‘Perfectly.’
Garner pointed a quivering finger at the door.
‘Now get out.’
• • •
‘He was scared . . . pissing himself.’ Joe Grace snorted. He drew on his cigarette. ‘I reckon he was lying, too. He’d been in that room. I’d stake my life on it. The way he stared at the photo . . .’
‘He certainly looked stunned,’ Billy agreed. He tugged at an earlobe. ‘Maybe he realised for the first time what sort of trap he’d walked into back then. But we still can’t be sure it was him in the bed, not without more evidence. Mind you, there must be other photos. Whoever’s behind this is dragging it out.’
They were standing on the pavement outside Garner’s house. Their car with its driver stood waiting, but Billy had paused to mull over the interview they had just conducted.
‘My money’s on Wing.’ Joe grunted. ‘He set this up: the room, the snapper. But Portia was in on it too . . . sitting there at the end of the bed, looking so innocent.’
‘It seems they were working together,’ Billy agreed. ‘But what happened to the photographs after she was killed? That’s what I want to know. Where have they been all these years? And why have they suddenly appeared now?’
‘Maybe Wing has had them all this time. He went into her room right after she was killed, didn’t he? He must have been looking for something. But the war came, and then he went to prison. This may be the first chance he’s had to use them.’
‘Maybe . . .’ Billy gnawed at his lip. ‘But I’m still finding it hard to put all this together. It’s like Mr Madden says: there are gaps . . . things that need explaining.’
‘But it still looks like blackmail.’ Grace tossed his cigarette into the gutter. ‘And that means Garner’s still in the frame. But why was he so bothered? He must know we haven’t got the evidence to pin Portia’s murder on him. Then again it was mention of that Chinese girl that really got him going. You scared him. Topping young women who get out of line could be a nasty little habit of his, one that’s coming home to roost.’
Billy shrugged. ‘As far as that’s concerned we’ll have to wait to hear from Hong Kong.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘The person we really need to talk to is Stanley Wing. Let’s get back to the Yard and see if Lil has come up with anything. We have to find him before the Triads do.’
16
LILY TAPPED ON THE door and stuck her head in.
‘Excuse me, guv. Can I have a word?’
Lofty Cook looked up from his desk, scowling. When he saw who it was at the door, however, his face cleared.
‘Hullo, Lil.’ He beamed. ‘What are you doing up here? Haven’t you got enough to keep you busy at the Yard? Don’t just stand there looking bashful. Come on in.’
All of six feet and then some, he rose from his chair and reached across the desk to shake her hand.
‘Take a pew.’
A chief inspector stationed now at West End Central, Lofty had been a DI at Bow Street, Lily’s old stamping ground, when she had first known him, and one of the few officers—she could count them on one hand—who had never held her sex against her. It was he who had paved the way for her move from the uniform branch to the CID, recommending her to Billy Styles when they had worked together on a murder case during the war. Styles, in turn, had brought her to the attention of Angus Sinclair, who had made it his business before resigning to see her transferred to the Yard’s plainclothes division. Given the task of tracking down Stanley Wing and finding out what she could about any Triad presence in London, Lily had decided that Soho was as good a place as any to start. And knowing that the area was now on Cook’s patch, she had made the short journey from the Embankment up to Savile Street to pick her old guv’nor’s brains.
‘You could do worse,’ Lofty said, having heard her out. Lily had given him a quick summary of the case and shown him the photograph of Wing that she had in her handbag. ‘Though there’s been no real Chinatown in London since the war; not since the Blitz. They used to congregate in Limehouse, as you know, but the bombing put an end to that. The community was scattered. Now they’re starting to gather again, and Soho is one of the areas where you’ll find new Chinese restaurants popping up. If there are any Triad visitors in town, word will have spread. You might pick up a whisper there.’
He grinned then. It was as if he knew what she were going to say next.
‘You wouldn’t have a good snout, would you, guv?’
‘A Chink snout? You’d be lucky to find one you could even converse with.’ His grin widened. ‘Usually it’s a case of no speekee English.’
