The Trophy Taker (3 page)

Before the process of reclaiming land from the sea, Hong Kong Island was just a big rock. Now, the further up the Rock you lived, the more prestigious the address. At the top, the Peak represented the pinnacle of affluence. Its lofty head rose above the smog and heat, affording some respite from the stifling summers. Its wooded areas were a welcome contrast to the skyscraper world below. It was where the fabulously wealthy lived; where fleets of lucky-numbered Bentleys sat idling in air-conditioned garages. Up to two million US was paid in Hong Kong for a lucky number plate. Two stood for ‘easy’ or ‘fast’. Three for ‘living’ or ‘giving birth’. Six for ‘longevity’. Eight for ‘prosperity’. It wasn’t just number plates and the numbers weren’t always lucky. Four stood for death. Two and four combined – fast death.

Halfway up the Rock towards the Peak were the Mid-levels, a sought-after residential area populated by high-earning professionals. At the foot of the Rock was the business heart of Hong Kong: Central District.

Headquarters was situated at the top of Hollywood Hill, on the rise above Central District towards the Mid-levels. It was a wonderful Victorian colonial legacy: big, white and smack-bang at the top of the hill. At one time Headquarters was a ‘one-stop shop’ where criminals could be held for questioning, interviewed, judged, sentenced and incarcerated all in one place. Now it was the centre for all serious crimes.

In room 210 Superintendent David White sat behind a heavy oak desk. On one side of the desk were photos of his grandchildren. On the other was an engraved cigar box and a small silver rugby ball on a stand – a trophy from his coaching days, awarded for surviving five unbeaten seasons and presented to him by his beloved police rugby team.

In the centre of the room a colonial-style fan hung down from the ceiling and whirred lazily at half speed.

Superintendent White was not only the senior officer in charge of the investigation but also Mann’s mentor and an old friend. He commanded great respect in the force, one of the only non-Chinese senior officers to speak fluent Cantonese. Not that he needed to with Mann, who, with a Chinese father, English mother and educated in England, was fluent in either language.

David White was approaching retirement. He had given his life to fighting crime in the colony and now was being gently phased out under Chinese rule. He knew it was time to go but it didn’t stop him mourning the end of an era. He had arrived in the colony in the sixties when the police force had been one of the most corrupt in the world. When the clean-up came in the seventies he lost many of his good friends. Accepting pay-offs from triads, even working with them to keep the crime level under control, was the norm at that time. Some officers admitted their guilt and did their time. Many more took the money and ran. David White stayed. He helped the Hong Kong police force to develop into one of the finest in the world. He wished he felt happier about leaving it to others.

‘DNA?’

He didn’t wait for Mann to sit down. He had the photos from the autopsy spread over his desk.

‘No chance, David. The bin bag is a great place to rot – makes two days look like seven.’

‘Any reports of missing foreigners?’

‘Fifty in the last year, and those are just the ones we know about. They’re the ones that someone cares enough about to report missing. We don’t know whether there’s a particular ethnicity he goes for. It could be black, Asian, mixed race … we have no idea yet. And I’ve asked to go further back than one year, David. I have a hunch the head we found is much older.’

‘Bloody hell!’ White rubbed his bald head with his hands – a sure sign he was stressed. ‘Hong Kong can be proud of this one. It’s all we bloody well need,’ he moaned. ‘We are going to have so much heat on our backs, Mann. Say goodbye to life as you know it till this is solved. This is going to be our home for the foreseeable future.’

The Superintendent got up from his desk and walked over to the window where he pulled at the louvre blind to observe the day. The morning smog was lifting and rapidly being replaced by rain clouds. ‘But, on the positive side …’ He let the blind go and turned back to Mann, smiling. ‘At least you’re back at Headquarters.’

Mann grinned back at his old friend. ‘
Ten months
, David! It felt like a lifetime,’ he said, shaking his head with relief. ‘I thought I was going to be forgotten in Sha Tin. Lucky for me they found the bodies out there. You have no idea how good it is to be back.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘I still don’t understand why they transferred me. I’d only been at the OCTB for eighteen months. I expected to stay there for at least three years. I thought I was doing a good job – making some progress.’

‘Yes, well … You
were
making progress, that was the problem. There are
some
people, Mann, and not just at the OCTB, who hoped they’d
never
see you again. You never know when to ease up on the triads, Mann. You could do with having a bit more respect for death. You might be a big lad, but there are still plenty of foundations out there that need filling. Sometimes I think you go looking for trouble.’

He paused, looked squarely at Mann and waited for a reaction. Realising he wasn’t going to get one, he sat down heavily.

‘I was just doing my job, David,’ Mann replied. ‘Since when did that become a crime?’

