by Tony Davies
He looked in the rear mirror and saw she was still sleeping. She seemed pretty enough and not like some of the other girls he had transported before. Typical working girls, they got what they deserved. This one seemed different, much more respectable and sensibly dressed. He could picture her as a schoolteacher or perhaps a secretary. He wondered how a girl like her could end up involved with his boss.
The car pulled up in front of the village house. There was only one streetlight on further down the road. Not that he needed to worry about anyone seeing a girl being carried into one of the houses late at night and reporting it to the police. He had grown up in the village and everyone in the area knew who owned the house.
He got out of the car and pressed the button to open the gate leading to the parking space at the side of the house. The gate swung open slowly and he could see two men were waiting in the drive. He got back in the car and drove forward.
One of the men opened the car door and as he did so he said something intelligible to the driver. He lifted the girl as if she was a small rag doll and walked to the front door of the house. He disappeared inside and turned left down a stairway to the cellar below. He placed the girl on the bed and threw a blanket over her. At the top of the stairway he turned off the light and locked the door as he left.
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Sam Ng’s body was discovered at 11am the next day in a refuse dumpster at the back of a Chai Wan Chinese restaurant. A kitchen hand was throwing empty food containers into the dumpster when he noticed what he thought was a person’s feet protruding from beneath some cardboard boxes. He stretched across and moved the boxes and made a gruesome discovery.
Sam Ng’s shirt had been removed and there appeared to be cigarette burns on his arms and chest. His hands were tied behind his back and his throat had been cut. He was still wearing his tight fitting jeans. The kitchen hand looked at the watch on the person’s wrist and then up and down the alleyway. He grabbed the wrist and as he did so he heard the door of the restaurant open. His boss came into the alleyway shouting expletives over why he was taking so long to complete a simple task. He let the wrist go and turned to face his boss.
Thirty minutes later the police had cordoned off the area to protect the crime scene. Not that much was achieved by doing this. There were no witnesses and there would be no forensic evidence to identify the killer. Ng’s wallet containing his ID card and 470 dollars was still in his trouser pocket. It meant the police would rule out ‘robbery gone wrong’ as the motive for the murder.
Don Taylor arrived at precisely 12 20 pm. He was gone by 1pm, leaving the area to be canvassed for witnesses by uniformed officers. Not that anyone expected there to be any. There was no upside in getting involved with a dead body and when asked, none of the local residents saw or heard anything.
By 4pm the area had been examined, photographed and abandoned. At 6pm the restaurant opened its doors for the busy evening trade. The owner was hopeful his regular customers would not be put off by the news of the discovery. He was not to be disappointed.
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The quiet knock on his office door disturbed his thought process and he was mildly annoyed as he looked up. Mack had told Lindy he was not to be disturbed while he tidied up some outstanding paperwork. She had been chasing him for days to do it and now he finally had a chance, he was being interrupted.
Lindy poked her head around the door and said apologetically “Sorry to disturb you, but Don and a colleague are here to see you. They say it is urgent. I have put them in the boardroom.”
“Did they say what it was about?”
“No they didn’t. They didn’t seem very friendly though. But you know Don better than me.” She closed the door and he got up and headed for the boardroom.
As he entered the room he saw Don and a Chinese man in his mid-forties that he didn’t recognize. Neither smiled at him as he sat in a chair opposite them. It reminded him of similar situations in the past when he was about to interview a suspect. Sometimes it was all bonhomie, other times it was the opposite. This was definitely a case of the latter.
“Time for a little chat big fella. This is my colleague, Detective Inspector Poon, who is handling the Sam Ng case.” Don waited for a reaction and Mack duly provided one.
“What do you mean the Sam Ng case?”
“You know Sam Ng, so let’s not waste our time here. What is your connection with him?”
“Don, I appreciate you are here on official business, but tell me what is going on and then I may be able to help you”
“Please answer the question. What is your connection to him?”
Poon sat quietly observing proceedings with his notebook open and focusing intently on Mack. He reminded Mack of an obedient attack dog, waiting to pounce but needing permission from his master before he could do so.
“Okay, I met him through one of my cases. I am not sure I want to say much more than that at this stage.”
Don heaved a sigh and threw his hands in the air in a sign of exasperation. He leaned across the table and glared at Mack.
“Listen big fella. This is serious. Ng’s body was found at 11am yesterday behind a Chinese restaurant in Chai Wan. He had been tortured and then had his throat cut. We searched his office and found a photo of you on his desk. It appears to have been taken while you were in his office.”
