Росс Томас - The Singapore Wink

There were two of them waiting for me. One stood by a window and the other sat in an armchair. The one by the window turned when I opened the door. He had a bony face and a high forehead that was topped by thick black hair that he wore fairly long and parted in the middle. He also wore glasses with wide, dark plastic rims and he had on a suit jacket which he may have thought succeeded in concealing the revolver that he carried in the holster on his belt. He nodded at me as I came in. “Mr. Cauthorne?”

“Yes.”

“I am Detective-Sergeant Huang of the Criminal Investigation Department,” he said with a certain measure of formality. “This is Detective-Sergeant Tan.”

I tossed my key on the bureau. “The clerk told me you were here.”

Sergeant Tan was the younger of the two, but neither of them was much over thirty. Tan also wore the jacket to his suit, unusual in Singapore during the day and not at all common at night. He rose when I entered and I guessed his height at around five-ten or — eleven, a little tall for a Chinese. Although he was wearing a polite smile there was nothing polite about his eyes, but then I have still to meet my first shy policeman.

“We would like to ask you several questions concerning the death of Carla Lozupone,” Sergeant Huang said. “Is my pronunciation correct?”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“You knew that she was dead, of course,” Sergeant Tan said.

“I heard it on the radio.” I had. Dangerfield had told the driver to switch it on during the drive back from Toh’s house. “The cops will be around,” Dangerfield had said as I dropped him off at his hotel. “If you heard it on the radio then you won’t have to act surprised when they tell you she’s dead.”

Huang nodded. “Yes, I believe it was on the eleven o’clock program.”

“I heard it at twelve,” I said. “If this is going to take a while, we may as well sit down. I’d also like some coffee. What would you care for, coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please,” Sergeant Huang said.

I pushed the button and the houseboy made his usual miraculous appearance and took the order. Sergeant Tan resumed his seat in the chair, but Huang continued to stand by the window. I crossed over and sat on the couch to the left of Huang so that when I looked at him, I could avoid the glare from the window.

“You accompanied Miss Lozupone from the United States, I believe, Mr. Cauthorne?” Huang said.

“Yes.”

“Were you very good friends?”

“No; in fact, I met her for the first time the day that I left.”

“And you struck up your acquaintance during the flight?”

“Not really. Her father wanted someone to more or less look after her while she was in Singapore and a mutual friend suggested me. We met first in Los Angeles at her hotel.”

“When did you last see Miss Lozupone?” Tan said.

“Yesterday. Just after noon. She dropped by and we had lunch and a couple of drinks.”

“You did not see her again?” Huang said.

“No.”

“Mr. Cauthorne,” Tan said, “you called for a doctor last night. You were, according to his report, rather badly beaten.”

“Yes. It happened in Chinatown; I’m not sure of the street.”

“Were you robbed?”

“It was only a few dollars. I never carry much cash or even my wallet when I’m wandering around a strange city.”

“That’s wise,” Huang said. “But you didn’t report the robbery to the police?”

“As I said, it was only a few dollars.”

“How many were there?” Huang said. “I mean assailants, of course, not dollars.”

We all smiled at that a little and I had the feeling that they both knew that I was lying and that they knew that I knew. But we played it out; there was nothing else to be done.

“There were three of them,” I said, adding one to the actual total out of pride.

“You must have put up some resistance,” Tan said.

“A token amount, you might say. They didn’t seem to care much for it.”

“Had you been drinking?” Huang said, then added, “I’m sorry that we have to ask these personal questions, Mr. Cauthorne, but I’m sure you appreciate our reasons.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’d had several drinks, perhaps enough to give me too much courage.”

“Did you do your drinking at any one place?”

“Yes. At a place called Fat Annie’s.”

“Was this place recommended to you by a friend?” Tan said.

“No. By a trishaw driver.”

“When did you arrive back at the hotel?”

“Shortly after eleven o’clock.”

“But you didn’t attempt to see Miss Lozupone.”

“No.”

“Why not, if you were hurt?”

“I needed a doctor more than sympathy.”

There was a knock on the door and I crossed and opened it to admit the houseboy who served the coffee and tea. When we all had our cups and saucers, we made some comments about the weather because it suddenly had started to rain, and then we went back to questions and answers.

“You are acquainted with Mr. Angelo Sacchetti, are you not, Mr. Cauthorne?” Tan said.

“Yes.”

“You were involved in an accident with him here almost two years ago, I believe.”

“I think your records will show that,” I said.

“Did Miss Lozupone know him?”

“Yes. At one time, they were engaged to be married.”

“Have you seen Mr. Sacchetti?” Huang asked.

“No.”

“Are you looking for him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought I had caused his death and then I learned that he was alive. His death had bothered me so I wanted to make sure that he was really alive.”

“And you traveled all the way to Singapore just for that?” Tan said.

“Just for that,” I said.

“Have you seen Sacchetti?” Huang repeated, dropping the mister.

“No.”

“Was Miss Lozupone also looking for him?” Tan said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “As I said, they were once engaged.”

“But Sacchetti is now married.”

“So I hear.”

“Why then should a young woman—”

I interrupted Tan. “As you say, she was a young woman. It’s sometimes difficult to tell what a young woman of Carla Lozupone’s temperament will do when she’s been jilted.”

“The woman scorned thing, you mean?” Huang said.

“She didn’t talk to me about it.”

Huang moved from the window and placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table. “Let me see if I have the correct picture of your relationship with Miss Lozupone,” he said, as he returned to the window to take in the view again. “Both of you, through coincidence, came to Singapore at the same time to find Angelo Sacchetti. You, Mr. Cauthorne, for what seems to be some type of psychological reassurance that he was not dead. Miss Lozupone, perhaps for revenge. But you didn’t discuss your reasons with each other. Tell me, did you discuss Angelo Sacchetti?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us about that.”

“There’s not much to tell. We both agreed that he was a son of a bitch.”

“In just those words?” Tan said.

“Those will do.”

“Do you think that Miss Lozupone might have disliked, or even hated, Sacchetti enough to have tried to do something foolish?” Huang said.

“What’s foolish?” I said.

“Try to kill him,” Tan said.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“Did you know that we are looking for Angelo Sacchetti in connection with her death?” Huang said.

“No.” That hadn’t been on the radio.

“When we found Miss Lozupone, we found her holding Sacchetti’s wallet.”

“If he killed her, I doubt that he would have been thoughtful enough to leave his wallet in her hand,” I said.