When Authors Turn Fans

Posted on | Thursday, December 15, 2011 | No Comments

What would happen to Elizabeth and Darcy's world without Wickham in it? And what happens when Sherlock Holmes and Watson get mixed up in an international scandal?

The above is not wishful thinking, but two separate novels by famous authors who are fans of Jane Austen and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle respectively. P.D.James' latest novel is called "Death Comes To Pemberley", which investigates the murder of Wickham. Antony Horowitz (famous for writing "Midsomer Murders") has written "The House of Silk", a new Sherlock Holmes novel that has received the nod of approval from the Arthur Conan Doyle estate.

Read the rest of the story here.

Category:

Off Topic: 10 Satirical Novels that Could Teach You To Survive the Future

Posted on | Wednesday, December 14, 2011 | No Comments

I'm not one to over-ruminate the future; living in the present is more my thing. But I love a funny read and despite this list not containing any works of crime fiction, I thought I'd share it anyways. Enjoy!

Category:

An End To The Hiatus

Posted on | Monday, December 12, 2011 | No Comments

Starting a new career and moving back to the city has taken up more of my time than I'd like. As a result, this blog and my writing have taken a backseat to the humdrum of daily life. I was chatting to a friend about it today (who said rather pointedly) that work is taking precedence over some aspects of my life.


I realised then that it is not what I do for a living that alone defines me. There are other sides to me that need nurturing, namely my writing self. It reminded me of a post I read recently in Writing on Wednesday about "using the moment". I won't go into details, but if you want to read the post visit the link via my blogroll.


On another note, The Seattle Times has published their list of best mystery novels for 2011 (yay!) It'll give me an excuse to shop come January. (Never mind that I have a pile of Rebus novels that remain untouched). Read the Seattle Times' list here.



Category:

Family Ties (Part Two)

Posted on | Friday, September 2, 2011 | No Comments

Part Two 

Kim faxed him all the information he needed that very evening. It was just as he had suspected; Ruben was behind on his car loan payments by three months. He had also taken a RM50,000 personal loan from I---- Bank and was behind on those payments too. Seth was willing to bet Ruben’s gambling habit had spiraled out of control.
Later that evening, Seth called Timothy Chan, his uncle’s lawyer. According to Chan, Vikram Damodar had confided in him his plan to change his will after finding out that his son was up to his neck in gambling debts. He had help pay some of his son’s gambling debts but refused to help him after he couldn’t make his loan payments.
“They had a huge argument two days before your uncle died. Your uncle called me in a state of fury; he wanted to change his will as Ruben was currently the sole benefactor of his estate. Vikram wanted to choose a new successor to the business,” Chan explained.

“What changes did he want made?”

“He wanted to leave the estate to his wife and the business to you, Seth.”
“Me? But we hadn’t spoken in twelve years!”

“Your uncle was still fond of you, Seth. He had kept tabs on your career throughout the years and was proud that you had followed your own path in life. But he secretly hoped that you would take over his place in the family business someday,” Chan said. “In fact, he was supposed to meet me at 11.00am the day he died to sign the new will.”

“So Ruben is still his heir.”

“Your uncle left the business to him, as well as a large sum of money for your aunt to see her through her old age.”
Seth arrived at his uncle's place at a quarter to seven the following evening. Ruben's car was not in its usual spot on the front porch.
He'd just locked his car when a cheerful female voice called his name. It was Mrs. Veloo, the Damodars' long-time neighbour and his aunt's closest friend. She was wearing a wide straw hat and a pink batik dress that fell to her ankles. One hand was curled around a pair of gardening scissors while the other was on the small of her back.

He smiled a little reluctantly at her. She had been kind to him when he was a little boy, however she was notoriously long winded and a bit of a gossip.

“Hello, Aunty. How are you?” he said, squeezing out a friendly smile.