He watched as her face fell.
‘I’m just pulling your leg, Lil, though it’s not that far from the truth. They don’t have much to do with us. They’re a close-knit lot and they tend to sort out their own problems. As it happens I do know someone who might be of help. But it’ll be up to her whether she’s willing to talk to you or not. And you’ve got to promise to keep schtum: no passing her name around among those layabouts at the Yard.’
‘Word of honour, guv.’ Lily grinned.
‘I won’t come with you.’ Lofty hoisted himself to his feet. ‘I don’t meet her in Soho. They know my face there. But I’ll go with you part of the way. I fancy a cuppa.’
• • •
‘She’s got a shop off Gerrard Street. She sells silk scarves and trinkets, lacquer-work, that sort of stuff. Anna Wu is the name she goes by. She anglicized it when she came here from Hong Kong. That was before the war.’
Lofty poured some of his tea into a saucer, blew on it, returned the tea to his cup and took a sip. He had led Lily to a café near the police station. They were sitting at a table by the counter.
‘She’s not your run-of-the-mill snout, as you’ll see; she’s got a mind of her own. But she hates the Triads. Her father was a gang member—a low-ranking figure in one of the families. He was killed in a street fight in Hong Kong twenty years ago. She’s known to them, of course, and Triad couriers use her shop now and then as a meeting place. There’s nothing she can do about that, and I turn a blind eye to it. She’s too valuable to me.’
‘Are they here in numbers, then?’ Lily asked. Cook shook his head.
‘Not yet. But I reckon they will be. Extortion’s one of their dodges. The Chinese restaurants here will soon find themselves paying protection money once a Triad branch is established. But drugs are their main business. We can see it coming, but there’s not much we can do about it for the present.’
‘Does the term Red Pole mean anything to you?’ Lily sipped her tea.
Lofty shook his head. ‘Should it?’
‘That’s what they call an enforcer—a killer, if you like. Or so we’ve been told.’
‘And you’re wondering if one of them has been sent here from Holland to do this bloke Wing?’
Lily nodded.
‘Well, if so, Anna might have heard something about it—a whisper, as I say. But don’t try to push her too hard, Lil. She won’t take it.’
Cook was serious now.
‘She walks a fine line, and I don’t want her put in danger.’
‘I understand.’
‘And I doubt she’ll be able to tell you anything about Wing.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because if I was him, Soho is the last place I’d show my face. Once word gets out that the Triads are looking for him, there’ll be any number of people hereabouts ready to shop him. They may not like these thugs, but they know better than to cross them. If I was Wing I’d stay well away from the city centre. I’d stick to the outer suburbs.’
Lofty rose to his feet. Lily followed suit.
‘And I’d keep on the move, too.’
• • •
The shop, Happy Thoughts, was next to a restaurant named the Jasmine Inn, which, like others of its kind nearby, had a ro
w of ducks’ carcasses hanging in the window.
‘You could do worse than have a bite there afterwards if you feel peckish,’ Lofty had told Lily when he’d given her directions. ‘I’ve been getting a taste for Chinese grub since I moved over here from Bow Street.’
As she opened the door a bell tinkled and a woman dressed in a long gown made of black silk decorated with silver flowers and butterflies appeared from behind a curtain at the back of the store. Small in size, her golden cheeks were smooth and Lily could see no hint of a wrinkle around the dark brown eyes that regarded her without expression. According to Lofty, Anna Wu was in her early forties.
‘Yes, Miss . . . ?’
Lofty had prepared her in advance for the encounter. He had given her the magic words, as he’d put it, and Lily saw no reason not to plunge right in.
‘Your shop was recommended by a friend of mine,’ she said. ‘He bought a silk scarf from you not long ago.’
‘A red scarf?’ The yellow face remained blank.
‘No, a blue one.’
A crease appeared in the smooth forehead. ‘You no detective.’ It was an accusation.
‘Yes, I am.’ Lily had her warrant card ready. She slid it across the glass-topped counter. Miss Wu studied it.
