Aunty Lee's Deadly Specials (25 page)

“It was the patient who requested the water?”

“Yes. And the patient made no complaint at that point in time. She said she went home
and thought about it, talked it over with her boyfriend before deciding to make an
official complaint. There was some indication that they had made an attempt to contact
Dr. Yong and extort money from him before making the official complaint, so yes, certainly
there were gray areas in her story. And there was no conclusive verdict. We labeled
it a misunderstanding, sent the woman our sincere apologies, and hoped regardless
of whatever happened this would be enough of a warning to Dr. Yong to make sure that
nothing like that would happen again—whether misunderstanding or otherwise. I think
he was upset that we did not clear him completely, based on his word. Some of these
young ones, they are the only one in their family, in their extended family, to get
a university degree, maybe the only one from their hometown to become a Singapore
doctor, and they get inflated ideas.”

Though Professor Koh had not said so, Aunty Lee could see he believed the younger
doctor guilty. He did not want her to dig up the old problems because they were over
and done with, but neither would he take action to have Dr. Yong reinstated. The unspoken
accusation could last far longer than one that was articulated and dismissed.

“What’s your interest in Dr. Yong’s clinic?”

“An old friend, Doreen Choo, said she had some work done there.”

Professor Koh laughed, his relief clear. “She found out that Henry Sung was a partner
there, that’s why she came. Doreen sucks the life out of men. I know my limits, thank
you. I just want a bit of peace. Good luck to Henry! I think one of my girls told
me that Edmond Yong borrowed money from Henry Sung to set up his clinic, Beautiful
Dreamers. It was an aesthetic-surgery clinic. He must have heard it was the line that
made the most money fast.”

That must have been when Cherril encountered him, Aunty Lee thought.

“But it’s not as easy as that. You look at someone like Woffles Wu. The man approaches
his work like an artist and makes the patient feel like a muse and inspiration. Plus
he is good-looking himself. And charming, which always helps. You compare that to
someone who looks like Edmond Yong and talks like he’s selling ponzi shares, who would
you trust?”

“So it didn’t work?” Aunty Lee didn’t like Dr. Yong but she felt sorry for him.

“Plus people here increasingly prefer to go to Korea for treatment. Prices there are
lower because there is so much competition. And apparently they don’t just fix your
nose or your eyes, they can make you look like your favorite K-pop star. But that’s
all hearsay.”

That must have been when he was lured into illegal transplants, Aunty Lee thought.

“But the people who were too sick to travel? I’ve heard there are ways to arrange
to get transplant operations here. But how do they get the donor organs?”

Professor Koh waved a hand, gesturing to the upper floors of Bukit Timah Plaza surrounding
the central atrium where they were sitting. “Travel agencies, maid agencies. There
are so many of them now. If you pay them enough they will bring in people or parts
or whatever you want, with whatever papers you need.

“In compensated donation, donors get money or other compensation in exchange for their
organs. This practice is common in some parts of the world, whether legal or not,
and is one of the many factors driving medical tourism. Of course it is happening
here in Singapore. In fact, given the superior conditions here, it is probably better
for both the donors and the recipients that the operations are carried out here. In
China approximately ninety-five percent of all organs used for transplantation are
from executed prisoners. The lack of a public organ-donation program in China is used
as a justification for this practice. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? There’s a lot
of talk about illegal organ culling but nobody has any proof.”

“That woman who killed herself because she couldn’t find her fiancé, do you remember?
Do you think he’s dead?”

“That dead woman’s fiancé may still be alive somewhere in Singapore. He’s worth a
lot of money and he’s already paid for. Then again, maybe he just decided to break
off with his girlfriend and is working illegally in a massage parlor here.”

“Dr. Yong may have been trying to talk Mabel Sung into getting transplants to save
her son’s life. What if she found out where he was getting the body parts from and
he had to kill her?”

“Edmond Yong wouldn’t be able to pull something like that off. He was a mediocre student,
he would be a mediocre crook. People don’t change that much.”