Don waited for a response, but this time Mack was far too alert to respond and he sat there quietly waiting for Don to say something.
Don duly complied when he said “I really think you had better tell me what is going on. Does Ng’s death have anything to do with Stephen and Debbie Chan? Your name seems to keep coming up. Two deaths, one missing person and the only connection is you.”
Mack hesitated before replying. Ng’s death had to be connected with the Lee Wai DVD. Presumably Luk had found out that he had identified Ng as the party who had made it and decided to close off that avenue. Either Ng had told Luk of Mack’s approach, which seemed to make no sense at all, or someone had seen him at Ng’s studio. Could someone have followed him there? Why would someone want to go to that trouble? He assumed that Ng had photographed him as a precaution. A wise thing to do, but Mack wasn’t the one he should have been concerned about.
The questions whirled around Mack’s head as he slowly got up and headed for the door.
“Where are you going big fella?” was Don’s response. It wasn’t said in a threatening manner and Mack took no offence by it.
“Just ordering some coffee. Would you like some?”
Both Don and Poon shook their heads and Mack stood at the open door and quietly asked Lindy in the adjoining reception for a coffee and some chocolate biscuits.
By the time he had returned to his seat he had decided how much he could tell them without jeopardizing his relationship with his client. He would later be reminded that not all the decisions he made were sound ones.
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He sensed things could unravel at any moment, but in a strange way he still felt in control of the situation. The idiots had underestimated Mackworth and he should have been stopped sooner. Fortunately, he had a back-up plan if the allegation didn’t work out as expected. He always had a back-up plan and in this case it was equally, if not more, effective.
Still, it was frustrating when things didn’t go as he had intended. Take the girl for instance. He had initially only wanted information from her, but she couldn’t seem to grasp that. That had forced him to escalate matters and the result was that she was now safely locked up in the safe house. The question now was what to do with her.
He could always force her to talk, a little pain would achieve that. Never mind how Hollywood action movies played out, he knew from experience that when someone
was strapped to a chair, and there was no realistic chance of escape, people panicked even before real pain was inflicted.
In this case, the downside of this approach was obvious. Once they went down that route there was no going back.
People who worked for him thought of him as a violent person, or at least a person who would use violence to achieve his goals. They were partly right. He liked to exert power and occasionally he had to inflict pain to achieve an objective, but he was not sadistic and there was always a purpose behind it.
He thought of Sam Ng’s death and rationalized that it had served a purpose. It reminded his people that he would not flinch in protecting the business he had built over many years. His public face must be safe guarded at all times and if that meant there were victims along the way then so be it. Who said life was fair? If you even touched on his operation you opened yourself up to the consequences. Sam Ng had done that.
Debbie Chan had done that too, perhaps directly, perhaps not. Either way, he did not want her snooping around, as there was no upside to that. She had to be stopped and that could either be achieved by warning her off or by taking more drastic measures.
Another week and it would all be over. To the victor, the spoils. He laughed to himself. It would be risky, but what was life for if not to take risks?
He looked at his watch and saw it was 9.30pm. The evening was still young, but he didn’t feel like venturing out. He sat there contemplating whether to watch a DVD or surf the numerous channels available on cable.
Chapter thirty six
The ultimatum
Lee Wai blanched as the man who was sat in front of him said “Listen to me. You will do as I say and release the report. You are in no position to argue.”
They were sat in an almost deserted teahouse in Admiralty. It had had been busy during the breakfast session, but by 9.15am most of the patrons had left. Lee knew it would be quiet until the mid morning rush which began around 11 am. It was why he had suggested it as a venue to meet. He did not want to be seen meeting this man.
Given the cold manner in which the statement was made to him, he was not sure how he should respond. He could not afford to antagonize him, but what he was asking him to do was extremely dangerous. As the duly appointed Independent Party he could, in theory, recommend rejection of the Paradise Cove project and that would be the end of the matter. However, that was political suicide as it was obvious the government wanted the project to go ahead. He had tried explaining this, but his comments seem to fall on deaf ears. The man opposite him wanted the project cancelled and if he was collateral damage, then so be it.
He had followed the man’s instructions and had drafted the report the way he had been told to. Westminster had been blamed for the lack of a coherent development strategy and Weston for his excessive greed over the land premium. He had also written that Weston was not someone government should work with in the future. It was scathing and boarded on defamation. But what choice did he have?
The air seemed to thicken as Lee grasped for breath. He tugged at his tie to loosen it. The next words spoken seemed to seal his fate.