‘Who send you here?’
‘Mr Cook. He said you might be able to help me.’
‘Why he no come?’
‘This isn’t his case. And he said you two never meet in Soho.’
‘Ah . . .’ Miss Wu seemed to find these last words reassuring. She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Closing time.’
She came around the counter and went to the glass door, where a sign reading CLOSED hung from a hook. Reversing it so that it faced outwards, she locked the door.
‘Come . . .’
She led the way past the curtain at the back of the shop. Lily followed, and found herself in a small storeroom lined with boxes. A brass lamp suspended from the ceiling gave off a faint smell of incense. In the centre of the room were two chairs on either side of a lacquered table. Miss Wu gestured to her to take one. She sat down facing her.
‘Why you detective?’ She looked hard at Lily, frowning. ‘Why you not home?’
‘Home . . . ?’
‘Young woman stay home, take care of husband.’
‘I haven’t got one,’ Lily said. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Why not?’ Miss Wu’s frown had grown fierce.
‘I don’t know.’ Lily scratched her head. ‘Maybe because no one’s asked me.’
The flicker of a smile crossed Miss Wu’s solemn face. ‘I have husband. He no good. I throw him out.’ The smile vanished. ‘Why you detective?’
She seemed determined to find out. Lily shrugged.
‘I joined the police when I was eighteen. I always wanted to be a copper. I don’t know why.’
‘You catch bad men?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Good . . . too many bad men.’
Miss Wu studied her hands, first the palms, then the backs. Lily felt she was being weighed in some balance and she waited for the verdict to be delivered. Finally the other woman looked up.
‘So . . . ?’
‘We’re trying to find a man called Stanley Wing. He’s from Hong Kong and we think he may be hiding out in London.’
‘Why hiding?’
‘One of the Triad gangs is looking for him.’
‘Ah . . .’ Miss Wu’s glance sharpened. ‘Which family?’
‘The Tang . . . ?’ Lily wasn’t sure she’d remembered it correctly, but her questioner showed no surprise on hearing the name. She merely grunted.
‘Man’s name is Wing, you say. . . . Stanley Wing?’
Lily nodded.
‘Stanley Wing not Chinese name.’
‘He’s half Chinese, half English.’
Miss Wu looked thoughtful.
‘Someone came to my shop last week,’ she said. ‘He also looking for man, but not Wing: man called Lee. This also not Chinese name.’
‘Did you know him, the man who came to your shop?’
Miss Wu shook her head. ‘He tell me his name is Chen Yi.’
‘Was he from Hong Kong?’
Miss Wu shrugged. It appeared that she didn’t know.
‘Or perhaps from Amsterdam?’
Miss Wu cocked her head on one side. For the first time she looked at Lily with respect.
‘Is good guess . . . yes, maybe . . . Amsterdam. Very smooth young man. He show me photograph.’
Lily dug into her handbag and brought out the snapshot of Wing she brought with her. She handed it to Miss Wu, who nodded after only the briefest glance at it.
‘Is same man. Chen Yi say he has scar on his neck now.’ She put a hand to her throat. ‘I tell him I don’t know this man.’
Lily retrieved the photo and put it back in her bag. She was thinking.
‘Chen Yi—could he be what they call a Red Pole?’
Miss Wu’s eyebrows shot up. She said something in Chinese.
‘Where you hear about Red Pole?’
‘From someone who knows Wing’s background: someone who has been in touch with the Hong Kong police. He said this Triad family might send a man to London to kill Wing: a Red Pole.’
Miss Wu brooded in silence.
‘Chen Yi not Red Pole.’ She sounded positive. ‘He man who asks questions.’
‘You mean he works for the Red Pole?’ Lily wanted to be clear about this. ‘Would he be in London, too?’ They had to know.
‘Must be.’ Miss Wu shrugged again. ‘But you not find him. He waits . . .’
‘Until Wing has been located?’
Miss Wu dipped her head in silent acknowledgement.
