The Ambassador's Wife (10 page)

“Someone must have really hated Elizabeth Munson. I can’t see any other reason.”

“Either that or maybe someone just hated what she represented, being the wife of an American ambassador and all.”

Tay nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

“Do you think they might have smashed up her face just to make it harder for us to identify her?” Kang asked.

“We have her fingerprints and even her dental work. There wouldn’t be any point in that.”

“Then maybe this doctor just has it all wrong, sir.”

“Look, Robbie, I don’t know Dr. Hoi, but I imagine she can identify a gunshot wound when she finds one in a woman’s head. And I imagine she can figure out in what order specific injuries occurred.”

“Did you look at the body yourself, sir? At the gunshot wound?”

Tay didn’t bother to answer.

“We’ll have the full autopsy report today,” he said instead. “You can read all about it then if you want to. You can even go across the street and stick your finger in the wound. But, for Christ’s sake, for now just accept that the woman was indeed killed by a gunshot and she was beaten after she was dead.”

“Yes, sir.” The chair squeaked as Kang shifted his weight. “But if that’s all true, this wasn’t just an ordinary murder, was it? It was a cold-blooded hit, an assassination.”

Tay nodded.

“Of the American ambassador’s wife.”

Tay nodded again.

“She must have known whoever it was who killed her. She certainly wasn’t kidnapped by strangers and dragged into a room at the Marriott in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Maybe the killer forced his way in,” Tay offered.

Kang rubbed at the back of his neck, but didn’t respond.

“No,” Tay continued, “I don’t think so either.”

Kang nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and let it out again. “Man, that FBI guy must have gone crazy when you told him about the gunshot wound.”

“He probably would have,” Tay replied, “but I didn’t tell him about the gunshot wound. He thinks she was beaten to death.”

Kang looked puzzled. “I don’t understand, sir. Why didn’t you tell him that she was shot?”

Tay made a face. He thought about the various ways he could explain to Kang why he hadn’t told DeSouza about the gunshot wound and finally went with the simplest one. “Because he’s an asshole.”

Kang cleared his throat and looked away.

“Do you have the surveillance tapes from the Marriott yet?” Tay asked him after a moment.

“They’re supposed to send them over today.”

“Go pick them up yourself. And get a picture of Mrs. Munson from somewhere so you’ll know who you’re looking for.”

“I’m sure the American Embassy would have one.”

“Leave them out of this, at least for now.”

“But, sir, why wouldn’t you just—”

“Call that society magazine,” Tay interrupted, “the one that runs all those pictures from parties around town.”

“You mean
Singapore Tatler
?”

“That’s it.”

Kang crossed his legs and folded his arms. “Now that I think of it, sir, wasn’t there a picture of you in that magazine last year? With that woman you used to go out with who—”

“Never mind,” Tay cut in. “Just call them and see if they have any pictures of Mrs. Munson. Then get whatever they give you and compare them to the Marriott surveillance tapes until you find out when this woman came into the hotel and if she was with anybody.”

Kang smiled and let the matter of Tay’s photograph in
Singapore
Tatler
drop. He knew it was a sore point with Tay and figured he had probably already annoyed Tay enough to last for quite a while.

“Right, sir.”

“Okay, that’s it, Sergeant. Get going.”

TAY
knew he should take what he had to the Chief, but he wasn’t certain what would happen when he did so he wasn’t in any big hurry to do it. He decided to sort out the files on his desk first and get his day into some kind of order.

He had two other murder cases open in addition to the body at the Marriott: a woman beaten half to death by her husband who claimed she attacked him first with a kitchen knife, and a Filipina maid whose body was found outside the building where she worked for two British expatriate bankers. The maid had either jumped or been pushed from the balcony and Tay wasn’t yet sure which it was, but it had certainly been no accident. Those two files went into the metal rack on the corner of his desk where he kept his open cases, but they went in the back.

Then he took the Marriott Unknown case file, replaced the label with a blank, and printed Elizabeth Munson on it. That file went in the front of the rack. The other files were just a lot of junk and he gathered them up and pushed them into a bottom drawer.

