‘I’m a reporter,’ said Jennifer. ‘I’m doing a story on Warren, and the trouble he’s in.’
A worried frown crossed Chau-ling’s face. ‘Did you call earlier today?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Jennifer lied smoothly.
‘Your voice sounds familiar, that’s all.’
Jennifer shrugged carelessly. ‘I’ve come straight from the airport. I spoke to the lawyer you hired. He suggested I speak to you.’ The lie tripped easily off Jennifer’s tongue. It wasn’t the first untruth she’d told in pursuit of a story, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
‘Khun Kriengsak? He gave you my name?’
‘He agrees with me that publicity might help.’ Another lie. This one came as easily as the others.
Chau-ling looked at Jennifer thoughtfully, then nodded decisively. ‘We have to do something, that’s for sure. Do you want a coffee?’
‘A coffee would be great, thanks.’
‘Let’s go through to the house. I want to put some distance between me and these damn forms.’
She led Jennifer out of the office and over to the house. A back door led into a modern, well-equipped kitchen. Chau-ling waved at a table by the window. ‘We can sit here,’ she said. Jennifer sat down as Chau-ling busied herself with a coffee filter. ‘Who do you work for?’ Chau-ling asked. ‘One of the local papers?’
‘The Daily Telegraph.’ Jennifer took a quick look at her watch. Twenty-five minutes to go before the tape ran out. She put her handbag on the table.
‘In London?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And they’re interested in the story?’
‘You sound surprised. Warren is British.’
‘But he’s been in Hong Kong for almost seven years. Milk?’
‘Please. No sugar. The fact he’s British makes it a story for the Telegraph. Besides, there’s a lot of interest in heroin and the drugs trade at the moment. There’s a big drugs problem back in the UK.’
Chau-ling put a mug of steaming coffee down in front of Jennifer and sat down opposite her. She stirred two large spoonfuls of sugar into her own mug. Jennifer smiled. Chau-ling obviously wasn’t a girl who needed to worry about her weight. Close up, Jennifer could see that there were bags under the girl’s eyes as if she hadn’t slept much. Jennifer wondered how close Chau-ling had been to Warren Hastings.
‘Warren’s not married, is he?’ Jennifer asked.
Chau-ling shook her head.
‘Not divorced?’
Another shake of the head. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, a single man in his thirties, you know. Most of them are married or divorced. Or something.’
‘Something?’ A smile flashed across Chau-ling’s face. ‘Oh no, he’s not gay.’
‘Is that from personal experience?’ Jennifer put the question lightly, and smiled encouragingly, hoping to give the impression that it was a chat between friends and not an interview. That was why Jennifer was relying on the hidden tape recorder and not using a notebook; only when the story appeared in print would Chau-ling realise that everything she said was on the record.
Chau-ling blushed. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Well, he’s a good-looking guy, and you’re . . .’
‘We were never boyfriend-girlfriend, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ said Chau-ling, but Jennifer felt that the denial came a little too quickly.
‘I’m sorry, I just assumed that . . . you know . . . because you hired the lawyer and everything . . .’
‘He’s a friend, and right now he needs all the friends he can get.’
Jennifer nodded sympathetically. ‘What about family? Where do his parents live?’
‘They’re both dead.’
‘Brothers or sisters?’
Chau-ling shook her head. ‘He never mentioned any.’
‘What about his birthday? Did he get any cards from relatives? An aunt or uncle back in England? Someone I could talk to.’
The girl shook her head again. Her jet-black hair swung freely, rippling like silk. ‘Warren was funny about birthdays,’ she said. ‘It was usually me who had to remind him. I arranged a surprise party for him two years ago here at the kennels. He didn’t even know what it was for until we showed him the cake. He said his family had never really celebrated birthdays.’
‘Do you know where he’s from? Originally?’
Chau-ling wrapped her hands around her mug. ‘Manchester, I think.’ She frowned. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. He never said. I think I just got the impression that he was from the north of England. Why is that important?’
‘Because if he’s got a strong UK connection, say a relative or something, we can go to the local MP. Remember the two girls that got long sentences a few years back? They were pardoned after the Prime Minister intervened. It all helps. Now what about before he moved to Hong Kong? What did he do back in England?’
