PRAISE FOR NURY VITTACHI AND THE FENG SHUI DETECTIVE BOOKS ‘Unsurpassable mixture of humor, wisdom and whodunnit.’ The Crime Forum, Germany ‘A very funny book. Dangerously so at times.’ That’s Beijing ‘Wacky and hilarious whodunit—you just have to dig in and hold on for the wild ride.’ Asian Review of Books ‘An international bestseller whose unlikely sleuths appear to be heading for cult status.’ Herald Sun, Melbourne ‘Totally engrossing and very, very funny.’ Radio 3AK, Melbourne ‘If Hollywood wakes up...’ The Australian ‘One of the most droll, attractive and unusual of modern amateur detectives.’ The Bulletin ‘To many, he is Asia’s funniest, most pungent columnist and author. To others, he is a subversive threat who must be watched like a hawk.’ Herald Sun, Melbourne ‘The story is populated by a stream of eccentric characters and amusing examples of Singapore’s polyglot, multiethnic culture... a tasty smorgasbord of modern Asian life.’ Japan Times ‘Does for the flow of ch’i what Sherlock Holmes did for cocaine.’ South China Morning Post ‘The man who made Lee Kuan Yew laugh.’ The New Paper, Singapore First published in Australia in 2006 Copyright © Nury Vittachi 2003 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book, whichever is the greater to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email: [email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Vittachi, Nury, 1958– . The feng shui detective’s casebook. 1st Australian ed. ISBN 978 1 74114 780 3 (pbk). ISBN 1 74114 780 8 (pbk). I. Title. 895.152 Cover and text designed by Design by Committee Typeset in 11/13.5 pt Adobe Garamond by Midland Typesetters, Australia Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Contents Author’s note Prologue: A quick bite 1 The case of the fishy flat 2 Fit for life or death 3 The cars that flew away 4 A little computer trouble 5 Bad marks at school 6 The adventure of the offstage actors 7 The case of the late news columnist Epilogue: Letters from friends AUTHOR’S NOTE The feng shui techniques in this book are mostly from the flying star school and the form school of East Asia. The vaastu principles are from the northern Indian school. The ancient Chinese philosophy, stories and quotes from Confucius and other sages are largely genuine and come from texts up to 2,500 years old. The extracts from Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom are by CF Wong, with spelling and grammar corrections by J McQuinnie. Prologue: A quick bite The tiger loping through the supermarket had blue eyes. It blinked them slowly as it languidly scanned the goods on the shelves. Huge, muscular, and almost twice the length of a man, the 240-kilogram tigris panthera sumatrae paused. It appeared to be trying to choose between the Betty Crocker Super Moist Lemon Cake Mix and the Pillsbury Creamy Supreme Chocolate Fudge Frosting. It swung its massive head to the other side of the aisle to examine the First Choice Thai Fragrant Rice and the Golden Noodle Mee Goreng. Then it moved on again, heading inadvisably towards the Kraft Macaroni Cheese Dinner. Spying an opening to the left, the beast impulsively powered its heavy body through the gap and found itself trotting down an aisle marked BREAKFAST CEREALS AND MILK PRODUCTS. The tiger, an adult male with the white skin and dark stripes of a zebra, came to a halt. Slowly it surveyed the scene, its haughty, down-turned lips giving it the look of a jaded royal wine taster. Apparently bored, it hung its head slightly, making the bones of its shoulders stick up through its shiny white silk pelt. In the corner of its vision there was movement. A glow came from a glass cabinet containing fresh-chilled cold cuts, 20 metres away at the end of the aisle. A mother with a pushchair approached the fridge. The baby stirred in its sleep. Smelling fresh meat, the tiger stared from a distance. Its tail, almost a metre long, twitched. It lowered its haunches to the ground. Its belly muscles tightened and its spine arched. Then it started to move, its powerful muscles shifting under its skin like zephyrs through a cornfield as it raced forwards, preparing to pounce. ‘Wong-saang! Wong-saang!’ Madam Lin’s cracked, piercing voice sang out over the noise of trucks reversing into a garbage depot nearby. ‘Wong-saang. Here!’ It was likely that there were several people called Wong within earshot of her penetrating yell, so a thin man of fifty-six hunched his head into his shoulders and tried to scurry away, praying that she was aiming her comments at one of the others. He recognised the voice as belonging to an irritating local landlady he had once encountered when he had done a feng shui reading for a community hall. On that occasion, he had been aghast to find she had placed a figurine of a plastic phoenix in a place where a newborn would have known that the only suitable animal was a rosewood turtle. ‘Wong-saang Feng shui lo,’ she shrieked. Aiyeeah! There was no avoiding it. CF Wong turned his head and feigned surprise. He pointed to himself, his index finger aimed quizzically at his nose. The expression on his face said: Me? You want me? ‘Come. Faidee-la!’ She beckoned him Chinese-style, with her palm down. Pausing to let a taxi rumble past, the stick-thin feng shui master stepped into the road and reluctantly approached the opposite pavement, where Madam Lin Pui-yen, a woman of fifty in a black pyjama suit which stopped 20 centimetres above her ankles, was hopping with excitement. ‘Come. Need you,’ she barked. ‘Hello, Lin-taai. Ver’ nice to see you. Eat rice yet?’ ‘No time for chit-chat. Come. They have a white tiger in Sing Woo. Can you believe?’ ‘White tiger?’ ‘Yes. In Sing Woo supermarket.’ Wong rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Must never put white tiger inside building. Wrong-wrong-wrong. Only outside, small statue only, on west only.’ He shook his head in despair. Truly, the depth of ignorance displayed by the masses was bottomless. The two of them walked towards a ragged store bearing the name Sing Woo Western and Oriental Supermarket and Property Agent. The front window was almost totally obscured by peeling hand-written posters in English and Chinese offering discounts on bak-choi and other grocery items. ‘Tang should know,’ Wong continued, a tone of severest disapproval in his voice. ‘Never put white tiger statue inside. Will bring bad fortune only. You tell Tang: I can change for horse statuette, very nice, very clean. Only ninety-eight dollar for big one, running horse pair in rosewood. Or have standing horse, imitation jade, 25 centimetre, only sixty-five dollar, special price.’ They reached the front of the store and Wong was surprised to see that it was deserted. Manager Wilfred Tang, who was normally found at the cash desk morning till night, was nowhere to be seen. The geomancer stepped inside and peered curiously down the empty aisles. ‘Tang is where? Lin-taai?’ He was even more taken aback to notice that Madam Lin had not accompanied him into the shop, but was loitering nervously outside. He turned around and called out a question. ‘Tang is where? And where is feng shui tiger?’ Madam Lin shook her head. Not feng shui tiger,’ she called out. ‘White tiger. Can you get me some gai-laan? One catty.’ ‘Oh.’ Wong was intrigued. Good white jade—if it was genuine—was expensive. Had Tang really invested in such a pricey ornamentation for this grubby, run-down store? Could he be persuaded to hand over a tiger of white jade for a cheap rosewood horse? Wong smelt profit. His spirits lifted, the geomancer happily strolled along Canned Meats, looking for the supermarket manager. He turned left past Fresh Fruit and Vegetables, slipped along Coffee and Tea and then turned right into Babycare and Tissues. Baffled to find not a single living soul in the shop, he started to stride more quickly. It was then that he recalled the look on Madam Lin’s face as she stood shouting to him from outside the store. She had been biting her lower lip and there was a network of tension lines around her eyes. It was almost a look of fear. But what was there to be scared of? CF Wong turned a corner into Breakfast Cereals and Milk Products, looked towards the Cold Cuts section, and found out. Six minutes passed, during which he barely moved. Wong remained frozen to the spot, showing no more animation than the shoulder-high display of Buitoni Marinara Pasta Sauce to his right. Standing next to him was a bespectacled woman, also as still as a statue. At their feet was a pushchair containing a sleeping baby. In front of them, no more than three metres away, a large white tiger sat on its haunches.