The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘This is it?’ said Chau-ling. ‘Can’t we have any privacy?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the clerk.

  Chau-ling looked at the enclosure in disgust. On the visitors’ side there were bars overlaid with wire mesh. She walked over and peered through. There was a gap of almost ten feet separating the mesh from another set of bars. The set-up was probably to prevent anything being passed to the prisoners, but it meant that she’d have to shout to make herself heard. Khun Kriengsak had said that Warren could only have visitors on a Thursday. She couldn’t believe that that was the only contact he’d have with the outside world: shouted conversations once a week. She shuddered.

  Several prisoners came through the door and headed down the barred walkway. Most were Thais. Their visitors rushed to the bars on their side. It was bedlam. Everyone began shouting at once. One woman was holding up her baby and crying, and an older woman was pressing photographs against the bars so that her son could see them. The shouts echoed off the walls and Chau-ling shuddered at the noise. More prisoners entered the walkway, several black men and a few Westerners. A middle-aged Australian woman burst into tears and put a hand up to her mouth at the sight of a pale, thin young man with an earring in his left ear. She staggered against her husband who put a comforting arm around her. Together they walked along the wire mesh, parallel to their son, seeking a place where they could talk. More Thais were funnelling through the door and the noise was getting louder by the minute. Chau-ling’s heart jumped as she saw Warren.

  ‘Warren!’ she shouted.

  He looked at her, confused. He shouted something at her but she couldn’t hear him. She pointed to the far end of the visiting area and he nodded. Chau-ling told Lim and the clerk to wait. She kept looking at Warren as she walked behind the seated visitors. He seemed to have lost weight and he kept running his hands through his hair. She’d never seen him look so worried. He seemed to be in an even worse state than when he’d been arrested.

  He found a space on his side of the bars and stopped. Chau-ling stood between a Thai housewife with a crying toddler, and a Nigerian man who was screaming at a black prisoner and waving a brick-sized wad of money.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chau-ling,’ Warren shouted.

  She seemed surprised by his apology. ‘Sorry for what?’

  He gestured with his chin. ‘This. This place, the trouble I’ve caused you.’

  Chau-ling had to strain to hear him. ‘You haven’t caused me any trouble,’ she shouted. Her face fell. ‘Actually, that’s not true,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know a man called Billy Winter?’

  He nodded hesitantly.

  ‘And a man called Bird?’

  Warren’s mouth opened in surprise. She could see that he was lost for words.

  ‘Warren, you do know them, don’t you?’

  ‘What is it, Chau-ling? What happened?’

  ‘They sent two men to kill me, Warren.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Two hired killers came to Hong Kong. They tried to kill me.’ She looked around. She had to shout to make herself heard and was worried about being overheard. No one appeared to be paying her any attention.

  ‘Chau-ling!’ Warren shouted. She looked back at him. ‘How do you know it was Winter?’ he yelled.

  The Nigerian man was shouting in his own language and his deep, booming voice was a constant distraction. Chau-ling tried to block it out. ‘My father found out. He says that this man Winter is going to get you out of prison. Warren, what’s happening?’

  He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

  ‘Warren, you have to tell me what’s going on!’ Chau-ling shouted. ‘Who are these men? What hold do they have over you? Tell me and I’ll be able to help you. Khun Kriengsak has got some very influential friends in Thailand. Between him and my father, there isn’t any problem we can’t deal with.’ Her voice was becoming hoarse from all the shouting.

  He leaned forward and pressed his face against the bars. The blood had drained from his face. ‘Chau-ling, you have to listen to me,’ he yelled. ‘You can’t help me, do you understand? Go back to Hong Kong. Go back to Hong Kong and forget about me.’

  She looked at him in horror. ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? They tried to kill me, Warren. Two men with guns came to the kennels. If it hadn’t been for . . .’ She fell silent.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Chau-ling took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Mickey’s dead,’ she said. She blew her nose. ‘He saved my life and they shot him.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Chau-ling. She blew her nose again. ‘He was a good dog.’

  ‘I meant I was sorry about what happened to you. I had no idea . . .’

