Read Online Inspector Singh Investigates by Shamini Flint - Free Book Online
Authors: Shamini Flint
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was the ounce of truth in those accusations which had made them so hard to bear. Perhaps his principled stand about the family business, his desire to wash his hands of what he saw as tainted money, tainted wealth, boiled down to his inability to live up to his father's expectations. It was easier to walk away than admit failure.
He would run away now if he could.
'Let's start at the beginning and do things the old–fashioned way,' said Inspector Singh.
Shukor hazarded a guess. He had begun to understand the other policeman's elliptical references. 'Who gains from the death of Alan Lee?'
'Yes.'
'No will has turned up.'
'So the kids get everything? How old are they?'
'The oldest boy is seventeen, the others are twelve and seven.'
'Three boys, huh? I suppose that the oldest might have fancied some spare cash if his father kept him short?' The inspector did not sound convinced by his own accusation.
Shukor said, 'It's more complicated than that, sir.'
'What do you mean?'
'If it is finally agreed that he died a Moslem, the Islamic laws on intestacy are not the same as for non–Moslems.'
Singh rolled his eyes. 'Give it to me straight. Who gets the incredible wealth of Alan Lee under Islamic law?'
'To be frank, sir, I don't know. But I think there will be shares for all the family – the brothers as well as the sons, maybe even Chelsea.'
'Let's not bring Chelsea back into it. She has motives to spare. But the brothers might get something?'
'I'll check with a lawyer, sir – but probably, yes.'
The inspector looked thoughtful.
Shukor said diffidently, 'There's one more thing, sir.'
'One more thing? What is it this time?'
The younger man smiled. 'The family holding in Lee Timber ... It was placed in a trust by the father. Kian Min inherits after Alan.'
'What?'
'Kian Min gets Lee Timber, sir. It is only the rest of the wealth, cash, property and so on, that is divided up amongst the rest of the family.'
'You know something, Shukor? It sounds to me like Lee Kian Min had a damn good motive to do away with his brother.'
Jasper Lee walked to his appointment concentrating on the here and now. He walked along the kerb in dusty shoes looking at his feet as he put one ahead of the other. He noticed that he walked with quick, small strides and consciously slowed down. There was no particular hurry. He noted the plastic bags and cans collected around the base of every tree. He listened to the horns blaring on the road beside him. He looked at the passengers interestedly, absorbing their uniform expressions of frustration and anger at the traffic jam they found themselves in. The fumes from revving cars with nowhere to go made him feel light–headed. He breathed deeply. Not even the perfect dawn air, deep in the jungles of Borneo, had filled him with such a lust for life as the whiff of carbon monoxide that afternoon. The evening sun's rays, peeping through the forest leaves and turning everything to gold, did not have the same power to enchant him as the blazing afternoon sun on his bare head.
Jasper understood now why people talked about their lives flashing before their eyes. In his case, it was not so much his whole life but a highlights reel. Peculiarly, he was neither seeing his past nor reliving it. It was the sensations associated with significant moments that flowed over him. He heard the door slam behind him as he left home for the last time, smelt the scent of the woman he loved the first time he met her, felt the wind rush through his hair as he piloted his little plane high above the rainforests. It was a mosaic of emotion and experience, a reward for doing the right thing.
Jasper Lee walked into the Bukit Aman police station and cleared his throat to catch the attention of the duty sergeant, who was immersed in the sports pages of the afternoon tabloid, his half–eaten packet of rice and curry, wrapped in banana leaf and newspaper and tied up with a rubber band, on the desk in front of him. The
He would run away now if he could.
'Let's start at the beginning and do things the old–fashioned way,' said Inspector Singh.
Shukor hazarded a guess. He had begun to understand the other policeman's elliptical references. 'Who gains from the death of Alan Lee?'
'Yes.'
'No will has turned up.'
'So the kids get everything? How old are they?'
'The oldest boy is seventeen, the others are twelve and seven.'
'Three boys, huh? I suppose that the oldest might have fancied some spare cash if his father kept him short?' The inspector did not sound convinced by his own accusation.
Shukor said, 'It's more complicated than that, sir.'
'What do you mean?'
'If it is finally agreed that he died a Moslem, the Islamic laws on intestacy are not the same as for non–Moslems.'
Singh rolled his eyes. 'Give it to me straight. Who gets the incredible wealth of Alan Lee under Islamic law?'
'To be frank, sir, I don't know. But I think there will be shares for all the family – the brothers as well as the sons, maybe even Chelsea.'
'Let's not bring Chelsea back into it. She has motives to spare. But the brothers might get something?'
'I'll check with a lawyer, sir – but probably, yes.'
The inspector looked thoughtful.
Shukor said diffidently, 'There's one more thing, sir.'
'One more thing? What is it this time?'
The younger man smiled. 'The family holding in Lee Timber ... It was placed in a trust by the father. Kian Min inherits after Alan.'
'What?'
'Kian Min gets Lee Timber, sir. It is only the rest of the wealth, cash, property and so on, that is divided up amongst the rest of the family.'
'You know something, Shukor? It sounds to me like Lee Kian Min had a damn good motive to do away with his brother.'
Jasper Lee walked to his appointment concentrating on the here and now. He walked along the kerb in dusty shoes looking at his feet as he put one ahead of the other. He noticed that he walked with quick, small strides and consciously slowed down. There was no particular hurry. He noted the plastic bags and cans collected around the base of every tree. He listened to the horns blaring on the road beside him. He looked at the passengers interestedly, absorbing their uniform expressions of frustration and anger at the traffic jam they found themselves in. The fumes from revving cars with nowhere to go made him feel light–headed. He breathed deeply. Not even the perfect dawn air, deep in the jungles of Borneo, had filled him with such a lust for life as the whiff of carbon monoxide that afternoon. The evening sun's rays, peeping through the forest leaves and turning everything to gold, did not have the same power to enchant him as the blazing afternoon sun on his bare head.
Jasper understood now why people talked about their lives flashing before their eyes. In his case, it was not so much his whole life but a highlights reel. Peculiarly, he was neither seeing his past nor reliving it. It was the sensations associated with significant moments that flowed over him. He heard the door slam behind him as he left home for the last time, smelt the scent of the woman he loved the first time he met her, felt the wind rush through his hair as he piloted his little plane high above the rainforests. It was a mosaic of emotion and experience, a reward for doing the right thing.
Jasper Lee walked into the Bukit Aman police station and cleared his throat to catch the attention of the duty sergeant, who was immersed in the sports pages of the afternoon tabloid, his half–eaten packet of rice and curry, wrapped in banana leaf and newspaper and tied up with a rubber band, on the desk in front of him. The
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