The Singapore School of Villainy by Shamini Flint Read Free Book Online Page A

Singapore hospital, naked except for the small plastic identification tag tied to his left big toe. Their offices were still out of bounds. Cheerful yellow bands which the television age had taught everyone to identify as a police barricade were taped across the entrances. Two blue-uniformed policemen, each equipped with a gun, a knife and a truncheon, had politely ushered the lawyers away as unwanted visitors to the scene of a crime.
    Jagdesh decided that the session functioned as a combination of group therapy and council of war. The partners sat around the gleaming polished table, ignoring or oblivious to the panoramic view of sapphire seas and cloudless skies visible through the ceiling-to-floor reinforced glass windows. Annie and Quentin had arrived promptly at nine. Quentin did not look great. His nostrils were inflamed and he dabbed at a constant trickle of mucus. His face was gaunt, as if he had lost weight overnight. Annie was not her usual self either; there were dark rings under her eyes and thin lines running from nose to mouth. Jagdesh, glancing in the mirror while shaving that morning, did not think he was showing any overt signs of strain. Not yet, anyway, he thought grimly. He still felt as if he was coming down with a cold but he was holding up well compared to his peers.
    It did not take long for each of them to run through their story – the constant questioning by Inspector Singh the previous evening had perfected their tales. The other partners listened in silence as Quentin described finding the body.
    Stephen Thwaites, the most senior partner after Mark Thompson, took charge of the meeting with a reassuring air of calm authority. ‘Who else came in last night?’
    â€˜We did,’ said Reggie Peters reluctantly, nodding at Ai Leen to indicate whom he meant by “we”. ‘Mark called me in for some sort of meeting – I picked up Ai Leen on the way. By the time we arrived the police had taken over.’
    He continued angrily, ‘That policeman refused to tell us anything except that Mark had been murdered.’
    Reggie was sweating despite the cool of the room, droplets of moisture on his forehead and upper lip. His remaining strands of hair clung damply to his flushed scalp and there was a frothy speck of saliva in the corner of his mouth.
    â€˜He was extremely rude. How dare he treat us like that? As if we were common criminals.’
    Jagdesh wondered what an uncommon criminal was. Was it the nature of the crime or the criminal that attracted the sobriquet?
    â€˜We weren’t even allowed to make phone calls…and we were in my office!’
    Reggie had reached a new pitch of self-righteous anger. It was bad enough to be subjected to the authority of some local policeman. But to have that happen in his own domain – that was adding insult to injury. A red-faced man at the best of times, he was crimson with annoyance. Jagdesh knew that Reggie was very conscious of his own dignity. He lost his temper with subordinates over imaginary slights. His condescension towards the locals was neo-colonial. Jagdesh, an Indian from Delhi, usually found him offensive. Today he felt sorry for him. It was perfectly apparent that Reggie’s contempt for Singapore officialdom had not been on display the previous evening.
    â€˜I thought he was competent enough,’ he intervened.
    Quentin shot a quick glance at him – no doubt wondering whether he was defending the inspector because he was a fellow Sikh and a family acquaintance to boot.
    Ai Leen had hardly uttered a word, although she had been with Reggie the previous evening, leaving him to describe his version of events.
    Now she said in her quiet firm tone, ‘Inspector Singh did not appear rude to me.’
    Reggie, who had been on the verge of disagreeing heatedly with Jagdesh, subsided at this contradiction. Ai Leen, her contribution to the conversation over, reverted to stony-faced silence. Unlike the rest