Before It's Too Late (20 page)

Ken smiled, “It’s all about how you ask the questions. You have to be direct. Make it clear what you want. None of this skirting around the issue and trying to catch people out like we do in our interviewing. If you try that, they just clam up and you get nowhere.”

“We’ve certainly struggled to get any background information on the family from the Embassy and when the report did arrive it was scant at best. No information on Mr Li’s business.”

Ken nodded. “When it comes to dealing with authority the Chinese are naturally suspicious and very wary of their regime.”

Jackman ran through his Skype meeting with Mr and Mrs Li, how they had paid the ransom and avoided all contact with the police until absolutely necessary and even now wouldn’t disclose the details of who helped them or how they raised the cash.

“That’s not surprising,” Ken said. “Many Chinese people grow up to distrust the police in their country. They are not governed like we are in the UK. In China anyone in authority represents fear. People work hard to stay on the right side of them. If they had a complaint they might share it with their closest, trusted friends, but never openly in public for fear of what might happen to them. They build up a support network of people around them. If something goes wrong they would more likely use these people to help them resolve the situation, rather than go to the authorities. Many immigrants form pockets and emulate this by building their own little communities when they come over here, which is why they have someone in charge. It can have its benefits, as long as they are on our side.”

“How do you mean?”

“They don’t want any trouble. They want their businesses to make money and thrive. When there’s an element that threatens the system, theft for example, they deal with it. We just need to make sure it’s done legally. Like I said, I’ve worked this beat for almost three years and you get to know some of the residents really well. They share stuff. Building up contacts and learning to speak to the right people has been really useful with managing the crime rate. If you lose their confidence, they’ll monitor it themselves. And that’s not always pretty.”

“How would the Li family have managed to raise the money and find contacts here to help them?”

“There are many community groups here in the UK with links to China that could make those arrangements. It wouldn’t be difficult to find someone to help, especially when there’s money involved.”

“You mean organised crime groups like Triads?”

“Triads are one of them, yes. There are others too. We know it goes on. But if you’re looking for something on that level, you’re unlikely to get any answers. When it comes to organised gangs or Triad activity, everybody shuts down. They are a law unto themselves. We’ve a little intelligence, but it really is the interminable brick wall.”

Davies looked up from her coffee. “Where are your family from?” she asked.

“Tianjin, on the eastern side. They came over before I was born.”

“What do they think of you being a cop?”

“It took them a while to get used to the idea.” He flashed her a smile. “But they’re okay with it now.”

Jackman and Davies paused to read the signage outside Kitzy’s Casino.
Open 24 hours. Live entertainment every night. Private functions catered for
.

It was almost 6.30pm. Ken had excused himself to enjoy the last evening of his leave with his family.

Cars, lorries and vans buzzed past them on The Broadway. A motorcyclist weaved in and out of the traffic. Jackman took a deep breath, pushed open the door and held it back for Davies and himself to enter the reception area.

Jackman wasn’t a great fan of casinos. He’d played a few slot machines, dabbled at roulette and black jack when he and Alice visited Las Vegas for their tenth wedding anniversary, but his job had exposed him to the darker side of gaming, the addictive side that, much like a drug, turned the most amiable person into the worst kind of hunter in pursuit of their dream.

They signed in at reception, flashed their ID cards and passed through mirrored double doors into a large room with low-level lighting and a round bar at the centre, surrounded by booths of leather chairs and sofas curled around small walnut tables. Glasses of every size and description glistened under the chandelier lighting on open shelves above the bar; bottles of spirits lined the walls behind.

This seemed to be some kind of central area. Several sets of glass double doors edged with gold were dotted around the perimeter of the room. He read the signs above them: restaurant, cabaret, games room, card games. Davies excused herself to go to the ladies and Jackman followed the signs for the games room. The doors opened automatically as he approached and he crossed the threshold into what seemed like another bar area. A single blonde waitress clad in a clingy red dress with matching lipstick looked up and smiled as he approached. It seemed that twenty-four-hour opening meant twenty-four-hour party wear.

“I’m looking for the gaming room,” he said.

“Of course, sir.” Her accompanying smile showed off a set of straight white teeth an orthodontist would have been proud of. “Just through the double doors at the far end.”

Jackman smiled back at her and her eyes glistened. “Is there anything I can get you?” she said.

“You might be able to.” He held up his badge.

The woman leant her elbow on the bar and rested her chin on her hand, as if this was some sort of game. The position exposed a generous amount of cleavage.

“I’m looking for somebody. He’s a customer here.” Jackman placed a hand in his pocket and realised that Davies had the photograph. He looked up in time to see the woman run her tongue along her teeth. A smile tickled her lips.

Suddenly he became aware of a presence beside him. “Were you looking for this?” Davies asked and handed over the photo, rolling her eyes.

The woman stood back, stared at Davies a moment and glanced at the photo he’d placed on the bar.

“Can I help you?”

Jackman turned to the direction of the voice and was confronted by a stocky man with heavy-set features in a creased black suit and open-necked white shirt. Jackman lifted his badge and introduced them both.

The man proffered a hand, “Sam Chapman, I’m the manager. What can I do for you?”

“We are trying to trace a Chinese man by the name of Qiang Li. He also goes by the name of Peng Wu. I believe he is a customer here?”

“We have lots of customers.”

The lady behind the bar snorted and moved back to checking the spirits.

