Blood dragon
Also by Freddie P. Peters:
In the HENRY CROWNE PAYING THE PRICE series
COLLAP$E
BREAKING PO!NT
SPY SHADOWS
IMPOSTOR IN CHIEF
(Coming out in Winter 2021)
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Blood Dragon
FREDDIE P. PETERS
Nancy Wu Crime Thriller Series BOOK 1
Blood Dragon
First published 2021 by Freddie P. Peters
www.freddieppeters.com
Text copyright © Freddie P. Peters 2021
The right of Freddie P. Peters to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
ISBN: 978-1-8380760-2-3
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Cover design by Ryan O’Hara.
Typesetting by Aimee Dewar.
This is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or localities is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Glossary of Technical Terms
List of French Expressions with English Translations
Chapter One
Cora hadn’t called. She hadn’t turned up at their rendezvous at the Groucho club either. Nancy accelerated the pace. She lifted the collar of her thick coat and re-arranged the orange pashmina that kept her throat warm. She had made room in her busy diary to meet her young artist friend, but, somehow, she could not find it in her to be annoyed. She was perplexed. Cora’s voice message and text conveyed a sense of urgency.
Nancy recalled the words that had sounded out of place.
Dilemma.
What to do?
Overreacting.
Nancy arrived at the top of Dean Street without having noticed she had overshot her turning. Shaftesbury Avenue was buzzing at 10.30pm. Theatregoers were in the streets, after the end of their shows. The cinemas on Leicester Square were emptying of their patrons and Chinatown in February was getting ready for the Lunar New Year. The energy of it all enticed Nancy. Milling around the crowd was what she needed to alleviate the disappointment of the evening. She crossed Shaftesbury Avenue and made her way into the melée of Chinatown. Lorries had started delivering their cargoes of exotic fruits, vegetables, and medicinal herbs of many kinds. She slowed down to watch the men unloading the crates and was almost knocked over by a young woman on her bike. She apologised with a smile and moved on.
Perhaps Cora had been distracted by the intense activity that surrounded the food stores preparing for the Chinese New Year. Nancy had invited her and her boyfriend Ollie to celebrate the event with her in a few days’ time. She had rarely acknowledged the day in the past but the recent desire to reconnect with the country in which she was born, her father’s country, had brought her closer to the Sleeping Giant.
The smell of food made her mouth water. She lingered for a short moment in front of a restaurant offering takeaways. She had tasted their food in the past and found it delicious … Not of course as good as her own Sichuan cooking, but still very enjoyable.
She looked at her watch. DCI Pole might still be at Scotland Yard. His latest case was proving challenging … but the chance of a late-night dinner with Nancy might tempt him away from his desk.
The menu was stuck in the window. She dived into her handbag for a pair of elegant Chanel glasses. As she turned around, a shadow disappeared into the alleyway at the corner of the restaurant. Nancy frowned. So many people around her were walking, stopping, barely avoiding each other … She shrugged. Cora’s missed rendezvous was still preying on her mind. Nancy shook her head and pressed number one on her iPhone speed dial list.
His phone rung a few times. She was preparing to leave a message when Pole’s voice responded, slightly out of breath.
“Nancy … I was not expecting you to call tonight.”
“I was not expecting to call either, but my little artist friend has been a no-show.”
“The artist’s bohemian life … she forgot because she was absorbed in whatever she was doing. I should know, my entire family falls into that category.”
“Not her style I’m afraid.” Nancy glanced again over her shoulder. The sense that someone was watching her unsettled her again. “It’s a little late but since I haven’t had any food, would you care to join me for a late-night takeaway?”
“Takeaway … not a word I’ve ever heard you utter.”
“It usually doesn’t but the food of the restaurant I am standing in front of occasionally does … this place is very good. Even I have to admit it and you know how pedantic I can be about Chinese food.”
“I’m not complaining. I very much enjoy being the recipient of your fabulous culinary skills.”
“No teasing … trésor. Otherwise, I might resort to the said takeaways more often.”
Nancy smiled; nothing was more effective then calling Pole ‘sweetheart’ in French. She heard the catch in his voice and sensed the slight blush of his cheeks in his response. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Nancy entered the restaurant still smiling. She placed her order and asked for it to be delivered to her Islington apartment. Out on the pavement again, she stood still for a moment. Despite the brightness of the neon lights, it was difficult to distinguish people’s features in the constantly moving crowd. Young girls on their mobiles taking selfies with friends, couples snuggled together to keep themselves warm and men in groups celebrating something or other. Nancy shook off her renewed disquiet and hurried back to the main road to hail a cab. She would try to reach Cora once more on her way home.
