Spirit Tiger (14 page)

‘
Cik
Noriah,' he began slowly, as he always did. Rahman leaned in attentively. ‘I have heard that there are some men here from Patani, men coming to speak to your husband's customers.'

Her first instinct was to bluster, to deny, to demand an apology and stalk away, but she steeled herself to stand stonily before the police and give away nothing. She concentrated on breathing slowly, and trying to keep herself from turning red. She was somewhat successful.

‘You know
Che
Din?'

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘These men visited him. They came to collect his debts to your late husband.'

She tried to look only mildly interested.

‘You know gambling is illegal.' She said nothing. ‘You can't collect an illegal debt: that's also illegal.' He looked around again. ‘What are you building here?'

She cleared her throat. ‘A restaurant.'

He smiled and nodded. ‘Very nice.' He lit a cigarette and offered her one, but she declined. Rahman accepted gladly.

‘So these men from Patani, are they staying with you?'

‘Men?' she squeaked. She was unhappily surprised by how high her voice sounded.

Osman nodded.

‘I don't know …' She decided to suspend her understanding of standard Malay, and began speaking in the broadest accent she could muster. ‘I don't really know what you're talking about … men … from Patani, you say? I can't really understand what you're saying, so I'm just guessing here … so difficult … from Perak, are you? Hmmm … well, I myself don't go to Patani much, it was my late husband. Me, I was just a housewife, I don't really know much about his business, you know how it is … I mean, really … what do I know?'

She was ready to continue, but was gently interrupted by Rahman, speaking with as broad an accent as she was.

‘
Mak Cik
, please. Chief Osman is from Perak, true, but I'm from Kota Bharu, and I understand everything you're saying. We're not all
orang luar
(foreigners). Besides,' he seemed almost unhappy to tell her this, ‘We've spoken to the Patani police.'

He smiled at her sadly, neglecting to mention how very difficult that conversation had been, with neither side understanding most of what the other said, and yet they managed to ascertain that three men very well known to the Patani police had been hired by a Malay woman from Kelantan whose husband had often come to Thailand to buy whiskey.

The three got drunk before they left (not that rare an occurrence, actually) and told all and sundry in the bar they were being paid good money to go and collect debts, which they had every intention of pocketing. At least one of the bar patrons sought to trade the information for consideration of his own misdemeanors, and the information was passed from Patani to Kota Bharu in the course of an afternoon.

‘Naturally,' Rahman continued while Osman watched him, ‘we don't want people like that coming to Kota Bharu and threatening our people, or helping people in illegal pursuits. Like collecting gambling debts, you see.' He stood there politely, waiting for Noriah to speak.

And then, suddenly, a divine inspiration came and she saw her way out of the thicket – if she dared take it. And seeing no ready alternative, she did dare. Clearing her throat, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for tears, she adopted the position of a damsel in distress. And if not quite a damsel, then a
Mak Cik
in distress; pretty much the same thing. She opened her eyes with an imploring look on her face and a trembling voice. (She acknowledged this had probably been more effective when she was younger, but, hopefully, she still had
something
.) She put her hand on Osman's arm and looked around her as though threats lurked all around her.

‘Din isn't the only one being threatened,' she breathed, her eyes locked on Osman's. ‘They've threatened me as well. They came down here, I suppose they knew Yusuf had died and thought that as a woman alone, I'd be an easy victim.' She bit her bottom lip, but thinking that might be too much, she quickly released it.

‘They're almost keeping me prisoner,' Osman didn't see how, as she was out here surrounded by men who would be happy to thrash any upstart Thai gangsters if it came to that.

‘They're not working for me. No, they're all for themselves, trying to come to Kelantan and prey on us.' Now she actually cried, whether from the pathos of her tale or from real fear she'd be found out and thrown into jail.