He was mostly stalling, he knew, but not altogether. He was the son of an accountant and organization for him was a virtue next to godliness. It was a messy, disorderly world out there. Tay’s policy was to keep his little piece of it as tidy as possible.

Eventually Tay could think of nothing else to do and no reason to wait any longer. He stood up and took a couple of deep breaths. It was time to make his way upstairs to the office of the Officer in Charge of CID-SIS and tell him what they had found out about the murder of the American ambassador’s wife.

Tay decided he would use the stairs. It took longer and the exercise wouldn’t hurt him either.

ELEVEN

IN
the anteroom to the OC’s office, Tay stopped and stared in amazement. What in the world was going on here?

As long as Tay could remember, the room had been furnished with two metal chairs, a table piled high with old magazines, and a gray metal desk, inevitably cluttered and unoccupied. There were still two chairs, but now they were upholstered in a rich blue fabric and looked stylishly uncomfortable. The table between them was glass and chrome and on it was nothing but a single white vase filled with fresh flowers, maybe chrysanthemums. Tay really didn’t know much about flowers.

The secretary’s desk, also glass and chrome with a blue upholstered swivel chair behind it, was decked out with a white flatpanel computer monitor and a matching laser printer. It was also decked out with a new secretary which, when Tay stopped to think about it, might well explain everything else.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

She seemed quite young, although recently Tay noticed everyone seemed quite young to him, and she was undeniably very attractive. Her skin was
café au lait
brown and her hair was cut in bangs from under which darker brown eyes sparkled from a full, open face.

“Do you work here?” he asked.

“I’m Nora Zaini, sir. I started last week. I’m the OC’s new secretary.”

His boss had never had his own secretary before as far as Tay knew. He had always answered his own phone, or not answered it depending on his mood, and used somebody from the secretarial pool when he needed typing done. Was it possible the sudden appearance of this beautiful young Malay woman in the Chief ‘s outer office portended big changes in the wind?

“Is he in?” Tay asked, inclining his head toward the door leading to the inner office. Before the young woman could answer, the door opened and the OC appeared.

“It’s very nice, Chief,” Tay said, waving his hand at the newly decorated room. “I like it.”

The boss looked mildly embarrassed. “The whole thing was mostly…” he nodded toward his secretary, “Nora’s idea. She thought, well—”

“Absolutely about time to do something like this, Chief,” Tay cut in, taking the OC off the hook. “Look, I’m sorry to barge in without calling first, but I need to see you for a minute.”

“The woman at the Marriott?”

Tay nodded slowly and the OC nodded back. They went into his office and closed the door.

The OC sat listening in silence while Tay told him about DeSouza’s visit on Sunday afternoon and the identification of the murdered woman as Elizabeth Munson, wife of the American ambassador to Singapore. The OC leaned back in his chair and sighed, but before he could say anything Tay quickly moved on to Dr. Hoi’s discovery of the gunshot wound in Mrs. Munson’s ear. When Tay finished telling both stories, the OC closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands.

“Oh boy,” he said.

The OC opened his eyes again and looked at Tay. Tay got the distinct impression the OC was hoping that he might be gone, but of course he wasn’t.

“Well,” the OC said after a small silence. “The American ambassador’s wife, huh? Shot in the head.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I met her once. At some damn party. Nice woman as I recall.”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“You don’t have any reason to suspect the husband, do you?”

“Why would you ask, sir? Have you heard something that suggests we ought to?”

“No, no.” The OC waved his hands like he was shooing away flies. “It’s just that when a wife is murdered, the first person you always look at is…” he hesitated as if he was unwilling to voice the thought out loud. “Well, you know.”

“As we understand it now, sir, the ambassador was out of town when his wife was murdered.”

“Well, thank God for that at least. Having to investigate the American ambassador for the murder of his wife is a problem we can damn well do without.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you sent a copy of our file to this FBI guy yet?”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Well, send it right now. Maybe if we’re lucky they’ll take over the whole damned case.”

