The Ambassador's Wife (9 page)

“Let’s just cut the crap, Special Agent DeSouza. Can we do that? What is this all about?”

DeSouza smoothed down his mustache with two fingers. Then he leaned back on the couch and knitted his fingers together behind his neck.

“On Thursday, you sent a set of fingerprints to Interpol with a request for an ID. They passed them along to us. I’m here to tell you we got a hit for you.”

Tay kept his expression empty. This guy had sucker-punched him just as he had obviously intended to, but Tay wasn’t going to look surprised so that he could enjoy it.

“I assume the prints are from your so-called suicide at the Marriott a couple of days ago,” DeSouza continued when Tay didn’t say anything.

“What do you know about that?” Tay asked.

“Only what I read in the papers.”

“Do you have some interest in the case?”

“I didn’t until this morning. I didn’t until I saw the ID and worked out that’s whose prints you were trying to trace. Am I right?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Why are you being such a hardass with me, Tay? My boss sends me an overnight cable that gets me out of bed at seven on a Sunday morning. I have to cancel my golf game to track you down, and then I come over here all friendly like to tell you who you got there at the Marriott and you treat me like something your dog just dragged in.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“Probably couldn’t find one that could live with your sunny personality.”

DeSouza grinned and Tay saw something unpleasant in it.

“Why do I get the feeling, Special Agent DeSouza, that when you finally get around to telling me who my prints belong to it’s going to be somebody important.”

“Yeah,” DeSouza nodded slowly, “it is.”

“So stop playing games. Let’s have it.”

“Nope. I want something from you first. Are the prints from the woman you found at the Marriott or not?”

“Yes,” Tay said. “They are.”

“So the suicide story you put out was pure bullshit. Am I right?”

“It was a homicide.”

“Go on.”

Tay hesitated. It rubbed him the wrong way to give DeSouza any information on the case, particularly the way he was dangling an identification of the deceased to get it. On the other hand, if the FBI had the woman’s prints the chances were good that she was an American citizen and the FBI would be entitled to know anyway. So Tay told DeSouza what little he knew, at least most of it. Somehow it slipped his mind to mention his conversation with Dr. Hoi or anything she told him about the actual cause of death.

“Damn,” DeSouza grunted. “Tied up and beaten to death, huh?”

Tay said nothing.

“Tortured and murdered.” DeSouza shook his head. “This one’s going to get hairy, my friend. This is going to hit a lot of people like another September 11. Terrorism has just moved to a whole new level.”

Tay wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. He had a murdered woman in a room at the Marriott. Yes, it was an American hotel and, in light of the sudden appearance of the local FBI man in his living room, almost certainly the woman was going to turn out to be an American, too. But that didn’t automatically turn her murder into a terrorist attack, let alone an attack anybody could begin to compare to September 11.

“Who is she?” Tay asked.

DeSouza made a funny little move with his head, turning it very slowly first one way and then the other, like a man who had a stiff neck and was working out the kinks.

“A citizen of the United States,” he said, “Elizabeth Jane Munson.”

The name meant nothing to Tay so he just looked at DeSouza without saying anything.

“You know who she is, don’t you?” DeSouza asked.

Tay shook his head.

“Then grab your balls, old buddy.”

Tay had absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort, and when DeSouza bent toward him, he moved back a bit, just in case.

“Elizabeth Munson is the wife of Arthur Elliot Munson III. Art Munson is the American ambassador to Singapore. Your corpse is the ambassador’s wife.”

Tay’s jaw slackened in spite of his best effort to control it. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured.

On the movie screen of his mind, Tay replayed the second in which he had first seen the murdered woman’s body in the room at the Marriott. The smashed-in face, the degrading way she had been posed, the obscenity of the chrome-bodied flashlight poking out of the dark nest of her pubic hair. He felt sick then and he felt sick now. He fought the nausea as it built.

DeSouza watched Tay carefully, but he said nothing more. Eventually Tay took a long breath and slowly let it out again.

“Have you told her husband yet?” he asked DeSouza.

“I was only guessing why you were running those prints, remember? That’s why I tracked you down today. I wanted to be sure before I said anything to anyone, let alone the ambassador.”