“Same as always, my dear,” she sighed. “My hands hurt badly in the morning; Dr. Krishnan said it may be arthritis.” She shook her head sadly.
“Sorry to hear that, aunty. Is my aunt in?” he asked, his smile turning sympathetic.
“They're not home. Ruben has taken Janagi for her medical checkup. They'll only be back around noon,” she said.

He heard the creak of a door opening and saw a tall man dressed in a grey t-shirt and faded jeans walk out of his uncle's garden shed. He was deeply tanned and looked a few years older than Seth. There was something oddly familiar about the man, although Seth was certain they hadn't met before. He startled a little when he saw Seth but recovered quickly and smiled briefly at him.
Seth's heart started to pound as he observed the man's shoes. They were mud-encrusted worker boots which looked to be a size ten. They could have easily made the prints Seth had found outside his uncle's study. The man walked around to the back of the house and out of sight.

“Aunty, who was that man who just came out of the garden shed?” Seth asked Mrs.Veloo.
The old lady looked up from her roses. “That's Nathan, the new gardener,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “You know, I think there is something going on between your aunt and the gardener. Every time your uncle and Ruben were out of the house, she'd invite him into the house.”

Seth eyed her incredulously. “You can't be serious, why he's young enough to be her son!” Still, it was odd that his aunt was so friendly with the hired help.
The old lady lifted her chin defensively. “I asked her about it when she came over to tea last Saturday, but she went very red and told me to mind my own business. I dare not say anything to her after that.”

“I see. Maybe Aunty Janagi has her own reasons,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. Because he sure didn't feel it.
The older woman shrugged. “He had an argument with your uncle the evening before he died. Janagi had gone to the temple with Ruben.”

“What were they arguing about?” Seth asked, frowning.

“I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their voices were raised. The gardener handed you uncle a large envelope. Your uncle seemed to read something from it and then he grew furious, threw the gardener out. He took the envelope with him and stormed back into the house.”

“I see. Did they get along before the argument?”

“I never saw them speak more than two words to each other until that evening. Maybe your uncle found out he was seeing your aunt,” the older woman wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“If he was seeing my aunt,” Seth replied. His suspicions about the gardener were stronger than ever, and he was disturbed by Mrs.Veloo's insinuations. The thought that his aunt had been unfaithful to his uncle was bewildering. On the other hand, it could be something very innocent. Then there was his cousin Ruben who was no angel, either.

“Seth, what you're suggesting is highly improbable,” Dr. Krishnan said as he poured tea into a ceramic coffee mug and handed it to Seth.

“I know it sounds far-fetched. But what if someone poisoned my uncle to make it look like he had had a heart attack?”
“And you think your aunt and the gardener had something to do with it?” Dr. Krishnan raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Maybe. I don't know. It could have just as easily been Ruben; he was the only one in the house when it happened and being a doctor, he has access to dozens of possible poisons,” Seth said.
“You think he killed Vikram so he wouldn't be cut out of the will?”

“If he did, he didn't leave any evidence behind. My uncle's body was cremated yesterday so there's no way an autopsy can be done either. I'm sure the gardener is involved, but I don't know how yet.” Seth related all that Mrs.Veloo had told him that morning.
“I wouldn't trust that old bag's words if she were the last human on earth, but she may be right about the argument between your uncle and the gardener. I called him the night before he died to discuss our next golf meet and he told me he was firing the gardener,” Dr. Krishnan said.

“Did he say why?”

“No, he refused to say anything more. He was quite angry about something.”

“I wonder what was in the envelope he gave my uncle. I'm positive that the killer took whatever was inside of it.”

“Seth, I think you may be on to something, but you are going to need solid proof that your uncle didn't die of natural causes. Poisoning is difficult to prove, more so when there is no body to speak of,” the older man cautioned.
Seth nodded. “Convenient for whoever is behind this. For now.”
The old doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “First we'll need to find out what poison your uncle came into contact with and how. The easiest way would be through food or drink. When are you going to his house next?”

“Tonight, after I get off work,” Seth said.

