Lacey caught up with him. “I'm sorry, sir. I should have waited until we had a written statement. You were right.”
“It's okay, Lace. It was a chance we all took.” He turned back to the startled duty sister. “Tell the doctor he should have let him die!”
***
John Keelan stared at the shadows on the ceiling. He looked at the luminous dial of his wristwatch on the bedside table. Half past two.
Pointless to try and get back to sleep now. He got up and padded barefoot to the kitchen, to make a cup of coffee.
His Causeway Bay apartment was cramped. He could have fitted most of it into the living room of his home in Berkeley. The air conditioner did not seem to be working properly, it was stale and muggy, like the cabin of the 747 after his trans-Pacific flight. There was condensation on the walls, and the robes smelt of mildew.
... If only he had taken the money.
If he had taken the money Anna and Caroline would still be alive. No, he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t go through it all again. He turned on the television; there was a Cantonese feature on Jade, Scarface on World, a man getting shot up in his own home. Life imitates art.
He switched it off, and threw the remote across the room. He wandered to the window, stared over the harbour towards Kowloon. A few cars were still moving on the flyovers, and in Wanchai the USS Saratoga was strung with lights. A splash of neon reflected in the black water, a roll call of Japanese industry; Sony, Sanyo, Nikon.
They were gone, gone.
Every day Anna and Caroline slipped a little further away, it was harder to remember his wife’s smile, the sound his baby daughter made in the bath. It was like trying to catch smoke.
There was no God, no justice. But there was such a thing as hell, and he was living in it. You should have taken the money. He couldn't breathe. He slid down the wall and started to sob.
Why didn't you take the money?
Chapter 15
Wanchai Police Station
Yip kua-feng sat across the table from Lacey in the interrogation room and made a Herculean effort to focus his eyes. He mumbled something in Cantonese.
“What did he say?” Tyler asked Lacey.
“He says he killed Li kam-chuen.”
Tyler had a Big Mac, fries and a chocolate thick shake in front of him. He took the Big Mac out of its polystyrene box and started to eat. Lacey turned away. She would rather look at a drug-addled low life than watch her boss eat fast food. She heard him swear as the tomato sauce squirted down his shirt.
She reminded Yip that he had not killed Li kam-chuen, because that gentleman was still alive, if not at all well, in the Adventist Hospital.
Yip seemed to barely comprehend what was being said to him. He coughed; the wet, hacking sound of an addict. He rubbed his forearm across a dripping nose and then folded his hands between his legs, rocking back and forward on the metal chair. He was an unprepossessing creature, his bare feet were filthy and his trousers one size too small. His fly was open and there were track marks on his arms.
“You had nothing to do with the attack on Li. Did you, Yip?”
Another mumbled interchange.
“Repeat please,” Tyler said and took another bite out of his hamburger.
“He says that Li insulted his grandmother on his father's side. He says he is very sorry and he didn't mean to kill him.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Lacey drummed on the table with her fingers. This was bizarre, but not totally unexpected. “Why are you lying to us?” she said to Yip.
“I don't understand,” Yip answered.
“Do you even know where the attack on Mister Li took place?”
It was the one thing Yip could remember; he had been well coached. Lacey knew the deal; the triad would arrange free heroin for him inside the prison for as long as he needed it. He just had to do as they asked. She supposed Yip had decided it was better to be a well-connected user inside prison than a penniless addict on the street.
Eddie Lau was laughing at them. Not content just to walk away, he had even thrown them a few crumbs in the shape of this pathetic creature. Like feeding chickens, she thought.
Tyler finished his lunch. “We're wasting our time,” he said, got up and walked out. He took his fries and the thick shake with him.
“We know you're lying,” Lacey said to Yip and followed her boss out of the door.
***
Yip kua-feng lived in a crumbling tenement off O’Brien Road. His home was a tiny room under a stairwell, his front door a piece of cardboard packing. Brian Kwok kicked it aside and crouched down. He smelled urine, damp and sweat. He grimaced and switched on his torch.
