“No, should I have?”
Koh Beng gave me a sideways glance. Today he was different, nervous and not cheerful at all, as if the death of his colleague had shaken him up. “Did you bring the lists that were in Pei Ling’s package? Remember, I said I’d look at them for you.” As I fumbled in my basket, he added, “And what did he mean earlier, about someone on the second floor?”
“He thinks he saw a figure there.”
“Did he tell the police?”
“I’m not sure if they believed him.” I pulled the lists out. Koh Beng glanced eagerly over my shoulder.
“Well, this proves that Y. K. Wong was selling fingers,” he said. “They’re all patients who came into contact with him.”
“How do you know?”
Koh Beng shrugged. “I keep an eye on things. People in hospital are worried and vulnerable; they’re all looking for some assurance. Look, this chap here was definitely a gambler.” He pointed at the list in my hand. “Gamblers will buy anything; don’t you remember the craze for burung ontong nests?”
Burung ontong was a small bird that built an inconspicuous nest in high and inaccessible places. If a nest was put in a rice bin, it was said to bring great fortune to its owner. There’d been a mania for them not too long ago, with prices reaching ten or even twenty-five Straits dollars for a good specimen. Compared to locating a tiny nest, I supposed selling off pathology specimens was far easier.
“But Y. K. Wong didn’t seem like he’d be good at soft-soaping superstitious people and selling charms.” He was too stiff, too awkward, I thought, frowning. “I’d better turn these in to Dr. Rawlings or Mr. Acton.”
“What for? He’s dead now.”
“There are still specimens missing, and I don’t want them to suspect Shin, since he was the last person in charge of the storeroom.”
A flicker crossed Koh Beng’s face. “I’ll do it for you.” He held out his hand for the papers.
I stared at him. And realized what a fool I’d been. I’d been looking for a pattern all this time, but I hadn’t seen this one. Why hadn’t I paid more attention?
“That’s all right.” I edged away. To my dismay, the walkway was deserted.
“Where are you going?” He was smiling at me, a tight, angry smile.
“Shin’s expecting me,” I lied.
“That’s too bad.” He seized my arm, pinning it behind my back. A stabbing pain in my side. “If you scream, I’ll cut you again,” he said in my ear. Panicked, I couldn’t see what he held in his left hand, only felt that it was very sharp.
“Keep walking,” he whispered, as we marched in a grotesque, loverlike embrace, his right arm locked around my shoulders. Frantically, I looked around.
“Is it the lists you want? I’ll give them to you.”
In answer, he jabbed me again, slicing through the side of my dress. Then we were outside, crossing the damp grass. Still nobody. In despair I found myself frog-marched towards one of the outbuildings.
“It’s a pity you figured it out,” said Koh Beng conversationally. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this. What made you suspect me?”
I shook my head, but he cut me again. Tears ran down my face. “Tell the truth now,” he said.
“You said Pei Ling was a good friend of yours. But she told me she didn’t have any male friends. Not anyone she could ask to get the package for her.”
“That’s all?” We were still walking, not into the outbuilding but behind it. I dragged my feet, but he yanked me along.
“She said the salesman had a friend whom she didn’t like. I thought that was Y. K. Wong, but it was you all the time.” I remembered how Pei Ling had blanched when she’d first met Shin, telling me that he was friends with someone she didn’t like.
“Yes, Y. K. was troublesome, digging for evidence to tattle to Dr. Rawlings. Too bad he always rubbed people the wrong way.”
“Was it worth it, selling body parts?” I looked around desperately. We were so far away from the main hospital now!
“It was good while it lasted. Though that idiot Chan Yew Cheung had to go and lose a finger in a dance hall, of all places. Still in a bottle that could be traced from the hospital. He kept it because the specimen number was a lucky 168.”
The numbers, I thought in despair. It was all about numbers.
“I thought he’d bring in more business but he tried to blackmail me instead. And his girlfriend was no better.”
“You pushed Pei Ling down the stairs.”
