Sandiya Supramaniam

Fiction Story

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As dawn broke over Petaling Street that day, the yellow kolam that adorned the pavement outside the Sri Mariamman Temple looked a little different. In the centre of the marigold-like orb lay a body, limp and lifeless.

Ramu was walking towards his flower stall outside the temple when he saw the familiar figure. “Aleesha!” he screamed as he ran towards the body. One look at her bluish face told him everything.

Aleesha was dead.

#

Petaling Street held a special place in digital forensic analyst Dr Eshwari’s heart. Her childhood was filled with memories of walking down this very street, the smell of roast pork and hot vadais lingering in the air. She smiled at the many edgy cafes that peppered the now-gentrified lanes of KL.

“Good morning, you,” Eshwari’s good friend, Inspector Cheong, snapped her out of her reverie.

“Victim is Aleesha Fernandez, 22. Cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head. Blood spatter marks indicate there was a struggle. No known family members. Her last job was with Kodak Foto Iswara around the corner. I believe you know why we got you here,” Cheong said.

“Yes, she’s quite the influencer, with 100k followers on Instagram. Quite a few of her reels have reached over a million views,” she replied.

A decade ago, Eshwari’s expertise was only required on a handful of homicides. Now that social media is the new reality, Eshwari was called to almost every crime scene.

Eshwari heaved a sigh. This never got easier. Seeing a young victim with so much potential was always heartbreaking.

Pulling out her tablet, Eshwari noticed that Aleesha’s content centred around the eateries in Petaling Street, with a special interest in the older establishments that have been revived. Her passion for the area was evident. Many posts were tagged with the familiar ‘paid promotion’ headline.

Cheong and Eshwari called on Ramu.

“She was a gem of a person. So friendly. She would buy marigolds on her way home, she said the colours of our flowers lifted her heart after a difficult day at work,” he said.

Eshwari and Cheong looked at each other, knowing what their next step would be.

Kodak Foto Iswara is one of the few surviving photo shops in Kuala Lumpur. Thanks to the advent of digital photography, this shop has pivoted towards selling digital cameras and repairing them.

A large laminated notice screaming ‘REPAIR CAMERA’ was stuck onto a plastic chair that blocked the narrow entrance. Inspector Cheong called out for the owner, who appeared behind said chair, and proceeded to answer their questions from there.

“Yes, she worked for me for a while, but always too busy making videos on her phone, so I had to stop her. She claimed she had restaurateurs and developers asking her to do work on the phone, what rubbish!” the owner, Mr Chee, said.

“Youngsters these days,” he murmured. “If there are no customers, you should clean the shop, I am not paying you to play with your phone or talk to the fellow from the Indian restaurant.”

Eshwari could not help but notice the lack of any sorrow of his ex-employee’s death. She looked at her tablet, having accessed Aleesha’s expired Instagram stories. Eshwari’s thorough search yielded a photo of Aleesha with a strapping clad in an orange polo t-shirt. Vinny Jeyaa Restaurant was emblazoned on the chest.

“Feel like a teh tarik?” she asked Cheong.

Walking past the Pasar Seni bus station, Eshwari couldn’t help but notice how much the air had changed from her childhood, thanks to the free electric buses that now ferried the public.

Upon reaching the restaurant, they scanned the waiters pottering around before locking in on the man in question. A quick word with the supervisor resulted in the three of them ushered into an office behind the dining area.

“Aleesha? Yes, I know her. Is she okay?” the waiter, Prakash, asked.

This man was either a very good actor or a genuinely concerned friend, Eshwari thought.

Cheong broke the news about Aleesha’s death. Prakash’s face fell.

“It’s all my fault. She texted me to meet her by the temple last night at 11.30. I was delayed with some prep work for today’s thosai batter. I went over at about midnight and saw her speaking to a big man, tall and broad. They seemed to be arguing. I approached her but she yelled at me to leave. I left. I didn’t think she would end up dead!” He began sobbing.

“The last few days, she wasn’t herself,” he continued.

“Was she upset about being fired from the camera store?” Cheong inquired.

Prakash chuckled mirthlessly. “She was happy to be done with that. Said she didn’t need that job because she’d just received an offer from a big client for content, she didn’t tell me whom. But after a few emails with them, she seemed frustrated.”

Cheong and Eshwari walked back towards the crime scene. The sound of the price tag dispenser clucked loudly as they passed Yat Hang Trading, a homeware store. Wow, I didn’t know that businesses still use that device, thought Eshwari, as she paused to watch an elderly lady expertly place price tags on wooden chopping blocks.

The lady turned to Eshwari and asked, “Are you investigating the death of that girl Aleesha?”

Accustomed to busybodies, Eshwari told her politely that they cannot reveal much as the investigation is ongoing.

“I can help you. I know who killed her.”

They hadn’t revealed that it was a homicide, so how did she know?

“My name is Lean, I am a longtime employee of this shop. That one is a fighter-cock, I saw her quarrelling with a man last night. She was saying, ‘You people can’t do this, your company can’t do this’. It was normal for her to pick a fight, so I went in after a while.”

Eshwari’s conversation with Lean didn’t glean much else, but she knew that Aleesha’s death was related to her latest client. She did a quick search through Aleesha’s deleted emails.

Her eyes caught an email from Arif Radzi of KCT Development. The subject line read CONTENT FOR UPCOMING MALL. KCT was engaging KL-based social media influencers to plant the idea of a mall in Petaling Street, demolishing the existing structures and relocating the vendors, hoping to reduce the backlash when it finally happened.Aleesha’s final email to Arif read “There is NO WAY I’m going to allow you to demolish Petaling Street for yet another mall. Watch my space, I’m going to make your company viral in the worst way possible.”

Cheong jogged up to her. “Esh, we have CCTV footage from DoDoo café across the street, there’s footage of Aleesha being assaulted by a tall man. We can picturise half his face, but that’s not much to go on.”

Eshwari shared her lead with Cheong. He was sceptical. “Isn’t she so insignificant to them?”

“Never underestimate the power of social media,” Eshwari reminded him.

Going back to her tablet, Eshwari opened an app that scoured the internet for every image of Arif ever taken. A good 15 minutes later, she found one with the tall mystery murderer opening the car door for Arif.

She handed her tablet to Cheong. “Ready to get that warrant?”

#

Eshwari smiled at the marigolds that decorated the same yellow kolam.

The weight of evidence against Arif and his former bodyguard, Hitesh became overwhelming as her team’s investigation continued. The two were now remanded, awaiting trial. Thank goodness, their project was shoved into the gutter and they’ll be locked up for a long time, thought Eshwari. There was even talk of nominating Petaling Street for UNESCO protection.

Ramu and Lean were right in front of the crowd gathered at the candlelight vigil for Aleesha. Prakash’s grief manifested in guttural sobs that threatened to drown out Aleesha’s favourite singer, Dr Burn, who was playing her favourite song, Azhagana Nyayiru. Eshwari spotted Mr Chin at a distance,  his head bowed in prayer. Hundreds of people from Petaling Street gathered to say goodbye to Aleesha. Eshwari never knew her, but she could feel her presence.

Life will never be the same for any of them again. Petaling Street, on the other hand, will wake up the next day, bustling, and most importantly, protected for generations to come.

About the author

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