There was a bamboo mat, a dirt encrusted T-shirt, and - with poignant irony - a plastic shopping bag from Lane Crawford, one of Hong Kong's premier department stores. Cockroaches scattered into the corners, scuttling from the light. A rat was feasting on the remains of a chicken bone protruding from a red and white KFC box.
The rat and Colonel Sanders stared back at Kwok with similar expressions.
Lacey peered in over his shoulder. “Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.”
“Think that is a rat or a dog?”
“I'm not sure. Hold a bone and see if it begs.”
“I suppose, as you're the inspector, you want me to get in there?”
“No, I'll go, if you want.”
Kwok looked around at Lacey. She meant it, of course, nothing as tough or as stubborn as a gwailo woman with something to prove. If he wanted to, he could really take advantage. “No, you will lose big face,” he said. “I'll do it.”
He put on two pairs of latex gloves - too easy for a needle to slice through one layer - and worked his way in, very carefully. He wouldn't be able to wear this suit again. “Fantastic fucking job I got here,” he muttered.
The rat scuttled into the shadows, but he sensed its presence. Dew neh loh moh! the smell. He sorted through the Lane Crawford bag with elaborate care. Inside was a pair of threadbare trousers, a soiled Rugby Sevens T-shirt commemorating the 1990 competition, a tin spoon and a tourniquet. And there, right at the bottom, was what he had been looking for.
He backed out and showed Lacey. She brought out a clear plastic evidence bag.
The meat cleaver had an engraved ivory handle, and the blade was protected by a hand-made cardboard sheath. “Very nice,” he said, and examined it in the torchlight. There was a small chip in the blade and he could make out the rusty stains of dried blood. He replaced it carefully in the sheath, and went back to finish his search of the rest of Yip's 'home', but found little else besides two used syringes and a three year old copy of the South China Morning Post.
“We'll get this straight to forensics,” Lacey said.
Kwok stripped off the gloves. “They will find Yip's fingerprints, even some matching blood. Eddie is a very cautious, very thorough guy.”
“What if we don't arrest Yip? We know he's been set up.”
“Then his friend Randolph will phone the press, tell them a big triad guy is still free because of police corruption.” He rummaged in his jacket pocket and found his cigarettes. “Look at my trouser. You know a good Chinese laundry?”
Chapter 16
The bar was lit with strobe, gloomy dark against a background of reflective glass panels on the walls. Filipina girls in Lycra body suits gyrated on a small stage, while others patrolled behind the bar, flirting with the customers. The sound system pounded out a Prince track.
“Watch Rose,” McReadie breathed into Keelan's ear.
Rose wore a headband that matched her lilac bodysuit. She bent over, her hair brushing the platform and grinned at McReadie through her spread legs.
“Bonnie wee thing, Rose. You want her tonight?”
Keelan shook his head. “Tell me about Lacey.”
McReadie shook his head. “You're wasting your time.”
“I'm not interested, just curious.”
“Everybody in
the department's been "curious." It never got them anywhere. She's married to the job.”
Madonna kicked in with “Holiday'. Rose finished dancing and the next girl took over. Rose leaned over the bar and draped an arm around McReadie's neck, whispering something in his ear.
“This is what you need,” McReadie shouted over the throb of the music,
Keelan kissed Rose on the forehead and untangled himself. They moved away from the bar to a banquette on the other side of the room.
“You said she was your niece.”
“That's right, she's my sister's kid. Her father was a good friend of mine. He was a CSI back in the seventies, hunted out of Hong Kong by ICAC. They brought him back for trial but they couldn't prove anything. He's retired now, lives in London. Never short of a quid, they reckon. Everyone drew their own conclusions.”
“I heard there was a lot of graft back then.”
