The Trafficked (11 page)

23

 

As he passed Tottenham Court Road tube, Mann ducked into a sex-shop doorway to answer a call from Ng.

‘Yes, Ng?’

‘We traced some of the women. The applications to travel were made out in Angeles. But at least two of the women came from Davao originally. I have been looking into the colonels and his colleagues in Angeles. I have come up with a few names for you: Reese Pearce, an Aussie, Terry Saunders, an American, and Brandon Smith—British. They all work for him in one way or another.’

‘I need to go to the Philippines, Ng. Get Shrimp to make a new identity for me. Tell him I want to use the name John Black. I need to have a couple of small language schools, maybe one here in London and another up country. I need to be part-owner of some seedy bars, massage parlours. Tell Shrimp I need to have a legitimate but dodgy record.’

‘Okay, no problem, but it would be easier for someone from London to do it?’

‘He will be. I am coming back to Hong Kong. This is not where the problem originates. Leads are ending here, but nothing is beginning. Amy Tang may or may not be alive or still in the UK, but I can’t help her from here. I’m going to leave the Met to continue their search for her. I need Shrimp to take over here when I’m gone. He can work directly with the team and liaise with me. Do we know who the Dragon Head of the new society is yet?’

‘Not yet. Shrimp’s on the case.’

Mann finished talking to Ng, opened his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper Micky had given him. He punched in the numbers and left a message on the answer phone. Five minutes later, Micky phoned back.

‘You want me?’

‘There was a woman, smart, young, Chinese, seen at the Lea Valley house regularly along with a couple of other Chinese guys—any ideas? Have we got a female snakehead running things?’

‘There was talk a while back of a woman snakehead. Young, beautiful—I will find out what I can. It’s said that someone did the fire for CK, as a show of respect.’

‘Yes, I agree. He’s calling in some favours and making some serious threats—if he doesn’t get his daughter back soon,
everyone
will pay.’

‘CK knew where to strike. Maybe he knows his enemy.’

‘Or perhaps he intends to torch every brothel in the UK until he gets to the right people. Maybe he just wants blood, and figures if he spills enough of it everyone will work with him and get his daughter back.’

‘Whichever way this goes, Micky, it will take a lot of calming down. If he does know who the new group is he must have someone working for him on the inside. Did you know Stevie’s back?’

‘Yes. He’s an arrogant fuck walkin’ around Chinatown like he owns it.’

‘Did he talk of the new society?’

‘Yes, and I have a name for you—The White Circle.’

‘White? The colour of death. Yeah…the Circle of Death.’

‘It’s a strange choice.’

‘Maybe.’ Mann pondered.

‘Mann?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Stevie also says you’re as good as dead.’

24

 

‘You looking for me, Stevie?’

Even from the other side of the busy Chinese restaur ant in Gerrard Street, packed wall-to-wall with Chinese diners enjoying a noisy dim sum lunch, Mann spotted him easily. Stevie had gone bald from alopecia in his mid-twenties, now he had grown fat and the skin folded at the back of his neck like a pork joint waiting to be salted. He was the one bald head amongst ten smartly dressed Chinese—all polo necks, sunglasses and dark jackets. They were seated around a large round table with a rotating centre, covered in newly arrived steaming dishes. It looked like they were settling in for a long lunch.

Stevie Ho didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

‘Let me guess? Detective Inspector Johnny Mann?’

Mann and Stevie knew each other from old, they had been police cadets together, competitive in their grades, and they were equal first in everything. As soon as they graduated, Stevie had been given the chance to go undercover, and he had never come out. Apart from
his broad shoulders there was nothing left of the good-looking ambitious young policeman that he once was.

Stevie signalled to the waiter to bring another chair for Mann. Mann held up his hand to stop the waiter from bringing it.

‘You’ve obviously finished your meal, Stevie, let’s go.’

Mann watched as Stevie shrugged, took his napkin from his lap, folded it neatly and placed it next to his bowl. Then he started to rise…slowly. The man on the far left side of the table cried out in pain, clutched his right hand and squeezed his fingers tight. It took three seconds for the blood to start pouring over the white tablecloth. A small throwing star had, very efficiently, cut the man’s fingers to the bone just as he was deciding whether he would be first to find his holster. The star landed noiselessly on the carpet behind him.

Mann smiled at him. ‘Don’t be stupid. I could easily have taken your hand off.’