  ‘What’s going on, Warren? Who is this man Billy Winter?’

  ‘An old friend.’

  ‘An old friend? A friend of yours tried to kill me? Why?’

  He glared at her with such intensity that she flinched. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. Look, you’re going to have to trust me, Chau-ling. Please go back to Hong Kong. Right now. Go straight to the airport and get on the first plane out of here. Go and stay with your father, he can protect you until this is over.’

  ‘Warren . . .’

  He pointed his finger at her face as if he was aiming a gun. ‘Go!’ he shouted. Before she could reply he turned his back on her and walked away.

  ‘Warren!’ she called, but he didn’t look back.

  TIM CARVER STIRRED HIS coffee with a pencil, then wiped it on his copy of the Bangkok Post. ‘And then what happened?’ he asked Nikom.

  ‘She went back to her hotel with a Chinese guy. A big man. His name’s Ricky Lim. I think he’s her bodyguard.’

  ‘Tell me again what they said.’ Carver settled back in his chair and made notes as Nikom described the meeting between Hutch and the girl. Nikom had managed to get a place at the mesh close to Chau-ling, but hadn’t been able to hear everything. There were gaps where the Nigerian man had been screaming at his friend, but Nikom had managed to follow the conversation fairly closely.

  When Nikom had finished, Carver looked up from his notes. ‘And she definitely said that Billy Winter tried to kill her?’

  Nikom nodded. ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And what’s her name?’

  ‘Tsang Chau-ling,’ said Nikom. ‘According to the visitor’s form she filled in, she works for Hastings in Hong Kong.’

  ‘She mentioned her father. Do you know who he is?’

  Nikom shook his head. ‘I can find out.’

  ‘Where’s she staying?’

  ‘The Shangri-La.’

  Carver stood up and took his jacket off the back of his chair.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ asked Nikom.

  Carver shook his head. ‘Nah, I’ll handle it. See what you can find out about her father. Like how the hell he found out what Winter is up to.’

  Carver took the lift to the ground floor and went outside. It was the start of the rush hour and the street outside was gridlocked. The DEA agent walked along the road, stepping to one side to allow a group of monks go by, and found himself a motorcycle taxi rider. The rider handed him a battered white crash helmet with a broken strap. Carver climbed on to the pillion. They skirted the worst of the traffic and in less than ten minutes the rider dropped Carver off in front of the Shangri-La. By car, the journey would have taken more than an hour.

  The receptionist wouldn’t tell Carver what room Tsang Chau-ling was in and insisted on calling up to her room. Carver would have preferred to have gone up unannounced but even his DEA credentials didn’t cut him any slack in the five-star hotel. The receptionist nodded, put down the telephone and told Carver that Miss Tsang was in room 1104 and that he could go up.

  Carver tidied his windswept hair with his hands while he rode up in the lift. Motorcycle taxis were all well and
good, but they did play havoc with personal grooming. He checked his face in the mirrored wall of the lift and dabbed away flecks of soot until he reckoned he was presentable. He knocked on the door of 1104 and stepped back. A man opened it, a broad-shouldered Oriental with close-cropped spiky hair and a dimple in his chin. He was a big man, at least two inches taller than Carver, and Carver wasn’t a weakling. This was obviously the bodyguard whom Nikom had seen with the girl at Klong Prem.

  ‘Is this Miss Tsang’s room?’ Carver asked.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the man. There was no menace in his voice but his sheer bulk was enough to intimidate Carver.

  ‘The name’s Tim Carver. I’m with the DEA.’ Carver reached into his jacket to get his ID but the man grabbed him by the wrist and twisted him around. ‘What the . . . ?’ said Carver, as the man slammed him into the wall. Something pricked against his neck. He stiffened as he realised it was some sort of knife.

  ‘Ricky, put him down,’ said a female voice.

  ‘He was—-’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said the girl, with a harder edge to her voice this time.