Tay hesitated. “Sir?”

“Look, Sam, the FBI is better equipped than we are to deal with some terrorist shooting the wife of an American ambassador.”

“DeSouza doesn’t know about the gunshot.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t tell him.”

“You didn’t tell him about the gunshot?”

“No, sir. I didn’t tell him.”

“Why on earth not?”

Tay considered, if only briefly, giving the OC the same explanation he had given Sergeant Kang, but thought better of it.

“I didn’t want to give up everything we had until you and I talked about it, Chief.”

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it.”

“Sir, we don’t even know for sure yet that the deceased woman really
is
Elizabeth Munson. All I can tell you for certain is that some guy carrying what looked like FBI credentials came to my house on Sunday and told me the Americans had identified the prints we sent to Interpol as hers.”

“You doubt that for some reason?”

“I think we should go slowly here, sir. Either way, this case is going to get a lot of attention and there will be a lot of people second-guessing everything we do. At least some of them will be trying to make us look like a bunch of local clowns. If something goes bad in the investigation, you can bet the FBI will blame us.”

“What are you saying, Sam?”

“Until we receive a formal notification of the ID from Interpol, let’s just continue to conduct our own investigation in the way we normally would. We’ll check all the available surveillance tapes carefully and see if we can find anyone at the Marriott who saw Elizabeth Munson there. Then I’ll do some very discreet digging into her background and see if we can identify a possible motive that might not be obvious. If we can place Elizabeth Munson at the Marriott and develop something on a motive by the time we receive notification of the fingerprint ID, our investigation ought to survive whatever scrutiny it gets.”

The OC looked at Tay for a long time in silence, pinching his lower lip gently between his thumb and his forefinger.

“I see what you mean,” he said after a while. “Okay, do it that way.”

“And I’d like to interview the ambassador,” Tay added quickly.

“Why? I thought you told me he was in the clear.”

“What I said, sir, was that as far as we know now the ambassador was out of town. We have to confirm that.”

The OC looked at Tay some more and scratched his chin.

“Do you really have to interview the man? Couldn’t you confirm where he was in some other way?”

“Well, sir, his wife was brutally murdered. If we don’t interview her husband at all, that wouldn’t look very good for us, would it?”

“I suppose not.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you think DeSouza would be willing to arrange it?”

“If we offer to give him a copy of our case file, it might be hard for him to say no. Getting cooperation from us ought to justify him giving cooperation in return.”

The OC snorted. “You mean cooperation like you hiding the real cause of death from him?”

Tay cleared his throat. “I’ll give DeSouza a copy of the autopsy report as soon as I get it, sir. He doesn’t need to know about a personal conversation I may or may not have had with Dr. Hoi before her report was provided to us. I’m sure if we seem to be acting open-handedly with him, then he’ll respond to us in the same spirit.”

“You don’t know the Americans very well, do you, Sam?”

“Not really, sir, no.”

The OC snorted again, this time putting some real feeling into it. “You’ll learn. This kind of thing is never a two-way street for them, not unless they’re sure they’re getting the best of it.”

“Then I won’t give him the files and the autopsy report.”

“Don’t climb too far up that tree, Sam. You’ll just end up getting hurt when you have to jump. Assuming the deceased really is who they say she is, we’ll have to give them everything eventually and you know it would be the right thing to do.”

“Let me call him about the file and ask if he’ll arrange the interview. Maybe there won’t be any problem.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Governments can get awfully sensitive about matters of protocol, whether or not there’s any good reason for it. And don’t forget about diplomatic immunity.”

“I thought diplomatic immunity only applied to charging someone with a crime, not conducting an interview.”

“It means whatever the country invoking it wants it to mean. You remember that.”

“Yes, sir.”

The OC stood up and stretched. “Get out of here, Sam. I’ve got to call a few people and give them a heads up on this one. I agree with you that we don’t have to know anything, at least not officially, until we get a formal reply from Interpol, but it’s all going to hit the fan then. We need to be ready for it.”