And the obvious candidate is the food taster, who we understand has been in and out of trouble all his life.”

“Except he didn’t do it.”

“How could you know that?”

“He’s my client’s son. And besides, if he’s like his father, he’s too stupid.”

Shek turned and gave Wong a wry smile. “Perhaps he rose to the occasion.”

The geomancer’s mobile phone rang.

“Wong? Where are you? Have you left the hotel?” It was the voice of Lim Cheong Li at the race’s gala lunch. He sounded irate.

“No, I’m here,” Wong lied. “Er, in the bathroom.”

The businessman spoke in a screech: “I need you back in the ballroom immediately. Your monk friend has messed the whole thing up.”

Wong’s heart sank. “Sin Sar? What he say?”

“He was supposed to open the event by clanging his holy bell, right?”

“Yes. He forgot the bell?”