That was probably the most truthful thing that Tanvir had said to him yet. Wherever one was in the world, it seemed that it was difficult to bring th… - Shamini Flint

In the foreground, right on the waterfront, was a massive pastel yellow arch – the Gateway of India. “It was built to welcome King George V when he visited India,” explained his well-briefed, Google-friendly wife.
“They didn’t think a bunch of flowers would do?” asked [Inspector] Singh.
“Anyway, it was only completed twelve years after the visit.” Singh grinned. That was the sort of managerial incompetence that he found amusing.

“Sounds like preparation for war,” remarked Singh, yet again forced to contemplate the difference between Singapore policing’s idea of a tough day at the office, an outbreak of jaywalking perhaps, and the Indian equivalent.
“Sometimes it is exactly like war,” said Patel in a quiet voice and Singh had a sudden glimpse into the abyss.

The fact of the matter was that he was spoilt. Singapore was such a pleasant place to hunt down murderers. It was easy to get around, hardly any traffic. The killers had nowhere to run, the island was so small. The air was clean and the trees green so his health didn’t deteriorate as he pursued his vocation. He stared sadly at a dusty spindly tree surrounded by a protective cordon of railings. Here, even the trees were in prison.