Inspector Singh Investigates Read Online Free PDF Page B

often indistinguishable from the original right down to the labelling and watermarks. Jasper Lee wore a fake Rolex he had bought down the road almost three years earlier. Hordes of tourists wandered down the narrow streets, summoned in imperative tones by the Chinese vendors; the experienced bargained hard for their fakes, the uninitiated paid top dollar and felt content to have something to show off when they got home.
    Jasper was indifferent to the sounds of horns blaring and engines revving directly under his window. He had learnt to tune out the sounds. He ignored the stink of overflowing garbage–filled drains mingled with the pungent, eye–watering odour of dried anchovies piled high on the pavements in front of the dry food wholesaler on the ground floor.
    In the early days, when the freedom of having walked away from the family business and his father's expectations had filled him with a sense of profound relief, he was delighted by the sights and sounds that were in such contrast to his own privileged upbringing. It was so colourful and raw compared to his stultifying existence under the watchful eye of a stern father.
    Those heady, early days of autonomy were behind him. His past had caught up with him. He remembered his father's last words, shouted after him in angry Cantonese, as he had stormed out the door of the family home. 'One day you will understand that your family is what is most important.'
    He had disagreed with the old man, the patriarch of the family, insisting that shared values were more important than shared blood. He was not so sure any more. His younger brother had been gunned down on a Bangsar street. His sister–in–law, for whom he felt an overwhelming sense of panic, was in prison. His mother was in a state of collapse. His three nephews were in the care of Chelsea's mother. God only knew what his youngest brother was doing. Perhaps it did come down to family in the end.
    Jasper looked around him at the photos of orangutans stuck to the walls, all taken in the depths of the Borneo rainforest on one of his excursions into the wilderness. There were wizened patriarchs looking calmly at the camera, young bucks captured on film screeching their aggression at any intruder, family groups of female orang–utans and their babies. The whole sense was of a gentle, separate community –so different from the ugly reality of his own existence.
    He got to his feet slowly, like an old man. There was one more thing he needed to do before making up his mind.
     
    A heavy thunderstorm had reduced traffic to a standstill. The sky was dark although it was still early in the evening. The rain fell like large teardrops, straight down. It was a few years since Inspector Singh had been to Kuala Lumpur and he had forgotten the flash floods and gridlock that rain caused.
    Kuala Lumpur was just one large construction site, he thought, peering out of the window. There were looming cranes, looking spindly and unstable, in every direction. Every now and then one of them would take a direct hit from a bolt of lightning that would light up the sky to the brightness of a tropical noon. In the briefly illuminated skies, jagged half–built skyscrapers looked like twisted ruins. Concrete pillars to carry automated trains, the latest attempt to deal with traffic congestion, stood at regular intervals, like giant sentries that had been petrified by some powerful enemy.
    The inspector thought that the very skies were weeping for the three boys whose father was dead and whose mother was in prison charged with his murder. It was a fanciful thought for the taciturn policeman. The strange surroundings were affecting his natural balance. He found himself unable to forget the brown, pain–filled eyes of the widow. Chelsea Liew! A ridiculous name – par for the course with the adoption of Western names by Singaporeans aiming to give themselves a cosmopolitan air. Unfortunately, they often picked the most improbable monikers.