Chau-ling tilted her head and gave Jennifer a long look. ‘Why are you asking me all this?’ she said. ‘Couldn’t you ask Warren himself?’
Jennifer smiled and gave a helpless shrug. ‘I wish it was as easy as that,’ she said. ‘The Thais are being difficult about access. I was at the Press conference after he was arrested, but they didn’t give me a chance to ask for personal details. Like, for instance, did he have a kennels back in the UK?’
Chau-ling continued to look at Jennifer for a few seconds, then sat back in her chair. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t talk about England much. But he sure knows a lot about dogs.’
‘Does he breed them?’
Chau-ling grinned. ‘Dobermanns,’ she said. ‘They’re the love of his life. Sometimes I think he likes them more than people.’
‘So tell me, do you think he did it?’ Jennifer asked.
Chau-ling’s jaw tightened. ‘Absolutely not. Absolutely one hundred per cent not. He’s always been anti-drugs. He won’t even take aspirin when he gets a headache. And he doesn’t need the money. I’ve been through the books, the kennels are doing just fine.’
‘No vices? Gambling? Stuff like that?’
‘He goes to the racetrack occasionally, but he’s not a big gambler, no. Swimming and walking are about his only regular hobbies.’
Jennifer glanced down at her wristwatch. Twenty minutes of tape left. More than enough. ‘So if you believe he’s innocent, what do you think happened?’
Chau-ling sighed. ‘I don’t know, I really don’t know. At first, I thought there’d been a terrible mistake, you know? That maybe he’d picked up the wrong bag at the airport. But then he refused even to talk to Khun Kriengsak. That just didn’t make any sense.’
‘Why was he in Bangkok?’
‘Yes, that’s something else that doesn’t seem right. It happened all of a sudden, and he didn’t even say why he was going.’ She leaned forward. ‘He only had one bag, a holdall, but he said he’d be away for a week, maybe longer. It wasn’t a holiday, he’d have given me more notice if it was.’
‘A business meeting, maybe?’
‘That wouldn’t take a week. He’d talked about setting up a kennels in Thailand, but it was just talk, there was nothing concrete. Not as far as I know, anyway. And that wouldn’t take a week, would it?’
‘What about enemies? What about someone who wanted to get Warren into trouble?’
Chau-ling frowned and chewed the inside of her lip. She shook her head emphatically. ‘No. Everyone liked him. He didn’t go out of his way to make friends, but he didn’t make enemies, either. He has about four real friends, and that’s it. He’s always kept himself very much to himself. He’s not an easy man to get close to.’ Chau-ling’s eyes went suddenly distant, and then she abruptly shook herself. ‘No. No enemies.’
‘Have you spoken to him at all? Since he was arrested?’
Chau-ling sighed despondently. ‘I tried telephoning, but it wasn’t any use. I’m thinking of flying over, but I don’t know what to do about the kennels. Warren left me in charge, and I don’t
want to let him down. Do you think it would help? Do you think I should go?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jennifer. ‘I think he’s rejecting everyone at the moment. You might be wasting your time.’
Chau-ling nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. I told Khun Kriengsak to let me know when the trial is. I might go over for that. I can offer Warren moral support, if nothing else.’
Jennifer wondered if Hastings knew that Chau-ling was in love with him. Probably not, she thought. ‘I need a favour,’ said Jennifer. ‘Do you have a recent photograph of Warren? One that I could use with the article I’m writing. The ones taken at the Press conference weren’t much use, he has his head down in most of them.’
Chau-ling ran her hands through her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. Her eyes were moist as if she was close to tears, but she managed a smile. ‘He hates his picture being taken. The only photographs I’ve seen of him are in his passport and on his identity card.’
‘Yeah, well, we all hate the camera as we get older,’ said Jennifer, though she doubted that Chau-ling had ever been afraid of a camera’s lens. ‘But there must be some. Holiday snaps, that sort of thing.’
Chau-ling let go of her hair and it spilled around her neck. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘No publicity photographs, for the kennels? At dog shows? Winning awards?’
