by Luke Delaney
In her blindness she tripped on some unseen obstacle and fell heavily to the ground, rolling on to her back. Now she could see the man who she was sure was going to take her life – his silhouette moving steadily closer, the outline of the knife clear in his hand. But as he was almost upon her the shape of another man crashed hard into her would-be executioner, both of them tumbling to the floor. Her eyes cleared enough for her to make out Sean struggling with her attacker before a flurry of precise blows knocked him still – the killer springing back to his feet and once more coming towards her before a woman’s voice stopped him.
‘Stop or I’ll cave your head in.’ She could see Townsend was holding her telescopic truncheon above her head, ready to bring it down on his skull, but he didn’t hesitate, seemingly springing into the air and roundhouse kicking her in the side of the head. Townsend collapsed in on herself like a detonated building, before rocking to one side and lying prostrate on the pavement, her nemesis spinning back towards Daiyu, holding the knife out in front of him. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable, her regrets at things she’d never done and now never would do pushing more tears from her sealed eyes. A sudden overwhelming sadness swept over her like a huge crushing wave, knocking the wind and fight from her until the glare of lights forced her eyes to blink open as they suddenly seemed to be surrounded by cars – the sounds of sirens, doors flying open and loud voices drowning out the pounding rain.
‘Armed police,’ she heard clearly. ‘Drop the knife or I will open fire.’ She couldn’t see who was shouting the orders, but she could see the killer standing above her holding the knife, staring down at her as if he was deciding whether killing her was worth losing his own life for. ‘Drop the knife or you will be shot,’ the same voice warned him. After a few seconds he casually threw the knife to the ground and he smiled at Daiyu. They would both live.
‘Get down on your knees and place your hands on top of your head, interlinking your fingers.’ He slowly did as he was told, his eyes never leaving hers – the smile never leaving his face as she watched Sean appear and one by one pull the kneeling man’s hands behind his back and handcuff him, pushing him face-first into the puddled pavement before hurrying to where she lay.
‘You alright?’ Sean asked her, helping her into a seating position as he examined her wounded arm.
‘Yeah. I think so,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m okay.’
‘You’re hurt,’ Sean told her as he continued to check her injury.
‘It’s nothing,’ she argued.
‘Yes it is,’ he insisted. ‘Can you stand?’
‘I think so,’ she answered and, with his help, staggered to her feet.
‘Okay?’ Sean checked.
‘Yeah,’ she tried to assure him.
‘Why the hell did you get in the car?’ Sean suddenly demanded. ‘I told you – never get in the car.’
‘Because he was going to drive away,’ she answered.
‘You should have let him,’ Sean told her. ‘You should have let him.’
‘Is that what you would have done?’ she asked. ‘Let him drive away?’
‘You’re not me,’ Sean snapped at her a little, ‘and trust me – you never want to be.’
***
Sean pressed the record button on the double-deck tape machine and immediately filled the room with the loud shrill sound that warned them they only had seconds left before the interview was to begin proper. He used the few seconds to roll his knotted neck and shoulders to try and loosen his tired, aching muscles before confronting the man who sat on the other side of the table from himself and Townsend with his solicitor. Sean was still nursing a split lip and an increasingly blackening eye, while Townsend’s temple was marked with an angry-looking bruise. The high-pitched warning finally stopped, although it still seemed to reverberate around the small, dull interview room in the bowels of Streatham Police Station.
‘This interview is being tape recorded,’ Sean began. ‘I am Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan and the other officer present is …’
‘Detective Sergeant Vicky Townsend,’ she stated for herself.
‘The time is 2.25pm on Thursday the 21st December and we are interviewing – could you state your name for the tape, please,’ Sean asked.
The man opposite him slowly bent forward as if to ensure his voice was recorded properly. ‘My name is Mao Ma,’ he told the room and leaned back in his uncomfortable chair.
‘And the other person present is …?’