Aunty Lee’s mind ran over further possibilities. What if Wen Ling had been getting
the organs for Mabel’s son and Edmond was just the go-between? Like a microwave meal
this theory superficially met all the requirements and used all the right ingredients
but it did not yet feel like real substance. No. Mabel had not met Wen Ling till the
day of the party, the day she died. Aunty Lee was certain of that.

“Edmond Yong wanted to make a quick, big impression on people. That was more important
to him than whether he could sustain that impression. I don’t think he even planned
how he was going to run the clinic. Did he think that he could carry it off by the
sheer force of his personality?”

“I suspect he didn’t think so far ahead,” Aunty Lee said. “I suppose he had fire insurance?”

“It’s a requirement here. Regulations. But get this. Immediately after the fire Dr.
Yong disappeared back to Malaysia. He didn’t even wait to claim insurance here. The
Management Committee was trying to reach him. He said, ‘Nobody died, so it’s no big
deal. Let the insurance people fight it out.’”

“Nobody died? I thought the papers said they found a body?”

“Did they?”

Nobody seemed very interested in the dead woman, Aunty Lee thought. Without a name
and a story to anchor her, Aunty Lee could feel her own attention slipping away too.
She looked up. On the floors surrounding the central atrium, she could see the rows
of the shops of Bukit Timah Plaza. The top few floors were crammed with tiny offices
specializing in travel and maid agencies. The corridors in front of them full of frightened
hopeful young women come to Singapore to work and waiting for potential employers
to take their pick. They reminded Aunty Lee of desperate dogs in the adoption pound,
pouring hopeful affection on strangers in hopes of finding a home forever. Or worse,
they made her think of the “live” seafood in the tanks outside Chinese restaurants.
Would anyone report a girl who ran away and died in a fire? Would anyone even miss
her?

Different People

Edmond was alone in his flat. It was a decent apartment, though too small for him
to make the kind of impression he wished to. He was packing up things he would need
for a stay at the Sungs’ place. This suited him very well, especially as he would
have the house to himself for days, perhaps weeks. Henry and Sharon had moved into
a friend’s place, fed up with the police and reporters lurking outside the gates all
the time, and Edmond would be house-sitting as a favor to them. Edmond knew the police
were just putting on a show. They had already examined Leonard Sung’s bedroom, and
since the victims had obviously been poisoned, they had no right to return to the
house without a search warrant.

Looking around the rental apartment, Edmond decided he didn’t like it, indeed couldn’t
stand it. He felt trapped and limited by the small rooms, low ceilings, and cheap
plywood and plastic furniture provided by his budget-conscious landlord. Instead of
taking clothes for a few days, he would pack up everything he had brought down from
Malaysia and move out for good. With Leonard gone, he would have to find a new reason
to remain at the Sung mansion, but he knew he would come up with one somehow. Dr.
Edmond Yong was not one to accept the cards life had dealt him. He knew life was unfair.
If he had accepted the hand dealt to him at birth, he would still be somewhere in
Kedah working with his brothers in their late grandfather’s bicycle shop. Instead
he was a qualified medical doctor in Singapore with rich and important connections.
Edmond knew that though Mabel Sung had hired him in order to have a doctor looking
after her precious Leonard twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, he had really
functioned more as a nursemaid and babysitter. Edmond Yong had not liked Leonard Sung,
indeed had often wished him dead. And now, with Mabel and Leonard Sung both dead,
it was time for Dr. Edmond Yong to move on to the next stage of the game.

His phone rang. It was another call demanding money. Those people were so shortsighted.

“I was only the contact,” Edmond said in Mandarin. “The person you were dealing with
is dead. That deal is off. I don’t owe you anything. I am trying to make new deals
for you, but if you keep chasing me I cannot work.” He wanted to hang up on the angry
voice shouting at him over the phone but did not quite dare to. He did not fear her
threats but he would need her in the future if his grand plan worked out.

