An ambulance pulled up in front of the building and two paramedics climbed out. Inspector Zhang went over to speak to them, then returned to Sergeant Lee and told her to accompany her into the building.
The glass-doors were locked and there was no one sitting behind the counter at reception. "They probably only have the desk manned during the day," said the inspector.
There was a stainless steel panel set into the wall with forty numbered buttons and a speaker grille. At the top of the panel was a small camera set behind thick glass. Inspector Zhang pressed button number one. After a few seconds a man asked him in Chinese who he was and what he wanted. Inspector Zhang held up his warrant card and replied in Mandarin, telling the man who he was and that he required him to open the door. The lock buzzed and Sergeant Lee pushed the door open. Inspector Zhang thanked the man and put away his warrant card.
He followed Sergeant Lee into the marbled foyer and looked around. "No CCTV," he said. "That’s a pity." There were two elevators and he pressed the button to summon one.
"Some residents find them intrusive," said Sergeant Lee. "They wanted to install them inside our building, but too many people objected."
"If you do nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear from CCTV," said Inspector Zhang.
"Some people prefer to keep their privacy, I suppose," said the sergeant.
The elevator arrived and they took it up to the tenth floor. There they found a door that led outside. It opened onto a stone-flagged roof where there was a small white-painted gazebo and several wooden benches. There was a barbecue area and a dozen tall palms in earthenware tubs.
Sergeant Lee pointed at a Louis Vuitton handbag on one of the benches. "There, Sir," she said.
Inspector Zhang went over to the railing to look down at the street below while Sergeant Lee examined the bag. She took out a wallet and flipped it open. Inside were half a dozen credit cards and her NRIC, the card carried by every Singaporean. The card was pink, showing that she was a citizen. Cards carried by permanent residents were blue.
"Celia Wong," said Sergeant Lee, reading the card. "Married. Twenty-seven years old."
"So young," said Inspector Zhang, staring down at the pavement far below. The crowds had moved on and there was no sign that a woman had died there. There would be blood on the pavement still, thought Inspector Zhang, but he couldn’t see the red stain from the roof.
"I’m twenty-four," said Sergeant Lee.
"I meant so young to kill herself," said the inspector. "She had her whole life in front of her. Why would she want to end it?"
Sergeant Lee shrugged, not knowing what to say.
"Where does she live?" asked the inspector.
"A building in Yio Chu Kang," she said. "I know the building. It’s a Housing and Development Board block."
"Are you sure?" asked the inspector, turning to face her.
Sergeant Lee nodded. "I was there on a case last year," she said. "Shall I phone the husband?"
"Definitely not," said Inspector Zhang. "News like this has to be broken in person, and in a sympathetic manner. Do you have your car?"
"I do, inspector."
"Then you shall drive," said Inspector Zhang. "My wife has taken my car."
It took Sergeant Lee twenty minutes to drive to Yio Chu Kang. Inspector Zhang was pleasantly surprised at her driving skills, she was neither too slow nor two fast and she made good use of her rear view mirror and side mirrors. She parked confidently in a space only a few feet wider than her Honda Civic.
They climbed out and looked up at the building. Inspector Zhang realised that his sergeant was right, it was an HDB block, cheap housing provided by the Government for those on low incomes.
They walked over to the main entrance. The intercom system was old and showing signs of wear with several buttons missing. Sergeant Lee pressed the button for Mr. Wong’s apartment and there was a buzzing noise. A few seconds later a man asked who was there.
Sergeant Lee put her face close to the intercom. "This is Sergeant Lee of the Singapore Police Force," she said. "I am with Inspector Zhang. We are with the CID at New Bridge Road."
"It’s late, what do you want?"
"Are you Mr. Wong?" asked Sergeant Lee.
"Yes."
"And your wife is Celia Wong?"
"Is my wife all right? Has something happened?"
"We’d like to come in and talk to you, Mr. Wong. It would be easier if we could talk to you face to face."
The door buzzed and Sergeant Lee pushed it open. They walked to the elevator and went up to the sixth floor. Wong already had the door to his apartment open. He was wearing a black silk dressing gown and red pyjamas with gold dragons on them. "What’s wrong?" he asked. "Is my wife all right? I’ve been phoning her all night but she isn’t answering her phone."
"Can we come in please?" asked Inspector Zhang.
Mr. Wong opened the door wide and let them into his apartment. He was in his mid-thirties, tall with a neatly-trimmed goatee beard. The inspector and Sergeant Lee walked through to a sitting room that was barely large enough to hold two sofas and a circular dining table. The window was wide open and a soft breeze blew in from outside. There was a small LCD television on a rosewood table showing a football match, the sound muted. "Look, tell me what’s going on," said Wong.
"I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr. Wong," said Inspector Zhang. "It might be best if you sat down."
Mr. Wong did as the inspector asked and sat down on an overstuffed sofa. Sergeant Lee sat on a rosewood chair but Inspector Zhang remained standing. "Where is your wife, Mr. Wong?" asked Inspector Zhang. "Where did she go?"
"She said she was going out to see a friend, but that was hours ago."
"Who is the friend?"
"I don’t know. She didn’t say. She just said that she would be back in two hours but that was ages. Look, has something happened? Is she in trouble?"
"Your wife died earlier tonight, Mr. Wong. I am so sorry."
Mr. Wong’s eyes narrowed and then he looked across at Sergeant Lee. "She what?" he asked, but the sergeant said nothing. Sergeant Lee looked at Inspector Zhang. He was the superior officer so it was up to him to do the talking.
"She fell from a building," said Inspector Zhang. "I am so sorry for your loss."
Mr. Wong shook his head. "No, there’s some mistake," he said. "My wife went to a restaurant. She was having dinner." He frowned. "What building?"
"An apartment building in River Valley."
"Then there’s definitely been a mistake, my wife wouldn’t have any reason to go to River Valley."
"Where did your wife say she was going, Mr. Wong?" asked Inspector Zhang.
"I don’t know. She didn’t say which restaurant."
"Then how do you know she wasn’t going to River Valley?"
"Because she doesn’t have any friends there. If she did, I’d know."
"Mr. Wong, we found your wife’s handbag." He took Mrs. Wong’s NRI card from his pocket and gave it to Mr. Wong. Mr. Wong stared at it, his lower lip trembling.
"Mr. Wong, I’m sorry but I have to ask. Was your wife upset about something?"
Mr. Wong continued to stare at the card.
"Mr. Wong, was your wife upset about something?" repeated the inspector.
Mr. Wong looked up, frowning. "Upset?"
"We think she deliberately jumped off the building. But there was no note."
"My wife did not kill herself. Why would you say that?"
"It wasn’t an accident," said Inspector Zhang.
"How can you possibly know that? You said she didn’t leave a note. Suicides always leave notes, don’t they?"
"Not always." Inspector Zhang took a deep breath. "Mr. Wong, I know that your wife killed herself because I was there," he said.
"You were there?”
"In River Valley. I saw her jump."