Helena in Shadows

By BJ Chen

It is 2008 when two innocent bystanders stumble onto a gruesome scene. A girl lies in the road, barely recognizable but alive. The dead body of a man rests a short distance away. The girl’s beloved dog, Pepe, is injured but devotedly guarding her. After Maria and Balke call for help, the girl is transported to the hospital where her identity remains a mystery.

Raja Abdul Aziz is not a policeman, but instead, a man blessed with a mind that never forgets anything he sees or hears. When he is approached by two policemen who ask for his help solving the shocking case, he unwittingly unravels the story of Helena, a spoiled, thirteen-year-old heiress who first killed the kidnapper who violently attacked her and her dog, murdered his partner, and then was raised in secret by her rescuers to hide her identity. As more information rises to the surface, Aziz’s probe unfortunately leads to tragic circumstances as he unwittingly seals Helena’s doom.

In this mysterious tale, a savant detective called upon to investigate a mass murder uncovers a surprising chain of events that ultimately decides a young woman’s fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jan 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781982292904

BJ Chen

BJ Chen is a sculptor and glass artist who is now enjoying a newfound delight in writing fiction. After living for many years in the diverse communities of Southeast Asia, she finds racial diversity both enchanting and beautiful. Chen now lives in Melbourne, Australia. This is her second book.

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Copyright © 2021 BJ Chen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Cover Image from Shutterstock

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9289-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9290-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/07/2021

CONTENTS

The Child

Jenna

Francis

Escape

Finding Pepe

HOME

Minkie Takes Charge

Escape

Home

Helena

Learning

The Clinic

Nadia

Helena Takes Off

Changes

Kuala Lumpur, March 2021

Aziz joins the chase

Conrad

2021 Sabah

Conrad

Sandakan Airport

Love

Policemen

Pulau Mutiara Satu

The Pirates

The Couple

The Wedding Plans

Finding Charlie

Helena and Cat

Mount Kinabalu

Stalking the prey

Finding Helena

Revelations

Epilogue

About the Author

To Stephen and Sharon, with love.

B J C

Raja Abdul Aziz Ahmad is a savant—something he often wishes he was not! He is not policeman. He is a man blessed—or perhaps cursed—with a mind that never forgets anything he sees or hears. He does not consider himself bound by conventional laws. Rather, he is bound by what he sees as right and wrong, meaning that his friends and foes alike respect him as a man of honour. While he will not purposefully break the law, he might bend it a little on occasion if he thinks it warranted by the circumstances.

When he is approached by two policemen asking for help with the shocking case of a massacre on an island in the Zulu Sea just outside of Malaysia’s jurisdiction, he finds their request impossible to refuse. But as he delves into the lives of the victims’ families, it becomes increasingly apparent to him that the victims have convoluted familial links to at least five well-known and respected families in Portugal, England, France, and Malaysia. He cannot resist investigating further.

In a strange and horrifying way, terrible crimes of the past cling like shadows to the innocent of the present.

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THE CHILD

Portugal—2008

T hey were driving along the N6 where the highway runs close to the ocean. It had been a very pleasant day, and they were arguing companionably over whether they should look for a guest house to stay the night or just stop to eat. It would be a long drive back to their hotel in Cascais. Maria yawned, and Balke laughed. He said, Okay. A break of some kind is essential. He yawned as well and asked, Why is yawning so catching?

Maria smiled. I don’t think anyone knows that. Let’s stop for a good meal and find a place to relax for the night.

Balke, turning on the car’s headlights as he rounded a curve in the road, was the first to see the body. The figure lay on the ground, half-hidden by a clump of bushes. He pulled over, stopped the car, and ran over to take a closer look. Maria followed close behind him. At first they thought the body was that of a grown woman. Upon closer inspection, however, they saw that it was an older child. The shoes, socks and skirt tangled about her legs looked like those of a schoolgirl.

