Jessica sat stunned. In her mind she could see the scene clearly. One hundred and twenty-two migrant workers held behind bars. Some of them were guilty; they were the ones who upturned the vehicles and set them on fire in Little India. Some of them were not; they sat on the grass patches along the side of Serangoon Road and watched the rioting in shock. Among them, Jessica saw Haroon’s face. She saw Haroon run towards her curled-up body on the road, pick her up and carry her to the ambulance. Were Haroon not grievously injured and lying comatose in the ICU, he would be the 123rd behind bars. She alone knew he was innocent.

“I want to help.”

“What?”

“You need manpower to interview the migrant workers today, don’t you?” Jessica said. “What time do you start?”

“Two o’clock in the afternoon. But are you sure you’re up to it?” Krison looked uncertain.

Jessica nodded with determination. This was how she could redeem herself. If she could not help Haroon, at least she could help these others who were equally innocent.

Krison had tears in his eyes again. Jessica was the bravest victim he had ever had the honour to serve. “I am meeting the team at noon for lunch before the interview sessions begin. Come join us.”

Jessica hardly slept after she got home, but she was in high spirits when she stepped into the Migrant Workers Count Too office shortly after noon. The tables in the interior were grouped into five clusters while the chairs were lined up side by side for the queue to sit on. She guessed that the arrangement was meant to facilitate five concurrent interviews. There was a group of volunteers huddled around one of the table clusters consuming packed lunches. They looked up with curiosity as Jessica stepped in.

“Over here, Jess! It is so good to see you again!”

Jessica swivelled around to see Omala emerge from the director’s office.

“Krison told me you were coming,” Omala said as she gave Jessica a warm hug. “Come into my office. I want you to meet someone.”

A man who looked to be in his thirties was seated on a sofa. He immediately stood up and extended a hand as Jessica entered. “You must be Jessica. My name is Kuan Eng. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Kuan Eng is a close friend of mine,” Omala explained as she motioned for Jessica to take a seat. “He works as a corporate lawyer and gives Migrant Workers Count Too pro bono legal assistance. That’s what best friends do—steal one another’s expertise.”

“I am honoured to help.” Kuan Eng gave a cheerful wink. “Omala does great work for migrant workers, especially at critical times like these, when the odds are heavily stacked against them.”