Walking around the tiny front room with the phone not quite at his ear, he could hear
his neighbors shouting at children to get off their computers, pack for school, and
go to bed. Beneath all this blared the arguments, hysterics, and theme music of the
current Mandarin-dubbed Korean soap opera. Edmond hated all his neighbors for being
so stupid and low class and so concerned about children who would never amount to
anything. In their ignorance they had had the cheek to welcome him to their building
and to Singapore with offers of introductions to part-time jobs and pretty nieces
“just to get you started.” As though Dr. Edmond Yong could need help from people like
them! He couldn’t wait to get rich and show them how much he despised them.

Angry Mandarin words continued spewing from his phone as he walked around the tiny
living room. Soon he would be away from them all and alone in the magnificent Sung
mansion. He would have all that space to himself and it would be as though he was
already living in the style he aspired to. Of course the drawback was that no one
would be at the mansion to see him there and be impressed. Well, when he became the
official master of such a house, he would have servants around him all the time. His
relatives and former neighbors would come to him to humbly beg for favors and money.
They would look at his marble floors and his Mercedes-Benzes and finally they would
respect Dr. Edmond Yong. And who would be living there with him? Not that social-climbing
GraceFaith Ang, for sure. A doctor like himself deserved a doctor’s daughter, someone
like Sharon Sung. Edmond was somewhat intimidated by Sharon Sung. But right now she
needed his help.

Finally his caller ran out of steam. Edmond said polite good-byes, made polite promises,
and immediately after ending the call, pressed the first autodial number on his cell
phone.

“Sharon, we have to move things up.”

Meanwhile, GraceFaith Ang, alone in her small apartment, made plans for her future.
She had never doubted she would get what she wanted—now it looked like success was
coming even sooner than she had expected. Soon she would be out of this place forever,
out of having to work for a living. No more having to push her way through rush-hour
crowds and do her own pedicures.

She looked around her. The small, plain apartment had been home to her since she started
work at Sung Law. She felt no attachment to it and had no fond memories of the place.
But then she was not attached to the home she had grown up in either. From the start
she had known these were temporary stations, no more than stops on her way up to better
things. All the furnishings in the small room (one bed, one small table and chair,
one built-in cupboard, curtains) belonged to the landlady.

GraceFaith liked expensive clothes and shoes and used only the best makeup, but didn’t
care about her domicile. At least not here, not yet. After all, no one who mattered
would ever see her here. Once she married enough money she would hire the best interior
designers to create a beautiful setting for her. Then she would have the best magazines
come and photograph her looking casually exquisite in her beautiful home and everyone
would realize what classy taste she had.

GraceFaith’s dream plans were interrupted by the message bleep on her iPhone. She
did not have a landline, so she kept her cell on all the time. It was Sharon Sung.
Call me now.

At the same time as all this was going on, Patrick Pang was in Benjamin’s flat, alone
in the apartment he had thought they were going to be so happy together in. Signs
of Benjamin were still everywhere. Cleaning because he couldn’t sleep, Patrick found
a cache of charcoal sticks (for sketching) and cried into them, leaving gray streaks
on his hands and face and probably ruining the charcoal. He had to remind himself
that despair was not constructive.
Just breathe. Every breath is a triumph. Don’t let them destroy you by making you
kill yourself.
He didn’t even know who was talking to him but he knew it was better than silence
and surrender. What was important was that he was alive to listen, and as long as
he was alive there was a chance he could change things. He had been keeping himself
busy by cleaning till there was nothing left to clean. Perhaps he should take a tip
from Aunty Lee and cook something. But what?

Thinking of Aunty Lee made him feel better. Joe and Otto had told him the old woman
could solve any problem she set her mind to. And his brother, Tim, seemed to like
her, though Tim didn’t seem as convinced as Joe and Otto that she could work miracles.
Pat pulled out the recipe Aunty Lee had given him. “Don’t let yourself get stuck.
If something doesn’t turn out right, make something else,” she had said. He would
try.

And if Ben showed up after all, Pat would buy him new charcoal sticks.