The White Pearl Read Online Free PDF Page A

steering wheel under her palms, the roadside stall
     on the corner selling hot roasted corn husks, the stallholder open-mouthed and toothless as she skidded past him, tyres fighting
     for grip. A tan-coloured dog scampering out of her path, its tail rigid between its legs. All things she didn’t even know
     she had seen. But worse, far worse, was the look on the faces of the daughter and the son while their mother’s eyes drowned
     in blood.
    Hold my hand.
    Connie rolled onto her side so that she was facing towards the black shape that was her husband, and let her arm brush his
     as she did so. He snatched it away as though she had burned him, and murmured something in his sleep. Her chest hurt, ached
     with a sharp physical pain,and she realised she had not breathed. So she drew in air, and with it came a rush of vivid memories of another masculine
     arm, cool and smooth, hairless as a mirror. A strong arm that belonged to Sho Takehashi.
    For one startling moment she could hear Sho’s breath, alive in the room. She lay still, listening hard. Frightened he would
     touch her face.

3
    Connie had never set foot inside a police station before. The one in Palur was situated in Swettenham Road at the back of
     the public library, with a clock tower that chimed every quarter of an hour. It was built of a sombre grey brick and had a
     blue lamp above its main entrance, smeared with the remains of mosquito carcasses. Connie removed her new sunglasses and walked
     up the front steps.
    Inside, it was much smarter than she had expected. This morning as she’d sat stiffly in the back of the car, being driven
     into town by Ho Bah, their Chinese
syce
, she had conjured up an image in her head of a cramped waiting room with stained linoleum and a wooden hatch through which
     she would have to speak to a burly uniform. She was prepared for a hard and sceptical gaze that could spot a murderer at ten
     paces. But she was pleasantly surprised. The room was large and airy with cream-painted walls and windows that looked out
     towards the tall areca palm trees in the park opposite. A ceiling fan stirred the sluggish air, and a row of chairs was arranged
     neatly along a wall facing a central counter of polished mahogany, smooth and shiny from years of elbows. The moment Connie
     approached the counter, the duty officer shifted his attention from the notepad in front of him and focused on her.
    ‘Mrs Hadley, good morning to you.’
    That took her by surprise. He knew her.
    ‘I’m Constable Forester. I took down your statement yesterday,’ he explained. ‘In the bank.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
    ‘Of course not. It’s understandable, you’d had a nasty shock.’
    Was that what caused the sense of disconnection? She studied theyoung officer with care, and this time made a mental note of his freckles, his helpful smile and his bony features. Dimly
     she recalled them. It was as if she’d seen them before but underwater, so that their exact outlines were blurred.
    ‘How can I help you?’ he asked courteously.
    ‘Constable Forester,’ she smiled at him and saw him relax. ‘I’ve come because I need to know the name of the woman I …’
I killed.
Say it, go on, say it, say it out loud for everyone to hear.
The woman I killed.
‘ … the woman who died in the accident yesterday.’
    He frowned. With a sudden change of manner he was ushering her into a small office at the back of the room, and she was shaking
     hands with a heavily built older man in uniform whose gaze on her was much more what she had expected; keen and questioning.
     He had a small moustache that straggled over his upper lip and made her wonder what he wanted to hide. The handshake left
     her in no doubt of his authority, and it was reinforced by the silver braid on his uniform.
    ‘Mrs Hadley, I am Inspector Stoner.’
    He gestured to a chair, but she remained standing. She wasn’t staying here a moment longer than she had to. The office