1962 - A Coffin From Hong Kong

by James Hadley Chase

  “Still ready and willing to kick a backside when it needs kicking,” I said cheerfully. “He has a hell of a long leg and a hell of a heavy boot.”

  The Third Secretary, whose name was Harris Wilcox, winced, then laughed as convincingly as a newly-wed husband laughs when meeting his mother-in-law for the first time.

  “Wonderful how these old tycoons last,” he said. “He’ll probably see us both into the ground.”

  There was a pause while we sat staring at each other for about two minutes, then the door opened and Miss Davenport, a willowy girl of around twenty-five, moved her well-built body to the desk and put a file, slim enough to be empty, before Mr. Wilcox. She glanced at me, then went out waving her hips the way secretaries with hips do while we both watched her until the door closed, then Wilcox opened the file.

  “All his papers went back with the body,” he said apologetically, “but we should have something here.” He peered at the single sheet of paper in the file, then shook his head. “Not a great deal, I’m afraid. His last address was the Celestial Empire Hotel. He arrived in Hong Kong on September 3rd, 1956, and he has lived at the hotel ever since. He married a Chinese girl last year.”

  “What did he do for a living?”

  Wilcox again peered at the sheet of paper.

  “He’s down here as an exporter, but I understand he didn’t do anything for a living. I guess he had private means although I understand that he lived very rough.”

  “Would it surprise you to know he rented a luxury villa at Repulse Bay?” I asked.

  Wilcox stared blankly at me.

  “He did? He should have registered a change of address if he had done so. Are you sure? What villa?”

  “The villa belonging to Lin Fan.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Ryan, I know that villa. Jefferson couldn’t possibly have afforded such a place. It would cost in English money at least four hundred pounds a month.”

  “Right now the villa is rented by Harry Enright who lives there with his sister,” I said.

  Wilcox nodded. His face showed sudden animation.

  “That’s right. Enright took the villa over from some Englishman. I forget his name. Nice guy . . . I mean Enright, and what a sister!” He leered. “Probably the most attractive woman in Hong Kong.”

  “I understood the villa was empty before Enright took it.”

  “Oh no. There was some Englishman there. I never met him.”

  “Jefferson and this Chinese girl were really married?”

  He stared at me.

  “Of course. They were married here. I could show you a copy of the marriage certificate if you want to see it.”

  “Yeah: I’d like to see it.”

  He did some telephoning, then as we waited, he said, “I remember her well—a pretty little thing. I had the job of clearing her papers and despatching the coffin . . . a sad affair.” He tried to look sad. “I was sorry for her.”

  Miss Davenport minced in, gave Wilcox the certificate and then duck-tailed out. When we had got through watching her exit, Wilcox passed the certificate across the desk to me. I examined it. It did prove that Jefferson had married Jo-An a year ago. I learned that Frank Belling and Mu Hai Ton had been witnesses of the ceremony.

  “Who is Frank Belling?” I asked, showing Wilcox the certificate.

  He shook his head.

  “I’ve no idea. A friend of Jefferson’s I guess. He must be English. We’ve no record of him.”

  “And the girl?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Probably a friend of Mrs. Jefferson.” He tapped his porcelain teeth gently with the end of his fountain pen and looked sideways at his desk clock.

  I decided there was nothing further to learn from him so I got to my feet.

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “I mustn’t take up your time.”

  He said it was a pleasure to have met me. I could see it gave him more pleasure to see me go.

  “You never met Herman Jefferson?” I asked at the door.

  “Funnily enough I didn’t. He kept to the Chinese quarter. He seemed never to mix with my friends.”

  I left the building and walked slowly over to where I had parked the Packard. On my way I had to sidestep two uniformed Chinese policemen who were dragging along a beggar woman and a screaming child. No one seemed to pay any attention to this little scene. When you have an influx of a hundred thousand refugees illegally entering this small island every year, such a sight probably becomes commonplace, but it depressed me.