“You don’t want me to go public do you? The fact is that you like young boys and we provided them for you. You had your fun in locked rooms with them but now you must pay the price. Release the report now.”
The man got up, stretched his frame and walked away. As he did so, Lee gazed into the bottom of his teacup. His life was about to become just as empty.
Chapter thirty seven
And so it begins
Bent was sat in his office and was becoming exasperated. People at Westminster just didn’t seem to grasp the urgency that was needed if anything meanwhile was to be achieved. He was about to call a junior in and lambast him for the time it had taken him to complete a basic task when Weston appeared at his door.
“Mind if I come in?” It wasn’t asked as a question and he strode in and sat down. “We need to talk about the share sales. I am becoming more than a little concerned. Two of the investments are now under water and we don’t seem to have got to the bottom of it all.”
Weston waited for a reply and when there was none he said “Paul, let’s cut to the chase. Something is going on but I can’t react to it until I know exactly what it is. You have never let me down in the past, now is not the time to start.”
Silence dominated the room as both looked intently at each other. It was always understood that Weston was the boss, but making veiled threats was not his usual modus operandi.
“There is nothing to worry about as far as I can tell. The sales don’t seem to be coordinated and I hate to say it, but I think we have just been unlucky. People sell for all sorts of reasons and at different times.
“As you know, it could be to someone’s benefit because they are two great companies. I think this is more of an opportunity than a disaster and I would be snapping up shares. Why are you so worried? Why don’t we simply pick up more shares and increase our position. Or one of our clients do it if we want to be generous. That seems to make sense to me.”
Weston had no intention of revealing that his bank had, that very morning, made vague threats of a margin call on Atlas. He was expecting another one tomorrow for Sunshine Hotels. If the shares kept falling they would not be vague threats, the banks would act.
He could get the Indonesians to enter the market, but they had refused and had bluntly told him to clean up his own mess. And to make sure they suffered no loss in the meantime. He had received a similar reaction from several of his biggest clients, which had surprised him.
There was still time to find a white knight who would buy and start driving the prices up, but that party needed to arrive sooner rather than later. Whilst he was in no danger of financial ruin, the value of his shares in Westminster alone would meet any margin call the bank could make, he would need to secure additional funding from elsewhere if he was to avoid acute embarrassment.
When the bank demanded its money you gave it back to them immediately. At least, a person in his position did. Sure, he could complain bitterly and tell them they were destroying a long-term relationship with him. But they both knew he had signed the loan agreements and he had to demonstrate he had the resources to cover his liabilities.
“Tell me Paul, what do you think the end game is?” Bent hesitated for a moment.
“I don’t know.” It was said in a relaxed matter and as he did so Bent sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
“I keep thinking it is strange to me why they didn’t follow up the initial approach. The Paradise Cove issue and now the share problem.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is a bit strange. You never know, Mackworth may get to the bottom of it and we will find out then. Someone with a grudge I suppose. Have you upset anyone recently?” It was said with a smile on his face, they both knew Weston regularly upset people. It was all part and parcel of the cut and thrust of Hong Kong business and Weston was a master at it.
“Do you think Chen the contractor could be behind it? He certainly wasn’t happy with what happened and a contractor like that is bound to have ties with the triads. They are more than capable of pulling off that kind of stunt.”
Bent seemed genuinely surprised at the suggestion and paused for a moment. Weston’s theory was certainly plausible and he knew Chen was tied up with one of the triad factions. He chose his words carefully when he said “Plausible, but I doubt it. He doesn’t come across as a genius, but I suppose you don’t become a successful contractor without some nous. He will know some of the triads, even if he isn’t one of them. Even so, it seems a bit out of his league.”
“We could be clutching at straws, but it does sound like the triads are involved and my gut feeling is that there is more to Chen than we realize. Can you look into it?”
“Of course, I will get on to it straight away.”
They sat in silence for a few moments before Weston spoke in a business like tone. “I will leave it in your safe and capable hands.
When you have something on it let me know.” He got up and walked briskly out of the room, leaving Bent to ponder his next move.
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On Tuesday morning Weston received an email from the PA of his principal Indonesian shareholder. It was short and to the point. The shareholder and several other investors would be in Hong Kong the following day and wanted to meet Weston. No reason was given for the meeting and he knew better than to ask.
It wasn’t unusual for the Indonesians to visit Hong Kong and whenever they did they always came to Westminster’s offices. However, they had held a formal board meeting only a month before and he hadn’t expected them to come again until later in the year.