“When you're there, get a sample of the coffee your uncle drank. I have a friend who works in the police lab. Put the coffee powder in here,” he said, pushing a small plastic bottle across the table to Seth, who put it in his jacket.



Category:

Family Ties (Part One)

Posted on | Wednesday, August 31, 2011 | No Comments


Part One 


The phone started ringing as Seth opened his car door. He answered the phone on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Seth, this is Dr. Krishnan. Are you at work?”

“Not yet, I was just leaving the house. What can I do for you, Doc?”

There was a short pause before the doctor answered. “I'm afraid I have some bad news, Seth. Your uncle passed away this morning. You'd better come over right away,” he said.
“I'll be there in half an hour.” Seth hung up and sat back against the car seat for a minute, trying to process what he had just heard. His uncle. Dead. He was surprised how calm he was, considering his uncle had been his last living relative.
A portly, bespectacled man with greying hair greeted Seth at the front door. He shook Seth's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze before releasing it. “I'm so sorry for your loss, son.”

“Thank you, doctor. Frankly, I still can't believe it.”

The older man nodded. “Neither can I. He came in for a thorough check up last week and his ECG was normal. No sign of a heart condition, same as every year,” he said.

“How did it happen?”
“Your cousin arrived home early from his shift at the hospital and found your uncle slumped over his desk in the study. He tried to revive him, but it was too late.”

“And my aunt?”
“She was visiting her sister for a few days. She blames herself greatly for not being here.”

“Where is she now?” Seth asked.
“Upstairs, sleeping. I gave her a sedative. Ruben is in the living room,” the doctor said carefully.

Seth smiled thinly. There was no love lost between Ruben and him. The former had resented Seth being chosen to head the family business by his own father.
A tall, broad shouldered man in his early thirties was helping himself to a glass of whiskey from a bottle on an oak cabinet next to the television when Seth walked in. His face was drawn and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Seth wondered if the redness of his eyes was due to grief or too much alcohol.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Ruben sneered as he slumped onto the sofa. He waved carelessly to the chair opposite.
“Good to see you too, Ruben,” Seth said smoothly as he sat down. “I'm sorry about your father,” he said more kindly.
“I found him at 7.30, dead as a doornail. He was still warm,” he said flatly. Ruben downed the remaining contents of his glass. He rose to refill it. “Want some?” he offered Seth.

“No, thanks. Do you need help with the funeral arrangements?”


“No,” replied Ruben shortly. “I'll make the calls after my drink.”
“Ok, I'll come by later to see Auntie,” Seth said.

“Suit yourself.”
Only a handful of people attended the funeral the next day, namely Mrs. Damodar, Seth, the Damodars' neighbour Mrs. Veloo and the family lawyer, Timothy Chan. Dressed in a white sari, Mrs. Damodar sobbed quietly as her son mechanically performed the funeral rites. Seth stood by silently, feeling a mixture of regret and resentment as he gazed upon his late uncle's corpse. Regret that anger and self-preservation had kept him from contacting his uncle all these years and resentment that by dying, Vikram Damodar had robbed him of any chance of reconciliation.
Afterwards, Seth drove his aunt and cousin back home. The house felt empty and desolate without the presence of his formidable uncle, almost as if it had died with him. Ruben put a comforting arm about his mother and guided her to the sofa in the living room, while Seth made her a cup of tea.

His aunt had stopped crying when he returned to the living room. She was lying on the sofa, propped up by two pillows. She smiled sadly at him.
“Thank you, dear. How you have grown! Your uncle would have been so proud of you,” she said with a heavy sigh, taking the cup from his hands. Seth didn't reply, but squeezed her hand gently. Ruben mumbled something and left the room. A door slammed somewhere upstairs.

“Perhaps I better leave, Auntie. Ruben seems upset that I'm here,” Seth said, rising to his feet.