  I sat in the car and turned over in my mind what I had learned. Not much, but perhaps I had a small lead to work on. I decided I wanted to talk to this Chinese girl, Mu Hai Ton, and also to Frank Belling.

  I drove to the Central Police Station and asked to speak to Chief Inspector MacCarthy. After a little delay, I was shown into his office.

  The Chief Inspector was cleaning his pipe. He waved me to a chair, blew through his pipe and then began to fill it.

  “And what can I do for you this morning?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for a man. His name is Frank Belling,” I said. “Can you give me a lead on him?”

  MacCarthy lit his pipe and puffed smoke towards me. He would have made a poor poker player. Although his face remained expressionless, I saw his eyes become alert and hard.

  “Frank Belling?” He removed his pipe and rubbed the warm bowl against the side of his nose. “Why are you interested in him?”

  “I don’t know that I am. He happened to be a witness at Herman Jefferson’s wedding. Do you know him?”

  MacCarthy stared blankly at the wall behind me, then reluctantly he nodded.

  “Yes . . . we know him,” he said. “So he was a witness to Jefferson’s wedding. Hmm . . . interesting. You wouldn’t know where he is?”

  “I’m asking you that . . . remember?”

  “So you are.” He leaned forward and straightened his snowy while blotter. “Belling is a man we are anxious to contact. He is a member of a very active drug-running organisation here. We were about ready to grab him when he vanished. We’re still trying to find him. It’s my bet he’s either skipped to Macau or Canton.”

  “Have you looked for him there?”

  “We’ve made inquiries in Macau, but we haven’t any facilities to check on a man in Canton.”

  I eased myself in the hard upright chair.

  “He’s English?”

  “Yes . . . he’s English.” MacCarthy tapped down the rising tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. “We know for certain he is part of an organisation here that is causing us a lot of trouble. Large quantities of heroin are being smuggled in from Canton. Up to a couple of weeks ago. Belling was playing an active part in getting the stuff into Hong Kong. We had been watching him for some time, waiting for a big consignment to come in.” He relit his pipe, then went on, “We had a tip from one of our informers that delivery was to be made on the first of this month. Then Belling vanished. It’s my guess he was tipped off we were ready to grab him and he skipped either to Macau or Canton.”

  “The first of this month . . . that would be two days before Jefferson died?”

  “So it would,” MacCarthy said, stared, then asked politely, “Does that mean anything?”

  “I’m just getting the facts straight in my mind. The woman witness at the marriage was Chinese: Mu Hai Ton. That name mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  I lit a cigarette while the Chief Inspector watched with disapproval.

  “Do you think Jefferson was hooked up with the drug ring?”

  “Maybe,” MacCarthy said, shrugging his shoulders. “We never got a line on him. I’ve no reason to think so, but if he was friendly with Belling, he could have been.”

  “You can’t give me a line on the girl?”

  “I’ll check our records. If I get anything I’ll let you know.” He stared quizzically at me. “You’ve moved to the Repulse Bay Hotel?”

  “That’s right”

  He shook his head envi
ously.

  “You investigators have a nice life. Everything on the expense account I suppose?”

  I grinned at him and got to my feet.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Well, so long and thanks. I’ll be seeing you.”

  I went down into the crowded Queen’s Road Central. The time was now half past eleven. I got in the Packard and drove to Wanchai waterfront. Leaving the car, I went into the bar where I had met the Madame who had drunk a glass of milk with me.

  The place was empty of customers. Two Chinese waiters talked together behind the bar. They recognised me and one came over, showing gold-capped teeth in a wide smile of welcome.

  “Good morning, sir. Very happy to see you again. A drink or perhaps lunch?”

  “I’ll have a Coke and rum,” I said. “Madame around?”

  He looked at the clock over the bar.

  “She’ll be here any moment, sir.”

  I sat down and toyed with my drink. The Chinese woman didn’t appear for half an hour, but to the Chinese that was no time at all. I waved to her as she came in and she crossed the bar to shake hands. She sat down opposite me.