Balke switched on his torch, focused the beam of light on the crumpled figure, and let out a despairing cry as his other hand flew to cover his mouth. The child’s fair hair and the right side of her face were dark with blood. Through the slick of red, he could see a gash beginning on the right side of her forehead from the hairline and extending back towards her ear. The skin hung slack, as though it had been peeled from the bone. Her hair flared out around her like a red-and-white halo. What he could see of her face was shocking. Two teeth showed out of the side of her mouth, which was a mess of blood and white bits of bone. She had a tomahawk in her half-open hand, and it too was splattered with blood. Splodges of it almost obliterated the thin, torn shirt splayed open over her ribs. Her lower body was exposed, her torn undergarment thrown carelessly aside where it lay nearby. A great heavy dog crouched in the shadow at her side, gently licking her leg. It growled softly.

The two people were hardly able to process the ghastly sight. Maria turned away with her hand over her mouth. Balke swore as he felt in his pockets for his phone. Fumbling, he dialled 115 and held the phone to his ear. When the woman screamed, he dropped the phone and turned, startled, to find her gibbering and pointing towards another clump of something a half-metre or so away. His hand still to his mouth, he moved in the direction she was indicating with his torch held aloft.

He edged closer to see what it was. In the beam of bright light, he saw a second body—that of a man. The torch fell from Balke’s fingers in shock, and his scream echoed his wife’s. The couple turned as one and bolted back to the car.

You must go back and find the phone! We have to call the police! she cried.

I can’t! he gasped. No torch.

You must! the woman insisted, and she shoved him hard enough to push him from the car. He fumbled at the ignition until the engine spluttered to life, turned on the headlights and ran, head down, in search of his phone. Maria got out and watched him anxiously.

Back at the car, his hands shaking uncontrollably, Balke stabbed at the buttons on the phone. As soon as a voice answered, he shouted, For God’s sake, get help! Call the police! Oh, Christ, come quickly! After managing to calm himself enough to give directions, he sat down heavily on the ground next to the car. The woman slid down beside him.

What is it, Balke? Is there something still out there? she asked.

How would I know? he replied, his voice quavering. I don’t … I can’t. I don’t want to! It’s not for us! He was almost mumbling now. It’s not our job!

Balke, I’m frightened! Maria sobbed.

So am I. Suddenly, and belatedly, he became aware of the danger they were in. We must get back in the car. The two of them scrambled back into the vehicle and locked the doors. Balke tried not to think of the horror out there as he stared out into the dark, not daring to close his eyes.

The dog? Was it the dog? Maria asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

No, he replied, not the dog.

Then the axe? she whispered.

Yes … I think so.

What— she began, as though trying to make sense of the scene.

Don’t ask me! he cried. I don’t want to think about it. Let them come and … and do …! I can’t. I don’t want to! It’s not for us! He was shouting now. It’s not our job!

Maria heard the panic in his voice and put her arms around him. Hush, darling, hush, she murmured.

I’m all right, he said after a moment, breathing hard. Maria, it’s okay. Just stay here. We’ll wait for the police to arrive. That’s all. That dog … it’s guarding her, I think.

A few cars passed them by as they sat waiting, but none of them stopped. Soon the police arrived, accompanied by the emergency response unit. Two young policemen, seemingly bewildered by what they saw, questioned the couple and then told them to stay in the car. But the senior member of the ambulance crew went straight to the wounded child. The great dog growled and bared its teeth as he approached, and he thought at first that they might have to shoot it. But then the child moved, slowly opening her eyes, and the dog stretched its neck and nuzzled her side.

As the ambulance team moved closer, the dog bared its teeth again and snarled viciously at any attempt they made to approach her.

The senior medic knelt on the ground opposite the dog and spoke to the girl, his voice soft and gentle. Is he your dog? he asked.

At first there was no response. He slowly extended a hand for the dog to sniff. Is he your dog? he asked again.

