Snake Agent: A Detective Inspector Chen Novel - By Liz Williams Page 0,1

glow of rage in his heart. How many more young women might have gone the same way after their deaths, unnoticed and unmourned? But whoever was behind all this had made a mistake this time, choosing the daughter of Singapore Three's premier industrialist rather than some nameless prostitute. Chen held the photograph out to the woman sitting on the other side of the desk and said gently, "Let's begin at the beginning, Mrs Tang. Are you sure that this is your daughter?"

Mrs Tang's grip tightened around the handle of her Miucci handbag as she studied the photograph. In a little whispery voice she said, "Yes. Yes, that's Pearl."

"Now, you say someone sent this to you?"

"Yesterday. I didn't go out of the house, and I'm sure no one came in—it was the servants' afternoon off. But when I walked into the living room, the photo was sitting on the bureau. In a red envelope. I didn't know what it was at first. There was a note, telling me what to do." She gestured towards the spiraling incense. "You can see her face for a little while, but then it fades again."

"And did you notice anything—strange? Apart from the envelope?"

Mrs Tang moistened dry lips. "There was some ash. Like dust. At first I thought the maid hadn't been cleaning properly, but it was white and soft. Like incense ash."

"I see. Mrs Tang, I know how hard this is for you, but at least we have a lead. You must try and be hopeful."

Mrs Tang's face began to crumple.

"You will find her, won't you?"

Reaching across, Chen patted her hand. "Don't worry. We'll find your daughter, and we'll make absolutely sure that this time she completes her journey to the afterlife." He did his best to sound reassuring.

"Thank you," Mrs Tang murmured. She pushed her expensive sunglasses to the top of her head and rubbed her eyes; they were rimmed with redness. "I'd better go. I couldn't tell my husband I was coming here; he'd be furious if he knew I'd gone to the police. I told him I was going shopping."

Chen sighed. This was an added complication, but hardly an unfamiliar one. "Is there anything you can do to change your husband's mind?"

"I don't think so. H'suen's a hard man to talk to sometimes. I've tried discussing it with him, but he won't listen." Mrs Tang gave a brittle, bitter smile. "He says it doesn't make any difference; Pearl's dead and that's that. You see, he adored Pearl. At first, anyway. She was such a sweet little girl, but then she started growing up. I mean, she was always a—well, she was a lovely, lovely girl, but she could be a little bit difficult. Willful. She was fourteen, and I used to say to him: 'What do you expect these days?' They all go out with boys, and Pearl was very popular. He used to get so angry. . .And then he found out that she'd been charging money for what she did and of course he was furious, we both were, but I said Pearl needed help, not scolding. . .And I think her eating problems started around then. . ."

She seemed to have forgotten that she had been on the point of leaving. Patiently, Chen listened as she talked, building up a picture of the dead girl. Disobedience, anorexia, promiscuity and what amounted to prostitution did not make a pretty picture, but Chen said nothing. Years of police work had taught him that sympathy won more confidences than judgment, and anyway, it came more naturally. Chen didn't feel that he was in any position to judge anyone else, certainly not these days. He sat gazing at Mrs Tang, making sympathetic noises while she rambled on about her daughter, and occasionally handing her a tissue to dry her eyes. Yet despite the tears, Chen was increasingly beginning to feel that there was something not quite right about this exhibition of maternal consideration. It was a little too artless, a little too staged. He could smell a lie, somewhere, like the stink of rotting meat beneath spice, but he did not yet know where it lay. Perhaps it related to nothing more than guilt over the peculiar combination of self-indulgence and neglect that the rich habitually displayed towards their offspring, perhaps to something darker. What had driven the fourteen-year-old daughter of one of the city's most privileged households not only to provide sexual services, but to seek payment for them? Chen mentally ran