John studied Ronald for a moment. “Are you a Triad leader? Sun Yee On?”
David’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. Ronald studied John for a moment, his face expressionless, then broke into a smile.
“Mr. Hayes, you must be careful making accusations like that in a city like this.” He paused and gazed out through the windscreen. “In this city, things are not always what they at first seem. Peter Croft for example. A respectable businessman. A pillar of society. A regular contributor to charities. Am I right?”
John nodded, not sure where the conversation was going.
“Peter Croft is also not what he appears. His image is carefully cultivated, to all intents and purposes he can do no wrong. But Peter Croft has a dark side few are aware of.” He smiled. “We all have a dark side, Mr. Hayes, but Peter’s is darker than most.”
“What do you mean?” John couldn’t relate what Ronald was telling him with the Peter he had met although after being tied up on his boat, he had his suspicions.
“Peter’s rags to riches story makes great reading. His parents were comfortably off but not rich. Yet now, Peter has great wealth.”
“I’ve read his background. He is supposed to be a very astute property investor and developer.”
Ronald smiled. “Yes, so it would appear.” He looked over at David before continuing. “One thing a property investor is always short of is cash flow. He has large amounts of capital tied up for years in the hope of a future windfall profit. Sometimes, it’s hard to fund a lifestyle and meet interest payments. It's something all developers struggle with. However, it doesn’t seem to bother Peter.” Ronald paused and studied John for a moment. “Do you know why?”
John shrugged. He had no idea, but he was sure he was about to find out.
“Peter Croft has… How do you say it? His fingers in many pies. Have you seen the recent news reports about record seizures of a drug called GBL?”
David turned and looked back over the seat, a puzzled expression on his face. “What do you mean, Father?”
Ronald waved his hand in irritation, instead waiting for John’s answer.
“Yes, the date rape drug.” John shook his head in disbelief. “No, you’re not telling me he’s involved?”
“Yes, Mr. Hayes. Peter is a major smuggler of GBL, Gamma-Butyrolactone. It’s not just as you say, the date rape drug. It is also popular for its psychoactive properties. It’s readily available in the bars of Lan Kwai Fong and Wan Chai.”
“I can’t believe it.”
David looked stunned.
“It's true,” replied Ronald. “He imports it from Lithuania. It’s legal there and used as, believe it or not, a floor cleaner.” He scowled at David. “Unfortunately, my son doesn’t pay enough attention to his businesses or the people he does business with.”
John looked from David to Ronald and back again. He just couldn’t picture the man he had spent time with, the charming, successful businessman, as a drug peddler.
“Okay, let’s say what you’re telling me is true. What does it have to do with the threats I’ve received? I still can’t see the connection. Does a competitor want him dead?”
David had now turned fully in his seat to face backward. He looked at his father who was sitting back in his seat, studying John closely.
“Mr. Hayes, let’s again look at what we do know. Peter’s side business has been suffering this year. There have been record seizures of GBL by Hong Kong customs. This month, two million dollars’ worth of the drug was found in a flat in Central. Last month, they found another shipment in a parcel center. This is all affecting Peter’s cash flow at a time when he needs it the most. He is bidding on a large site in the Central waterfront reclamation and has a lot of money flowing out with nothing flowing back. He is hurting.”
“I still don’t see how this is connected.”
“I don’t either, Mr. Hayes, but someone is trying to make it look like David is behind this. Who stands to gain if David is arrested?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think harder Mr. Hayes.”
“You’re telling me if David is arrested, Peter stands to benefit?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I would imagine Peter would have David removed from the board and would take over his shareholding, giving him complete control of the company.”
“But that’s what Peter told me David planned by having him killed.”
“Ha. You are being framed, Mr. Hayes. You are an unfortunate pawn in a larger game of chess.”
John sat back in the seat, staring blankly at the headrest of the seat in front of him. He thought back over the events of the recent week, trying to make sense of what Ronald had told him, piecing it together with actual events.
“In the bar, when David was there,” John spoke aloud, verbalizing his thoughts, “David got an anonymous call, telling him a gweilo was going to kill him. At that time, Peter was in the toilet. Then just after Peter left the bar, I received a text.” John nodded to himself. “Yes, Peter was never in the same room with me when the texts were sent. Even later, when I was at his house, I received a text when he was in another room.”
Ronald said nothing, just listening and nodding. David still faced backward, watching both of them.
“He could easily have planted the deposit slips in David’s office for me to find.”
“I told you I haven’t been in that office all week,” David piped up eagerly.
“Okay, here’s a question for you. If what you say is true, why me? Why not use a professional assassin? If he is as crooked as you say, I’m sure he would have access to a hitman.”
No-one answered. David turned and slumped back in his seat, facing the front while Ronald pulled back the window curtain and gazed out the side window at the buildings passing by.
After a few minutes, Ronald spoke, as if to himself, his eyes still focused on the buildings outside.
“Perhaps he didn’t actually want you to succeed. He didn’t want you to kill him. He just wanted to discredit my son. Frame him for attempted murder. That would still help him achieve his goal.”
“But I would be a witness. I could say they forced me into it.”