‘He’s almost paranoid about it. He always turned his head away if there was a camera anywhere near him. Shy, I guess.’
‘There’s no reason for him to be. He’s a good-looking guy.’
‘I know,’ said Chau-ling, quickly. Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, as if she’d just revealed a dirty secret.
There was a scratching at the door and two large Dobermanns forced their way in, stubby tails wagging furiously. Chau-ling grinned and slid down off her chair to hug the dogs. ‘Mickey and Minnie,’ she said, by way of introduction. ‘They’re Warren’s favourites.’
Jennifer crossed her arms protectively across her chest. She hated dogs, especially big ones. ‘I’d better be going,’ she said. She picked her handbag up off the table and clutched it to her chest. One of the dogs stopped fussing over Chau-ling and stood staring at Jennifer, panting. Jennifer backed towards the door. The dog took a step forward, its head on one side.
‘It’s okay,’ said Chau-ling, sensing Jennifer’s discomfort. ‘They won’t hurt you.’
‘I’m sure they won’t,’ said Jennifer, uncertainly. She’d been badly bitten by a Jack Russell when she was a child, and still had a small white scar on her left leg, just below her knee. ‘Thanks for your time. Is there any message you want me to give Warren? I’m going to try to see him again in Bangkok.’
Chau-ling reached for the Dobermann’s collar and pulled the dog back. ‘Just tell him that I . . .’ She hesitated. ‘No. It’s all right. I’ll tell him when I see him.’
Jennifer backed to the door, then slipped through and closed it behind her. She walked quickly back to the taxi. The driver pointed to the meter and said something to her in Cantonese. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she said. ‘You’ll get your money.’
The driver repeated whatever he’d said, louder this time. Jennifer gave him an artificial smile, her lips pulled so far back that it was almost a grimace. ‘I said you’ll get your money, you little shit,’ she said. ‘Now shut the fuck up and let me think.’ From inside her handbag there was a metallic click as the tape recorder switched off. She told the driver to go straight to the airport.
After checking in for the next flight back to Bangkok, she went over to a row of callboxes. They were all occupied and more than a dozen people, mainly Chinese, were eyeing each other warily as they waited for the phones to become free.
There seemed to be no queuing system. Eventually she managed to grab a callbox by shoulder-barging a Chinese businessman out of the way as they both rushed for the same one. The businessman glared at her, but Jennifer shrugged. If Hong Kong rules meant every man for himself, she was more than happy to comply.
She flicked through her notebook as she waited for her call to go through. There were several clicks, then a ringing tone. Richard Kay answered the phone. ‘Where are you?’ he said.
‘Hong Kong,’ said Jennifer. ‘The airport. Let me run something by you, okay? There’s this guy, name of Warren Hastings.’
‘As in the battle of?’
Jennifer ignored him. ‘Hastings was picked up at Bangkok airport with a kilo of heroin in his bag. He does everything he can to avoid having his picture taken, and he turns down the services of one of Bangkok’s top lawyers. Free services, that is. A girl who works for him was going to foot the bill. He refuses to speak to me—-’
‘Now why would he do that? I wonder—-’ Richard began.
‘Don’t be a prick all your life, sweetie,’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘He puts a big X in the no-publicity box, and sits in police custody as meek as a lamb. Now, this guy lives in Hong Kong, he’s been there for seven years or so. He has no next-of-kin, no family, he gets no Christmas cards. But he’s not a loner, he has friends in Hong Kong and the girl who works for him would open a vein if he asked her to. This guy never talks about his life before he arrived in Hong Kong, and he’s camera shy. And before you say anything, I can assure you he’s not ugly. Oh yeah, and the kicker is, he can’t remember his date of birth.’
‘Ah,’ said Kay. ‘I see.’
‘So I want you to run his passport number by the Home Office and see if alarm bells ring. And then I want you to check his birth certificate and then see if you can find a matching death certificate.’
