The Trophy Taker (15 page)

Johnny Mann walked through the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel. It was prime cocktail time. He was looking for James Dudley-Smythe. Mamasan Rose had remembered that he had bought Bernadette out a few days before she disappeared.

People watched him walk through. Mann was used to getting stared at. He didn’t slot neatly into any pigeon hole – which suited him. Being a Eurasian he was at ease in both worlds but belonged to neither.

The pianist was playing Sinatra songs. Mann headed for the corner of the lobby bar where he knew James liked to hold court. James still had enough clout and enough money to call in a few friends to drink with most nights. They were the same sorts – lonely old drunks that had made their money and were now spending it on drinking themselves to death.

James saw Mann coming from some distance. His stare was fixed on the Inspector. He was more alert than Mann had given him credit for. But then a pretty young blonde passed in front of Mann and he saw James’s eyes refocus on her. The two other red-faced, white-haired paunch bellies looked up as Mann reached them. They stared at him as if he were a bad smell.

James smiled: thin, wet-lipped. ‘Johnny, dear boy. Come, come. What is it now? Need my help again?’

The other two tittered nervously.

‘How did you guess? Want to talk to you about some Irish connections, some business transaction you might have made. Do you mind?’ Mann pulled up a chair and sat between James and his friends. ‘Won’t keep him long, gentlemen.’

They lumbered out of their seats, grumbling disdainfully, and went to find someone else to buy them drinks. James looked like he was just getting into the evening.

‘You bought out a girl the other night … Irish … from Club Mercedes … Ring a bell?’

James was shaking his head before Mann had even finished asking. Then he looked at Mann’s face and his head switched to nodding. ‘Actually, dear boy, now that you mention it – I think I did. Big girl – broad accent. Lovely hair – that the one? Bernadette?’

‘That’s the one. She’s gone missing. You were the last client she went out with.’

‘She left in the morning,’ he said, a little too hastily. ‘I paid her and she left. You know how it is, dear boy – my memory is not so good these days. As far as I remember we had a lovely evening –’

‘Okay, James.’ He’d probably passed out early, Mann thought. He seemed to be better at remembering the morning more than anything else. ‘If anything comes back to you, let me know.’

‘Count on it, dear boy. I will search the innermost crevices of my pickled old brain and see if I can remember anything to help you.’

Mann left him to it. On his way back to Headquarters he had the urge to call in at the Albert. Georgina had been working there for nearly three weeks now.

She was chatting to some regulars at the end of the bar as he walked in. She didn’t see him. He stood watching her, smiling to himself. She seemed so settled. It looked as if she had always been there. She was a changed woman – confident and sexy in her T-shirt and jeans – and she looked happy. He was glad. She must be safer in here than in Club Mercedes. Plus, now that he saw her in different surroundings he knew there was definitely something about her that he liked. Strong, cocky women usually did it for him. At first he thought that Georgina might be the exception, but now that he was watching the way she talked to the customers, joked with the other members of staff. The way she moved – strong and confident, maybe that’s exactly what she was; she just didn’t realise it yet.

She still hadn’t seen him and she disappeared behind the bar to pour some drinks. As he watched her he realised,
God knows why
, that he was proud of her. Maybe it was because she had thrown herself in the deep end by coming to Hong Kong. She had shown guts and determination. He admired her for that.

Mandy came through from the other bar and caught sight of him. She followed his eyes to Georgina and was about to alert her to his presence when Georgina disappeared into the other bar.

‘Hello, Johnny. Come to check up on her?’ said Mandy, walking over.

‘Just checking on all foreign staff, that’s all.’

‘Especially Georgina?’ She laughed. Mann started to leave. ‘Won’t you stop and say hello, now that you’re here?’

‘I wish I could, but I’m up to my eyes at work at the moment. You say hello from me, okay?’ He was backing out of the door.

Mandy wouldn’t let him go. She followed him as far as the door.

‘She’s a really nice girl, lots of men have been asking her for a date, so you’d better watch you’re not neglecting her.’

‘I wish I had the time to come in, but I’ve been working on this case. Anyway, I told you, Mandy – I’m not looking for romance at the moment.’

‘Yes, well, sometimes it comes looking for you, Mann. Remember that. Love is not a sign of weakness, Johnny.’

‘You’re just an old romantic at heart, Mandy. I never knew that.’ He laughed at her.

‘Less of the “old”, and I never knew you were a quitter.’

‘Sorry, Mandy. Can’t hear you. Bye.’ Mann was already out of the door.

‘Catch you soon, okay?’ Mandy stood, hands on hips, with a ‘don’t mess it up again’ look on her face that women seemed to be born with.

As Mann stepped out onto the street he caught sight of Max pulling away in his cab.

Max had only just got up from his daytime sleep and was running a few errands for his father before starting work, when Mann shouted to him to stop. Mann could see that, just for a second, Max contemplated ignoring him and driving off. Mann shouted again and stepped into Max’s line of vision; he wasn’t going to let Max get away twice – he’d have to run him over or stop. Max stopped. Mann walked around to the driver’s side and leaned into the cab.

