Still no sound, like a radio that had gone silent, but I could tell from the careful, exaggerated movements of his lips that he was trying to speak to me.
Put it back, he mouthed, nodding at my basket. And I knew, in that inexplicable way of dreams, that he meant the remaining finger—the thumb from Pei Ling’s package.
“Where? The hospital?”
But he only smiled. Thank you for everything. Then he was passing me, climbing onto the train.
“Wait!” I cried, running after him.
He turned and looked at me genially. Courteously. I stared into his eyes, those light-colored eyes, and realized that they had slit, vertical pupils, like the eyes of a cat. Horrified, I took a step back.
The old man bowed his head. I am going now. He put his hands together in a gesture of apology and gratitude, and I saw then that his hands were intact with all ten fingers. Steam and gritty smoke billowed. There was only the scream of the train whistle, the deep vibration of the tracks, and a greyness that descended on everything.
* * *
The train whistle had become a caw, the harsh croak of a crow walking up and down the ledge outside my window. Pressing my hands against my eyes, it occurred to me that besides meaning “upstream” and “downstream,” the words hulu hilir also meant “beginning and end” in Malay. I sat up in the morning hush. It was a dream, nothing more. Or was it? One way or another, I’d never wanted to talk to the dead.
Put it back, he’d said. Shivering in the cool morning air, I picked my way over to my traveling basket. I’d packed the lists of names to show Koh Beng as well as the severed thumb, the one from Pei Ling’s mysterious package. Today I’d go to Batu Gajah and replace it among all the other specimens in that pathology storeroom, and put an end, hopefully, to all this.
But that’s not what I told my mother. “I’m heading back to Ipoh.”
She’d nodded without comment, though her eyes were doubtful. She was still worried about Robert. But I wasn’t planning to see Robert again—only Shin. I had to tell him about my dream. Remembering the old foreigner’s left hand, with its five intact fingers, I was certain that we’d done right in burying the finger in Dr. MacFarlane’s grave.
* * *
When I arrived at the hospital in Batu Gajah, it was half past eight in the morning. A little early for the crowd that had gathered, milling around in front of the main entrance.
“What happened?” I asked a middle-aged woman in a yellow samfoo.
“Accident. Police won’t let us in, even though I told them I had an appointment and the poor fellow’s dead already.”
Alarm shivered through me. “Who died?”
“A young man who worked here. A hospital orderly, they said.”
Shin! Terrified, I ran forward. “Let me through, please!”
A Malay constable was on guard, and I struggled frantically through the crowd, their irritation changing to murmurs of interest and pity.
“My brother’s an orderly here,” I said breathlessly to him. “Do you know who died?”
“I don’t know the name, but if you’re family, I’ll take you through. This way, to the European wing.”
Dry-mouthed, I ran after him. We crossed over to a part of the hospital I’d never been to. Around the corner of a half-timbered two-story building, we approached a knot of people. They were looking up at the roof, then at the grassy area next to the building.
“That’s where it happened.” The constable nodded, eyes on a tall Sikh officer who was putting away a notebook. “Captain Singh, she wants to know if it’s her brother.”
“What’s his name?” His eyes met mine in a penetrating, amber gaze.
“Lee Shin,” I said, holding my breath. “He’s an orderly here.”
He glanced at his notebook. “No. It was a Mr. Wong Yun Kiong.”
My knees sagged. Thank goodness! But the name was horribly familiar. “Do you mean Y. K. Wong?”
“Did you know him?”
What should I say? As I hesitated, someone brushed past me.
“Inspector. I need to talk to you.” It was William Acton, haggard and red-eyed, as though he’d been awake for hours.
The inspector turned, both men ignoring me.
“What is it, Mr. Acton? I thought you’d gone home.”
“I’ve patients to see. But I just remembered something.”
“According to your statement, a tile falling from the roof crushed Mr. Wong’s skull.”
“That’s right. But it wasn’t from the roof.”
We all glanced up instinctively.