Ronald turned to face John. “You would be dead, Mr. Hayes. Killed by Inspector Joseph Wong as you tried to take Peter Croft’s life.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, Mr. Hayes. Fuck.”
“But this still doesn’t explain how he knew my name, my bank account, my phone number?”
“Hmmm. I’ve been thinking about that. Who in your life would have that information? Are you married?”
John shook his head, the memory of Charlotte like an icy blade piercing his heart.
“Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes.”
Ronald paused for a moment, deep in thought.
“It could be someone in your office or someone at the bank. My thought is he bribed someone at the bank. They have all the information he would need.”
“But why me?”
“That I don’t know, Mr. Hayes.”
38
The Rolls Royce had been climbing for a while, its 6.2-liter V8 engine having no trouble with the steep, winding roads that led up The Peak. John had been too involved in the conversation to pay attention to where they were going and was surprised to see the car pull up in front of a pair of elaborate wrought-iron gates. The gates slowly glided open, and the Rolls Royce slipped inside, turning around the fountain that took up the center of the turning circle before stopping in front of an old colonial-style mansion. The driver climbed out and opened Ronald’s door.
“Come inside, Mr. Hayes, join me for some tea.”
John nodded and watched as, with the help of his dragon-headed cane and the assistance of his driver, Ronald climbed out of the car.
John and David got out and waited for Ronald to make his way slowly around the car toward the front door of the house. Ronald was a small man, pe
rhaps a head shorter than John, but despite his need for a cane, he held himself straight and with dignity.
The large, polished wood door opened, a housemaid in a black dress and a frilly white apron standing on the top step, waiting for Ronald to approach. She took him by the arm and walked with him inside, John and David following.
They walked through a large entrance hall with double-height ceilings and a black and white tile floor into a wide drawing room with French windows that opened out onto a garden filled with sculpted trees and bonsai.
The housemaid helped settle Ronald into an ornately carved wooden chair with a high back while John and David sat on a sofa opposite him.
“Will you have tea, Mr. Hayes, or…” Ronald’s eyes twinkled, “would you prefer something a little stronger?”
John would have loved to have something stronger, but he needed to keep his wits about him.
“Please call me John, and tea will be fine, thank you.”
Ronald looked at his son, “David…”
David stood up and disappeared out a side door.
John looked around while they waited for the tea to arrive. Fine silk carpets from China covered the parquet floors, and the carved rosewood furniture, although a bit heavy for John’s taste, was obviously old and expensive. On the walls were Chinese watercolors of mountains covered in mist and panels of calligraphy.
David reappeared with another housemaid carrying a tray which she laid on the coffee table in front of Ronald. She started to serve, but Ronald waved her away as David quietly resumed his seat beside John.
“Do you like Chinese tea, John? It’s quite different from your English tea. There are a lot more subtleties of flavor.” John nodded politely as Ronald continued. “My favorite is Ti Kuan Yin. It comes from Fujian province in China.” Ronald slid forward in his seat, picked up a jug of hot water and poured a little into a terracotta teapot. He swirled it around, warming the teapot, then poured the water out into a bowl. From a small porcelain jar, he took a spoonful of rolled tea leaves and added them to the teapot before filling it with hot water from the jug. He looked up at John and smiled.
“There is an interesting legend about how the tea gained its name. Have you heard of Kuan Yin, John?”
“Isn’t she the Lady Buddha? The Buddha of Compassion?”
Ronald smiled. “You are correct, John.”
“I first came across her in India. There they call her Avalokiteshvara.”
“Are you a Buddhist, John?”
John frowned. “I no longer believe in God, Mr. Yu.”
Ronald raised his eyebrows. “That is interesting, John. Why is that?”
“Let’s just say things have happened that make me doubt the presence of an all-seeing, benevolent being. I believe we make our own destiny, and if something happens, we have to deal with it ourselves. There is little point in sitting back and hoping some divine presence will take care of things.”
Ronald nodded gently, his keen eyes studying John’s face. “You are an interesting man, John.” He leaned forward and poured tea into three tiny porcelain cups. He held one out to John, then picked one up for himself, ignoring David who had to pick up his own. Ronald raised the cup and waited for John to take a sip before drinking his own. He licked his lips and set the cup down.
“Ahhh. My father used to serve this tea in our home back in China. It always brings back memories.” He smiled at John.
“Perhaps you are right about God, John. But sometimes, the stories of divinity make you feel happy and give you hope. This tea, for example. My father used to tell me the legend of a poor farmer who used to walk past a broken-down temple every day. In that temple was an iron statue of Kuan Yin. The poor farmer wanted to repair the temple but had no money to do so. So instead, one day, he swept it clean and lit some incense for the goddess.
“That night, he had a dream where Kuan Yin visited him and showed him a cave with a treasure he must share with others. The next day, he found the cave with a bush growing inside. He replanted the bush and shared cuttings with his neighbors. From this bush came the tea he named Ti Kuan Yin or Iron Buddha of Compassion.” Ronald chuckled. “Who knows if it is true, but it’s a nice little story for me to tell when I am drinking tea.”
