She wanted to know if anyone was pregnant or if anyone wanted to give up their babies.

Did she leave a number? I asked, my voice leaning into a panic.

No, but I can find out.

Oh my god, Marina, what if… What if… What if she knows about Alba, what if she was the one who kidnapped Alba? I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

Del…relax. One step at a time…okay?

Can…you find out her name?

I have to be careful. The girls will get suspicious…You know they need the money.

Okay…okay. I said. So she buys the babies?

Marina went quiet. Yes, she pays them cash.

Oh my god, oh my god. I fell to the floor. Please help me find her, please dear god help me, help me. Marina, I need you to find out her name, please. I need to know her name. Who is she? What kind of person does this…

Marina whispered over the phone.

A monster. A devil. Syaitan.

If you’re a well-to-do mother with a young child, chances are, you or your maid will push a pram around your affluent neighbourhood, to daycare or nursery, the playground, assuming that all of the above are within walking distance of your home. There are selected playgrounds in posh residential areas, so it’s easy to stake them out. Most parents prefer to take their kids to indoor gyms where they can romp around in tunnelled mazes, enclosed pens with coloured plastic balls, and jump on mini trampolines, all under the supervision of vigilant care-givers who will only allow you to take your kids once you reveal a secret password. But still, the lowly playground is still an early morning and evening haunt for babies and their carers.

I took to jogging around Damansara Heights in the mornings. As early at 6.30am I would park my car opposite the secondary school and wait for the drivers, or mothers or fathers to drop their kids off. This was probably the top government school in KL and also the most difficult to get in. Sons and daughters of politicians were a priority, and I’d heard of parents who put their children’s names down on a register the minute they were born. I looked like a parent in a running outfit and after the bell rang at 7.30 sharp and all the cars disappeared, I started jogging. I saw Filipino nannies with babies and toddlers in pushchairs, Indonesian twenty-somethings with babies in sarongs, wrapped tightly around their chests, walking up and down the leafy streets. These were bungalows, houses with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, with pools, indoor gyms, European cars. I waved and said hi to them, cooed and chatted with the babies and toddlers.