There was a dive for weapons, a shuffle of chairs from nearby tables as the rest of the clientele sought to distance themselves from the disturbance. No one went for a phone. All the patrons in the restaurant were Chinese. They recognised this was triad business. They knew it wouldn’t involve them as long as they didn’t involve themselves in it. They averted their glances and kept on eating.

Stevie held up his hands for calm: ‘I’m okay…sit…sit.’ He flinched—Delilah was talking to his kidneys.

‘Yes, finish your lunch, boys, and Stevie will be back in no time. Anyone follows—Stevie
will
return—but not all in one piece.’

They walked through the hushed restaurant. Every head was bowed, intent on eating. When they got outside they walked towards Covent Garden. No one noticed them—they were two more businessmen taking a stroll, weaving their way through the crowded pavement.

‘What is it with you? Wherever there’s trouble, there you are. You never think you might be living on borrowed time, Stevie? How many years do you think you have left? What are you doing here?’

‘I am a global traveller—you know that. I’m sure you’ve looked into my itinerary. I go all over the world. I am a business advisor to many people. That’s how I make my money.’

‘You mean you are a Grass Sandal in the Wo Shing Shing. If that office had a job description it would read: collector of protection money and triad debts, liaison officer with other triad societies, and the person in charge of handling overseas business transactions for triads. So, CK sent you? You’re on Wo Shing Shing business?’

They walked across the cobbles and through into Covent Garden market. The pigeons nodded to one another and there was an overpowering smell of fresh coffee corrupted with handmade soap.

‘To belong to a triad organisation is illegal, we both know that. But I represent the Leung Corporation in many of its business dealings, that’s true. I am here to safeguard CK’s assets. I was here before to broker the deal for his daughter’s release. I have a personal interest in getting her back. We are all, in our own way, working for CK, are we not? Even
you
are in his employ. The word is you’re taking big pay-offs from him these days.’

‘Yeah, I heard that one too. We both want things. It’s just that your needs always start and end with a dollar sign. We aren’t all pigs on a truffle fest, some of us have principles and I don’t see a Porsche parked in my bay back at the police station. Who did you deal with when you organised the ransom?’

‘I received anonymous orders—phone calls.’

‘Man or woman?’

‘Woman.’

‘Chinese or English?’

‘Chinese.’

They stopped at the edge of the plaza and watched an opera singer lay out his velvet begging bowl and switch on his CD player.

‘What were you doing in the Philippines? I hear you were acquiring land, meeting up with your pimp friends—the Colonel and his mates.’

‘I don’t know the Colonel. The Philippines is still a great place to buy cheap property, pussy and police. Of course, I have my own interests, aside from the Leung Corporation’s. I have to think of my own future now. You know me—I am ambitious.’

‘I knew you once. That man is dead and gone, you’re just a shell. Your new friends will betray you in the end. You mix with the scum of the earth, you can’t expect to come out disease free. Do you never think of your conscience, Stevie?’

‘I make my peace with my own god, Mann, each to his own.’

‘Let’s hope your god recognises you when you get to the pearly gates because, when your new friends
finish with you and CK finds out, you’re not going to look so pretty.’

He stopped and turned to face Mann.

‘I swore an allegiance to Chan, not CK. That ended in the waters off Cheung Chau. You saw to that. I have agreed to help in the search for CK’s child. I will do all in my power to find her. Then, I will consider my obligation to the Wo Shing Shing satisfied.’

‘Does CK see it that way?’

‘I can take care of myself. I know how to play the game, work the system, but you? You’re pissing people off on purpose. You want to watch it, Mann, you’re making yourself into a walking target. There are several people out there who will pay a great deal of money to see you dead.’

‘That’s the difference between us, Stevie. Being a target doesn’t bother me, but kidnapping schoolchildren and burning women alive does.’

25

 

‘Yes—keep in touch, okay, I’ll tell her…’

Mann closed his phone and smiled as he saw Becky coming, and got up to get her a glass of wine before coming back to sit opposite her in the Highbury Barn pub. She was wearing the same dark trousers as before, with a different fitted shirt this time, same style, different colour: this one was beige, large pockets on the breasts—girl on safari look—very wholesome with a hint of adventure.

She picked up the menu, and looked at Mann over the top of it.