The child turned her nightmarish face towards the sound of his voice. He thought she said, Pepe, but couldn’t quite understand her. When he moved the torch a fraction more, he saw why. The child was speaking through a broken jaw and the sharply angled cut that had sliced through the skin on the side of her head. Bone showed white through the redness.

The man’s stomach heaved, but he controlled himself, and his voice was soft when he next spoke. He’s a very good dog. But he is a dog, after all; he can’t bandage your head, eh? Ask Pepe to let me look at you. He needs to let the ambulance men come closer. I’ll hold him for you, if you like. Can you do that?

The child stared at him for a moment and then whispered, Cease, Pepe.

What’s your name? he asked her.

He thought she said, I am me. She closed her eyes.

One of the young policemen stared at her and cried loudly, My God! I think she murdered that man! The axe, look—it’s still in her hand!"

The child made a gasping sound and opened her eyes again. They were full of fear.

The older policeman snapped harshly, Watch your tongue! Then he knelt and asked quietly, Did you? Did you kill that man?

Her response was muffled and barely intelligible. He’s dead?

Yes, the policeman said, he’s dead.

The child let out a long sigh. Good. She closed her eyes again.

Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as she murmured something else. Her words, impeded by her swollen lips and her broken teeth and jaw, were barely audible. The policeman leant in closer, trying to hear her, and the big dog growled a warning. Her hand on its paw moved very slightly, and it stilled. Without comment, the ambulance man touched the policeman’s shoulder. He stood up as the medic knelt and eased a hypodermic needle into the child’s exposed arm. They watched as her body relaxed. Poor girl, he said as he felt her am go limp. Poor, poor lass.

The policeman put his head in his hands, wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why he had joined the force. He turned and gently coaxed the dog towards him. It moved painfully, dragging itself along the ground. He patted its head and sat down beside it.

After the ambulance man had seen to the child, he looked at the dog. Poor beast. Its leg is almost severed, he said. And those cuts on its head and shoulders are deep. I’m afraid it can’t be saved. He looked up at the ambulance crew. Take the child. I’ll deal with this."

He looked down at the big dog with pity in his eyes. Poor loyal fellow, he said. He held its muzzle and spoke softly to it as he gave it the injection. The dog’s eyes reminded him of the child’s, innocent, as they glazed over.

They transported the child to the hospital. Once they had arrived, the admissions doctor called the hospital’s chief surgeon, Dr Vasco Alessandro, to come to the emergency clinic. Dr Alessandro was used to wounds of all kinds—from those caused by large knives or farm machinery to those that resulted from tractor accidents and car crashes. But nothing in his life had prepared him for the barbarism of the teeth marks that had broken the skin on the young girl’s breasts. The wounds on her body were mostly superficial; it was her face and head wounds that most worried him. They would certainly require plastic surgery. The broken bones in her jaw were going to be particularly difficult. And although her wounds were not actually life-threatening on their own, he was concerned that shock alone might kill her. The closest major hospital was fifty kilometres away, and he doubted she would survive being moved again that night.

He made the only decision he could under the circumstances. The child was rushed into the operating theatre. He had the young Dr Vasquez, one experienced nurse, and a good theatre staff on hand, and together they did what they could.

Two of the policemen had the same blood type as the girl, and she had need of their blood. The doctor knew that if he could manage to treat the shock, she would be out of immediate danger. When he had done all that he could, he went into his office for a stiff whisky. He knew it would take more than the one rather complicated procedure he had performed on the savage slash from her temple through the skin on the side of her head that had taken her ear as well. Her jaw was a different thing altogether. He had done what he could there, painstakingly realigning as much of the bone in the area as possible. He was shaking with fatigue as he left the operating theatre. The fact that she had escaped without having her head split in half was nothing short of a miracle.