  The point moved away from Carver’s neck. As he turned, he could see it was an ice-pick in the man’s hand. ‘I was only getting my wallet out,’ said Carver.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive Ricky. He’s not housetrained yet. I’m Tsang Chau-ling.’ She was pretty, with glossy black hair that she’d tied back in a ponytail, and razor-sharp cheekbones, but she looked tired as if she hadn’t had much sleep over the past few days.

  ‘I need to speak with you, Miss Tsang.’

  ‘What about?’

  Carver looked up and down the corridor. ‘Could we do this inside, please?’

  Lim moved to block the door but Chau-ling shook her head and he stepped back into the room. ‘What’s it about?’ she pressed.

  Carver took his wallet from his jacket pocket and showed his ID to her.

  ‘I didn’t doubt that you were with the DEA,’ she said. ‘I want to know what this is about.’

  Carver put his wallet away. ‘You were at Klong Prem prison today.’

  Chau-ling put her head on one side. ‘Yes,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘And you spoke to Warren Hastings?’

  Chau-ling looked at him for several seconds without speaking, then turned and went back into the room. Carver followed her and closed the door. It wasn’t a room, he realised, it was a suite. A very large suite, with views over the Chao Phraya River. One night would probably cost as much as Carver earned in a week, he thought with a twinge of envy. Whoever her father was, there was definitely money in the family. Serious money.

  Chau-ling went over to a sofa by the window and sat down, curling her legs underneath her. ‘Do you want a drink or something?’ she asked. Carver shook his head. Chau-ling spoke to her bodyguard in Chinese and he replied, his voice deep and guttural. He was clearly arguing with her but she looked at him coldly and even though he couldn’t speak Chinese, Carver could tell that she was telling him to do as he was told. He bowed meekly and left by one of the three doors that led off the sitting room.

  ‘Sit down, please, you’re making me nervous,’ she said to Carver.

  Carver perched on the edge of a chair the back of which was shaped like an oyster shell. ‘What’s your relationship with Warren Hastings?’ he asked.

  ‘I help him run his kennels.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me why you went to the prison today?’ Carver already knew, but he wanted to see what her reaction would be, whether she’d tell the truth or lie.

  Chau-ling narrowed her eyes. ‘How did you know I’d been there?’

  ‘We are automatically notified when drug-smuggling suspects have visitors,’ lied Carver.

  Chau-ling looked at him as if deciding whether or not to believe him, then she gave a small shrug. ‘I just wanted to see how he was getting on,’ she said. ‘We’re all very worried about him. How is the DEA involved?’

  ‘It’s a drug case. We investigate all drug seizures.’

  ‘You know he’s innocent, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s for the court to decide.’

  ‘He was framed.’

  ‘Maybe he was.’

  ‘So what has your investigation turned up so far?’

  The question took Carver by surprise. He hadn’t realised how easily she’d turned the tables and that it was now she who was interrogating him.

  ‘You are investigating the case, aren’t you? Or is there some other reason you came to see me?’

  She looked like a teenager, curled up on the sofa, but her eyes bored relentlessly into his as she scrutinised his face for any reaction. Carver took out his pack of Marlboro. ‘Do you mind if I . . . ?’ he said and held up the pack.

  Her eyes never left his face. ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ she said. ‘Ricky has asthma and I don’t want him wheezing all night.’

  Carver couldn’t tell if she was joking or not but he put the cigarettes away. ‘Do you play poker, Miss Tsang?’

  ‘Sometimes. Why?’

  ‘Because if I was holding three queens and you were showing a pair of kings, I think I’d fold.’

  ‘That’s a compliment, is it? Or a subtle change of subject?’

  Carver winced inwardly. She might well work as a kennel maid in Hong Kong but she was as sharp as any criminal lawyer he’d ever met. He wondered what Hutch had done to earn the love of such a beautiful, smart, self-assured woman. ‘How about we both put our cards on the table?’ he said.

  ‘You first,’ she said flatly.

  Carver wanted a cigarette, badly. He looked around the room. The door that the bodyguard had gone through was ajar. Carver smiled as best he could. ‘Warren Hastings is working for the DEA,’ he said.

  Chau-ling’s face broke into a relieved smile. ‘I knew it,’ she said.