‘I’ve been looking for you, Max.’

‘Huh?’

‘You’re a regular taxi driver for the hostesses at Club Mercedes, aren’t you? I need to talk to you about one of the girls – Roxanne Berger. You knew her, I understand?’

‘I gave her a lift to work, that’s all.’

‘Where do you live, Max?’

‘In Sheung Wan.’

‘Alone?’

‘No. I live with my father and brother.’

‘What does he do – your brother?’

‘He’s a meat delivery man.’

‘For whom?’

‘The Ho Young Dim Sum Manufacturers.’

‘They’re closing down, aren’t they? Selling up?’

‘Yes. Yes.’ Max was sweating. He fiddled with his keys and looked nervously into the mirror as if their conversation was causing a massive traffic jam, which it was. He started the engine and prepared to drive away.

Mann leaned further in and placed a hand on the steering wheel. He had seen something on Max’s arm. ‘Looks nasty.’ He pointed to a bite mark, the edge of which was just visible beneath the cuff of Max’s shirtsleeve. The skin, angry and inflamed, bulged around the puncture marks. Max hastily covered it up.

‘You should get that looked at. Human bites carry a big risk of infection.’

‘It’s nothing, nothing. It’s not human – it was a dog.’ He put the car into gear.

‘What time do you finish your shift?’

‘About eight a. m., sometimes earlier, sometimes later. I never know.’

Mann released his hold on the steering wheel. ‘See you at Headquarters at five past eight. Don’t be late. Ask for Detective Sergeant Ng.’

As Mann stepped back from the taxi and watched Max speed away, he realised that something was bothering him. Somewhere in his memory bank a series of images were searching for each other and trying to find their match. Among those images was Max. Just as Mann thought he was about to get it, it was gone.

His phone rang. It was Li.

‘Are you ready, boss?’ Li’s breathless voice screeched into the phone.

‘For what?’

‘Ever been to Poland, boss?’

‘No.’

‘They have this awesome legend about two mermaid chicks. There’s a statue of one of them, with a sword and shield and stuff, defending Warsaw.’

‘And …’

‘There is one tattooist in Warsaw who specialises in drawing this mermaid. I emailed a photo of the tattoo to him and …’

‘Go on.’

‘He recognised it straight away. It’s a one-off. He said he only ever drew it once, for one person – his sister. After that he changed it, made some modifications, gave it a boob job, so that the mermaid looked less like a fish and more like Pamela Anderson. Victim three – the torso –
has
to be the tattooist’s sister.’

‘Well done, Li. What else could he tell us about her?’

‘Not much. They fell out years ago. He said that, the last he heard, she’d been working her way round the Far East. She could have been in Hong Kong. He didn’t know. Basically, he couldn’t give a shit.’

‘Did she have any other family?’

‘Nope.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Gosia Sikorska. I looked in the file. She lived in Lucy’s flat in Wanchai two years ago. She was one of the women Lucy mentioned in her statement – the one with the strong accent – but she never said anything about a tattoo. She worked in Club Mercedes for six months.’

Mann hung up and checked the time before calling Lucy’s mobile. It was six thirty, she wouldn’t be going to work for a couple of hours yet; she’d have time to see him first.

He caught the Star ferry across to Kowloon side. This part of Hong Kong didn’t have the charm of the cobbled ladder streets on the Island, or the colonial mansions, or the Peak, but Kowloon had Tsim Sha Tsui, second only to Central for business, and bird markets, jade markets and night markets. Best of all it had the the New Territories. A precious wilderness with fantastic beaches and glorious picnic spots. Where it was possible to find space and freedom and, in the last month, bags of bodies.

The evening was cool and the ferry was quiet. It had deposited its business-suited customers on to the next stage in their journeys home, and it had taken the tourists back to change for dinner. Now it glided across the water, serene and unhurried, making the most of the respite.

Mann walked briskly up the gangplank and off in the direction of Nathan Road; a road that ran vertical from the harbour, long and straight – the Golden Mile. It was
the
place to buy watches, perfumes and electricals. It was awash with Indians selling fake anything. Every square inch of Nathan Road screamed something:
try me – buy me – you can’t live without me
…

The neon made Mann sweat and the thumping bass made him deaf. At every doorway a different song was spat out then batted away and replaced by another at the next step. Every doorway multiplied to five and the pavement disappeared as people fought for every inch of retail territory. He gave up trying to walk down it and took off on a side road, cutting across until he came to the Excalibur Hotel, halfway up Nathan Road, eight hundred metres down a side street. The Excalibur was an ‘old school’ type of hotel whose rooms were slightly shabby but well soundproofed. It had a small pool on the roof and its coffee shop was renowned for the fine pastry chef. It was a hotel that most foreigners were familiar with because it specialised in offering not-too-cheap package holidays to Brits and was always full. Helen had loved going there for a late breakfast. It was nice to walk to it along the harbour.

