THE GIRL IN THE WINDOW (The Inspector Samuel Tay Novels Book 4) by Jake Needham Page A
Authors: Jake Needham
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“We’re stuck in a damned alley while all the action is out front.”
“It doesn’t sound to me like we’re missing much, sir.”
Tay shrugged. He supposed Kang was right.
“Want me to take over?” Kang asked Lee.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Kang took the field glasses from Lee, nudged around the chair where she had been sitting until he was happy with its position, and then put the glasses up to his eyes. “We’ve only got another forty hours until this woman is supposed to check into the hospital,” he observed cheerfully.
Tay shot Kang a look and saw he was grinning behind the field glasses.
Forty more hours, Tay thought. Or until I have a complete mental breakdown. Whichever comes first.
Instead of lighting another cigarette, Tay opened one of the books he bought at the 7-Eleven. He had recently discovered the American novelist Don Winslow and was methodically working his way through his books. Finding one he hadn’t read in a rack at the 7-Eleven was a stroke of luck.
Winslow wrote mostly about Southern California, a place Tay had never been and never wanted to go, but he had still found himself drawn into the almost apocryphal way Winslow described it. California was the future, Tay had heard for most of his life. Maybe it was. But that was only one of the many reasons Tay figured the past had so much to recommend it.
Tay read while Kang watched the green door and Lee sat in a chair and looked at something on her phone. The silence they shared had a quality to it that Tay rather liked.
After a while Tay closed the book and yawned. He walked over to the window and looked over Kang’s shoulder. A fat, yellow cat had appeared from somewhere and Tay followed it as it stopped next to the green door, rubbed its back against something, and then slowly meandered away.
No more than a dozen feet down the alley the cat abruptly turned around, strolled back to the green door, and rubbed up against it again. Did the cat have an itch it couldn’t scratch, or was it just wandering aimlessly, doing the first thing that came to mind? Either way, Tay knew how that cat felt. The story of his career in CID was exactly like that: half unscratched itch, and half pure aimlessness.
Despite collecting more than his share of commendations over the years, Tay had never really fit in. He knew a lot of his colleagues attributed that to the fact that his father was American. Tay was too independent, too individualistic, too…well, American. A good Singaporean kept his mouth shut, followed orders, and never stepped out of line. By that standard, Tay was not a good Singaporean.
Somehow, though, he had survived. His senior officers seemed as surprised as Tay was to find that, year after year, he was still around. He had put down roots in CID, he supposed, at least roots of a sort. He was like a tree growing out of a concrete parking lot. Stable, but not thriving.
Tay went back to his chair and picked up his book, but he didn’t open it.
Three days was a long time to hang around an abandoned travel agency doing very little but watching a door through which almost no one either came or went, listening to false alarms over the radio. You ending up thinking about a lot of things at times like that, and Tay didn’t really want to.
Surveillance was simply mind-numbing. Gloom and boredom were your unremitting companions because nothing happened.
Until it did.
“I may have something here, sir.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KANG’S VOICE WAS a merciful interruption to the plummeting spiral of Tay’s increasingly dreary meditations. He got up and stood behind Kang who was bent forward bracing his elbows on his knees to steady the field glasses.
“I think it’s her. The sister.”
Kang handed the glasses back over his shoulder. Tay lifted them and studied the woman leaning on the wall next to the green door. Her arms were folded and she was looking up and down the alleyway.
“She just came outside,” Kang said. “Maybe
“It doesn’t sound to me like we’re missing much, sir.”
Tay shrugged. He supposed Kang was right.
“Want me to take over?” Kang asked Lee.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Kang took the field glasses from Lee, nudged around the chair where she had been sitting until he was happy with its position, and then put the glasses up to his eyes. “We’ve only got another forty hours until this woman is supposed to check into the hospital,” he observed cheerfully.
Tay shot Kang a look and saw he was grinning behind the field glasses.
Forty more hours, Tay thought. Or until I have a complete mental breakdown. Whichever comes first.
Instead of lighting another cigarette, Tay opened one of the books he bought at the 7-Eleven. He had recently discovered the American novelist Don Winslow and was methodically working his way through his books. Finding one he hadn’t read in a rack at the 7-Eleven was a stroke of luck.
Winslow wrote mostly about Southern California, a place Tay had never been and never wanted to go, but he had still found himself drawn into the almost apocryphal way Winslow described it. California was the future, Tay had heard for most of his life. Maybe it was. But that was only one of the many reasons Tay figured the past had so much to recommend it.
Tay read while Kang watched the green door and Lee sat in a chair and looked at something on her phone. The silence they shared had a quality to it that Tay rather liked.
After a while Tay closed the book and yawned. He walked over to the window and looked over Kang’s shoulder. A fat, yellow cat had appeared from somewhere and Tay followed it as it stopped next to the green door, rubbed its back against something, and then slowly meandered away.
No more than a dozen feet down the alley the cat abruptly turned around, strolled back to the green door, and rubbed up against it again. Did the cat have an itch it couldn’t scratch, or was it just wandering aimlessly, doing the first thing that came to mind? Either way, Tay knew how that cat felt. The story of his career in CID was exactly like that: half unscratched itch, and half pure aimlessness.
Despite collecting more than his share of commendations over the years, Tay had never really fit in. He knew a lot of his colleagues attributed that to the fact that his father was American. Tay was too independent, too individualistic, too…well, American. A good Singaporean kept his mouth shut, followed orders, and never stepped out of line. By that standard, Tay was not a good Singaporean.
Somehow, though, he had survived. His senior officers seemed as surprised as Tay was to find that, year after year, he was still around. He had put down roots in CID, he supposed, at least roots of a sort. He was like a tree growing out of a concrete parking lot. Stable, but not thriving.
Tay went back to his chair and picked up his book, but he didn’t open it.
Three days was a long time to hang around an abandoned travel agency doing very little but watching a door through which almost no one either came or went, listening to false alarms over the radio. You ending up thinking about a lot of things at times like that, and Tay didn’t really want to.
Surveillance was simply mind-numbing. Gloom and boredom were your unremitting companions because nothing happened.
Until it did.
“I may have something here, sir.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KANG’S VOICE WAS a merciful interruption to the plummeting spiral of Tay’s increasingly dreary meditations. He got up and stood behind Kang who was bent forward bracing his elbows on his knees to steady the field glasses.
“I think it’s her. The sister.”
Kang handed the glasses back over his shoulder. Tay lifted them and studied the woman leaning on the wall next to the green door. Her arms were folded and she was looking up and down the alleyway.
“She just came outside,” Kang said. “Maybe
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