The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook Part 9

Wong, McQuinnie and Lim stared at each other. The feng shui feng shui master spoke first. 'Well?' master spoke first. 'Well?'

'He's expecting us at his place in Ridley Park at eleven.'

'How much he is paying?'

'The first visit will be the free one he gets because he is one of Mr Pun's board members. But he'll pay the surcharge. As for the follow-up visits, well, he said he'd pay whatever we asked. Make up a number, CF.'

Wong tried not to smile too broadly, but it was difficult. He grinned and his hands turned to fists. His eyes were wide as rice-bowls. His cheeks lifted themselves so high that his wrinkled-nested eyes almost disappeared. The room seemed filled with heavenly light.

Nevis Au Yeung. He had to make up a number to put on an invoice for He had to make up a number to put on an invoice for Nevis Au Yeung. Nevis Au Yeung.

Oh, were there enough numbers in the universe?

For most people, a garage implies a small, single-storey construction for one or two cars. But Nevis Au Yeung had a seventeen-car cla.s.sic collection, and then another ten cars that he actually used. The tyc.o.o.n's cars were worth more than the average Singapore apartment complex. His family members had another three dozen vehicles between them, and then there were some forty or fifty s.p.a.ces for staff cars. The garage Au Yeung had asked Wong to deal with was more like a three-storey munic.i.p.al parking lot-but of course, this being Ridley Park, the building was an elegant, architect-designed, steel-sided structure disguised behind a bank of trees.

'Oops, sorry,' said Joyce, peering upwards as they stepped out of the taxi. 'He said a garage. I didn't realise he meant a b.l.o.o.d.y great building.'

'No problem,' said Wong, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with pure, unadulterated greed. 'We charge by square metre.' He was already making a mental estimate of the floor s.p.a.ce of the parking lot-four or five thousand square metres-and huge numbers of dollars were running through his mind. This was going to be a nice, fat job that would cover his office expenses for months.

A loud, musical toot exploded clownishly behind them. They quickly stepped out of the drive as a vintage car rolled up and stopped three metres in front of their knees.

'h.e.l.lo chaps,' said the driver, a debonair man of about forty with thinning red hair and one arm dangling out of the car. A younger man, with pale brown hair and a freckled face, waved a greeting from the pa.s.senger seat. The car in which they sat appeared to have been driven straight from an Edwardian postcard.

'Waah. So old,' the feng shui feng shui master said. master said.

'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,' Joyce said.

'Hmm?' Wong asked, unsure what language she was speaking.

'Can we help you? Come to see the motors, have you?' The man spoke with a cinematic London accent, p.r.o.nouncing motors motors as if it was two words: as if it was two words: Mo. Uz. Mo. Uz.

While Wong was searching for the right words, Joyce got ahead of him. 'Morning. Do you guys like work here? We want to get in. There's no bell. We're here to do some work for Mr Nevis Au Yeung. This is Mr -'

'No problem,' said the cheery motorist, whose accent and dark tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses gave him the air of a cut-price Michael Caine. He held out his hand, thrusting a business card at Joyce. 'The name's d.i.c.k Curdy. This is my brother Petey. Say hi, Petey.'

'Hi Petey,' said Petey.

'We look after the Chairman's little collection of motors for him. The ones He's got left, anyway. Hardy-ha-ha.'

Joyce showed the card to Wong. CURDY'S CLa.s.sIC CARS, it said, next to a picture of a vintage car.

'That's one majorly cool car,' the young woman said. 'Is it one of his oldest?'

'What? This little number?' Curdy slapped the car door, which looked as if it were made from green enamel. 'Naah. This ain't his. This is ours. Replica. Made about thirteen years ago. It's younger than you are. It's younger than Petey's mental age. No, it's our clients who own the vintage cars, not poor us. Me and Petey have to schlep around in cheap copy cars, or use shanks's pony. We're workers, the unwashed ma.s.ses, the lumpenproletariat and all that.'

Petey man leaned out of the window. 'You a motorist yourself, miss?'

'No,' said Joyce. 'I can't drive! I use the MRT-and shanks's pony, like you.'

Wong turned an amazed face at her. 'You use horse horse to come to work?' to come to work?'

The eyes of the men in the car changed focus slightly and the feng shui feng shui master realised there was someone behind them. master realised there was someone behind them.

The two visitors turned to see a stocky, unsmiling man in a dark uniform approaching. He greeted the Curdy brothers with a courteous wave and opened the high security gates for them to drive through.