John smiled, and they sat in silence, sipping the hot flowery liquid. At that moment, there was a buzzing from Ronald’s suit jacket pocket, and he reached inside and pulled out his phone. He squinted at the screen, then tapped it with his thumb and put it to his ear.
“Wai, Hello.”
He listened carefully, nodding occasionally before issuing instructions in Cantonese and hanging up. He slid the phone back into his pocket, his face hard, the jovial grandfather expression nowhere in sight as he stared out the French windows into the garden. Eventually, he brought his gaze back to the room and turned to John.
“Our friend, Inspector Joseph Wong has been very co-operative. He has agreed to help us with our inquiries. I think we should see what he has to say.” He picked up his cane from the side of his chair and with difficulty pushed himself to his feet. John and David placed their teacups on the table and stood.
Ronald glanced at his son, “Stay here.”
“But Father.”
“Sau seng, Be quiet!”
David’s jaw clamped shut, and he stared unhappily at his feet. John raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He looked across at David. He felt sorry for him. He would never grow out of his father’s considerable shadow, and in his father’s eyes could never do anything right. No wonder he sought solace in the gambling tables.
He followed Ronald out the door to the waiting Rolls Royce.
39
They drove in silence for about twenty minutes, deep in their own thoughts. The car wound down from The Peak and crossed over to the southside of the island. Eventually, they reached the industrial area of Wong Chuk Hang, an area filled with drab and grimy buildings, eight to ten stories high, filled with multi-story warehousing and factories. The Rolls Royce pulled into one such building, turning into the wide entranceway, then followed the entrance ramp as it wound its way past loading docks and up to the higher levels of the building. At the top, John spotted the black G-Wagen parked beside a loading bay and one of Ronald’s men standing, smoking a cigarette.
The Rolls Royce pulled up beside him, and John opened his door and got out. The black-clad thug scowled at John and threw his cigarette on the ground, not bothering to stub it out. He walked around to Ronald’s side of the car, and in a manner completely at odds with his appearance, gently helped him out and led him by the arm up the steps beside the loading bay and through the battered wood double doors. John followed them through, then down a wide corridor, the walls scarred with damage from the passage of goods. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, and the air smelled of dust and stale urine.
The thug pushed open a door and guided Ronald inside. John followed him into a large, dimly lit warehouse space, empty apart from a chair in the center of the room. Joseph sat with his arms bound behind him, his legs fastened to the chair with plastic cable ties. His eyes were swollen shut, only slits, and his head was slumped to one side. Blood trickled from his left nostril, and his lips were split. Three of Ronald’s men stood guard around him, all of them stiffening and straightening up as Ronald walked in.
One of the men rushed to the side of the warehouse and retrieved a chair which he placed in front of Joseph, and Ronald sat down. John stood beside him and stared at the battered form in front of him. Joseph didn’t seem to be aware they had walked in, his lips moving as if he was talking to himself, his chest was moving up and down as he took rapid breaths. Ronald nodded at the man who had brought him in, and he stepped toward Joseph, opened a plastic bottle of water, and tipped the contents over his head.
Joseph lifted his head and looked around, noticing Ronald and John for the first time. He cleared his throat and spat a globule of saliva and blood onto the floor. He sniffed and straightened his head, looking first
at John, then fixed his eyes on Ronald. John thought he detected a trace of fear as he looked at Ronald.
Ronald studied him for a moment. “Inspector Wong, we meet again. Let’s stick to English so Mr. Hayes can understand.”
Joseph sniffed again and spat on the floor. He looked at John and sneered. He appeared to be missing a few teeth. “Tiu leh lo moh. Motherfucker.”
One of Ronald’s men stepped forward, and John winced as the man punched Joseph on the side of the head, knocking him to the floor.
The man bent over, set the chair and Joseph upright again, and stepped back.
Ronald leaned forward, his hands resting on the cane planted on the floor between his legs. He narrowed his eyes, his voice filled with steel.
“I suggest you show us a little more respect, Inspector Wong.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
Joseph raised his head, regarded Ronald for a moment, then his shoulders sagged, any last vestiges of defiance leaving his body.
He started slowly, his voice a mumble, and John had to strain to hear what he was saying.
“It was Peter’s idea… His drug shipments have been hit hard in recent months… His cash-flow is tight.” He paused for breath, and when he resumed, his voice was louder. “When he found out about David’s gambling debts, he decided we would frame David, get him thrown in prison so he could take over the company and divert the company funds.”
John spoke up. “But why me?”
Joseph laughed. At least John thought he laughed. It was more like a grunt followed by a cough and a sob.
“Why you?… Why you?… You were just some random customer at the bank. We bribed someone at the bank to find us someone who needed money, whose account was in debt. They picked you… stupid fuckers.” He looked up at John. “Why couldn’t you have just gone along with it?” He shook his head, and his chin dropped to his chest, the effort of talking taxing his body.
“Who was texting me?”
Joseph sighed. “That was Peter… The bank guy gave us your number. We got a burner SIM, and Peter sent you the texts.”
A Million Reasons Page 12