Chapman’s mouth curled into a grin. “Just a joke. You’d better come into my office.”

They followed him to a black door in the corner with a gold sign that read
Private
on the front and waited as he entered a code into a keypad on the wall beside. A bleep sounded and he pushed the door open.

Much like the restaurant earlier, the back corridors of the casino lacked the inside opulence. They followed the manager into an office where he moved behind a chipped laminate desk and clicked a few keys on his keyboard. Jackman and Davies sat on plastic chairs in front. A row of grey filing cabinets lined the wall behind him.

“All our customers are required to register and sign in, part of gaming regulations,” he said. “No, we don’t have a Qiang Li,” he said. He clicked a few more buttons, “But we do have a Peng Wu registered. That’s assuming he’s the same one of course.”

“Would you recognise him?” Jackman asked.

Chapman shook his head. “I doubt it. Do you have a picture?”

Davies pulled the photo out of her pocket and handed it over.

He shook his head. “Looks like this was taken a few years ago,” he said and moved to pass it back.

“Take another look,” Jackman said and pointed out the scar on his face.

Chapman rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. I might have seen him here.” He looked up. “Honestly, can’t remember. I don’t spend a huge amount of time out in the main casino.”

“Do you know when he was last here?” Jackman asked.

Chapman clicked a few more buttons. “Over the weekend. Several times on Saturday and Sunday by the looks of it. I can have my staff email you the digital footage if you want to take a look?”

“As soon as you can. I’ll need a hard copy too.”

Chapter
Thirty-Four

I glanced at Lonny. He was gently banging his head against the concrete wall behind him as his eyes surveyed the pit
.

Eventually he stopped and sat there motionless for a second, his eyes staring at the grill above. “Where do you think we are?” he said
.

I took a deep breath, rested my head back. “In the middle of nowhere.”

“What makes you say that?”

I sighed. “Listen.” We sat in silence a moment. A bird chirped twice in the distance. I turned back to him. “No people, no car engines, not even the sound of the trees today. I’ve tried shouting, screaming and no one comes. But I can smell vegetation, trees, leaves, soil. I’d say we’re stuck in the middle of the countryside. In the middle of nowhere.”

I could feel the pithiness rise in my words as my temper came to the fore, not helped by the sticky heat that showed no promise of abating
.

“Who’d build a concrete pit below the ground in the middle of nowhere?” he asked
.

I looked around at the dirty, cracked walls. An old spider’s web hung like a used fishing net in the corner. The floor was uneven and equally cracked, with a powdery finish. “I don’t know, for storage maybe? Looks old though. Like it was built years ago and forgotten.”

“Must have been something secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you wouldn’t go to the trouble of building a room like this below the ground if it hadn’t concealed something secret.”

His words washed over me a minute. I’d never considered it a room. A room had soft flooring, painted walls, comfortable furniture, family photos or memorable pictures on the wall. A room was somewhere you chose to go, somewhere you relaxed, somewhere you spent time with friends and family. For me that simple word conjured up warm images of sitting on sofas around the fire back home. Yet he was right. I’d arranged it – a toilet in one corner, a drinks store in another, used the blankets as a makeshift bed and folded them back like a futon in the mornings. Somehow this semblance of order made it feel more like a dwelling, a room. The very idea brought tears to my eyes
.

“I’m sorry.” He reached out, touched my shoulder
.

“It’s okay.” I swallowed, shook his hand away
.

“No, it must have been awful for you to have been stuck here for so long on your own.”

It was true that the feeling of fear and sheer desperation was tempered slightly by the presence of another human being beside me. But uncertainty and a strong sense of disquiet still clawed away at me. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Why keep us together? And for so long?”

Tears meandered down my cheeks. My eyes immediately became hot and swollen, I’d cried so much over the past few days
.

Lonny cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about something else.”

I wiped my fingers across my cheekbones. “What?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, as if he was trying to think of the right thing to say. “What will you do when you finish this year?”

The optimism in his voice caught me. “If we ever get out of here?”

He blinked a nod
.

I took a deep breath, slowly exhaled before I answered. “I have a conditional offer for Bristol University to study accountancy.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

I stared at the floor. “That’s all I ever wanted to do. What about you?”

He shrugged a single shoulder. “No idea. My father wants me to sign up to another course, continue my education over here. I’m not so sure.”

“You’ve not applied for anything yet?”

Lonny shook his head
.

The disorder in his life surprised me. Having such an ambition from an early age meant my life had been governed by a strict schedule of routine. Every course was another stepping stone in my plan. I couldn’t envisage last-minute decisions, a life left to chance. “What will you do when we finish?”

“Go home for a bit. Or maybe I’ll look around then. Haven’t planned that far ahead.”

“It’s only a few weeks away.”

He shrugged again. “How do your parents feel about you doing a degree over here, spending another three years away from home?”

“I’m sure a part of them feels sad. My mother especially. We’re very close. But there are so many more opportunities in England. I like the idea that you get a job on your merit over here. It doesn’t matter so much who you are or who you know. If you have the qualifications and the ability, you get a chance.” The sigh that followed caught in my throat. “I grew up back home watching my parents fawn and pander to the authorities. Sitting quietly around the table at dinner parties, smiling sweetly at people I hardly knew. It was never-ending. And just like that,” I clicked my fingers, “it could all disappear. Upset the wrong person and the rug is pulled from beneath you. It’s all so precarious.”