White shook his head and sighed. ‘Your job, and a bit extra, Mann. You forget I’ve known you all your life. I knew your dad when we were both wet behind the ears – him just starting out in business and me just off the boat. I was proud to know him, proud to call him a friend. After his death I was delighted that you wanted to come into the police force. You’ve proved your worth many times. There are few policemen with your level of intuition for a case, Mann, but there are none so reckless of their own safety either. I know how you think. I’ve seen you on the cricket field. I’ve watched you on the rugby pitch. I was proud to be your coach for many years. You were the best player the police team ever had. I know what kind of sportsman you are: you give everything you have
and
a little more, and you hate to lose. But, more than that, good sportsmanship is paramount to you. And that’s all right on the sports field, Mann, but not in real life. Right or wrong, black or white, there’s no grey area with you. But there is in real life. Your father was just the same – a strong, upright and honest man – but it was his inability to see the grey that led to his death …’

White stopped abruptly. He wanted to say more, but one look at Mann told him he had already overstepped the boundary.

‘My father stood up for what he believed in, David. He died because he refused to pay protection money to a bunch of thugs. Just because it’s the norm doesn’t make it right. My father died rather than compromise his beliefs.’

‘I know. I know.’ White held his hands up, calling for a truce. ‘But it was such a great loss … Such a huge loss for you and your mother. For all of us.’

Mann knew that the Superintendent meant it – White missed Mann’s father. He missed all the good men he had known in his life. He was coming up to that point when he looked back and reminisced more than he looked forward. The last year had seen the Superintendent shrink inside the uniform that he used to fill with such pride. His retirement couldn’t come quick enough now, and yet it was the last thing he really wanted.

White inhaled deeply and shook his head, world weary.

‘And now I begin to despair that anything will make a difference any more. Fighting against the triads is useless. They have moved north to do their business in China. It will be impossible to control them now.’

It was the first time Mann had heard him speak in those terms. It took him by surprise. He had never thought of his old friend as a quitter.

‘I know things have been difficult since the Handover, but we
will
win in the end, David. Believe me, we will find a way to defeat them. I’m not prepared to give up. And you’re right – I
don’t
see a grey area when it comes to justice.’

‘Mann – let’s face it, you love to tread on toes. Since the Handover there are a lot of well-connected criminals that the Chinese government call
patriots
who we are supposed to accept as pillars of the community – when we all know them to be nothing but gangsters.’ White shook his head sadly. ‘And the trouble is, you don’t know whose toes they are until you step on them too hard and it’s too late to say sorry.’

‘I’m not going to apologise for any of it, David. If people have nothing to hide then they shouldn’t fear me. I didn’t join up to allow the triads to run Hong Kong … I just don’t get it – returning to China was supposed to mean tougher penalties on triads – they used to shoot these guys daily. But now the Chinese government is making deals with them. How does that work?’

‘I don’t know. It’s hard to know who’s pulling the strings these days in the government
and
in the police force –
especially
at the OCTB.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Mann pinched his thumb and forefinger together. ‘I was
this
close to nailing that bastard Chan. I was getting really close to finding out
exactly
what he was up to, when
whoosh
.’ He threw his hands up in the air. ‘They virtually took my chair away from beneath me and posted me out to the back of beyond.’

The Superintendent sat back in his old leather chair, which had served him for the last thirty years but was now beginning to show its age, just like its owner. Then he sat up, looked hard at Mann and slammed his forearms on the arms of the chair.

‘But, for now, I need this case solved – ASAP. And that’s what we need to concentrate on, not the triads and
definitely
not Chan. I know how much you hate him, Mann. I am with you on that, but I want no personal vendettas played out now. His time will come, I promise you that.’

He paused for a moment as if he intended to speak further on the subject, but then thought better of it. Mann knew what he was going to say. He was going to say that Mann would be a better policeman if his judgement wasn’t sometimes clouded by his hatred of all things triad and especially of all things Chan-related. And that Chan was not responsible for the death of Mann’s father. But David White didn’t say it. He merely paused, and the pause said it all.

‘Now, as for the workings of it all,’ he said, businesslike once more and changing tack. ‘I am to head the investigation. You will be my second-in-command. We will set up an operations room at the end of the hall downstairs. We have recruited officers from all over the district to help. Some are already here. The rest will be arriving tomorrow. Detective Sergeant Ng and Detective Li will share an office with you. It’ll be a bit cramped and hot, but then you know what it’s like at Headquarters – no such thing as working air-con.’

‘Hot and sweaty – just the way I like it.’ Mann got out of his chair and picked up his jacket.

‘Remember what I said, Mann – be careful, but most of all be clever, and don’t let that hot head of yours take charge.’

‘You know me, David …’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. I promised your mother I’d keep you alive at least until I retire, and I’ve only got six months left. Please wait till I’m safely back home with my garden gnomes and Sunday papers before getting yourself killed, will you? Now, where are you going to start?’

‘In the Sports Bar.’

‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Not for the person I want to talk to.’