  Carver immediately felt a flush of guilt. He hadn’t actually lied, but he was being more than a little economical with the truth.

  ‘I knew he wasn’t guilty,’ she said. ‘I knew there was something more to it.’

  ‘That’s why you have to do what he said. You have to go back to Hong Kong.’

  Chau-ling’s smile was immediately replaced by a suspicious frown. ‘How do you know what Warren said to me?’

  ‘I spoke to him after your visit,’ he said. That was a definite lie and he fought to keep his voice and gaze steady, certain that she’d pounce on any sign that he wasn’t telling the truth. Chau-ling nodded but Carver could see that she wasn’t convinced. ‘He said you’d been attacked,’ he added.

  Chau-ling drew her legs tighter underneath herself as if trying to make herself smaller. ‘Two men tried to kill me. Thais.’

  ‘Do you know who they were?’ Chau-ling shook her head. ‘What happened to them? Did the police get them?’

  ‘No. They’re dead, I think. The dogs got one of them. I . . .’

  She was interrupted by the reappearance of the bodyguard. He spoke to her in guttural Cantonese, obviously worried. She answered, her tone conciliatory. He said something else and she nodded. The bodyguard went to stand by the door. She’d obviously given him permission to stay.

  ‘You were saying?’ said Carver.

  ‘I don’t know what happened to them,’ she said.

  ‘But you know who hired them?’

  Chau-ling nodded.

  ‘So they must have been able to talk at some point,’ said Carver. ‘Did they give you any other information?’

  ‘They didn’t give me any information,’ said Chau-ling coldly. ‘They broke into my house, they tried to shoot me, and I defended myself. End of story.’

  ‘The names you gave Warren. Billy Winter and Bird. What do you know about them?’

  ‘Nothing. Do you know who they are?’

  Carver fought to keep his voice steady. ‘No,’ he lied.

  ‘I got the feeling that Warren did,’ said Chau-ling. ‘But we did agree that you’d show me yours first. What is Warren doing for the DEA?�
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  ‘He’s involved in an undercover operation,’ said Carver. It was practically the first true statement he’d made since sitting down.

  ‘Yes . . .’ said Chau-ling, encouraging him to go on.

  ‘There isn’t much more I can tell without putting him at risk,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ said Chau-ling contemptuously. ‘I’m not a threat to him. And I’m hardly likely to go around telling anyone what I know.’

  ‘Nevertheless . . .’

  ‘Nevertheless my Aunt Fanny. Two men tried to kill me and I deserve to know why.’

  Carver looked away. Down below on the dirty brown river, two long-tailed boats sped by filled with tourists. A water taxi was picking up passengers at a pier behind the Oriental Hotel.

  ‘Well?’ pressed Chau-ling.

  ‘These men, Billy Winter and Bird, they’re involved in a drug-smuggling ring. They recruit expats as couriers: they’re less likely to be stopped than Asians. Warren was approached by Winter in Hong Kong, and he came to us. We decided the best thing would be for him to play along, to agree to help them.’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain why he’s in prison.’

  ‘We couldn’t connect the drugs to Winter. At the moment we don’t have a case.’

  ‘So you’re going to wait until Winter tries to get Warren out?’

  ‘That’s right. How did you know that they were planning an escape, Miss Tsang?’

  The bodyguard said something in Chinese but Chau-ling didn’t look at him. ‘I’ll pass on that one,’ she said.

  ‘We said we’d share information.’

  ‘That we did, Mr Carver, but I have the feeling that you’re not sharing everything with me, so you’re going to have to allow a girl to keep a few secrets.’ She stood up. ‘So what happens next?’

  ‘I’ll keep you informed. But I think I can safely say that it’ll all be over in a few days.’

  ‘And Warren can come back to Hong Kong?’

  ‘Yes.’ Carver looked straight into her eyes, and he was as sure as night follows day that she knew he was lying. ‘Now, will you promise me that you’ll go back to Hong Kong where you’ll be safe?’ He corrected himself quickly. ‘Safer.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, and looked directly into his eyes. Carver was equally certain that she was lying.