* * *
Her mobile was ringing again. Cora bit her lower lip and tried to resist the temptation to move. The men’s voices had faded away and the noise caused by them rummaging around the loft she shared with Ollie had died down too. Nancy was calling her. She was sure of it. The very person she so needed to talk to was only a few yards away, but she couldn’t be certain the men had left. Or, perhaps, they were laying a trap, waiting for her to appear in search of her phone. It was almost miraculous they hadn’t found her yet. But there she was, hiding amongst the beams that supported the roof of her artist’s studio. It would have taken an acrobat as agile as she was to reach her. She was a performance artist, grateful that her art and skills – of walking across almost any surface and at any height – had saved her life.
She pushed back her small frame into the corner formed by the industrial size beams that would have supported, in the past, heavy industrial machinery. The small factory had been
converted into two lofts. The vast open space was ideal to accommodate her studio and house the various props she designed and used in her shows. The large lights she had installed, three massive LED theatre spotlights, also shielded her from view.
Her muscles were well trained when it came to holding a difficult position for a long period of time. Emulating Marina AbramoviĆ’s capacity for endurance had given her an unexpected advantage, even though that choice had raised eyebrows amongst friends and family.
The ringtone was now telling her that the person who had tried to reach her had left a message. She had lost sense of time as to when she had taken refuge in the roofspace of her apartment. Each second lasted an eternity, certain the men who had invaded her home were going to discover her at any moment … She couldn’t escape. But they seemed a lot more interested in Ollie. The expressions on his face as he told her to hide had said so.
Fear and urgency … He had to save her. From what, she had no idea.
He had grabbed her arm, squeezed it so hard it hurt. “Hide … don’t ask why, please, please … just hide.”
How had he known the men were coming for him?
Cora turned her head around carefully to avoid upsetting her precarious balance. She tried to gauge the time. She had been due to meet Nancy at 8.30pm. The men had arrived as she was ready to leave and they had taken their time to search the flat.
It was violent and methodical.
Ollie had been taken away almost immediately, after refusing to answer their questions.
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone … She forgot her mobile.”
It hadn’t convinced them, of course. But they hadn’t found her and they had done a good job … a professional job at trying.
Cora attempted to relax the muscles in her back. Her body had started to complain. She brought her mind into focus and ignored the pain.
The men had taken Ollie away. He had hardly struggled. She wanted to scream, fight, escape … but the crashing of furniture being turned over and bookshelves emptied had created a thunderous, terrifying noise. As books fell to the ground and crockery was broken, she remained silent.
The ringtone of her phone was summoning her out of safety. Nancy was calling to check what had happened. Or perhaps the thugs who had taken her boyfriend were calling her to demand what they were looking for, to bargain for his release.
The thought punched her in the stomach. She shuddered and the urgency to reach her phone sent an electrical current through her stiff limbs. She stood up slowly on the top beam that crossed the entire structure of the roof, a massive steel joist. Her head swam a little. She grabbed the frame of the floodlight close to her. She could not rush her descent from this 20ft height. She sat down again, swung her legs astride the beam and stretched her back. She stood up again and started the perilous journey down. Her bare feet clung to the cold metal surface. Her arms were stretched out on each side of her body for balance. She moved at a measured pace, apprehensive to start with, confidence returning as her legs responded to her command. She reached the centre of the joist, then heaved herself down on to the central pillar that supported it. Her feet found small apertures in the upstanding column, enabling her to shin down like a monkey.
The loft resembled a warzone. She took a small intake of breath and steadied herself. She started looking for her phone, hoping the recall ringtone would guide her. The men had not bothered to turn the lights off, but she failed to see the small piece of crockery that lodged itself into her foot and almost made her scream in pain.
“Shit,” she grimaced between clenched teeth. Sitting down on the floor among the debris she slowly dislodged the shard from the sole of her foot. She hobbled towards the overturned sofa, leaving a trail of blood on the concrete floor.
Her trainers were scattered amongst the cushions and randomly opened magazines. She quickly pushed her feet into them, wincing. She stood up in front of the wide lounge windows, which had glass panes that almost touched the floor, and looked outside. A large man crossed the road, his silhouette looked familiar.
Cora delved to the ground. The repeat sound of her voicemail announcing she had a message had stopped. She crawled towards the coffee table. The only piece of furniture that had not been toppled down.
She fumbled around desperately, pushing aside cushions, blankets and broken pottery. Her phone had slid underneath the overturned settee. She stretched out her arm to reach it, extending her fingers as far as she could. She felt the tactile cover of the mobile under the tips of her fingers, and clawed it slowly towards her until she could grasp it.