  “I am very happy to see you again,” she said. “I hope all was satisfactory with the girl.”

  I grinned at her.

  “You pulled a fast one that time. She wasn’t Jo-An and you know it.”

  One of the waiters came over with a pint glass of milk which he set before her. Then he went away.

  “That was a mistake,” she said. “The girl was more pleasing than Jo-An. I thought you would not mind.”

  “There is another girl I want to meet,” I said. “Her name is Mu Hai Ton. Do you know her?”

  Her face was expressionless as she nodded.

  “She is one of my very best girls. You will like her very much.”

  “Only this time,” I said, “she will have to prove who she is. I have business to discuss with her.”

  Madame thought for a moment.

  “She will be able to prove who she is. What business do you want to discuss with her?”

  “That need not concern you. When can I meet her?”

  “I will try to arrange something. When would you like to meet her? Now?”

  “Not right now. How about tonight? I’ll be here at eight o’clock. Will you arrange for her to be here?”

  She nodded.

  “If she is the right girl, and if she is co-operative, I will give you fifty dollars.”

  “She will be the right girl and she will be co-operative,” Madame said, a sudden steely expression in her eyes, I finished my drink.

  “Then tonight at eight.” I got to my feet. “I will know if she isn’t the right girl so don’t pull another fast one.”

  She smiled at me.

  “You will be satisfied.”

  I drove back to the Repulse Bay Hotel, feeling my morning hadn’t been wasted.

  chapter thirteen

  I leaned on the rail of the first-class deck of the ferry-boat and watched the third-class passengers fight their way up the gangplank onto the lower deck.

  It was a colourful and interesting sight. Everyone, and they were all Chinese, acted as if the boat was about to sail immediately whereas it had at least a quarter of an hour before pulling away from the Star Ferry pier. Coolies, staggering under enormous burdens slung on bamboo poles, rushed up the gangplank, jostling and pushing as if their lives depended on getting onto the already overcrowded deck. Chinese women, babies strapped on their hacks, surrounded by sharp-eyed children in padded coats, pushed and shoved their way along the pier. Two slim Chinese girls in black coats and trousers came up the gangplank at a trot earning between them on a bamboo pole a large sausage-shaped wicker basket in which lay a full-grown and grunting pig. A half-naked Chinese youth, his right shoulder horribly deformed through carrying heavy burdens slung on his carrying pole, grinned happily as he bustled a group of tiny children ahead of him. Two smart uniformed Chinese policemen stood, their thumbs hooked in their revolver belts and watched the scene with a fatherly tolerance.

  I shifted my gaze to look at the few first-class passengers who were coming aboard. There was no sign of Stella, but I was sure she would arrive at the last moment. She was the type who timed her entrance. She would never be either too early or too late.

  A squat, heavily-built Chinese, wearing a black city suit, a bulky briefcase under his arm came up the first-class gangplank.

  Looking down at this powerful-built man, I had the image of a figure reflected in the mirror at Enright’s hired villa. I was suddenly sure that this was the man I had seen watching me from the darkened lobby.

  I watched him come, studying him. He could be any age up to forty, but there was great strength and power in his squat limbs and he moved with the speed and ease of a gymnast.

  I told myself all Chinese look alike and I was being cock-eyed to think this was the man who had been watching me in Enright’s villa, but the feeling persisted even when he walked past me without looking at me and sat down, opening a newspaper with a flick of his wrists and hiding himself behind it.

  At one minute to sailing time, I saw Stella, wearing an apple-green cotton dress and carrying a straw basket, come along the pier. She paused at the foot of the gangplank and waved to me. She was the last passenger to arrive.

  I went down the gangplank to take the basket from her to the irritation of two Chinese sailors who were about to wheel the gangplank away.

  “Hello,” Stella said. “Well, here I am . . . as usual I just made it.”

