Inspector Singh Investigates by Shamini Flint Read Free Book Online

and smiled. He was a slight man, impeccably dressed with expensive elegance. It was an extra–large desk, a little too big for the brother who had inherited it, with a top of wood so highly polished as to be mirror–like. Its surface was bare except for a telephone, a Macintosh Power Book with the Apple logo glowing mysteriously and a notepad with a Mont Blanc pen next to it. The room itself consisted of bare cream walls except for a couple of pieces of art by leading Malaysian artists. A frantic
    Ibrahim Hussein dominated one wall. There was a sofa and a couple of comfortable chairs in a corner of the big room, for more informal business discussions.
    Lee Kian Min was a happy man. He had waited a long time to get his feet under the desk of his father and, later, his undeserving brother. He had worked hard and put in all the face time in the world, learning the ins and outs of the business while his older brothers had pursued orang utans and women respectively. He despised them for their weaknesses and envied them their seniority. But he had always known his time would come.
    When Jasper Lee walked out on the family and almost killed the old man doing so, Kian Min was sure his moment had arrived. But in the end his father had insisted, despite misgivings, that Alan take over. Kian Min was devastated. But rather than emulating Jasper and leaving, he stayed, worked hard behind the scenes and kept the company together. When his father died, he continued to do the same. He allowed Alan to play the timber mogul while he quietly controlled the business. He learnt to be patient, to bide his time, to hide his ire when Alan would make one of his sporadic visits to the company offices. And now he had his reward. The company was his and he was going to savour every moment behind the big desk.
     
    Inspector Singh met Sergeant Shukor at the entrance to the Ritz Carlton. He had delayed setting out on the pretext that he could not face any more time in traffic. The sergeant had taken the postponement philosophically. Now, replete with the hotel buffet breakfast, his belly straining against his shirt,
    Inspector Singh felt energised and ready to confront the case head on.
    'Take me to the morgue,' he ordered.
    'The morgue, sir?'
    'Yes, I want to meet Alan Lee.'
    'I have the autopsy report if you would rather look at that.'
    'I've read that. I want to meet Alan Lee!'
    They weaved their way towards the hospital, parking some distance away from the main building. The car park was brimming with cars, largely Protons. The Proton, Malaysia's national car, had, through a combination of subsidies and tariffs, achieved a substantial share of the Malaysian car market. It meant that a large number of patients who were too poor to buy themselves private health care could still drive to a government hospital for their subsidised treatment. It also meant that Malaysia was being rapidly paved with new roads to accommodate the burgeoning car population. It seemed, pondered the inspector, that no sooner did you give a man a car than he wanted to drive somewhere and do something. Gone were the days when life proceeded at a gentle kampung, or village, pace. Now Malaysians raced around in cheap cars with go–faster stripes looking for somewhere to go. Their usual destination was a concrete, bunker–style 'mega–mall'.
    The two policemen walked past the array of cars distinguished with tinted glass, enlarged bumpers and sporty hubcaps. The main waiting area of the hospital was crowded with people – the cheerful visitors to the mildly ill and the distraught relatives of the dying. The morgue was difficult to find, a design feature of hospitals worldwide. An attempt, wondered the inspector idly, to hide the ultimate destination from those who were nearest to it? Contemplating the question, Singh could not help but think that, in a hospital, the proximity of death was probably best disguised – and the actual dead hidden. It was not conducive to the right