‘Matthew Coleman,’ the middle-aged white man sitting next to Ma answered, pushing his longish sandy hair from his forehead. ‘Duty Solicitor acting for Mr Ma.’
‘Are you happy to continue this interview without having an interpreter present?’ Sean checked, not wanting to leave himself open for criticism later on.
‘I’m happy that Mr Ma doesn’t need an interpreter,’ Coleman answered for him. ‘He understands and speaks English fine.’
‘Good,’ Sean replied. ‘Mao Ma, I need to remind you that you’re still under caution – you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be recorded and could be used against you. Do you understand the caution?’
Again Coleman answered for Ma. ‘I fully explained the caution to my client during our consultation and he understands his position and what it means.’
‘Fine,’ Sean acknowledged before quickly moving on. ‘What do you prefer to be called?’ he asked Ma. ‘Mr Ma or Mao?’
Ma shrugged his shoulders before answering. ‘You may call me Mao.’ Sean could sense the arrogance in the man. Fine. He’d use it as the weapon to destroy him.
‘Let me start by asking if you know why you’ve been arrested and brought here?’ Sean began.
Again Ma shrugged before answering. ‘Of course.’
‘And why is that?’
Ma looked at Coleman. ‘You may answer that,’ the solicitor told him.
‘Because you think I killed some whores,’ Ma answered.
‘Not think,’ Sean warned him. ‘Know.’
‘You know nothing,’ Ma insisted.
‘We’ve searched your flat,’ Sean reminded him. ‘We found your book, Mao. Interesting pictures of snakes. Look a lot like your tattoo.’
Ma said nothing. ‘The book alone would kill you in court. Articles cut from newspapers about the murders. Are they your souvenirs, Mao, to help you relive the killings?’
‘The book proves nothing.’ Ma smiled.
‘And we have your knife,’ Sean added. ‘Early tests show it has traces of blood on it and not just from the undercover officer you tried to kill – older blood. Blood from someone else. Blood means DNA, which means we’ll be able to match it to the victims, because I’m guessing you never cleaned the knife, Mao. You couldn’t bear to wash away the memories of being with them, could you? Did you lick the blade from time to time? Did you hold it close to your face so you could smell their dried blood?’
Ma moved uncomfortably in his chair and so did the others. ‘You know nothing,’ he sneered. ‘You’re just guessing. You know nothing.’
‘And the semen taken from the victims,’ Sean continued, ‘it’s going to match your DNA. You know it and I know it.’
‘They were whores. So maybe I had sex with them? So what? It proves nothing.’
‘Your DNA in six different women who all ended up being murdered,’ Sean explained. ‘The chances of that are millions to one. Maybe even billions.’
‘These questions are somewhat hypothetical,’ Coleman intervened. ‘Until it’s confirmed my client’s DNA has been found on the victims, this is just conjecture.’
‘Not on their bodies,’ Sean bit. ‘In their bodies.’
‘DNA,’ Ma suddenly jumped in. ‘Books. Dried blood. Who cares? I have political connections. You let me go. I go back to China. You can’t touch me.’
‘You have diplomat
ic immunity?’ Townsend asked.
‘No,’ Ma admitted, still smiling. ‘Political friends. Powerful people. I don’t care about your evidence. You let me go.’
Sean leaned back in his chair and tried to suppress a slight smile as he pulled a sheet of paper from his thin brown cardboard folder and pushed it across the table towards Ma. ‘I’m not sure you really want to go back to China, Mao. You see I’ve been in contact with our colleagues in the Chinese Criminal Investigation Department. When I found out you’d only been here a little more than a year, it made me wonder what you might have done before. So I thought I’d better find out. Our Chinese colleagues told me that you’re a known Triad. An enforcer. A suspected assassin.’
‘They can’t prove anything.’