“I used to come to work and find a brown envelope in my desk. It had twenty pounds in it. No note, no explanation, no one ever said a word to me about it. But there it was, every week, twenty pounds. Then one day I arrested this fellow after a triad chop. The station sergeant came up to me and said: “I don't think we have enough evidence.” I knew I had him cold, but what was I supposed to do? If you made a prick of yourself you got posted to the Chinese border to watch the ducks shit in between the barbed wire. So I said, yes sir, you must be right. And that was the end of it. Is that corruption, John?”
Keelan thought about the one hundred thousand dollars he had been offered to lose certain evidence. He didn't take it but someone must have because Anna and Caroline were dead.
“I don't know, Mac.”
“Of course ICAC have wiped all that out now. Those were the days when if you made it to sergeant without becoming a millionaire you just weren't paying attention. Different times. When they first installed communal lavatories in Hong Kong, people used to sit on them until someone paid them to get off. It wasn't that long ago the fire brigade asked for 'squeeze' to turn their hoses on. And off. Tea money, squeeze, cumshaw, call it what you like, it's part of life here. You know what the Chinese think corruption is? When you pay a cop to get off you a charge and you end up in jail anyway.”
“But we have to be cleaner than anyone else.”
“That's the thing, isn't it? It doesn't matter that the politicians and the pillars of the community are up to their double fucking chins in it, because we're cops we have to be more than human.”
“You started off telling me about Lace.”
“Well, that's her, John. She wants to be more than human. Because of her old man, you see. Let's have another drink.”
A Chinese girl in a red silk cheongsam walked across the bar towards them. She was barely five feet tall in her heels, but she was strikingly beautiful, her short black hair swept back from her face, accentuating high cheekbones and a heart shaped mouth. Too much make-up for Keelan's taste, but hard to ignore.
She leaned over McReadie's shoulder and kissed the air near his cheek. McReadie grinned, put an arm around the hourglass waist and pulled her towards him. She smiled, but Keelan could tell she was concerned that he might wrinkle her dress.
They spoke rapidly in Cantonese.
McReadie turned to Keelan. “John, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Ruby Wen.”
She held out a manicured hand and Keelan took it. Her hand was small and soft and cold.
“Is this another of your little baby dolls?” Keelan said.
“Does she look like it?”
“She looks like a high class hooker. Admire your taste, though.”
McReadie smiled. “Actually, she's a ghost, John. A spy. Goes to show, never can tell.”
Keelan noted the Mikimoto pearl bracelet and the Gucci watch with the blue-dyed crocodile skin band. Not the usual style of a Confidential Informant. “I had a CI in the States. He had one eye and body odor.”
“Well there you are. You've got to pick your informers more carefully.”
More Cantonese. They seemed to find something amusing. Keelan felt like the victim in a whispering conspiracy. “What is she saying?”
“She says you're very handsome. The usual bullshit.”
Keelan shook his head. “Tell her I'm not buying. But don't let me stop you. I could do with an early night. Take her home and screw your brains out if you want.”
Ruby Wen pursed her lips. “Anybody round here screwed their brains out,” she said, in English, “it's you.”
She said something else in Cantonese and walked away. McReadie was helpless with laughter.
“What did she say?”
“Something about your sexual habits and turtles. Have a way with women, don't you, John?”
“Why didn't you warn me?”
“Seeing an agent of a friendly country make a complete pig's ass of himself is one of the few pleasures left in life. She's a triad too, you know. Well connected with Eddie Lau.”
“A girl of many talents.”
“Yes indeed. Now drink your beer. You're buying.”
***
Tyler walked into Lacey's office. She was punching out a report on the electric typewriter in a corner of the room. He threw a piece of paper on her desk.
“Forensics report,” he said. “Read it and weep.”
Lacey examined it briefly. No surprises; she hadn't expected any. Yip's fingerprints were all over the carved handle of the chopper Kwok had found in the Crawford Lane bag and the bloodstains matched a sample taken from Li kam-chuen. A sliver of metal taken from Li's humerus bone by the surgeon was identical to the fragment missing from the blade.