‘I could have cooked for you again,’ she said, hiding a smile. ‘We didn’t have to eat in a pub.’ She pretended to peruse the lists of what was on offer. She glanced back up to check he was smiling and knew he was being teased.

‘As cosy as it was last time, I’d hate to turn entertaining me into drudgery for you.’

She grinned, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t the best of evenings.’

‘It was great—really…’

She put the menu down and looked across to the ‘specials board’ behind the bar. In profile her nose was cute as it turned up slightly. Her lashes looked very long—he realised she had makeup on.

‘You look very nice,’ he said as she turned back to him. He held her gaze and smiled.

‘Thank you, I’m hoping Alex will make it back in time to spend part of the evening with me—it’s our tenth anniversary.’ Her smile seemed strained as it disappeared fast.

‘Is he at home now? You don’t have to stay with me.’

‘No, I don’t expect him till late and he will be eating with clients—busy man. I’m happy to be here, honestly.’ She gave a slightly awkward smile.

Mann finished choosing from the menu and closed it.

‘Tell me about Alex.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m curious, that’s all. We are going to be working together. It’s called “getting to know your partner”, but if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine.’

‘Of course I don’t mind…What do you want to know?’

‘How you met, his background, that kind of thing? But wait a minute—I’ll go and order. Have you decided?’ Mann got up to go to the bar.

‘Lasagne and chips…with salad, please.’

Becky watched Mann walk to the bar. She had looked forward to seeing Johnny again this evening. She had thought about him a lot during the day. It was funny, they hardly knew each other, but she felt a real bond with him. If she was truthful the makeup wasn’t for
Alex. She knew that Mann would notice it, and that made it worth doing.

He walked back over. ‘Okay, I’m all ears,’ he said.

‘Well…he was privately educated but got chucked out when he didn’t make the grades. Sporty rather than bright. He went to a comprehensive after that. The thing is, he has a real competitive streak in him that came out on the sports field. Ruthless, I think they said. He was a really good footballer. Anyway, in the end he got injured in a tackle, tore all his knee ligaments and that started all the other injuries off. It scuppered his hopes of turning professional as a footballer. He left school with a few GCSEs and went straight into the workplace. He had a brief spell of working as a salesman for pool equipment. He did well at it. That’s when I met him. We got married quite soon after we started living together. The thing is, he got made redundant and since then he’s tried loads of things. He’s the kind of man who will make a business out of anything. There, that enough? Now it’s your turn.’

He grinned at her. ‘I am an open book, Becky—surely you can see that?’

‘Yeah, right!’

‘Okay, ask away.’

Becky waited whilst the waiter brought their cutlery over and placed it on the table before she spoke.

‘I have to be honest—I followed the recent Butcher case you had in Hong Kong. You were involved personally, weren’t you? I am sorry.’

Becky watched as Mann took a few seconds to think
about whether he was going to talk about it. She could see he did not do it lightly.

‘Her name was Helen Bateman. She was murdered by one of a syndicate of wealthy men who paid to have her killed in a snuff movie.’

‘The report said her killer is still at large. That must be very hard to deal with?’

Mann looked at her but his eyes were glazed and his thoughts were elsewhere. Becky could see that it wasn’t a nice place to be. His face had become solid and dark.

‘The report is wrong. Both men are dead. The man who organised it all was both an old friend and a bitter enemy. He drowned in the waters around Hong Kong and Helen’s killer died the night I recognised him.’ He refocused on Becky. ‘I saw the movie. I watched her die. He died of injuries very similar to those inflicted on Helen.’

Becky was shocked. His expression said it all—the stories about him were true. He did things his way. She could see he was capable of anything. He had an anger in him, a quest for justice that was un compromising.

‘You must have loved her very much. Were you together long?’ she asked softly.

‘Five years.’ He sat back and studied Becky to see her reaction to the news that he might have had something to do with the men’s death. He knew he had taken a risk. But he knew he was right to do it. She was on his wavelength. She understood. ‘In my own way I did love Helen very much. But she wanted
things that I couldn’t give her—the whole kids and marriage thing—I didn’t think it was for me. She got tired of waiting and she called my bluff. Two years ago she packed her case and got in a cab and left. The problem is—that cab ride was the last she ever took.’

Mann had to turn his head away for a few minutes. The truth still sounded strange and terrible to his ears, and the remorse never lessened.