  We regained the deck and the ferry moved away from the pier. We sat on the bench seat and talked. The conversation was impersonal and Jefferson wasn’t mentioned. As we came in sight of Lantao Island, Stella asked casually what I had been doing all the morning. I told her I had been exploring the back streets of Hong Kong.

  “Well, here we are,” she said as the boat nosed up to Silver Mine pier. “I’ve got to leave these things.” She waved to the basket. “I’ll have to talk to the old dear. I’ll be about an hour and a half. Why don’t you walk to the waterfall? It’s really worth seeing.”

  “I’ll do that. Shall we meet here?”

  “The next ferry back is just before six. I’ll be here.”

  She let me carry the basket down to the pier, then she directed me the way to go.

  “You follow the path around Butterfly Hill,” she said, “then you will come to a bridge. Keep on and you will come to another bridge. Beyond the second bridge is the waterfall.” She smiled at me. “It’s one of the most attractive sights here.”

  “I’ll find it,” I said.

  I watched her walk away to a row of poor looking houses festooned with gaily coloured washing. She moved gracefully, avoiding the jog trotting Chinese peasants and the well-fed, cheerful-looking children who swarmed around the skirts of her green dress.

  I looked around for the squat Chinese, but he had vanished. I had seen him get off the boat, but now I had no idea where he had got to.

  I had nothing to do until eight o’clock and I felt ready for a walk. It was a warm sunny day and I was in no hurry. I strolled along the path pointed out to me by Stella and after ten minutes or so, I left the waterfront behind and found myself walking along a deserted footway. After I had passed through a village I later learned was Chung Hau, I was suddenly alone with Butterfly Hill on my right and an expanse of open country to my left.

  I reached the waterfall without meeting anyone, duly admired it, and then decided to retrace my steps. It was then that it happened. Something that could have been a large sized hornet zipped past my face. It was followed by the distant sound of a rifle shot.

  I spread myself flat on the ground with the reflex action I had had drummed into me during my service in the infantry. As I rolled off the road, there came another rifle shot and the dust was kicked up about two yards from me.

  I rolled into the thick grass on the side of the path as yet another rifle shot cracked in the still air. This ti
me he nearly nailed me. The bullet zipped past my head alarmingly close.

  Sweating, my heart thumping, I kept moving, rolling over, trying to dig myself into the hard ground. I finally came up against a large rock, and with speed, close to panic, I slid around it and lay flat and waited.

  Nothing happened and I began to calm down a little. Whoever was shooting at me was up on the hill. He was probably using a telescopic sight. From the sound of the rifle shot, he was a good quarter of a mile away.

  I cursed myself for not bringing my .38, but I was wearing a short sleeved shirt and a pair of slacks: no outfit for carrying a gun. He knew where I was. All he had to do was to wait for me to show. Very cautiously, I lifted my head to look behind me to plan an escape route. A rifle cracked and a bullet flicked past my face. I flattened out.

  There were two of them! The last shot had come immediately behind me. The sniper was closer than the other one . . . too damn close!

  They must know by the clothes I was wearing I wasn’t armed There was nothing to stop them now they knew they had missed me with their opening shots to come down and make sure they didn’t miss.

  I looked at my strap watch. The time was twenty minutes past five. Would Stella come to meet me when I didn’t show at the pier? Suppose she walked into these two? Would they kill her as they were trying to kill me?

  I started a slow crawl away from the rock. My combat training was still alive in my mind. I slid through the long grass, snakelike, moving downhill. After five minutes of careful manoeuvring.

  I was a hundred feet from where I had been. Then, inch by inch, I lifted my head to try to see where I was.

  The hiss of the bullet by my face and then the crack of the rifle made me flatten into the ground. These two were either smarter than I thought they were or I was a lot less good as an infantry man.

  I slowly shifted my position. It was as well that I did. Another shot cracked the silence and a bullet thunked into the earth just where I had been lying. I told myself it was a lucky shot. The guy had fired at where he imagined I was, but it was far too close for comfort.