She sighed again, shaking her head. “He is taking this very hard, that's just his way of expressing his sadness.”
For the next hour, Seth filled in his aunt about his life since leaving the house at eighteen. She listened quietly and even smiled at the funny parts, although he knew she wasn't really listening. Soon she was sleeping soundly on the sofa and didn't even stir when he took the empty cup from her hands.

As he passed the study on his way to the kitchen, a wave of nostalgia overcame Seth. The door was slightly ajar, he pushed it open and turned on the light. The air in the room was still, almost as if time itself had stopped with the demise of his uncle. This was where his uncle had spent most of his waking hours. Seth remembered how, as a child of eight, he'd wandered into the study and began playing with his toy trucks on the floor. His uncle had walked in suddenly and Seth had froze, terrified that he would get a lashing for being there. But his uncle had simply patted him on the head and gone to his desk to work.
Seth sighed as he recalled his last conversation with his uncle. The older man had seethed with rage when Seth expressed his intent to accept a prestigious law scholarship in England instead of helping his uncle run the family business. His late father had wanted Seth to take over his place as vice president of the company; Seth hadn't the courage to to tell his father that his real dream was to become a human rights' lawyer. And then his father died. Seth had hoped that his uncle would be more understanding. The next thing he knew, his uncle was shouting at him to leave and never set foot in his house again. That was the last time he saw his uncle alive.

Everything in the room appeared to be just as Vikram Damodar had left it. One window was slightly ajar, he would leave it open to let fresh air in instead of wasting the air conditioning. The desk was empty, save a few scattered papers and an envelope. A letter opener lay across the left side of the envelope, a coffee mug and pen on the right. The coffee mug had been washed clean; his aunt must have cleaned it after the body was taken to the hospital, Seth thought.

Seth was about to leave when he spotted a small dark stain under the handle of the open window. It appeared to be a spot of dried mud. For reasons unknown to himself, he took out his cell phone and snapped a few photos of the stain. He took another look at the desk. The envelope on it was A3-sized, whereas the papers were standard A4-size. He removed the pen from his shirt pocket and flipped through the papers. They were the business accounts and from what he saw, the family business was clearly thriving. The envelope however, was empty.
He opened the desk drawers. One had two files in it full of account statements and invoices. The other drawer held stationery and a stack of empty envelopes. So where were the contents of the envelope on the desk? Something was amiss; Seth felt it in his very bones.

There were a few pieces of crumpled paper in the waste paper basket. Seth picked them up and smoothed them out on the desk surface. His eyebrows rose when he saw that there were horse race betting tickets. His late uncle had been a deeply religious man who abhorred gambling. Ruben, on the other hand, had been known to sneak off to the horse races since he was sixteen. Seth took pictures of the tickets and replaced them.
“What are you doing here?” Ruben’s cross voice interrupted his musings.
“Just reminiscing. I remembered how we used to play hide and seek in here when Uncle wasn’t at home,” Seth said easily.

Ruben’s expression softened. “That was a long time ago. I’m surprised you still remember, especially after all that’s happened.”

Seth shrugged. “That’s life. Right, I’d better go then I have a couple of things to work on for tomorrow. I’ll drop by to see Auntie after work tomorrow.”

The frown returned to Ruben’s face and he started to say something, but the phone in the study rang suddenly, interrupting him. He gave Seth a slight nod, giving him a chance to make his exit.

Outside, Seth went around to the side of the house until he reached the spot beneath the study’s open window. He crouched down as low as he could among the flower bushes, eyes keenly scanning the earth. A pair of large footprints was imprinted in the earth just beneath the window sill. Seth bent down to have a closer look. The footprints were fresh, likely made by men’s worker boots. They were deep set, indicating that the wearer of the boots was above average height and build. Ruben was barely five feet seven and he wore a size nine. These prints were at least a size 10, Seth guessed.

