Her Master's Voice by Jacqueline George

“I think you’d better come up to my office, Mr. Armstrong,” he said amicably.
    The Inspector’s office was small and old-fashioned. A worn desk and chair, wooden in-tray, functional wooden shelving covered in books. He waved Tim to a chair. “Tea is coming, Mr. Armstrong. Now, I suppose I must apologise for Hing. I’m terribly sorry, he has no common sense at all. We’ll have a disciplinary hearing, of course. No help to you, but I can only apologise.”
    Surprising himself, Tim was ready to be mollified. “Can I call my wife?”
    “Of course, go ahead, dial nine and then the number. I’ll look for the tea.” He passed a heavy dial phone across the desk and left. Sherry sounded relieved. She’d been waiting by the phone, she said. He fended off her questions and promised to hurry home.
    The Inspector pushed his way past the door with two teacups. “Mrs Armstrong happy?” he asked.
    “More relieved than happy, I think. She’s been imagining the worst. That Hing is a real idiot.”
    “Hmmp, too much television. Some of my young fools even believe the Miranda decision applies here. Anyway, he’s made a complete balls of it. The letter’s too late now. Do you know what it said?”
    “In detail, no, but more or less.”
    “Well, the man should have arrived in Singapore yesterday, so we’ve missed him. I’ll check with Immigration, of course, but that’s not going to tell us much. Is the writer of the letter—er—official?  Can you tell me that?”
    “Yes, that is not a problem. He’s official, and I think he’s reliable. He’s certainly worried about the situation.”
    “Official but not able to contact us directly?”
    “That’s right. He told me that some of his bosses are sympathisers so he feels he’s alone.”
    The Inspector turned his chair to put his feet up on a shelf under the window. From the wear on the shelf edge, this was a favourite position for him. “He’s probably right, of course. There are a lot of militant sympathisers in government offices. Some of them are a real nuisance.
    “I’m very glad you’re here, actually. If there had been any sense to the world, you would have dropped off your letter and disappeared. It would have crossed a few desks before it got here, and I’d probably still be too late. Just bad luck you were blessed with Constable Hing instead, and that’s turned out well. For me, that is. I need to get a message back to the writer. Could you do that for me?”
    They drove Tim home in a police car. Unnatural caution made him ask to be dropped on Holland Road rather than at his front door and he continued to Moonbeam Walk discreetly, carrying Inspector Hangchi’s business card and a letter to Captain Rais.
    Waiting for Tim had been nerve-wracking for Sherry. With her mind racing through possibilities, mostly black, she had dropped off the car at the rental company and taken a taxi home. She automatically filled the washing machine, and made a cup of tea, and sat by the telephone waiting, her tea cold beside her.
    She had the telephone at her ear almost as soon as it rang. Relief soaked quickly through her as she heard Tim speaking cheerfully, promising to come back soon and tell her everything. She hurried to the shower and thought about dinner. Tonight, she would make a real effort. And she would let him have her as well. As far as she knew, he had not had sex for over a month. She was confident of that. She knew what he had done all through his break in Singapore, and he certainly did not have access to women while he worked. During their holiday, she had kept a very close eye on Faith and Hope at Pulau Kelapa, so she knew Tim had found no relief there.
    She dressed in her best, just as if Ranji was watching her. It felt strange to put on make-up and heels for Tim, but tonight he deserved it. She hurried downstairs to prepare the components of a stir-fry, and lay the table with wine and candles.
    She shocked Tim when she met him at the door. He was