Mann picked his way past the police officers on the stairs and paused in the entrance hall before passing through the heavy oak doors. He stood on the black and white tiled floor and breathed in the smell of lavender wood polish and Brasso and allowed himself a self-congratulatory moment. He had been given a reprieve, for which he was extremely grateful. Now he was back in the building he loved, working on a proper investigation instead of chasing traffic offenders. If he was lucky they wouldn’t transfer him back when the case was finished. If he was lucky and very good … so not likely then.

He went outside, crossed the car park and walked the steep road down to Central District. The area was number one in the region for shopping and commerce, with its golden skyscrapers, plush shopping malls and one of the most prestigious hotels in the world – The Royal Cantonese. Many deals were struck by an elite few in its Sports Bar, past the Doric columns and just left of the foyer.

James Dudley-Smythe was propping the bar up as Mann walked in. Originally from Cambridge, he had lived most of his life in Hong Kong. He was fabulously wealthy, with a large house on the Peak. He owned a fleet of Rolls-Royces and employed two full-time chauffeurs. But money
really
hadn’t brought him happiness. Besides his massive drinking problem, rumour had it that he could only achieve an erection when indulging in rough sex. Pain was what did it for him, if anything did any more.

He picked up hostesses on a nightly basis, but half the time he couldn’t remember whether he’d got what he paid for or not. Most of the girls were wise to it and knew that if they gave him enough drink he would pass out and they could get their money for doing nothing. Some weren’t quite so lucky.

Mann sat down on the stool next to him. ‘How’s it going, James?’ he asked, as the waiter brought him a vodka on the rocks.

Dudley-Smythe was, as always, impeccably dressed: sports jacket, cravat, pressed trousers and shiny brogues. He liked to say that you could always tell a man’s breeding by the state of his fingernails. He never missed his weekly manicure.

‘Rather well, thank you, Mann. And yourself? Married yet? I thought you were going to marry that pretty English girl?’

‘No, afraid not.’ Mann shifted his weight on the bar stool. ‘Been too busy. Talking of which, I’m working on a big case at the moment. Maybe you can help me with it?’

James replaced his glass on the bar, a little unsteadily, and motioned to the barman for a refill. ‘Shame that … I thought she looked perfect for you. Feisty little thing, wasn’t she?’ James Dudley-Smythe took a sideways glance at Mann.

Mann said nothing – he’d let the old drunk have his fun a little longer. He waited while the barman finished pouring his drink.

‘Still playing cricket? You’re a damn fine bowler, you know, Mann. All those years in private school in England did wonders for you. Of course, it helps having an English mother – big-boned stock.’

‘No time for cricket right now, James. Too busy – as I said.’

‘Sorry. Do go on, dear boy … Big case … I’m all ears.’

Mann hailed the barman to refresh James’s empty glass and thus ensure his concentration.

‘Over the last twenty years, have you ever heard about either a
Gweilo
or Chinese who took his S&M way too far?’

James knocked back his newly arrived scotch and motioned to the barman to pour another. He looked visibly uncomfortable with the reference to his sexual practices. Mann had had to reprimand him once after a new foreign girl (who didn’t understand the rules and didn’t know to ply him with drink) had found herself handcuffed to a bed and at the receiving end of one of Dudley-Smythe’s party games that involved a whip and a blindfold. She had to be briefly hospitalised. She made a complaint but didn’t press charges and was miraculously recovered by the time the cheque cleared.

‘Well, that was some time ago now, Mann. I explained about that …’

‘James, bottom-smacking is one thing, torture is quite another. I want to know if any of the women have mentioned someone who goes much too far, someone who scares them? Has there been any talk like that?’

James took a large gulp of scotch and said thoughtfully: ‘That’s more of a Filipino thing. That’s where you can get away with more these days – if you know what I mean. Haven’t seen many Chinese indulging in that sort of sport, mainly Europeans. But then, you’re not describing something that has to do with sex, are you, Mann? You’re after a psycho?’

Mann had to smile at the wily old drunk – he still had his lucid moments.

‘Yes, you’re right, James. But he takes trophies from his victims, of a sexual nature. He enjoys inflicting pain on women. It might have started like that.’

‘Can of worms, old boy. Can of worms.’ Dudley-Smythe shook his head remorsefully. Mann wasn’t buying it – he could see the glint in the old pervert’s eye.

‘Yeah, well let’s keep it legal, hey, James? Over sixteen would be good.’

‘Of course! Absolutely! Wouldn’t dream of it,
certainly not
! You know, come to think of it, there is someone who might be able to help you. It’s who we all go to …’ he wetted his thin, livid lips with whisky, ‘all of us who enjoy a spot of spanking. Club Mercedes – girl named Lucy – Chinese. She’s the one to talk to. She’s a specialist. One of a kind.’

Mann could swear he saw James shiver.