“It’s your fault, really. The two of you stood right outside the cafeteria, stupidly discussing a package that Yew Cheung had hidden. I was sure it was the evidence he’d kept against me.”
Poor, miserable Pei Ling. She’d only been concerned about getting her love letters back.
“I realized then that she had to go.”
In the uproar over the discovery of Pei Ling’s horrific fall, I remembered how Koh Beng had been the only person who kept eating. So busy pretending to be normal that he forgot to look surprised. I felt sick.
“How much does Shin know?” Koh Beng asked.
“Not much,” I said, desperately trying to hedge my bets, “But he’s suspicious.”
“Just when I thought everything was settled. Give me the lists. And that glass bottle—I saw it when you took the papers out.”
I’d no choice but to hand over everything, including the preserved thumb. “Did you kill the salesman, too?”
“No. It was just luck that he fell into a ditch.” He frowned, thinking. My head was pounding, my chest tight with panic. He was heavier than me, though not much taller. In a fight, the only advantage I’d have was surprise. Throwing open a door, Koh Beng forced me up a flight of disused stairs.
“What happened to Y. K. Wong this morning? Was that chance, too?” I said, trying to delay him.
I didn’t think he’d go for it, but he said in that terrifyingly conversational way, “I’d overheard him arranging to meet that Englishwoman, Lydia Thomson. It was to do with the fingers, though I don’t know what he thought she knew about them. Always a pigheaded idiot, Y. K. Wong. Anyway, he was getting dangerous, so while they were talking, I went up to the second floor, picked a roof tile from the stack in the corner, and dropped it on his head.”
“What if it had struck her?”
“Didn’t matter. Simple is best.”
We’d reached the top of the stairs, and opened another door. Dazzling sunlight hit us. It led to a flat roof that you could walk on. “Used for drying things,” said Koh Beng cheerfully. “There aren’t many two-story buildings here.”
In that instant, I knew exactly what he was going to do and why he’d had no qualms cutting me in the side. Wounds like that wouldn’t matter if my body were splattered all over the ground.
He must have seen it in my eyes, because he said, “I wasn’t lying, you know. You really are my type. But it would have been better if you were a little more stupid.”
47
Batu Gajah
Monday, June 29th
Ren’s eyes snap open. He’s been dozing, waiting to be discharged later today, but there’s a jolt. Something terrible is happening to Ji Lin. Ren sits up. Dull ache in his side. In fact, the only place that doesn’t hurt is his elbow, which is pale and cold. The nurses have remarked on that unusual blanched patch on his skin. They talk about it when they think he’s sleeping. Doesn’t it look like a hand? says one with a shudder. But none of that matters now.
Frantic, he looks around for a nurse. Tells her, stumbling over the words, that she has to look for a girl.
“What girl?” she says, annoyed.
“The one who came to see me on Friday.”
“Oh, a visitor, is it? I’m sure she’ll come soon.”
No, Ren tries to explain. She’s somewhere in the hospital. Over there, beyond the other building. The nurse sighs.
“When she comes, we’ll let you know. Now don’t get out of bed!”
In despair, Ren’s eyes squeeze tight, tight. If he grasps the white mark on his elbow, putting his fingers exactly where Pei Ling put hers in his dream, his cat sense grows stronger. He doesn’t like this new feeling, a dull heavy buzz that makes his teeth chatter, the bones of his skull ache. His lips move as he concentrates. Where are you?
Maybe it won’t work, she’s not Yi, but he thinks it will. It must. His fingers dig into that ghostly handprint on his arm. Dizzy, he holds his breath, calling.
And then it comes.
Blood rushes in his ears, his heart thumps wildly. It’s not Ji Lin; it’s the other one. Drawing nearer and nearer with long strides. Shoulders tense, he watches the open ward door like a small animal. It’s a young man in a white uniform. Ren has never seen him before. Definitely not, because he’s someone that you’d remember. Ah. It’s you, Ren wants to say. His cat sense blazes up, an electric burst of relief, but his throat is so dry that nothing comes out.
“Ah Kor,” he says. Older Brother.