She walked over to the telephone. “I would like to place a call to the United States. New York City. Person-to-person to Mr. Michael Moretti.” She gave the telephone number.
The operator said, “I’m so sorry. All the circuits are busy. Please try again later.”
“Thank you.”
Downstairs, the operator looked for approval to the man standing next to the switchboard.
He nodded. “Good,” he said. “Very good.”
The call from Inspector Touh came an hour after Jennifer checked into the hotel.
“Miss Jennifer Parker?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Inspector David Touh.” He had a soft, indefinable accent.
“Yes, Inspector. I’ve been expecting your call. I’m anxious to arrange—”
The inspector interrupted. “I wonder if I might have the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening.”
A warning. He was probably afraid of the phone being bugged.
“I would be delighted.”
The Great Shanghai was an enormous, noisy restaurant filled, for the most part, with natives who were loudly eating and talking. There was a three-piece band on a platform, and an attractive girl in a cheongsam was singing popular American songs.
The maître d’ said to Jennifer, “A table for one?”
“I’m meeting someone. Inspector Touh.”
The maître d’s face broke into a smile. “The inspector is waiting for you. This way, please.” He led Jennifer to a table at the front of the room, next to the bandstand.
Inspector David Touh was a tall, thin, attractive man in his early forties, with delicate features and dark, liquid eyes. He was beautifully and almost formally dressed in a dark suit.
He held Jennifer’s chair for her, then sat down. The band was playing a deafening rock song.
Inspector Touh leaned across to Jennifer and said, “May I order a drink for you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You must try a chendol.”
“A—what?”
“It is made with coconut milk, coconut sugar and little pieces of gelatin. You will like it.”
The inspector glanced up and a waitress was at his side instantly. The inspector ordered the two drinks and dim sum, Chinese appetizers. “I hope you do not mind if I order your dinner for you?”
“Not at all. I would be pleased.”
“I understand that in your country women are used to taking command. Here it is still the man who is in charge.”
A sexist, Jennifer thought, but she was in no mood to get into an argument. She needed this man. Because of the incredible din and the music, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation. Jennifer sat back and looked around the room. Jennifer had been to other Oriental countries, but the people in Singapore seemed extraordinarily beautiful, men and women both.
The waitress put Jennifer’s drink in front of her. It resembled a chocolate soda with slippery lumps in it.
Inspector Touh read her expression. “You must stir it.”
“I can’t hear you.”
He shouted, “You must stir it!”
Jennifer dutifully stirred her drink. She tasted it.
It was awful, much too sweet, but Jennifer nodded and said, “It’s—it’s different.”
Half a dozen platters of dim sum appeared on the table. Some of them were odd shaped delicacies that Jennifer had never seen before, and she decided not to ask what they were. The food was delicious.
Inspector Touh explained, yelling over the roar of the room, “This restaurant is renowned for the Nonya style of food. That is a mixture of Chinese ingredients and Malay spices. No recipes have ever been written down.”
“I’d like to talk to you about Stefan Bjork,” Jennifer said.
“I can’t hear you.” The noise of the band was deafening.
Jennifer leaned closer. “I want to know when I can see Stefan Bjork.”
Inspector Touh shrugged and pantomimed that he could not hear. Jennifer suddenly wondered whether he had chosen this table so they could talk safely, or whether he had selected it so they could not talk at all.
An endless succession of dishes followed the dim sum and it was a superb meal. The only thing that disturbed Jennifer was that she had not once been able to bring up the subject of Stefan Bjork.
When they had finished eating and were out on the street, Inspector Touh said, “I have my car here.” He snapped his fingers and a black Mercedes that had been double-parked pulled up to them. The inspector opened the back door for Jennifer. A large uniformed policeman was behind the wheel. Something was not right. If Inspector Touh wanted to discuss confidential matters with me, Jennifer thought, he would have arranged for us to be alone.
She got into the back seat of the car and the inspector slid in beside her. “This is your first time in Singapore, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, then, there is much for you to see.”
“I didn’t come here to sight-see, Inspector. I must return home as quickly as possible.”
Inspector Touh sighed. “You Caucasians are always in such a rush. Have you heard of Bugis Street?”
“No.”
Jennifer shifted in her seat so that she could study Inspector spector Touh. He had a face that was highly mobile and his gestures were expressive. He seemed outgoing and communicative, and yet he had spent the entire evening saying exactly nothing.
The car stopped for a trishaw, one of the three-wheeled carriages pedaled by natives. Inspector Touh watched with contempt as the trishaw carried two tourists down the street.