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JENNA

W hen Jenna St Clair hurried into the ward the next morning, she found a policeman at the ward door and the child asleep. She had helped with the surgery the previous night. Turning to the nurse who sat at the child’s bedside, she asked how long it would be before the girl would wake and was told that the patient was heavily sedated. Jenna was due to go off duty in the afternoon but decided she would get permission to nurse the child until she was well enough to be moved. She didn’t know why it mattered so much to her, but for the whole of the previous night, she had not been able to get the look in the girl’s large blue eyes out of her mind. The worst part of the whole business for her had been that, despite the severity of her injuries, the child had not made so much as a sound before she was anaesthetized.

Jenna stood looking down at the girl’s bandaged head and arms, and she wondered how someone could possibly do such terrible things to a child. The mere thought of the injuries she had helped the surgeon try to mend made her feel both sick to her stomach and angrier than she had ever been. The hospital was small, but the staff were dedicated, and she knew the girl would live. But pity still overwhelmed her. The order of nuns who owned the hospital had a dozen trained nurses amongst them, and she knew they were all praying for the child.

She went to the admissions desk to find out whether they had a name for the child yet but was disappointed to hear that her identity remained a mystery. Raoul, who was manning the admissions desk, told her that there had been nothing on the man’s person or in the truck that might identify him. The number plates were Spanish, and the vehicle was old and in poor repair.

As she turned to go back to work, she noticed a man and a woman sitting near the information desk. Later in the day, as she was about to go to lunch, she saw that they were still there—sitting in the same chairs, looking tired and anxious. She approached them and asked whether they needed help.

The woman answered. Her spoken Portuguese was heavily accented. Yes, please! I am Maria, and this is my husband, Balke. We found a child terribly hurt on the highway last night and want to ask someone if she has been identified yet. We also wanted to know … Will she live? She was so badly hurt, the poor thing! We are so anxious. We can’t get any information because we are not relatives, you see.

You’ve been here a long time, Jenna replied. Have you spoken to anyone?

Only a policeman—and he just says to wait, Maria said.

Jenna looked down at her wristwatch. Well, look, why don’t you come to the canteen with me and get something to eat? I’ll tell you what I can.

She settled them down at a table, where they ordered coffee and pasta.

The child will survive, Jenna said after a moment, but she’s in shock. Her injuries are awful, but not life threatening at the moment.

What will happen to her? Balke asked.

Jenna was puzzled by their concern. Anyone in their position would ask for some information, but they were more concerned than people normally were in situations like these. It had not been their fault that the child was hurt. If anything, they had saved her life. Jenna had to tell them again that she didn’t know but that the police would surely identify her soon. Her relatives were almost certainly looking for her and would likely make a police report in the next day.

I’m sorry, but I don’t actually have much else I can tell you. I don’t know how you found her. I only know about her injuries. I assisted in the operating theatre when she was brought in.

Maria asked, timidly, whether Jenna would be kind enough to telephone them if any relatives came forward, saying it would be a blessed relief to them. They exchanged telephone numbers, and Jenna left them, wondering again why they cared so deeply. The couple left the hospital by the back door to avoid the reporters camped out at the entrance. The story of the attack on the girl had made headlines in the newspapers, TV, and radio. No one had yet come forward to claim the child, and the ward was off limits to all but the medical staff.

That afternoon, Jenna nodded a greeting to the policeman on guard at the door as she slipped into the ward to check on the girl. There was no nurse there, and her operating room slippers were soundless. The patient’s bed was almost completely surrounded by a curtain. Jenna had lifted a hand to push the cloth back when she heard a harsh whispering and instinctively stopped her hand. It was not in her nature to eavesdrop, but the patient was a child and gravely ill. The words she overheard were spoken in Dutch, Jenna’s first language. A cold chill went down her spine as her mind made sense of them.