He was thinking about Helen again. Maybe the thing with Georgina had got him thinking
What if
? What if he’d tried harder? What if he’d been prepared to give it a chance? What if he’d wanted the things she’d wanted?
What fucking if
?

ENOUGH!

Mann walked through the lobby and past the lounge bar, where a pianist was tinkling away forgettable tunes for the cocktail lounge clientele of post-shoppers and pre-diners to chat over. He walked down a short flight of stairs to Oliver’s Bar in the basement.

Oliver’s Bar was overdone in ‘Old English Stylee’. It was dark red, oak-panelled and tartan-infested. Straight ahead of the entrance was a hexagonal bar. Tables and chairs fanned out from it on two levels, all in regimented restaurant fashion. Further to the right of the entrance was a lounge area, with a brick fireplace and a living-flame gas fire that gave out no warmth. Above the fire was a decorative arch and an oak bookshelf dotted with mock-leather faux Dickens first editions.

Mann gave an involuntary shiver as he hit the wall of air-conditioning that sat waiting for him just inside the entrance. He scanned the bar. There were just a few customers. It was happy hour, but the lure of cheap drinks had proven easy to resist. It wasn’t the most atmospheric of bars, but the good thing about it was there was usually space to sit and chat and at least you didn’t have to compete with a piano.

A few locals were ensconced around the far end of the bar, obviously hailing from the ‘snifter’ brigade where one drink always turned into seven. There was a young couple at one of the tables, as far away from the bar as they could get, gazing intently into each other’s eyes. And then there was Lucy, sitting sidesaddle on a stool at the bar and wearing her trademark leather trousers, black-ribbed polo neck and gold chain. She was snacking on peanuts and drinking Coke through a straw.

When she saw Mann she slid off her stool, picked up her drink, and followed him over to a table near the fire. Mann signalled to the barman that he would have his usual. As he did so, one of the snifter brigade looked up and held his gaze. Mann stared back. The man was white, early fifties, silver-haired, well-groomed. He looked like he had money and looked after himself. As Lucy left the bar, she nodded to the man.

‘Good evening, Inspector,’ she said, setting her drink down and positioning herself in the armchair oppos ite. Then, as she smiled at him, Mann saw the only similarity between her and Georgina – a mouth that formed an almost perfect circle, topped with a cupid’s bow. Hers was painted deep red to match her nails.

‘Do you know that man?’ He nodded in the direction of the bar.

‘I met him once. He’s a surgeon.’ She giggled softly, looking Mann over. ‘Lives in a nice apartment. Loves his clothes. Smart dresser, like you.’

Mann looked over. The surgeon was once again talking to his colleagues.

‘Do you always wear Armani? You look very handsome.’ She tipped her head to one side, picked up her Coke, searched for the straw with her tongue, and flicked it into her mouth.

The barman arrived and set down his drink. Mann looked hard at Lucy. She was full of games. She certainly had balls.

‘No, I don’t always wear Armani.’

‘Always wear designer, though? Not fake, made in Hong Kong. You wear genuine Paris, Milan. Am I right? Last time I saw you, you were in Valentino – very expensive – very nice.’

Mann smiled. She was definitely bold. This woman could handle herself and just about anybody else. She was one of Hong Kong’s survivors. You never got to see the ones who didn’t make it. There was no place for them in Hong Kong.

He picked up his attaché case and unzipped it. ‘You have a good memory, Lucy – impressive. Strange you didn’t remember this then …’ He threw the blow-up photo of Gosia’s tattoo in front of her. ‘Do you recognise it?’

Lucy glanced at the photo casually. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘You never saw Gosia Sikorska’s tattoo?’

‘This is Gosia?’ Lucy’s jaw dropped.

‘What’s left of her … yes. And you never saw the tattoo before?’

‘I knew she had a tattoo but I never saw it. She was very modest.’

Yeah, right
…

‘… And you gave descriptions of other girls who lived in your apartment. Thanks for that. But they weren’t terribly detailed, were they, Lucy? I expected you to remember something about the women you lived with. You could be describing any foreign women, any place, anywhere. You lived with these women. You must have known them better than this?’ He rattled her statement.

Lucy shrugged. ‘You know how it is. When I first started to take in the
Gwaipohs
, I got to know them, made friends. But, after the first few, when they came and went so fast, I couldn’t be bothered any more. Mostly they kept themselves to themselves. They preferred it. I didn’t like to pry.’

You have to be kidding – you’re a woman – you never
get tired of finding out about other people’s lives
. That’s what made the female detectives so good at their job.

‘Well, if any more tattoos, birthmarks, glass eyes or wooden legs come to mind, you’ll let me know?’

‘Of course, Inspector. Immediately.’

‘And Lucy …’ Mann leaned forward and tilted Lucy’s chin upwards. ‘If you are hiding
something
, protecting
someone
, in the hope of getting something
out
of it, I should warn you, you may get more than you bargained for.’

Lucy called his bluff and raised him some.

‘I completely understand, Inspector.’ She pursed her lips around the straw and sucked.

Mann looked back at the bar – the surgeon had gone.