“Is he here in Singapore?”

DeSouza hesitated.

“The ambassador was in Washington most of last week,” he said after a moment, which Tay noticed didn’t exactly answer his question.

“Is he still there?”

DeSouza looked at his watch.

“It’s about three o’clock Sunday morning in DC. The ambassador’s staff assistant told me that he would be leaving there on Sunday and flying straight back here so I’m not sure if he’s left or not.”

“Do you know what flight he’s on?” Tay asked automatically, although as soon as he asked he realized he couldn’t see what difference it made.

“United through San Francisco. He’ll get here tomorrow night.”

“I’ll need to see him as soon as he gets in.”

Tay noticed DeSouza stiffen and he also noticed him try to cover it.

“Why?” DeSouza asked.

“His wife’s been murdered. I’m the investigating officer in the case. What else would you expect me to do?”

“For God’s sake, Sam, give the guy a break. He’s going to get off a twenty-four hour flight at midnight tomorrow feeling like shit warmed over and somebody’s going to meet him at the airport to tell him his wife’s been murdered by terrorists—”

“I think it’s a little early to—”

“Then you want to talk to him when he’s still jet-lagged to hell and in shock over what’s happened. Just cool it for a few days and we’ll arrange something.”

Tay didn’t like the reproachful note in DeSouza’s voice.

“I don’t need your permission to talk to someone who is relevant to my investigation,” he said.

“Actually…” DeSouza paused, looking at Tay with something on his face that was almost a smile, but not quite, “in this case you do.”

Tay said nothing.

“There are issues of protocol here,” DeSouza went on.

“Protocol?”

“Yeah. You know, diplomatic immunity and all that.”

“The American ambassador is going to invoke diplomatic immunity to avoid being interviewed about the murder of his wife?”

DeSouza held up his right hand, palm out like a traffic cop. “Now wait. I didn’t say that.”

“Then what did you say?”

“I said there were matters of protocol to be worked out. Look man, I’m just an FBI working stiff. All that protocol shit is State Department stuff and they’re welcome to it. If they ask my opinion, I’ll give it to them, but the question of who you see and when you see them is up to them.”

“And what
is
your opinion?”

“That they should arrange for you to meet with the ambassador.” DeSouza smiled his smallest smile. “As soon as it’s convenient for him.”

Tay eyed DeSouza for a moment and then let his gaze drift away. Through the French doors he watched a red bird land on the branch of a small tree in his garden. It was a brilliant scarlet color, almost luminescent, and Tay wondered, not for the first time, how it was that animals could live lives of wild freedom in urban areas like Singapore; and if they could, why people couldn’t manage the same trick. The bird looked around quickly, and apparently seeing nothing of interest, flew away again.

Tay brought his eyes back inside. “Did you know Mrs. Munson, Special Agent DeSouza?”

“Everyone in the embassy knew her, I suppose. This isn’t a large post.”

“So you knew her yourself?”

DeSouza shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not a large post. I saw her around here and there. At parties. Sometimes at the embassy. Like that.”

“You don’t seem all that disturbed about her being murdered.”

“I’m not. I didn’t like her.”

Tay nodded, but before he could decide what to say to that, DeSouza stood up and shook the creases back into his khakis.

“Anyway, Sam, I just wanted to let you know who you’ve got there. I’d better get back to the embassy. I’ve got a lot of work to do before the shit hits the fan.”

Tay remained seated.

“Now that I know why you were trying to ID Mrs. Munson’s prints,” DeSouza went on, “I’ve got a murder investigation to put together. The embassy will make arrangements for the body tomorrow and if you could get copies of your files over to me right away that would be a big help.”

DeSouza took a business card out of his shirt pocket and held it out to Tay.

Tay stood slowly, but he made no move to take the card.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Now come on, Sam. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here.”

DeSouza bent down and put his card on the coffee table, turning it so that it faced Tay.