He mulled over the day’s events during the drive home. The horse betting ticket stubs bothered him. Ruben and his father could have had an argument over his gambling habit. Ruben lost his temper and killed the old man, making it look like a heart attack. It wasn’t impossible, Seth mused. Ruben did have a temper, and who knew what his financial state was? There was no doubt that he would inherit his father’s estate, including the family business. Maybe Ruben had gotten tired of waiting.
There were a few hours yet before the work day ended. Seth voice dialed Kim, his paralegal. “Hello, Kim? It’s Seth. Listen, I need you to run a full credit check on a Ruben Kumar Damodar. Find out if he has any outstanding debts and how much,” he said. “And Kim, I have a lot to do tomorrow so cancel my morning appointments,” he added.

Category:

Why We're Addicted To Crime

Posted on | Monday, August 29, 2011 | 1 Comment

May I add also that by "we" I refer to the not-so-average human being who can't go a day without watching a crime drama or reading about crime in the newspapers or crime novels (one of them being me, of course!)

Yesterday, Indian newspaper The Hindu interviewed a psychiatrist (how apt!) who had this to say about why people are fascinated by all things crime:

Dr. V.R. Madhukar, Senior Consultant Psychiatrist, St. Marthas Hospital puts any fears we might have about the fixation for this murky world, to rest, “For starters people have become numb to the whole idea of crime, and so the idea of watching crime shows do not frighten them. Also anything that arouses, be it sex, crime or sensationalism will always have an audience, and ensures ratings. It is a natural curiosity and everyone is interested in the plot, planning and exhibition of the incident. There is something about these shows and films which are gripping and also the element of suspense, and curiosity about how criminal minds work. This does not mean that everyone takes to crime; it is only people who are already vulnerable and have an inclination to crime already who might succumb.” 


So how about it? What's your reason for loving crime dramas and books?

Category:

Book review: “Inspector Singh Investigates: A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder”

Posted on | Saturday, August 20, 2011 | No Comments

Book review: “Inspector Singh Investigates: A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder”

Tall, dark and handsome. An IQ of a genius. A hit among the ladies. Shamini Flint's Inspector Singh is none of these. In fact, he is a portly, sweaty, middle-aged Singaporean who's never without his grubby white sneakers. Such is Flint's hero of her debut crime novel “Inspector Singh Investigates: A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder”.
Life is no bed of roses for the maverick Inspector, who is sent to Kuala Lumpur by his superiors to investigate the murder of Alan Lee, a high-profile Malaysian businessman with a Singaporean ex-wife. Chelsea Liew, the wife and ex-model, is on death row for the murder and swears she didn't kill her ex-husband although the evidence is stacked against her. Juxtaposed against this theme are two sub-plots involving environmental degradation by the timber business run by the Lee family, as well as one involving Liew's possibly losing her kids due to her ex-husband's secret conversion to Islam.

Fortunately, Flint's writing style is engaging and humourous in parts, which neither detracts from or obscures the main plot, namely the solving of Alan Lee's murder. Inspector Singh grows on you, you can't help but root for him throughout the book as both time and the Malaysian police work against his efforts to solve the crime. Flint's novel is by no means a heart-stopping page-turner, but it's a fun and interesting read nevertheless.
On to the brickbats. As a Malaysian, I caught myself more than once raising an eyebrow at Flint's paltry attempts at injecting local colour in the novel. There are hints of white elephants and corruption in the Malaysian police force, but very little mention of the positives about the Malaysian cultural landscape, or the Singaporean one, for the matter. It's as if Flint got so caught up in telling the story she forgot to focus on the charming little quirks of Malaysian people and life. This is something I've always admired about female crime writers such as P.D. James and Ruth Rendell, so I was a little dissappointed at Flint's negative and often unnecessary criticisms of Malaysian ways. The result is that Flint's otherwise interesting novel ends up being a slightly superficial attempt at the Asian mystery genre.
That aside, there's no denying that Flint's novel is a very good attempt at giving the global reading public a glimpse into the Malaysian and Singaporean, albeit a few flaws. The book is worth a second read and has piqued my interest enough to read the rest of her Inspector Singh books.

Category:

Search This Blog

Followers