“I didn’t realize it till afterwards, because it happened so fast. But there wasn’t enough height.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it was like a shadow dropping. But I’m almost certain that the tile came from the second floor and not the roof.”
There was a pause. “This is a very serious charge, Mr. Acton. Are you saying that someone dropped a tile from the second-story window?”
It was possible, I thought, studying the building. The windows were tall and gracious, open to allow air to flow through. Acton hesitated. “Perhaps.”
“Could you swear to it? It was still dark.”
“I’m not sure that I could,” he rubbed his face, “but that’s my feeling.”
“Feelings matter less than facts.” Animosity crackled between the two men. Had they met before?
“I’m merely passing what information I can to the police.”
“Of course, we’ll go up and check the second floor,” said the inspector smoothly. “But apparently it was locked at the time. These are administrative offices, aren’t they?”
“Yes, though a number of staff have keys.”
“Thank you, Mr. Acton. I’ll keep it in mind.”
William Acton hesitated, then turned away. I hurried after him to ask what had happened, hoping that the inspector had forgotten about me. Why had Y. K. Wong died?
“Louise,” Acton said as I caught up. “Why do you always show up when I least expect you?”
I began a halting explanation about my brother, but he wasn’t really listening. “The first time I met you was in the pathology storeroom, before that little nurse fell down the stairs. Did you know she died this weekend?”
Horrified, I shook my head.
“You were there at the party, the night Nandani disappeared. And now this morning again. Are you the angel of death, Louise?”
“Of course not!”
“But you know about the river in my dreams. Tell me, have you seen any dead people lately?”
He couldn’t possibly know about Shin and me going to dig up Dr. MacFarlane’s grave. My heart was pounding unsteadily. Acton gave a humorless smile. “I’m sorry. I’m in a foul mood today. How about a drink some time—how much do you charge for call-outs?”
Taken aback, I could only fix an automatic smile on my face. The same blank professional look I used at work. To him, I was simply a bit of skirt to take his mind off things. But two could play at this game and there were questions I wanted to ask. “Did you really see something fall from the second floor?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, I do,” I said earnestly. “I think that instincts matter.”
He sighed. “There might have been someone on the second floor. Though why on earth would they chuck a roof tile out of a window?”
Why indeed? Though Shin’s words, I’ll kill him, echoed uncomfortably in my head. Of course he’d been angry after hearing that Y. K. Wong had locked me in the pathology storeroom. But he’d never do such a thing—or would he? I thought of Shin’s silent fury, the darkness in my stepfather that I’d always feared.
“Are you all right, Louise?” said Acton. We’d stopped walking and people passing were beginning to give us looks.
“Did you know Y. K. Wong, the man who was killed?” I asked. Should I tell the inspector about my suspicious run-ins with him, or would it invite trouble?
“Not really. I saw him around.” He rubbed his jaw, his complexion grey and papery. “In some ways it would be better if it weren’t a freakish accident; if there were a logical reason for him dying.”
“What do you mean?”
Acton made a nervous grimace. “Just a thought. A peculiar fancy. Have you ever felt that things have rearranged themselves a little too conveniently?”
My stomach clenched. This was exactly what Yi had said to me in that deserted train station, that the fifth one of us was rearranging events. Everything’s out of order.
“As if fate changes to suit you?”
It was a stab in the dark, but Acton looked astonished. Then he laughed grimly, “What an extraordinary girl you are, Louise. But you understand. Perhaps I knew you in another life.”
Just then Koh Beng came up from behind me. Startled, I wondered how much of our conversation he’d overheard, but he simply said, “Matron wants to see you, sir.”
“Right.” Acton glanced around. “Don’t leave,” he said to me as he crossed over to the next building.
I’d no intention of obeying him, though I waited a few minutes for the coast to clear. Koh Beng lingered. “What are you doing here, talking to Mr. Acton?”
“I ran into him when I was talking to the police about the accident.”
“The police? Did you tell them about the fingers going missing?”