into a room and thinking about stepping in
blood. He could never decide what he was more worried about
ruining: his shoes, or his soul.
Tay had stopped walking and was standing at
the corpse’s feet when Kang noticed the odd look on his face.
“Is this somebody you know, sir?”
Tay didn’t reply. He just stared at the
corpse. Kang shifted his weight from one foot to another,
waiting.
After a moment, Kang repeated the question.
“Do you know the dead man, sir?”
This time Tay nodded slightly.
“Who is it?” Kang asked.
“I don’t know.”
Kang was puzzled by Tay’s answer, of course,
but no more puzzled than he often was by things Tay said. So he
just waited.
“I thought for a minute I recognized him,”
Tay added after a short silence. “But now I’m not sure.”
“Who did you think it was, sir?”
“I don’t know.”
Kang just nodded and waited some more.
“There’s something about him that’s familiar,
but…”
Tay trailed off and pursed his lips, but he
didn’t say anything else.
“Maybe he just looks like somebody you know,
sir,” Kang suggested.
“Probably that’s it,” Tay said.
But he didn’t think that was it at all.
***
“Call FMB and find out where they are,
Sergeant.”
“But, sir, they’ll just tell me—”
“Get FMB out here. Threaten them if you have
to. Tell them I’ve got dirty pictures of their mothers and I’ll
send them to the Straits Times.”
“Sir?”
“Just call them, Sergeant.
Kang nodded slowly, then he took out his cell
phone and went to the living room to call FMB.
When Kang was gone, Tay squatted next to the
corpse and examined the man’s face for a long time. Something was
tickling the far distant recesses of his memory. He could feel it
as surely as if fingertips were fluttering on his forearm. But each
time he reached for it, the memory faded away like a dream in the
morning sun.
Did he know this man?
He was sure he did, although he couldn’t
remember who he was or even where he might know him from.
The man’s eyes had been brown, although the
color was already starting to drain out of them, and he had an
elongated jaw and a long, patrician-looking nose rounded at the
end. It was a weathered face, an old man’s face, but still strong.
It was the sort of face Tay hoped he might have when he reached the
same time in his life. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that
far off.
In spite of the gray pallor and sagging skin,
Tay could still see the deep vertical creases and imagine the ruddy
tinge on the face of a man who had lived his life with gusto. Yet
now here he was, dead, neatly stretched out on the floor of a
shabby HDB flat on the far rim of Singapore. Tay doubted the man
had ever imagined his life might end like this. He seemed to be
someone who was more likely to have envisioned an adventurous, even
noble end. But this was the end he got.
No cause of death was obvious. Maybe it was
just a simple unattended death, Tay told himself. The man was
certainly old enough for that to be a possibility. A heart attack
or a stroke maybe. But even as Tay formed the thought he knew it
wasn’t so. No one has a heart attack, then stretches out neatly on
the floor with his arms by his sides and just dies.
Tay carefully ran his hands into each of the
side pockets of the man’s khakis. When he found nothing, he rolled
the corpse a little first one way and then the other and checked
the man’s hip pockets as well. Nothing there either.
Who walks around with nothing at all in his
pockets?
Tay stood up and his knees cracked so loudly
they sounded like gunshots in the silent bedroom. He would be fifty
this year. Closer to the end than to the beginning, he knew. Far
closer, really.
When Tay thought about that, which he did
increasingly often these days, he was always surprised to realize
how dispassionate he felt about dying. He had seen so much death in
his lifetime that it had lost its capacity to frighten him. He did
not want to
blood. He could never decide what he was more worried about
ruining: his shoes, or his soul.
Tay had stopped walking and was standing at
the corpse’s feet when Kang noticed the odd look on his face.
“Is this somebody you know, sir?”
Tay didn’t reply. He just stared at the
corpse. Kang shifted his weight from one foot to another,
waiting.
After a moment, Kang repeated the question.
“Do you know the dead man, sir?”
This time Tay nodded slightly.
“Who is it?” Kang asked.
“I don’t know.”
Kang was puzzled by Tay’s answer, of course,
but no more puzzled than he often was by things Tay said. So he
just waited.
“I thought for a minute I recognized him,”
Tay added after a short silence. “But now I’m not sure.”
“Who did you think it was, sir?”
“I don’t know.”
Kang just nodded and waited some more.
“There’s something about him that’s familiar,
but…”
Tay trailed off and pursed his lips, but he
didn’t say anything else.
“Maybe he just looks like somebody you know,
sir,” Kang suggested.
“Probably that’s it,” Tay said.
But he didn’t think that was it at all.
***
“Call FMB and find out where they are,
Sergeant.”
“But, sir, they’ll just tell me—”
“Get FMB out here. Threaten them if you have
to. Tell them I’ve got dirty pictures of their mothers and I’ll
send them to the Straits Times.”
“Sir?”
“Just call them, Sergeant.
Kang nodded slowly, then he took out his cell
phone and went to the living room to call FMB.
When Kang was gone, Tay squatted next to the
corpse and examined the man’s face for a long time. Something was
tickling the far distant recesses of his memory. He could feel it
as surely as if fingertips were fluttering on his forearm. But each
time he reached for it, the memory faded away like a dream in the
morning sun.
Did he know this man?
He was sure he did, although he couldn’t
remember who he was or even where he might know him from.
The man’s eyes had been brown, although the
color was already starting to drain out of them, and he had an
elongated jaw and a long, patrician-looking nose rounded at the
end. It was a weathered face, an old man’s face, but still strong.
It was the sort of face Tay hoped he might have when he reached the
same time in his life. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that
far off.
In spite of the gray pallor and sagging skin,
Tay could still see the deep vertical creases and imagine the ruddy
tinge on the face of a man who had lived his life with gusto. Yet
now here he was, dead, neatly stretched out on the floor of a
shabby HDB flat on the far rim of Singapore. Tay doubted the man
had ever imagined his life might end like this. He seemed to be
someone who was more likely to have envisioned an adventurous, even
noble end. But this was the end he got.
No cause of death was obvious. Maybe it was
just a simple unattended death, Tay told himself. The man was
certainly old enough for that to be a possibility. A heart attack
or a stroke maybe. But even as Tay formed the thought he knew it
wasn’t so. No one has a heart attack, then stretches out neatly on
the floor with his arms by his sides and just dies.
Tay carefully ran his hands into each of the
side pockets of the man’s khakis. When he found nothing, he rolled
the corpse a little first one way and then the other and checked
the man’s hip pockets as well. Nothing there either.
Who walks around with nothing at all in his
pockets?
Tay stood up and his knees cracked so loudly
they sounded like gunshots in the silent bedroom. He would be fifty
this year. Closer to the end than to the beginning, he knew. Far
closer, really.
When Tay thought about that, which he did
increasingly often these days, he was always surprised to realize
how dispassionate he felt about dying. He had seen so much death in
his lifetime that it had lost its capacity to frighten him. He did
not want to
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