worriedly.
'I said no need to worry about it. I have everything under control.'
'What about the bio–fuels project?'
'That is also under control.'
Inspector Singh's sister was hanging clothes out to dry on the washing line attached to two iron T–shaped poles at the back of her house. She had a clothes dryer indoors. Her son had bought it for her as a present. She loved showing it off to people. 'That clothes dryer, my son bought for me as a present. He is doing very well, you know, and doesn't want his old mother to work too hard.'
But she never actually used it. Baljit was not convinced that clothes squashed into a dryer would get a proper airing. She was sure that the dark recesses of the machine's gaping maw contained mould and germs. The sun and wind had dried her family's clothes for generations and she was not going to change that. But she was very proud of the modern equipment taking up space in the laundry room and the son who had bought it for her.
Across the fence, her neighbour was also hanging
clothes so it was natural to gravitate to the boundary to exchange words as they had done for the past twenty years.
Baljit opened the conversation with her usual directness. She had something to boast about. 'My brother got that Chelsea Liew out of jail, you know.'
'What brother?'
'Singapore brother, lah. He's a very senior policeman!'
'That fat one is your brother, ah?'
'Yes. He got that girl, the one who killed her husband, out of jail.'
'I thought someone else confessed what?'
'Yes, yes. But why so suddenly – after my brother came from Singapore?'
'You think he made him confess? But in Singapore, police are not allowed to beat people.'
Baljit nodded her head. 'I still think the wife did it. Maybe she bribed the police to let her out?' She added as an afterthought in case this should reflect badly on her brother, 'Malaysian police, I mean. Singapore police cannot bribe, also.'
They both stopped to ponder this incorruptibility.
The Chinese woman across the fence said, 'My son says very easy one to bribe when you are caught in a speed trap.'
This sentiment drew no censure from the policeman's sister. 'Ya, you are right, but speeding ... murder, different, lah!'
----
Ten
'Chelsea does not accept that you killed your brother.'
'And you believe her rather than me?' Jasper's question to the inspector seemed reasonable.
'Actually, no,' said the inspector.
'Then why are you here?'
'I'm not sure,' the inspector confessed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with stubby fingers. 'I am going to lose my job when my bosses get wind of this ... I guess I could never resist the request of a pretty woman!'
'Tell me about it,' said Jasper. 'Chelsea can be very persuasive.'
The inspector was quick to latch on to this. 'Are you saying that she persuaded you to confess?'
Jasper looked pained. 'Don't be ridiculous! She would never do that. She didn't try. And anyway, why would I agree?'
The inspector changed tactics. 'Look, I accept you murdered your brother. At least tell me why. Then I can convince Chelsea you did it and go home. She does not seem to be prepared to accept your word for it.' He added a sweetener. 'Maybe I can find some
mitigation – save you from hanging at least!'
'Like what?'
'I don't know. I came here from Singapore last week, for God's sake! Anything – self–defence, provocation, accident. Anything!'
Jasper looked at the inspector long and hard.
The policeman could see that prison was taking its toll on the man. He was pale. He had lost much of the colour of the outdoorsman in a few short days. His skin sagged, the weight loss too sudden for the elasticity of his skin. In prison clothes, his tragicomic face emphasised the tragic.
At last, he seemed to come to a decision. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, 'There is something.'
'Well, that's nice,' said the inspector dryly.
The prisoner ignored the sarcasm. He sat in the plastic chair, elbows on
'I said no need to worry about it. I have everything under control.'
'What about the bio–fuels project?'
'That is also under control.'
Inspector Singh's sister was hanging clothes out to dry on the washing line attached to two iron T–shaped poles at the back of her house. She had a clothes dryer indoors. Her son had bought it for her as a present. She loved showing it off to people. 'That clothes dryer, my son bought for me as a present. He is doing very well, you know, and doesn't want his old mother to work too hard.'
But she never actually used it. Baljit was not convinced that clothes squashed into a dryer would get a proper airing. She was sure that the dark recesses of the machine's gaping maw contained mould and germs. The sun and wind had dried her family's clothes for generations and she was not going to change that. But she was very proud of the modern equipment taking up space in the laundry room and the son who had bought it for her.
Across the fence, her neighbour was also hanging
clothes so it was natural to gravitate to the boundary to exchange words as they had done for the past twenty years.
Baljit opened the conversation with her usual directness. She had something to boast about. 'My brother got that Chelsea Liew out of jail, you know.'
'What brother?'
'Singapore brother, lah. He's a very senior policeman!'
'That fat one is your brother, ah?'
'Yes. He got that girl, the one who killed her husband, out of jail.'
'I thought someone else confessed what?'
'Yes, yes. But why so suddenly – after my brother came from Singapore?'
'You think he made him confess? But in Singapore, police are not allowed to beat people.'
Baljit nodded her head. 'I still think the wife did it. Maybe she bribed the police to let her out?' She added as an afterthought in case this should reflect badly on her brother, 'Malaysian police, I mean. Singapore police cannot bribe, also.'
They both stopped to ponder this incorruptibility.
The Chinese woman across the fence said, 'My son says very easy one to bribe when you are caught in a speed trap.'
This sentiment drew no censure from the policeman's sister. 'Ya, you are right, but speeding ... murder, different, lah!'
----
Ten
'Chelsea does not accept that you killed your brother.'
'And you believe her rather than me?' Jasper's question to the inspector seemed reasonable.
'Actually, no,' said the inspector.
'Then why are you here?'
'I'm not sure,' the inspector confessed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with stubby fingers. 'I am going to lose my job when my bosses get wind of this ... I guess I could never resist the request of a pretty woman!'
'Tell me about it,' said Jasper. 'Chelsea can be very persuasive.'
The inspector was quick to latch on to this. 'Are you saying that she persuaded you to confess?'
Jasper looked pained. 'Don't be ridiculous! She would never do that. She didn't try. And anyway, why would I agree?'
The inspector changed tactics. 'Look, I accept you murdered your brother. At least tell me why. Then I can convince Chelsea you did it and go home. She does not seem to be prepared to accept your word for it.' He added a sweetener. 'Maybe I can find some
mitigation – save you from hanging at least!'
'Like what?'
'I don't know. I came here from Singapore last week, for God's sake! Anything – self–defence, provocation, accident. Anything!'
Jasper looked at the inspector long and hard.
The policeman could see that prison was taking its toll on the man. He was pale. He had lost much of the colour of the outdoorsman in a few short days. His skin sagged, the weight loss too sudden for the elasticity of his skin. In prison clothes, his tragicomic face emphasised the tragic.
At last, he seemed to come to a decision. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, 'There is something.'
'Well, that's nice,' said the inspector dryly.
The prisoner ignored the sarcasm. He sat in the plastic chair, elbows on
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