As she looked at the screen in her hand, the picture of herself with Ollie filled the screen. Two grinning faces looked straight at the camera with a now unbearable display of happiness. She choked back a sob as she checked who had called her last. She didn’t recognise the number and almost pressed the recall button, but a muffled sound stopped her dead.
Cora half stood up, creeping as low as she could to avoid being seen from the window. She grimaced at the debris of her favourite vase crushing under her feet. She climbed the open staircase, ignoring the pain in her foot. Someone was coming. Her phone rang again. She killed the call immediately and cursed.
Now, whoever was calling her knew she had the phone and was in the flat. She dashed across the mezzanine and opened a side window overlooking the backyard. She yanked the window fully open, slamming the upper part against the frame as she did so. She was about to step onto the ledge when a voice called her name.
He was inside the flat already.
Cora’s mind focused … she breathed in deeply. She was a Chinese woman from Hong Kong. She was an artist … she knew what a government could do to those who expressed dissent and she knew the sort of people they used to carry out their orders.
Cora ignored the 30ft drop and stepped into darkness.
* * *
The box file still lay open on the coffee table. Nancy stopped in the middle of the lounge. She had not expected to be entertaining Pole that evening. Papers and photographs were arranged in neat piles, covering the glass of the table almost completely. They extended to one armchair and invaded the couch.
She walked over to the organised mess, lifted a few pages and stopped. Pole knew what these documents were. He had even sourced a large number of them for her.
Nancy re-organised the stacks, one on top of the other cross-wise to preserve their categories:
Time spent with family in China
Family in Paris
Father returning to China
Nancy lingered over a picture and smiled. For a very long time, that picture had remained hidden in the small file Nancy had kept about her family’s history. But the pressing desire to reconnect with the past, to find out what happened in China more than 30 years ago, had forced her to pull it out of its faded envelope.
The black and white photo had turned a pale shade of yellow. A young man in his early 30s, sporting an elegant three-piece suit and a mandarin collar shirt. A young woman with long dark hair flowing freely over her shoulders, wearing a short dress with broad stripes of what Nancy recalled were vibrant colours.
They are smiling, not at the camera but at each other. He has wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and her hands rest in turn on the shoulders of a little girl called Nancy. Unlike her parents, Nancy is looking straight at the camera with a toothy grin. She seems to like the attention, or perhaps the person taking the picture is making her laugh.
Nancy can’t recall the moment although she can remember her mother’s dress. By then her parents had already left China as the Cultural Revolution of 1966 was taking hold. They had arrived in Paris after months of travelling through the Chinese countryside, escaping the communist regime, before reaching Hong Kong and finally France.
Nancy sighed heavily, glad that the pain of remembering had become mo
re bearable. Pole was now there to help carry the burden. With care, she replaced the photo on the top of the appropriate pile. She should get it framed. It had been a moment of joy she had let unfold again in her memory. Why keep pushing it away?
The ring of the doorbell told Nancy the takeaway delivery had arrived. She moved to the intercom, pushed the front door release button. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
She scooped up her door keys and mobile from the coffee table, making her way downstairs. The lift door opened. The security guard was reading his paper. As she stepped forward into the spacious hallway, she looked around. There was no one there.
Perspiration is running down her spine and yet she is shivering. Cora has reached the roof of her building in a perilous ascent, along a ledge that is barely 1ft wide. She continues along the pipes that are running along the building’s façade, a remnant of its original industrial purpose.
She’s glad she and Ollie insisted on preserving these otherwise redundant features … it will look just like the Pompidou Centre in Paris.
She almost slips twice but every time her athletic body regains its balance and holds her in place. The roof is flat. She crouches down as soon as she reaches the top, listening for sounds of movement.
Apart from the rumbling noise of London in the distance, she can hear activity concentrated at the front of the building. She rises and, slightly bent forward, dashes to the other side of the roof to reach the external fire staircase. This too is a feature that Ollie and she had insisted be preserved. It is difficult to spot from the front of the building as it leads into the backyard.
She risks a peek over the wall before she starts her descent. Once she’s on her way down there won’t be any escape if they spot her.
What do they want? She pushes away the thought … Not now. There is only one thing she must focus on …
Getting away.
Cora stands on the wall, grabbing the iron bars that frame the stairwell. The icy cold shoots through her fingers, reminding her she is not dressed for lingering on this winter evening. She pushes herself onto the structure. It wobbles a little and she wonders whether it is strong enough. No one had ever been expected to use it, a feature kept for show rather than function.
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