Becky broke the silence. ‘How do you deal with that, Mann? Do you keep asking yourself why?’

‘No, I know why: wrong place, wrong time, right maniac. But I ask myself “what if?”’

‘Can you see yourself with someone else?’

Mann looked hard at Becky. He wasn’t used to so many questions about his personal life, but something made him trust her, made him want to be square with her.

‘There was someone, an English woman named Georgina. She brought me back to life, briefly. I think maybe I could see myself with her, but…’

‘But…?’

‘I’m not ready. Not sure if I ever will be.’

‘A commitment-phobe?’

‘I suppose I am. I don’t ever want someone to die again, just because they know me. I would rather live alone. I am not sure I can take the responsibility of looking after someone else.’

‘Is it all about responsibility for you, about protecting the people you love?’

‘Maybe…I can’t answer that.’ Mann was feeling
decidedly uncomfortable by this point. The day that Mann witnessed his father’s execution had changed him forever. Whatever hopes and ambitions he had once held were shattered at that moment, as a chasm appeared beneath Mann’s feet where he had thought there was solid ground. Now, although Mann talked to others and lived and worked with others, inside he existed alone. He was irrevocably damaged. Helen had seen it. She had known there was nothing she could do to change it.

Becky watched him. His large soulful eyes were full of sadness. He bowed his head and twirled his glass in his hands. His black hair fell over his eyes. She knew talking about it had upset him. She knew he had told her more than he had probably wanted to, and she knew he had been completely honest. She felt a wave of affection for him—he had shared something difficult and precious with her. He was much more honest than Alex, who was devious by nature. How different the two men were. She looked at Mann and thought it would be chilling to be on the wrong end of his wrath, but it would be wonderful to be loved by a man who would face death for you. She waited until he raised his head before she looked into his eyes and held his gaze.

‘Sometimes you forget why you are with someone and stay for fear of being alone. You don’t have that. I admire that in a way.’

They stared at one another, both aware that they had shared something personal and that now they were no
longer work colleagues, they were friends. Becky smiled, a little embarrassed by the fact that they seemed to have moved physically closer during the conversation. Their hands were almost touching. To the relief of them both, the waiter arrived with their food and the closeness was broken.

Becky set about unrolling her napkin and searching for the mustard on the condiment tray.

‘We are checking seat numbers on the plane and passenger lists to see who escorted the trafficked women in,’ she said. Mann’s hand hovered over the tray until it came to rest above the mustard. She nodded and he handed it to her. ‘It will take time to work through everyone. Something else—the house was registered as belonging to a man named Brandon Smith. Guess where he lives?’

‘Angeles?’

‘Good guess.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Ex-military. Honourable discharge, served fifteen years in the marines. Came out, didn’t work much in the next two years. He did a couple of short stints as a bouncer, a security guard. He moved around a lot. He has a record—assault charges in various forms, none of which got him put inside. Mainly drunken and disorderly stuff. He has been living in the Philippines for the last two years.’

‘So he didn’t adjust to life in Civvy Street. Not the kind of man who could afford a property after two years of squandering his pension. Someone else must
have put up the money and he agreed to let his name be used. Silly boy. Has he been contacted?’

‘Still trying. The local police are not the most conscientious bunch.’

‘The records show that some of the women have left children back home. I don’t know what would willingly make them leave their families. How can it be worth it?’

‘Poverty makes people do desperate things. It’s become the norm for Filipinas to work in another country to support their own back home. There’s a whole generation of Filipino children growing up without their mothers, who are working overseas to try and give them a better life. The children are looked after by their grandmothers, also being supported by the one overseas. But, I agree. I think, given the choice, those children would rather grow up with a mother and no money.’

‘CK knows who has his daughter. He’s hitting them where it hurts. Are you a fast packer?’

‘What? You don’t think he’s been straight with us? And what do you mean fast packer?’

‘He’s definitely not been straight with us. I am going back to pursue it in Hong Kong. Your boss says you have to come too.’

‘What?’ she beamed.

‘He agrees that we can do more good by chasing the source of all this. I am bringing my colleague Shrimp over to stay this end and liaise with us. He will be on the same wavelength as me, plus he’s been working on
this new society for some time—he knows more than anyone about them…Becky?’

She was already on her feet and halfway out of the pub door. He shouted after her:

‘I guess I’ll see you at the airport then.’