‘That could take days, Jenn. They’re not computerised yet, it’s all in ledgers. I’d have to check every—-’
Jennifer ignored his protests. ‘Also, get one of your cop friends to check out the Warren Hastings name through CRO, just in case it is genuine. Try the Kennel Club, too. He breeds Dobermanns.’ Jennifer read out the passport number and date of birth and had Kay repeat them. ‘I’m going back to Bangkok,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you from there.’
‘Okey-dokey. How did you get on with Tim Carver, by the way?’
‘He was okay. Gave me plenty of background. Did you know he was gay?’
‘Gay? What? Are you sure? Oh shit, hang on, Gerry wants a word,’ said Kay.
‘Shit,’ mouthed Jennifer.
‘Jenn, where the hell are you?’ asked her boss.
Jennifer ripped a sheet of paper out of her notebook. ‘Gerry, hi, how are you?’
‘Short of one reporter,’ said Hunt. ‘Get your arse back here ASAP.’
Jennifer crumpled the paper next to the receiver and spoke through the crackling noise. ‘Gerry . . . you’re breaking up . . . can’t hear you . . . I’ll call you back later.’ She hung up. Hunt would be mad at her, but he’d get over it, especially when he got the story she was planning to file. She looked up at a monitor announcing departures. Her flight to Bangkok was boarding and the back of her neck was tingling again.
HUTCH SCRATCHED THE TWO reddening mosquito bites on his left arm. He’d been bitten some time during the night and now the itching was driving him to distraction. He’d already applied some of the antihistamine cream that Kriengsak had sent in to him, but the bites still itched. Hutch knew that scratching the bites would only make them worse, but the itching was incessant and the temporary relief was better than no relief at all.
A young Thai with a tattoo of an elephant on his right forearm was squatting over the metal bucket, a look of quiet contemplation on his face. The Thais seemed to have no problem going to the toilet in full view of the rest of the prisoners. Hutch had used the bucket several times, but only when he’d been unable to contain himself any longer, and it had been with a feeling of intense shame. He wondered how he’d cope when the inevitable stomach bug struck. He rolled over on his sleeping mat and tried to get comfortable. The smell from the bucket was nauseating and he pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose. He hadn’t washed in four days but even his body odour was prefe
rable to the stench from the bucket.
There was a rattle from the bars and Hutch opened his eyes. There was a guard standing there, looking left and right as if he was worried about being seen with the prisoners. He pointed at Hutch. Hutch got up off his mat, and scratched his bites as he went over to the bars. The guard unlocked the cell door and took Hutch along to the visiting room.
There was a woman waiting on the other side of the wire, a thirty-something blonde smoking a cigarette. She smiled when she saw Hutch, as if she’d just thought of something funny, something that she wasn’t prepared to share with him. The guard closed the door and stood with his back to it, his eyes half-closed.
‘Warren Hastings, I presume,’ she said. Her voice was deep and throaty, almost masculine. ‘I’d just like you to know that this meeting’s costing me five thousand baht. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve paid for a date.’
Hutch narrowed his eyes. ‘Jennifer Leigh?’ he said.
‘How sweet. You remembered.’ She flicked ash on the floor. ‘What’s it like in there? Pretty rough, I suppose.’
She was wearing a beige jacket and a brown skirt that ended just above her knee, and high heels, but the feminine attire was at odds with her stance. She stood like a man, with her legs shoulder-width apart, her hip to one side. Her cigarette was in her right hand, held away from her face, and her left arm was across her body, supporting her right elbow. It looked to Hutch as if she was posing for him, using all her body language to impress on him what a tough cookie she was. Dogs did the same to try to assert their dominance: their hackles would go up, they’d hunch their shoulders and they’d show their teeth. More often than not it was an act. A menacing-looking dog could almost always be faced down. A truly aggressive animal didn’t bother showing its teeth and growling, it just went for the throat.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you, Miss Leigh.’
She smiled tightly. Her lipstick was a vibrant shade of pink. It had been applied thickly and was smeared over the filter of her cigarette. ‘Oh, you can call me Jennifer,’ she said. She took a long pull at her cigarette, then exhaled and watched him through the smoke. ‘Now, what should I call you?’ They stood looking at each other for several seconds. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ she said eventually.
The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 20