The voice was low and hard. You killed Garron, it said, and the police will hang you by your neck on a long rope until you choke to death. Listen to me very carefully! If you say a single word to anyone, no matter who it is, you will hang! I haven’t spoken to them yet. When I do, I will tell them that I am your mother. Soon I will take you to Minkie, and you will be safe. And we will live together from now on. But you must not speak a word. I know you’re awake. Don’t pretend, Helena! Remember: if you say anything, you will never see Minkie again. I have Pepe. Do as I say, or I’ll kill him with an axe, the same way you killed my Garron!

In shock and disbelief, Jenna pushed aside the curtain and approached the bed, unsure for the moment what she should do or say. The woman turned, tucking in the blonde hair peeping out from under a scarf and looking momentarily startled, demanded. What has happened to my daughter?

Jenna’s mouth dropped open. The woman had spoken to her in Portuguese.

You can speak Dutch to me, she said slowly, in Dutch.

The woman’s brow creased as though she was confused. What did you say? I can’t understand you!

But, but you can! I heard you. You were speaking Dutch to her, Jenna cried, this time in Portuguese. Do you have permission to be in here?

She reached out for the girl’s wrist to check her pulse. The child’s heart was hammering, and the skin on her arm shivered.

No, but I am her mother. Of course I needed to see her. I was praying for her recovery. The woman raised her head, glaring at the nurse with her ice-blue eyes as she tightened her headscarf under her chin.

Jenna stared at the woman, nonplussed. That’s not what I heard! she exclaimed. You … you were speaking Dutch to her, and you threatened her!

Don’t talk nonsense, the woman snapped angrily. I can’t speak Dutch! I was only trying to ask her what had happened to her.

Who let you in? Jenna was angry, but she was a nurse, and she was afraid for the child, who looked terribly distressed.

I simply asked a nurse where she was. The woman eyed Jenna belligerently. And the policeman at the door was kind enough to let me in to see my daughter.

You should have spoken to the doctor and the police first. I have to call the doctor immediately!

Are you her full-time nurse? the woman asked as she took the girl’s hand.

No. I work mostly in the operating theatre.

Well, thank God for that! You seem to have lost your sense as well as your hearing! Turning back to the girl, the woman bent over her and spoke in faultless Portuguese. Remember, darling, I love you. But I must go now and speak to that nice policeman who is guarding you. Don’t cry, my baby; I’ll come back soon. Dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes as though holding back tears, she left the room.

Jenna, furious, waited until she heard the tap of the woman’s high heels cross the threshold and disappear down the corridor. As soon as she left, the child broke into a storm of tears.

Hush—hush now. Don’t be afraid. I heard her say those horrible things to you. Jenna spoke in fluent Dutch. I’m a nurse, and I’m not going to let anyone harm you.

Helena cringed, looking up at the woman who held her so lovingly with fearful, tear-drenched eyes. She made whimpering sounds but did not speak.

"Helena. It’s Helena, isn’t it? Do you speak Dutch?

The girl rolled her eyes and moaned.

That woman—is she really your mother?

The girl’s eyes darted wildly around before one strangled word exploded over her swollen tongue and out between her shattered teeth. No! The word was muffled but vehement.

Helena, dear, please listen to me. You are in a hospital, and you’ve been hurt. But nobody can hurt you here. So first you must try to calm down. The doctor’s coming to see you. He’s a very kind man. You know him. You saw him last night, remember? Jenna rang the emergency bell and put both arms around the girl. Okay?

The girl moved her hand slightly as though in assent.

Okay, then. After the doctor’s seen you, I’ll come back and stay with you. All right?

Don’t … She gazed painfully from side to side, and her hand waved in unison. Don’t tell …

The child’s eyes were anxious and her words slurred as she tried to make Jenna understand.

Okay. No. I won’t tell. The girl looked so frightened that Jenna had to ask But why, Helena?

kill … kill Pepe. Her speech was almost a breath.

Who is Pepe?

Dog, the child said, barely audible. Mine. I love him!

Jenna had never seen anyone look so terrified. Slightly panicked herself, she said. "Well, I’ve said I won’t say anything for