“Very neat.”
He went to the window. He scratched at the stubble on his neck. “God knows what's going to happen when Beijing takes over.”
“Same thing that's happened in Shenzhen probably.”
“That's a pleasant prospect. Thought about what you're going to do?”
“Thought I might stay, test the water for a while.”
“No place for a woman when the Chinese take over. They'll make you bind your feet.”
“Don't be racist.”
“I've had enough of the bloody Chinese. I've been here twenty three years and I still feel like I've landed on the moon.”
“So what are you going to do in '97?”
“Last time I was back in the mother country I took a liking to Dorset. My great grandparents were from there. If prices hold we'll get a few bob for the apartment. I'll have twenty years up and some of my pension. Should be enough to buy a little farm. Get a pair of wellies and a walking stick and turn the auld sodde before it turns me. I can't stay here and be told to tremble and obey by Deng and his cronies. Or worse, kow-tow to Eddie Lau and his cronies.”
“We have the Basic Law,” Lacey said, deadpan, referring to the 1984 agreement which was supposed to guarantee Hong Kong's legal systems for fifty years.
“And I'm the Easter Bunny,” Tyler said.
“Well, I'm prepared to see what happens. Besides, I was born here. Sometimes I feel more Chinese than anything else. Whenever I go back to London I feel like an immigrant.”
He looked at his watch. “Better get home or I'll miss my supper.”
“It's ten o'clock.”
“Never go to bed hungry. It's the secret of good health.”
“You should be the size of a house.” Tyler amazed her. He was not more than ten stone, ringing wet.
“My rapid-fire mental processes chew up all the calories.” He stopped at the door. “Don't worry about Eddie Lau. We'll get him.”
Lacey shrugged. “Sure,” she said.
Chapter 17
The phone woke her at half past one in the morning. She fumbled for the receiver in the dark. She supposed it was Wanchai headquarters with an emergency.
“Detective Lacey?”
“Who is this?” She tried to focus on the luminous dial of her wristwatch. “Who the hell is this?”
“It's John Kee
lan. Did I wake you?”
“Of course you woke me. It's the middle of the night. What the hell do you want?”
“Do you know where your uncle lives?”
“What? My uncle? Mac, you mean? I'm not giving you his address!”
“Well, it would be an enormous help.”
“Why?”
“Because he's here with me right now.”
Lacey sat up in bed. “He's with you? Where?”
“Some place called the Club Manila. Wanchai somewhere. It's pretty dark and there's a lot of music. We're having a cultural experience.”
Lacey groaned. She had heard of McReadie's legendary hospitality to detectives from other forces. “How bad is he?”
“Pretty bad.”
“How bad is "pretty bad'?”
“He's unconscious.”
“Can't you just take him home with you?”
“I figured I'd check with you first. Like, I've been married, and take it from me, it's better to get home late and tanked than not get home at all.”
Lacey thought about it. The traffic wasn't too bad this time of the night. “I'll see you outside the club in ten minutes,” she said.
***
Lacey turned onto Hennessey Road. There was a mist of rain and the windscreen wipers made a plaintive squeak as they scraped across the windshield. She spotted the purple neon- sign for the Club Manila and pulled over. Keelan appeared, McReadie's arm slung over his shoulder.
“Good evening, Inspector Lacey,” Keelan said, with exaggerated politeness. He threw open the rear door and poured McReadie into the back seat. Then he went around the car and jumped in beside her.
“What did you do to him?”
“You know how it is. We just went for a couple of drinks. One thing led to another.” Keelan brushed the rain from his jacket
“How many has he had?”
Keelan shrugged. “He had seven Scotches in the 699. After that, I stopped counting.”
Chasing the Dragon: a story of love, redemption and the Chinese triads (Opium Book 2) Page 6