“Not at all. I would be pleased.”

“I understand that in your country women are used to taking command. Here it is still the man who is in charge.”

A sexist, Jennifer thought, but she was in no mood to get into an argument. She needed this man. Because of the incredible din and the music, it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation. Jennifer sat back and looked around the room. Jennifer had been to other Oriental countries, but the people in Singapore seemed extraordinarily beautiful, men and women both.

The waitress put Jennifer’s drink in front of her. It resembled a chocolate soda with slippery lumps in it.

Inspector Touh read her expression. “You must stir it.”

“I can’t hear you.”

He shouted, “You must stir it!”

Jennifer dutifully stirred her drink. She tasted it.

It was awful, much too sweet, but Jennifer nodded and said, “It’s—it’s different.”

Half a dozen platters of dim sum appeared on the table. Some of them were odd shaped delicacies that Jennifer had never seen before, and she decided not to ask what they were. The food was delicious.

Inspector Touh explained, yelling over the roar of the room, “This restaurant is renowned for the Nonya style of food. That is a mixture of Chinese ingredients and Malay spices. No recipes have ever been written down.”

“I’d like to talk to you about Stefan Bjork,” Jennifer said.

“I can’t hear you.” The noise of the band was deafening.

Jennifer leaned closer. “I want to know when I can see Stefan Bjork.”

Inspector Touh shrugged and pantomimed that he could not hear. Jennifer suddenly wondered whether he had chosen this table so they could talk safely, or whether he had selected it so they could not talk at all.

An endless succession of dishes followed the dim sum and it was a superb meal. The only thing that disturbed Jennifer was that she had not once been able to bring up the subject of Stefan Bjork.

When they had finished eating and were out on the street, Inspector Touh said, “I have my car here.” He snapped his fingers and a black Mercedes that had been double-parked pulled up to them. The inspector opened the back door for Jennifer. A large uniformed policeman was behind the wheel. Something was not right. If Inspector Touh wanted to discuss confidential matters with me, Jennifer thought, he would have arranged for us to be alone.

She got into the back seat of the car and the inspector slid in beside her. “This is your first time in Singapore, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, then, there is much for you to see.”

“I didn’t come here to sight-see, Inspector. I must return home as quickly as possible.”

Inspector Touh sighed. “You Caucasians are always in such a rush. Have you heard of Bugis Street?”

“No.”

Jennifer shifted in her seat so that she could study Inspector spector Touh. He had a face that was highly mobile and his gestures were expressive. He seemed outgoing and communicative, and yet he had spent the entire evening saying exactly nothing.

The car stopped for a trishaw, one of the three-wheeled carriages pedaled by natives. Inspector Touh watched with contempt as the trishaw carried two tourists down the street.

“We shall outlaw those one day.”

Jennifer and Inspector Touh got out of the car a block away from Bugis Street.

“No automobiles are allowed in there,” Inspector Touh explained.

He took Jennifer’s arm and they started walking along the busy sidewalk. In a few minutes, the crowds were so thick it was almost impossible to move. Bugis Street was narrow, with stalls on both sides, fruit stalls and vegetable stands and stalls that sold fish and meat. There were outdoor restaurants with chairs set around small tables. Jennifer stood there, drinking in the sights and the sounds and the smells and the riot of colors. Inspector Touh took her arm and shouldered his way through the crowd, clearing a path. They reached a restaurant with three tables in front of it, all occupied. The inspector gripped the arm of a passing waiter, and a moment later the proprietor was at their side. The inspector said something to him in Chinese. The proprietor walked over to one of the tables, spoke to the guests, and they looked at the inspector and quickly rose and left. The inspector and Jennifer were seated at the table.

“Can I order something for you?”

“No, thank you.” Jennifer looked at the teeming sea of people thronging the sidewalks and streets. Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed this. Singapore was a fascinating city, a city to share with someone you cared about.

Inspector Touh was saying, “Watch. It is almost midnight.”

Jennifer looked up. At first she noticed nothing. Then she saw that all the shopkeepers were simultaneously beginning to close up their stands. In ten minutes, every stall was closed and locked and their owners had disappeared.

“What’s happening?” Jennifer asked.

“You will see.”

There was a murmur from the crowd at the far end of the street, and the people began to move toward the sidewalk, leaving a cleared place in the street. A Chinese girl in a long, tight-fitting evening gown was walking down the center of the street. She was the most beautiful woman Jennifer had ever seen. She walked proudly and slowly, pausing to greet people at various tables, then moving on.

As the girl neared the table where Jennifer and the inspector were sitting, Jennifer got a better look at her, and up close, she was even lovelier. Her features were soft and delicate, and her figure was breathtaking. Her white silk gown was slit at the sides so that one could see the delicately curved thigh and small, perfectly formed breasts.

As Jennifer turned to speak to the inspector, another girl appeared. She was, if possible, even lovelier than the first. Two more were walking behind her, and in a moment Bugis Street was filled with beautiful young girls. They were a mixture of Malaysian, Indian and Chinese.

“They’re prostitutes,” Jennifer guessed.

“Yes. Transsexuals.”

Jennifer stared at him. It was not possible. She turned and looked at the girls again. She could see absolutely nothing masculine about any of them.

“You’re joking.”

“They are known as Billy Boys.”

Jennifer was bewildered. “But they—”

“They have all had an operation. They think of themselves as women.” He shrugged. “So, why not? They do no harm. You understand,” he added, “that prostitution is illegal here. But the Billy Boys are good for tourism and as long as they do not disturb the guests, the police close an eye to it.”

Jennifer looked again at the exquisite young people moving down the street, stopping at tables to make deals with customers.

“They do well. They charge up to two hundred dollars. When they get too old to work, they become Mamasans.”

Most of the girls were seated at tables now with men, dickering for their services. One by one, they began to rise and leave with their clients.

“They handle up to two or three transactions a night,” the inspector explained. “They take over Bugis Street at midnight and they must be out by six in the morning so that the stands can open for business again. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

As they moved along the street, an unbidden image of Ken Bailey flashed through Jennifer’s mind and she thought, I hope you are happy.

On the drive back to the hotel, Jennifer made up her mind that, chauffeur or no chauffeur, she was going to bring up Bjork’s name.

As the car turned on to Orchard Road, Jennifer said determinedly, “About Stefan Bjork—”