Tiong said finally, turning, “Do you know a French national by the name of La Croix, Mr. Connell?”
I went to the rattan armchair and shook a cigarette from the pack there. “Why?”
“Do you?”
“I might.”
Tiong rubbed at his upper lip with the tip of one forefinger. “Are you familiar with the Severin Road, near Bedok, Mr. Connell?”
“A little. It runs through a mangrove swamp, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “The French national was found there shortly past two o’clock this morning by a native boy hunting frogs,” he said. “Shot once through the heart-and five times in the face-with a. 25-caliber weapon.”
Very carefully, I stubbed out my cigarette in a ceramic ashtray on the table near the bedroom door. I held a long breath and then let it out slowly between my teeth. “Five bullets in the face does a lot of damage,” I said. “How did you make an identification?”
“His papers had not been disturbed. And we discovered a rented automobile, leased by him, not far from his body.”
“I suppose you think I had something to do with it. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Did you, Mr. Connell?”
“No.”
“Among the French national’s effects was a scrap of paper containing your name and address,” Tiong said. “Do you know why he would have such a paper?”
I decided to level with him; there was no point in doing anything else. “He came to see me yesterday morning. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on him in over two years.”
“What was the purpose of his visit?”
“He wanted to hire me.”
“To do what?”
“Fly him out of Singapore.”
“To what destination?”
“The Thai coast, near Bangkok.”
“Singapore has excellent airline service to Thailand,” Tiong said pointedly.
“Yeah.”
“What was his reason for not utilizing the normal modes of transportation?”
“He didn’t give me one.”
“He only said he wished you to fly him to Thailand?”
“That’s all.”
“Did you agree to do this?”
“No.
“And why not?”
“I don’t fly any more,” I said.
“Ah yes,” Tiong said. “Your commercial and private pilot’s license was revoked two years ago, was it not? Because of a certain incident on the island of Penang?”
I said nothing. He was obviously well aware of the incident on Penang, and the ensuing investigation of it.
Tiong smiled faintly. “Why do you suppose, Mr. Connell, that the French national would seek you out in particular with his request?”
“We had dealings once, a long time ago.”
“What type of dealings?”
I met his eyes squarely. “I’d rather not say.”
He touched his upper lip again, and we stood for a time with our eyes locked. Finally he said, “I would like to know your whereabouts last evening, Mr. Connell.”
“The Old Cathay Bar.”
“All evening?”
“Most of it.”
“What time did you arrive?”
“Midafternoon.”
“And what time did you leave?”
“Around ten o’clock.”
“Do you own a gun, please?”
“No,” I said.
“Have you ever owned one?”
“A long time ago.”
“What was it?”
“A German Walther.”
“Where is it now?”
“I don’t have any idea.”
“Would you object to a search of your quarters?”
“Be my guest,” I said, “but I’ll tell you something, Inspector.”
“Yes?”
“You’re wasting your time coming around to me. I didn’t kill La Croix. I didn’t have any reason to kill him. But I’ve got an idea who might have done it. Look up a guy named Van Rijk, Jorge Van Rijk, and ask him the same questions you’ve just asked me.”
Tiong’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of Van Rijk?”
I still didn’t want to get involved in whatever this thing was. But what had happened last night on Betar Road, and La Croix’s death-the way Tiong had said he died-seemed to make it necessary now. “We had a little chat yesterday,” I told him. “He knew I had spoken with La Croix, and he thought I knew where La Croix had gone after he left here. He tried to find out what we had discussed. I wouldn’t give him any answers, and he made a few very plain threats. Last night, when I left the Old Cathay, the two men he had had with him earlier jumped me on Betar Road. One of them, a Eurasian, took a few shots at me with a small caliber automatic-a. 25, maybe.” I lifted my bandaged hands. “I had to go over a couple of fences, one of them capped with barbed wire, to get away from him, and that’s how this happened.”
Tiong digested the information. Then he said slowly, “I see.”
“I take it you’re familiar with Van Rijk,” I said.
“We know of him, yes.”
“Just who the hell is he?”
“Ostensibly, a tobacco merchant.”
“Ostensibly?”
“We have reason to believe he has other, more profitable — and less legal-interests.”
“He can’t have been on Singapore long.”
“As a matter of fact, no. Less than a year.” He studied me clinically. “How did you know?”
I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Look, La Croix was pretty damned shaken up when I talked to him yesterday. He wanted to get out of Singapore in a hurry. Judging from that little incident last night, I’d say it was Van Rijk he was frightened of. And that he had good cause.”
“Perhaps,” Tiong said noncommittally. “You still maintain the French national told you nothing other than his wish to hire you to transport him to Thailand?”
“I still maintain it,” I said, “because it’s the truth. Listen, Inspector, I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve co-operated with you right down the line. I’m sorry La Croix is dead-he was a lot of things, maybe, but he was also something of a friend of mine once-and I’d like to see you get your hands on whoever killed him. I know the kind of reputation I’ve got with you, and there’s nothing I can do to change it-except to stay clean the way I’ve done for the last two years. Am I making my position clear?”
“Quite clear, Mr. Connell.”
“Fine. Now if there’s nothing else, I’d like to get dressed. I have to be at work in less than an hour.”
“You are employed where currently?”
“Harry Rutledge’s godown, on Keppel Road. At least for today, anyway.”
Tiong nodded slightly, studying me, and then he stepped across to the door, opened it, turned again. “You will, of course, make yourself available in the event your assistance is required in the future.”
“I’m not planning to go anywhere.”
“Then, selamat jalan for now, Mr. Connell.”
When he had gone, I stood there for a time in the quiet heat of the room. I had the feeling he had not quite believed me, that he thought I was holding back on something; reputations die very hard in Southeast Asia-as hard, sometimes, as men like La Croix, who help to build them in the first place. I also had the feeling that my assistance would be required again, all right.
And soon-very soon.
Chapter Six
Two o’clock.
The sun bore down with burning fingers on the bared upper half of my body, and the back of my neck felt blotched and raw from the roote hond. Thick sweat had chafed my crotch beneath the khaki trousers I wore, had formed beneath the bandages on my hands; the barbed wire cuts burned hellishly as I worked.
I set my teeth and rolled another barrel of palm oil from the deck of the tongkang across the wide, flat gangplank and onto the dock. One of the Chinese coolies took it there and put it onto a wooden skid. An ancient forklift-belching smoke in rancid cumulus, operated by a barefoot Tamil — waited nearby.