‘Maybe not the work you’ve done for the Triads, but I asked them to check on unsolved cases involving the murders of prostitutes, and guess what they found, Mao?’ Ma said nothing – his face stone as he waited for Sean to continue. ‘Three unsolved cases. Two women raped and killed in Shanghai and one more in Hong Kong. DNA recovered from their bodies belongs to the same man. The Chinese police are very interested in comparing your DNA to their samples. Chinese justice is swift and final, Mao. The penalty for murder is death by firing squad. Lethal injection, if you’re lucky. Are you sure you want to go back to China?’
‘You think I’m afraid of death?’ Ma replied.
‘Perhaps not,’ Sean played along. ‘But what about spending the rest of your life locked up in a British prison – like a caged animal?’
‘No prison can hold the Great Snake,’ Ma answered. Townsend and Coleman raised their eyebrows in confusion, but from the moment he’d seen the snake wrapped around Ma’s body, Sean had suspected it was more than just a tattoo. ‘If you saw what I had escaped as a child, you would know I can escape anything.’
‘Chinese Police say you’re originally from the French Concession area of Shanghai,’ Sean explained, noticing the tension that suddenly flowed into Ma’s body. ‘Tough?’
‘How could you ever hope to understand?’ Ma spat at him. ‘You think poverty is not having the latest colour TV. I shared one room with my mother and one cockroach-infested kitchen with a dozen other families – no toilets. We washed in the street at an illegal water tap the Triads built for us. If we went into the city the police arrested and beat us just for being there. We were outcasts in our own country. You had to fight like a tiger or die like a dog. I chose to fight and I grew strong. People respected me,’ he insisted, raising his voice. ‘Feared me.’
‘But when you were still a small child,’ Sean continued, ‘how did your mother feed you? How did she put clothes on your back? She would have needed money.’
‘We ate when we could – I wore clothes until they fell off my body,’ Ma barked. ‘All that mattered was staying alive.’
‘But she must have done something to earn money,’ Sean persisted. ‘She couldn’t go into the city to work, so what did she do – steal, scavenge on the rubbish tips of Shanghai? Or perhaps she was a …?’ He let the question hang.
‘I didn’t need her,’ Ma insisted. ‘I grew stronger and stronger. I knew what I was becoming – could feel its power as we became one.’
‘Became one with what?’ Sean asked, even though he already knew the answer.
‘The Great Serpent,’ Ma proudly answered, leaning back in his chair, his eyes wild with excitement. ‘The Great Snake.’
‘When did this … transformation happen?’ Sean kept him talking.
‘It is still happening,’ Ma tried to explain, ‘but it was always meant to be. Ever since I was a child. I was even born in the year of the snake. It was my destiny. As I grew older the other children called me the snake – out of fear and respect – and when I finally escaped the slums of my home the name of the Snake struck terror into the hearts of the people who crossed my employers.’
‘You mean the Triads?’ Townsend asked.
‘Their name is not important,’ Ma smiled.
‘We’re getting a bit off the point, aren’t we?’ Coleman intervened.
Sean ignored him. ‘You ever kill anyone, Mao?’
‘These questions are too general,’ Coleman complained again. ‘You should ask about specific victims.’
‘Is that why people feared you?’ Sean kept going, ‘because you killed anyone who crossed you? Is that why they called you the Snake?’
‘They called me what I was,’ Ma answered.
‘But that wasn’t enough, was it,’ Sean pushed him, ‘killing your own kind – other criminals and gangsters? You wanted something else, didn’t you? But why only prostitutes? Normally they’re targeted because they make easy victims, but you were after such a particular type that restricting yourself to only prostitutes made your task all the more difficult. It would have been easier for you if you’d targeted all young Chinese women, regardless of their backgrounds.’ Ma said nothing, his eyes fixed on Sean’s. ‘So the fact they were prostitutes must be important to you. Question is – why? Why only prostitutes?’
‘Whores are a plague,’ Ma hissed. ‘Everywhere in the world they infest our streets. The Great Snake purges them from this world – each one making him stronger and stronger.’