‘In fact, sir, I was thinking, could it be possible that they came to kill my poor husband just to create such a situation? Thank Din, yes, thank heaven for Din coming to you when I was too afraid to say a word. Such a brave man, so much braver than I …'

She remained staring at the ground after this extraordinary confession. Would they believe it? Was Din even believable as a brave, upstanding citizen? Osman didn't know him well, so it was possible he would not reject it out of hand. But really, just looking at that unkempt mess might make the police doubt he was anything but the failure he actually was.

Still, Noriah was aware this was her only chance, and she certainly felt no compunction about throwing the Thais to the police. They were odious, and if they hadn't actually killed anyone yet, it was only a lack of opportunity or initiative; they would not be constrained by conscience. In fact, she told herself what she'd just done was a public service and she ought to be congratulated.

Thus buoyed, she looked up at Osman and Rahman, who stood there staring at her, clearly astounded by what they had heard. Well, she had offered them the solution to the case wrapped up with a silver bow, and no one on this side of the border would mourn the incarceration of those three. And it was likely no one in Thailand would either.

Osman could not credit his ears. Just because he wasn't from Kelantan, did she really believe she could tell him this story and he'd believe it? Of course, Rahman was standing next to him and she expected him to swallow it as well, so perhaps it was not a slur on his Perak heritage, but rather a blanket belief that men could be convinced of anything. Even so, casting Din as the hero of the story seemed rather a stretch. He had Din back at the station, and a more unprepossessing specimen would be hard to find.

But Osman had to give credit where credit was due: this account tied up everything, with few loose ends. He'd have the Thais for Yusuf's murder, and he was sure if he mentioned Ruslan's death, Noriah would oblige him by connecting them to that too – as were-tigers if necessary. He could not quite separate his thoughts to offer an intelligent answer to her. He felt like laughing, but smothered the impulse. It would be unseemly in a Perak gentleman.

Chapter XX

Osman repeated what Noriah had told him to a rapt audience of strong minded women: Maryam, Rubiah and Azrina.

‘I'm just not that surprised,' Azrina averred. ‘She was so rude when I met her. “Perak?”' She provided perfect mimicry of Noriah's tone and inflection, packing a trunkful of surprise, contempt and distain into those two syllables. ‘I thought she was definitely hiding something.'

Maryam and Rubiah remained silent. No doubt the Thais were up to no good, but Noriah's attempt to charge them with crimes they hadn't been considered for was strange.

‘Why did Noriah feel she needed to suggest anyone for that?' Maryam asked. ‘No one was questioning her about it. Do you think …' here she hesitated, uneasy about articulating such a thing, ‘she killed her own husband? Or just that she got carried away with putting the blame on these Patani people?' She turned to Osman again. ‘Do you think she planned to tell you this?'

He frowned. ‘No, I think she made it up then and there. Maybe she just got carried away with her story, or it came as inspiration to get these guys out of her hair. I've sent some people to pick them up and bring them in, but I'm not sure how much we'll learn from them. At least,' he added philosophically, ‘I can send them back to Thailand and get rid of them.'

‘What about Din? So brave??'

Osman rolled his eyes. ‘It's such a stretch. Anyway, we had to let him go.'

‘He's useless,' Maryam interjected. ‘Though I think, as far as it went, he was telling the truth: they did come to see him to get the debt from him. Of course, he doesn't have any money, so that didn't work. I imagine they planned to beat him up as an example.'

Even to her own ears, she sounded calm about the prospect, and believed she ought to have been more indignant, but it was hard to get indignant over the Bull, as she thought of Din. ‘Do you think he might have killed Yusuf?' Maryam shrugged. ‘He certainly benefitted from his death. He insists with Yusuf dead. his debt is erased. Even if it isn't true – and it isn't – it would still be an excellent motive. And he is big and strong; he's capable of killing Yusuf.'

‘And stupid,' Rubiah added, completing the catalogue of Din's attributes. ‘Don't forget that: it's a major reason why he could have done it.'

Everyone agreed, but was it sufficient?

‘How was he when you spoke with him?' Osman asked Maryam.

‘Busy eating. It's hard for him to think and eat at the same time.'

Azrina laughed delightedly at this, reassured that detective work was also an art of making wisecracks. Maryam smiled at her.

