As I walked along the side of the house, the creepers thick, the papaya trees overgrown with fruit, I saw a glint of something in the grass. It was a tiny silver spoon, like the one that I had used to stir sugar in my mother’s teacup that day. Perhaps marauding robbers had dropped it in their haste? Perhaps one of the servants had taken the entire set deep in the night, and dropped one lone spoon? I picked it up, brushed it clean against my skirt, and as I walked away from the house, I heard a light hush and I forced myself to not look back.

I needed to do something. I had to look for Alba.

After a few more conversations with Inspector Awang, I somehow convinced myself that she was somewhere in KL, that she had perhaps been “adopted” by a wealthy couple. It was a thread of thought that was logical, that I kept to myself as there was nothing to prove any of my assumptions, and quietly went about my plan to map out certain areas in the Klang Valley where she was most likely to be. I also ascertained that she was probably in the most wealthy residential parts of KL, namely Bukit Tunku, Bangsar, Damansara Heights, Petaling Jaya—which was huge, so only the wealthier sections had to be considered—and Taman Tun Dr Ismail.

I got a map of the Klang Valley and pinned it on the wall of the dining room. Out came a stack of post-its, multi-coloured pins and marker pens. I traced the borders of those areas in black and then subdivided those in red. Each red section would translate to one day of searching.

My conclusions were this. Alba had probably been adopted by a family that was either half-expat and local, or all expat, or all local. The demographic of white-mixed couples in the Klang Valley had increased exponentially in the few years after the economic crisis, and especially since there was a renewed faith in the country. Expats loved living in Malaysia—the “expat package” was synonymous with top-notch housing, free international schooling for kids, a maid and or housekeeper, cars and a big, fat salary.