‘And then?’
‘You sure is Tang family that look for Wing?’
Lily nodded.
‘Then they chop head off.’ Miss Wu brought the edge of her hand down sharply on the table, making Lily jump. ‘Like that. Is Tang way.’
17
‘IS THAT IT? HAVE you got it?’
Chubb grabbed the snapshot Billy was holding out to him.
‘Does it tell us anything more?’
The chief super peered at the new photograph.
‘Garr . . . !’ A growl of disgust issued from his lips. He slapped the print down on his desk where a copy of the Daily Mirror, displaying the same picture on its front page, but in cropped form, lay on the blotter. Like the previous one, it featured the naked image of Portia Blake, this time seen from behind, but with her buttocks modestly veiled by the now familiar black rectangle, standing beside the bed on which a man was sitting. Bare from the waist up, he was on the other side of the nude woman and leaning forward so that his head was hidden by her body. The picture, which had appeared in that morning’s edition, had been sent to the editor through the post as before, but this time without any accompanying note. It had been forwarded at once to the Yard.
‘MYSTERY DEEPENS.’ Chubb read out the banner headline. ‘They’re getting their money’s worth, aren’t they? The editor must be cock-a-hoop. The commissioner hasn’t seen it yet, but Cradock has.’ He glared at Billy. ‘What’s he on about, this bloke? Is he just winding us up?’
‘Not us, sir. We’re coincidental. It looks to me like he’s holding a sword over someone else’s head: he’s telling him he’s got more pictures.’
‘Coincidental . . .’
The chief super fumed in silence. Billy coughed.
‘We’re still working on Garner’s alibi. Grace has tracked down the parents of that man Carrick who was killed in the war, the one Garner said he had lunch with in Canterbury, but unfortunately they seem to be away. Apparently they have a house in the south of France. Grace is trying to get hold of the phone number there.’
‘Do
you seriously believe either one of them will remember what their son was doing that day? It was more than ten years ago.’
Billy could only shrug.
‘What about this so-called Red Pole? Do we know that he’s in London?’
‘We can’t be certain, sir, but it’s likely. We know that Wing’s using the name Lee and that a young Chinese bloke called Chen Yi is looking for him. It’s odds on he’s working for the Red Pole.’
‘Damn silly name.’ Chubb glowered.
‘I’d be a lot happier if we knew his real one.’ Billy grinned. ‘Have you had any word back from the Amsterdam police on that?’
Chubb shook his head. ‘Only that they’re looking into it for us.’
‘How about Hong Kong?’
‘The same. It’s been several days since I sent them a telegram asking about that girl Garner is supposed to have beaten up. My guess is they haven’t found anything in their records, which makes me think it wasn’t reported at the time.’
‘So perhaps only Wing knows what happened to her.’ Billy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘That could put him in a strong position vis-à-vis Garner.’
Chubb hoisted himself to his feet.
‘I’d better go and talk to Cradock. There’ll be hell to pay when the commissioner sees today’s Mirror, and we’d better be prepared. They’ll both want to know what we’re doing about Garner. Have you spoken to him again?’
Billy shook his head. ‘But he knows we’ll be back. I told him so. I thought I’d give him a day or so to stew and then call on him again. By then I hope we’ll have managed to check his alibi. He’s got a meeting fixed with Sir Richard Jessup tomorrow evening.’
‘Has he now?’ Chubb’s eye lit up.
‘I spoke to Mr Madden yesterday. He’s up in town again. He’d had a call from Jessup just before he went off to Paris yesterday. Jessup said Garner had rung him and asked if they could meet. He said he wanted to see him urgently. They’re having dinner at Jessup’s club tomorrow night after he gets back. He told Mr Madden that Garner sounded “agitated”.’
‘Agitated . . .’ The chief super rubbed his hands. ‘That’s more like it.’ He picked up the photograph and newspaper from his desk and tucked them under his arm. Then he cocked an eye at Billy. ‘What do you think? Will he crack?’
The Death of Kings Page 22