Then he introduced himself as Alyn Puk, day-s.h.i.+ft security guard. 'You're the people He called? From the feng shui feng shui company, is it? Follow me.' company, is it? Follow me.'

The Curdys waved a cheerful goodbye as their replica car roared past.

Puk, a tired-looking man who seemed too heavy to be in his present profession, led them to a small office set into the ground floor of the car park building. While they were walking, he used his walkie-talkie to summon someone else. 'Harris Wu there, is it? This is Puk. Could you get him to come over to my office? Tell him the feng shui feng shui people are here. Yah. Now. Over.' people are here. Yah. Now. Over.'

They heard a roar as d.i.c.k Curdy drove his elegant, low-slung replica vintage car into the garage block. It made a purring noise that kept changing in tone as it drove up a network of ramps to the third storey.

Wong had already noticed that people on the site, like the ancient Israelites, refused to utter the name of their leader. He was referred to simply by the reverential p.r.o.noun 'He' - clearly spoken with a capital initial.

The three of them sat down at a desk in a tiny office.

'The usual rules apply,' Puk said. 'You know already, is it?'

'No,' Joyce said.

'Yes,' Wong said. 'You mean stuff is confidential?'

'Yah, man. Nutting Nutting you say or hear while working on His premises can be pa.s.s' on to anyone else-media or newspaper man, broadcaster, like that-and no photography or recording of any kind is allowed and all that stuff, et cetera, et cetera, you know? Just sign here.' you say or hear while working on His premises can be pa.s.s' on to anyone else-media or newspaper man, broadcaster, like that-and no photography or recording of any kind is allowed and all that stuff, et cetera, et cetera, you know? Just sign here.'

Puk made them both sign a privacy contract that was far too long and boring to read. Then he threw it carelessly into a filing cabinet.

Another man arrived, a tall, thin, bow-tied man with Shanghainese features and an educated Singaporean accent. He was wheeling an office chair in front of him. He squeezed through the doorway and handed his name card to the two visitors. 'Harris Wu,' he announced. 'I'm the architect for all His Ridley Park buildings. You the feng shui feng shui consultants, is it?' consultants, is it?'

After they all shook hands, Wong aimed his attention back to the security officer. The sheer depth of the gloom emanating from the man drew his eyes like a magnet. The man was so filled with depression that he looked as if he might implode. 'Okay. What do you need from us?'

Wong leaned forwards. 'Is there specific problem? Or he just want general feng shui feng shui reading?' reading?'

For a few seconds, Puk did not answer. Then he tilted his head back and surveyed the ceiling. His expression changed slightly, from misery to irritation. 'You mean He didn't tell you?'

'Tell what?'

'There is is something specific you have to handle.' Puk clasped his hands together, suddenly serious. 'I guess the Chairman want something specific you have to handle.' Puk clasped his hands together, suddenly serious. 'I guess the Chairman want me me to brief you only. Well, this may sound crazy, but . . .' His voice trailed off and he turned to the window, as if the words he was seeking might be etched on the gla.s.s. to brief you only. Well, this may sound crazy, but . . .' His voice trailed off and he turned to the window, as if the words he was seeking might be etched on the gla.s.s.

They waited.

He abruptly turned back. 'Three cars have been stolen. He doesn't like it when His cars are stolen. He doesn't want any more cars to disappear. If more cars are stolen, He will be very, very angry. We do not want to see Him very, very angry. That's the size of it, really.'

'Ah. Stolen. Bad. Mr Au Yeung call police?' Wong asked.

Puk nodded. 'Oh yes, we did all the obvious stuff. We call police. We call private detectives even. And that's after His own staff did a comprehensive check. The Chairman has His own police force, sort of thing, you know?'

'Find anything?'

Puk looked uncomfortable again. 'No. Couldn't work out how it was done. How they were taken. All three cars disappear-poof-in broad daylight. We have security cameras at the only one exit-entry station, and yet we have no video record of cars being driven out. Somehow they were taken out of the building, but not through driveway.'

'What cars was it?' the feng shui feng shui master asked. master asked.

'Jaguar XK160, 1930 Aston Martin and 132 Bugatti. All very rare one.'

'What other ways are there out of the building?' Joyce asked.

Architect Wu volunteered an answer: 'There aren't any. Well, there's the fire stairs.'

'But cars can't go down the stairs.'

'Correct.'

'So how did the thieves get them out?'