“There’s no need to get into some hairy-assed jurisdictional quarrel,” he went on. “The FBI has authority in all cases involving terrorism against United States citizens wherever it occurs. The Diplomatic Security and Antiterrorism Act of 1986 establishes extraterritorial jurisdiction for American law enforcement in all acts of terrorism against citizens of the United States regardless—”

“How do you know this was an act of terrorism?” Tay interrupted.

“The American ambassador’s wife tortured and murdered? Come on, man. Don’t be naive. What else could it be?”

Tay pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “A jealous lover?”

“Oh, come off it, Sam. If I were you, old buddy, I’d just be happy as hell to have somebody willing to take this one off my plate. Happy as fucking hell. You ought to give me a big sloppy kiss and send me flowers.”

“I think that’s pretty unlikely.”

Tay left the business card where it was and walked into the hallway. He opened the front door and held it until DeSouza caught up with him.

“By the way, Sam,” DeSouza said as he stopped on the threshold, “I really liked the suicide story. Maybe we’ll stick to that. Let me talk to some people and I’ll let you know how we’re going to handle the press. Of course, any announcements will come from the embassy from here on out so make sure your people are on side with that, will you? I’d hate for the ID to leak before we’re ready. We’d all look pretty silly.”

“Good afternoon, Special Agent DeSouza,” Tay said, opening his door a little wider. “I’ll be in touch.”

DeSouza looked for a moment as if he might be about to say something else, but didn’t. He just nodded and left.

Tay closed the door behind him. He walked slowly back to the living room and settled into the same chair where he had sat when DeSouza was there. He remained seated in it for several minutes, hardly moving, then he went upstairs, got a box of Marlboros and his disposable lighter, and came back down. He opened the French doors and walked out into his garden.

Two teak chairs with yellow canvas cushions flanked a small table under a tree, the same tree where the red bird had made its brief visit. Tay sat down heavily in one. After swinging his legs up into the other and crossing them at the ankle, he lit his first Marlboro of the day.

For the rest of the afternoon Inspector Tay sat quietly in his brick-paved garden, watching the birds come and go, smoking one Marlboro after another. He smoked them methodically, as if finishing the pack was a task he had set for himself and one he was determined to complete regardless of the challenges he encountered. Finally, as the day began to dim, he lit the last cigarette in the box, smoked it down to a tiny butt, and dropped it to the bricks under his feet.

At that moment the sky exhaled, breathing out the last gasp of light, and the silence expanded, becoming darkness.

TEN

SERGEANT
Kang walked into the squad room at his usual hour on Monday morning. He had a large latte in one hand and a
Straits Times
in the other. He was just settling himself at his desk and opening the paper to the sports section when Tay came in.

“My office,” Tay said as he passed Kang. “Now.”

Kang dumped the
Straits Times
before he went into Tay’s office, but he took the coffee with him. From Tay’s tone of voice, he knew he was going to need it.

“Close the door,” Tay said.

Kang closed the door and sat down. He had hardly popped the lid off his coffee before Tay told him about his Sunday visit from Special Agent DeSouza and the identity of the woman at the Marriott.

“The wife of the American ambassador?” Kang let out a long, low whistle. “Man, oh man.”

“There’s more,” Tay said. “And it’s worse.”

Tay told Kang about Dr. Hoi’s discovery of the gunshot wound.

Kang looked skeptical. “No one heard any shots fired,” he said. “No one heard anything at all.”

“There was just one shot,” Tay said. “And the killer probably muffled the gun. A .22 wouldn’t have made much more than a
poof
with a pillow wrapped around it.”

Kang still looked doubtful. “The pathologist really thinks someone beat this woman’s face in and then shot her?”

“No. They shot her first. Then they beat her face in.”

“She was beaten
after
she was shot?”

“Exactly.”

“She was already dead when she was beaten?”

“Apparently so.”

“What about the flashlight? Was it put up her before—”

“I don’t know,” Tay interrupted quickly. “Ask Dr. Hoi if you’re that interested.”

Tay and Kang sat in silence for a while after that. This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in Singapore. It wasn’t, but apparently it just had.

“I don’t understand, sir,” Sergeant Kang finally said. “Why would anyone do that? Why would anyone beat this woman’s face in when she was already dead?”