‘He didn't say too much, because he's afraid he'll get tangled up in lies. He's telling the truth about being threatened, though. At least he came to you with that. Whenever I mentioned Yusuf, he just put his head down and glared at me. It wasn't that helpful.'

‘And he's a mess. Just look at him,' Rubiah sniffed. ‘Really.'

‘He's got no alibi for Yusuf's death.' Osman observed.

‘What about Ruslan?' Maryam asked, determined to speak normally of the tiger. It would be more suspicious if she kept avoiding the topic.

‘Still nothing,' Osman mumbled. ‘I just can't accept this were-tiger thing.'

Maryam nodded while Rubiah watched her with frank appraisal. ‘Indeed. Why look to the spirit world when it's a real murderer we're looking for? It's just a story.'

She was very proud of herself, feeling as though she'd talked about were-tigers in a disinterested way, even suggesting they didn't exist. Totally rational. ‘Could the Thais have done that? It is close to Tak Bai. They could have come and gone and no one would have seen it.'

‘And torn out his throat?' Rubiah asked.

‘Why not? Killing is killing, you know. What does it matter how they did it if they did do it.'

‘That's interesting,' mused Osman. ‘I'd never thought of that.'

Maryam looked smug: she'd turned the were-tiger theory on its head. She was now leading the speculation that no were-tiger existed, looking for a human agency in the crime. But even as she did so, she still treasured meeting her tiger in the night, in her dreams. And by late afternoon, her anticipation would grow, waiting to sleep, waiting to meet the tiger.

Chapter XXI

Maryam awoke suddenly, with a jerk of her head that left her dizzy. She was not in her bed, or even in her house: even before she opened her eyes, she knew she was outside. The tree she was leaning up against was rough, and a very slight breeze moved around her. She froze, afraid to open her eyes and find out where she was and, maybe, what she'd done. But she feared more the act of standing blind, not knowing her bearings, unable to take charge of the situation and make it right.

When she cautiously opened her eyes, she found she was not too far from home, still in Kampong Penambang, thank God. She was quite near the river, actually, as she looked down. She was already on the muddy part of the bank, leaning against a coconut palm. Another step, possibly two, and she'd have fallen into the water moving at a brisk pace towards the ocean. She swung her head around wildly. How had she gotten here?

Moving cautiously back from the bank, she realized she was barefoot, wearing only an old sarong tied under her arms, as she usually slept. Her hair was falling out of its bun, and to her horror, had small bits of grass and leaves in it. And her hands! As she lifted them to her head to arrange her hair, she saw them, black with dirt and damp with mud packed under her fingernails. Her feet were also encased in mud past her ankles, and her mouth felt gritty. She was thirsty, and completely terrified.

She looked warily around her, but the
kampong
still slept. The moon was high, it was nowhere near dawn. This was at least to her advantage – she could get back to her home without anyone seeing her. But she couldn't go in like this, she'd have to bathe. It would wake up at least her family, if not all her neighbours, the noise of pails of water being emptied. She crept through the village, ready to run at the slightest noise or glimpse of a passing human, but she was alone in the night, as though covered with a black cloak through which no one could see.

She nearly wept with relief when she entered her own yard, amazed that even the geese made no noise, pretending not to notice her arrival, though their eyes followed her as she walked towards the well. Did they recognize her as another creature, she wondered, as something unnatural?

She went to the well, lifting the full bucket as silently as she could, then stepping in it to muffle any noise. She washed only her hands and feet, unable to take care of the rest until dawn, when the sounds of bathing would cause no comment.

Inside, she shed her sarong and put on another, and tried to pick out at least some of the detritus in her hair, hoping none would land on the pillow as witness to … whatever this was. Cautiously, she slid into bed next to Mamat, closing her eyes to look asleep should he wake.

‘Where have you been?'

She nearly jumped out of her skin hearing Mamat's voice, low but angry.

‘I was outside,' she answered lamely. ‘I woke up near the river.' Tears came to her eyes without warning, and she was overwhelmed with the urge to sob.