Wu shrugged his shoulders. 'We don't know.'

Puk clasped his hands together again and gave the frozen smile of a man forced to speak nonsense. 'They vanished into thin air.' He clicked his sweaty fingers. 'One moment they were there, the next moment they were gone. How did they do it? I don't know. Ask David Copperfield. Maybe Mr Copperfield took them. For me, that's the only sensible suggestion.'

'So you contack this Mr Copperfield?' Wong wanted to hear more about this suspect.

Joyce whispered much too loudly: 'He's joking. David Copperfield doesn't nick cars. He just makes like aircraft disappear.'

'He is aircraft thief? Corporate jet of Mr Au Yeung?'

Puk stepped in. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have confused the issue. The jets are fine. Just the cars are gone. Three of them, anyway.'

Wong pulled at the little hairs on his chin. 'Maybe someone tamper with video cameras?'

'Naah,' said Puk. 'I thought of that. No one has tampered with those things. I check them myself every morning. Besides, there are human staff as well as cameras at the in-out ramp.'

Joyce excitedly turned to the architect and gestured with her hands as she spoke. 'Maybe there's a secret tunnel somewhere, and they drove the cars away down them. Or maybe someone lifted them off the roof with a helicopter.'

Harris Wu just stared at her. He seemed to be wondering whether to dignify her ideas with a reply. 'I built this place,' he said at last, an icy edge to his voice. 'I think I would probably know if there were tunnels or helicopter landing pads.' He closed his eyes and his lips thinned. His expression said: G.o.d give me patience to deal with fools.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded apologetically. 'I guess so,' she whispered, feeling one centimetre high. 'Sorry.'

Wu opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He moved forwards and his office chair creaked. 'It's like this. We don't know how the cars were spirited out of the building. Puk and I, we checked and re-checked every single possibility. So then . . .' He looked to the security guard, unsure of how to continue.

'Tell them,' said Puk. It was not an instruction, but a challenge.

'Okay, I will. You see, the Chairman's, er, latest, er, wife, comes up with a new idea. She says they were stolen by mystical means. Black magic. Wacky stuff. Anyway, the amazing thing is that the Chairman takes it seriously. So He says He will sort it out by Himself. The next thing we know was half an hour ago, when the Chairman's secretary calls me to tell me that some feng shui feng shui masters are on their way. They're going to solve the problem for us. That's you guys. So go on then. You better get started.' masters are on their way. They're going to solve the problem for us. That's you guys. So go on then. You better get started.'

Wong was worried. He slowly shook his head. 'Finding stolen cars is job for police, not for us.' He was concerned that the outrageous fees he was planning to charge would become contingent on the cars being recovered-and finding stolen property was much harder than simply doing a reading of a car park.

Puk seemed to read his mind. He said: 'We're not expecting you to find the cars, I think. I think the Chairman is just covering His, er, just anxious to cover all possibilities. You just need to make sure that no more cars are stolen. If anyone tries to drive one out, I'll stop them. But if anyone tries to take one out through, er, mystical means, that's your job-to prevent it, I mean. To make sure that mystical means cannot be used to steal cars in the future? See what I mean?'

Wong felt rea.s.sured. His income, in that case, might be safe.

The heavy security guard rose awkwardly to his feet, signifying that their briefing was over. 'Come,' he said. 'We'll give you the tour.'

The four of them walked up the ramps that took the cars between the various levels. Puk explained that there was a staircase they could use, but they would get a better feel of the place by using the vehicle access routes.

It was immediately apparent that the garage was a hot and unpleasant place. There was no cooling system, although there were extractor vents that took some of the fumes out of the air. The place smelled of cars and gasoline, and you couldn't spend five minutes there without feeling damp and uncomfortable.

As they slogged their way up the slopes, Wu gave them a run-down of how the garage worked. The three levels had different functions. The ground floor was used for the cars Nevis Au Yeung used most often-four or five luxury sedans, a stretch limo, a couple of sports utility vehicles and a few two-seater sports cars. The middle floor and half the upper floor were used for cars belonging to other members of his family, plus the staff cars and minivans. The rear half of the upper floor housed the tyc.o.o.n's collection of cla.s.sic cars. On the east side of each floor, there was a cl.u.s.ter of rooms. The small ones on the ground floor were the car park management offices. The tiny, windowless ones on the middle floor were used for storage. And the large, sticking-out ones on the third floor were staff quarters for Allie Ng, the night guard, who was the only employee who lived on the site.