‘Making you stronger and stronger?’ Sean accused him. ‘You killed them because doing so made you feel stronger and stronger? Made you feel like a god?’ Ma didn’t answer. ‘But why always prostitutes that looked so similar? If it was just because they were prostitutes then why only ones that were Chinese or reminded you of Chinese women – and all of a similar age and all with straight, long black hair?’
‘You know nothing,’ Mao insisted.
‘I know you picked these women because they reminded you of someone who was special to you,’ Sean replied. ‘Was it a lover? A wife? Your … mother?’ Ma’s eyes burnt with rage and hate for a fleeting second – long enough for Sean to notice. ‘Your mother.’
‘Don’t talk of her,’ Ma warned him through thin lips. ‘I don’t want to talk about her.’
‘Was that how she kept food in your stomach and clothes on your back – by being a prostitute?’
‘She never did anything for me,’ Ma almost shouted, rising to his feet and leaning across the table. ‘She betrayed me for her whoring desires.’
‘Sit down,’ Sean warned him, ‘or I’ll have you handcuffed to the table for the rest of the interview.’ Everyone waited for a few seconds in silence until Ma slowly sat back down.
‘They are nothing,’ Ma told them. ‘They were all whores and they were nothing – until I gave them to the Great Serpent – made them something in death they could never be in life. They willingly sacrificed themselves to the make the beast strong.’
‘They weren’t willing,’ Sean argued. ‘You murdered them.’
‘I saw the desire in their eyes,’ Ma explained. ‘The want. The same want I saw in her face when I struggled home one day to the empty room I shared with her. I had risked arrest and a beating by going into town to earn what I could begging on the streets of Shanghai, but some other children discovered I had some money. They beat me and took everything. By the time I reached home the rain had turned the dirt streets into streams and rivers, but I couldn’t take shelter inside our home, because I could hear her inside with someone, making their disgusting noises together. So I looked through the hole in the wall that was our window and saw him on top of her. The rain was running in my eyes, but still I could see clearly the desire in hers as she whored herself. Then the man saw me looking in and he came for me outside. He beat me. He beat me in the rain – in front of her, but she never tried to stop him – never tried to help me. After I fell silent he went back inside and she let him take her again. Afterwards she showed me the money she had earned. I never let anyone beat me again and I swore I would have my vengeance on all whores.’
‘You mean vengeance on your mother?’ Sean asked.
‘I didn’t kill my mother,’ Ma answered.
�
�Yes you did,’ Sean told him. ‘Over and over again.’ Ma’s mouth opened slightly as if he was going to answer but then drifted away, to another time and place. ‘Did you kill these women?’ Sean tried to catch the moment. ‘Heather Dylan? Lisa Sheeran? Norah Cardle? Rebecca Shepard? Cantara Roper and Huian Yuan? Did you kill these women?’
‘Yes,’ Ma answered slowly and deliberately. ‘I took them. The Great Serpent took them all.’
‘Not took,’ Sean told him. ‘Murdered.’
‘Words mean nothing,’ Ma replied. ‘Nothing compared to the power of the Great Snake.’ His eyes glazing over as he slipped into a trance.
‘Okay,’ Sean said, leaning back into his chair. He sensed that for now Ma was gone. ‘Let’s take a break. Try to get some rest. I’ll arrange for some food to be brought to you. We’ll continue the interview later.’ He turned to his side and switched the recorder off.
***
‘He’s completely mad,’ Townsend proclaimed.
‘Not completely,’ Sean argued. ‘He knew exactly what he was doing, and why.’
‘Because he thinks he’s turning into a great snake?’ she scoffed. ‘What the hell’s that all about?’
‘Something he created when he was a child growing up in a bleak and dangerous place,’ Sean explained, ‘to make himself feel stronger. Safer.’
‘Couldn’t he have just invented an invisible friend?’ Townsend mocked.
‘In many ways,’ Sean told her, ‘that’s exactly what he did, although in the environment he grew up in his imaginary friend was never going to be a six foot tall white rabbit. His surroundings, combined with the trauma of being beaten by one of his mother’s clients, shaped him. Made him a very dangerous man.’