The Fourteenth Landing

About this book

At twenty to six on a wet Tuesday morning, Inspector Yasmin Radzi crouches on a concrete stair in Menara Suluh, a 1990s tower on Jalan Serindit, and looks at the small brass counter still held in a dead woman's hand. Amira Zainal, twenty-six, fire-safety consultant, came out alone at three in the morning and did not come home. Her torch is still switched on. Her clipboard is closed on nothing at all. And her counter says fourteen, in a building whose stairwell doors run one, two, three, three A, five, all the way to twelve A, and stop at thirteen. Yasmin is a lift mechanic's daughter, and her father taught her the only rule she has ever needed: a building cannot lie, because it does not know that anybody is listening.