Wong wrote everything down in a notebook, and asked several questions about the flow of cars through the building.

Wu, surprised and thrilled to find someone interested in car park architecture, spoke at length about construction details, boasting about how the building had been completed in a record fifteen weeks. 'When you build a car park, you start off with some basic questions. Do you want two-way flow or one-way flow?'

The feng shui feng shui man nodded. 'Same with man nodded. 'Same with ch'i. ch'i. Flow very important.' Flow very important.'

'People a.s.sume that straight lines, quick in and out, is the best. But in fact, that would result in the vehicles moving too fast. Quite dangerous. So we actually deliberately build in a few twists and turns to slow people down.'

'Movement of ch'i ch'i energy just the same. Must flow, but not too fast. Just the same.' energy just the same. Must flow, but not too fast. Just the same.'

'How interesting. Another issue is the angle of the actual car park lots. There has been a big fas.h.i.+on for angled s.p.a.ces, but as you can see, I've opted for ninety-degree s.p.a.ces in this car park. I find that angled s.p.a.ces confuse drivers, and if you go for a one-way flow, you can't risk that. Someone drives the wrong way around a one-way system and-cras.h.!.+' He clapped his hands together for effect. The sound echoed in the hard-surfaced s.p.a.ce.

Warming to his subject, Wu spoke in detail about the particular challenges of accommodating his employer's car collection. 'In the old days, car parks were for junior architects. Every slot was 2.4 metres by 4.8 metres. A monkey could do it. But these days . . .' He shook his head sadly. 'You wouldn't believe how complicated it can be. The traditional luxury car, like a 230 Mercedes-Benz, would just about fit into a standard slot. But now His children keep buying these fancy four-wheel drive cars-you know what I mean?- which are almost two metres wide. Stick two of them next to each other and neither can open their doors. And the Chairman bought a Jaguar XJ8 last year. It's even wider than an SUV and has a turning circle of 11.5 metres. That means a major change in the way we design the ramp entry points.'

'Flow at corners very important,' Wong agreed.

'Two-way flow systems achieve more turnover, but turnover was not my prime interest with this particular project. My dream was to achieve the most flexible car park possible within the limitations set.' Wu's eyes filled with pa.s.sion as he spoke.

Joyce watched the two men with wide eyes. She found it astonis.h.i.+ng that people could possibly become so enthusiastic about anything as boring as a car park.

Fortunately for her, an exhaustive tour didn't take long. On the ground floor and the middle one, there was not much to see-after all, a car park was a car park. But then they reached the top floor, and could feel both Puk and Wu start to become tense.

'And here we have His pride and joy,' said Puk. 'The cla.s.sic collection and the vintage collection.'

Before them were more than a dozen cars which looked like they had come straight out of a museum. There were boxy vehicles on thin, spindly wheels from the beginning of the 20th century. There were curved, gangsterish cars from the 1930s. And there were over-sized, angular sedans that evoked America in the 1950s.

'Phoo! These are sooo sooo cool,' the young woman said. cool,' the young woman said.

'Yeah. And wait till you see the last one,' said Harris Wu. 'It's fabulous. It was built before 1920. A royal blue Alfa Romeo 24. Gorgeous.' He pointed to an enclosed area with a heavy metal shutter lowered over the entrance-a garage within a garage. 'It's in there. I'm sure the Curdy boys won't mind. It's a dust-free climate-controlled area. Probably the most hi-tech garage in Singapore.'

Security guard Puk held up his hand. 'No. The Alfa 24 is a very valuable car. We keep a record of every time that door is open and closed. We can't just open and close it when we feel like, just to show visitors. I think -'

Wu threw up his fingers in surrender. 'Hey. I'm cool. You can see it another time. Perhaps when the Curdys are finished for the day.'

The dispute, although trivial, somehow raised the level of tension in the group. The thread of the conversation broken, the sound of the birds outside and the sc.r.a.ping of the cicadas suddenly seemed curiously loud.

Joyce decided to break the awkward silence. 'These ancient cars are like so amazing. I mean, do they like actually work work? Does old Nevis, I mean, your chairman-geezer, drive around in them?'

Wu thought about this. 'Well . . . yes, they do work, but, no, He doesn't drive around in them. He used to. Usually what happens is that He gets one, and He's very excited, and drives around in it for a day or so, and then He puts it in here and more or less forgets about it. Then He goes off on his travels, and gets busy with other stuff.'

'What a waste.'