by Jane Isaac
Reilly had initially wanted to postpone the interview until his own team arrived from Leamington. But Jackman didn’t want any more delays that might cost another life. If there was any possibility that Ward might be linked to Min’s disappearance, that he might be able to reveal something about her whereabouts, he needed to start now. And when the chief constable phoned Reilly direct for an update, he’d reluctantly agreed.
The first hour had, as Jackman expected, gone in Ward’s favour. Ward had recovered his composure, claimed to be a happily married man, refuted any idea that he knew or had even met Ellen Readman, Katie Sharp or Min Li. He even hinted at being singled out by a desperate police force who had been guided by the words of a senile old man in their desperation to make an arrest.
Jackman folded his hands together on the table and said, “Earlier you told me that you have no knowledge of either Ellen Readman, Katie Sharp or Min Li.” He unfolded his hands and allowed them to rest on the file in front of him.
Ward’s solicitor, who had barely spoken a word throughout the interview immediately sat forward. “What is this?”
Jackman ignored her and drew two sheets of paper out of the file. He kept his eyes on Ward as he turned over the first, a selfie picture of Ellen Readman and Carl Ward, cheeks pressed together, beaming back at the camera. They looked like they were sitting in the back of Ward’s van. He turned over the second, a bare shot of Ellen.
“For the purposes of the tape, the woman in the photos matches the appearance of Ellen Readman,” Jackman said. “Mr Ward, how do you account for these images that were retrieved from the SD memory card found in your van?”
“That’s not Ellen,” Ward said. “Her name is Emma. Well that’s what she told me.”
“I need some time with…”
Ward held up a hand to silence his solicitor. “It’s okay.” He looked down briefly before he spoke again, “Look, I’m a married man. We did have a brief fling, for a few weeks, but it was over months ago. I haven’t seen her in ages. And I definitely don’t know any of the other girls.”
“Are you sure?”
Ward sat tall, nodded.
Jackman sat back in his chair and gave Ward a moment. “Are you absolutely sure?”
Ward glanced at the file and then back at Jackman and said nothing.
Jackman pulled a police exhibit bag out of the file. A mobile phone sat at an angle inside. “Is this your phone, Mr Ward?”
Ward peered closer, nodded.
“Would you explain to me why the call records show calls and texts from this number to the phone of Ellen Readman, the last being on the day that she disappeared?”
Ward jerked forward. “It’s not true. Her number’s not in there.”
“No, because you deleted it from the handset. But you can’t delete it from the billing records.”
His solicitor immediately stood. “I want some time with my client. Now.”
A knock at the door made Jackman turn. He was beckoned out into the corridor by Russell. Her face was red, as if she’d been rushing.
“What is it?” Jackman asked. He closed the door behind him.
“Ward has an alibi for Min’s disappearance. We’ve spoken to his wife. They were in London for the weekend, didn’t get back until Tuesday morning. We checked with the hotel and they confirmed the booking. The receptionist remembered him, apparently he was very suggestive.”
At that moment the door at the end of the corridor swung open and Reilly appeared, mobile phone stuck to his ear. His face shone like a kid at Christmas. “Okay, no problem. I’ll let you know as soon as it happens.”
He clicked off as he approached. “Anything new?”
Jackman shook his head. “He’s having some time with his solicitor. I suggest putting him back in his cell afterwards. Give him a chance to think things over.” Jackman handed him the file, “Right, I’m off. Need to get back to the kidnap.”
Reilly stared at him astounded, “What? We’re almost there.”
Jackman sighed inwardly. “You have a suspect who has had an intimate association with one of the victims, phone records and photos. The van is being forensically examined. By the morning you’ll have their preliminary report which will hopefully give you enough evidence to charge on the Readman case. I’m meeting the beat officer for the Chinese Quarter in Birmingham at 4.15 to help me track down Min’s uncle.”
Reilly looked bemused. “Min Li has dark hair and disappeared into thin air. Just like the other two victims. How do you know they’re not connected?”
Jackman stared at Reilly. “He was in London with his wife when Min disappeared.”
Reilly snorted.
“We’ve checked it out.” Jackman sighed. “Look, this has the makings of a love triangle that went wrong. Perhaps he never meant to kill her. Perhaps she threatened to tell his wife. The bottom line is that he had a motive. Northampton are checking out any possible connection with Katie Sharp, but we’ve found no association with Min Li and her situation is different – we have a ransom call.”
“Maybe he got greedy? He could be working with someone else?”
“The ransom note was sent in Mandarin. There’s a Chinese element somewhere even if they are connected. I’ll leave Keane with you. He knows the Min Li case well. If anything crops up he’ll spot it straight away.” Jackman held up his phone as he approached the door. “I have my phone if you need me.”
Jackman heard Reilly grunt as he closed the door and strode down the corridor. He turned the corner and almost collided with Davies, bustling towards him.
“Ahh, thought I’d missed you,” she said.
“I can’t stop, I’m already late.”
“I know. I’m coming with you.”
Jackman narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a late one.”
“No problem. Popped home at lunchtime and John’s got it all under control. Between you and me, I think he’s hankering to give up work and become a house-husband.”
Jackman chuckled. For some reason he couldn’t imagine the sporty John spending his days feeding babies and changing nappies. “Okay, if you’re sure?”
A smile spread across Davies face. “Just try and stop me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ken Yang looked cool and calm in dark trousers and a white linen shirt, leaning up against a shop window opposite the entrance to the Arcadian. His face broke into a creased grin as Jackman and Davies approached. “Good to meet you,” he said and shook both their hands.
“How was your flight?” Jackman asked.
“Noisy. I have a six-month-old baby girl.” He grimaced. “The altitude played hell with her ears. Screamed the whole time.”
“Well, I appreciate you helping us out,” Jackman said. “I take it DS Gray’s filled you in?”
“You’re investigating a kidnapping. Trying to trace the victim’s uncle, a Qiang Li?”
“That’s pretty much it.” Jackman explained his frustrating experience the day before. “Think you’ll be able to help us?”
“Possibly. We’ll start with the Red Dragon. Follow me.”
Jackman was just about to suggest that The Oriental Garden may prove more successful when Ken crossed the road and strode off through the Arcadian. He exchanged a look with Davies as they both followed.
Ken paused outside the Red Dragon acupuncturist. “Do you have a photo of the uncle?” he asked.
Jackman handed him the old picture. He looked at it, thanked him and pushed open the door.
A welcome blast of air conditioning hit them as they moved across the threshold. Jackman recognised the same lady from yesterday seated behind the counter as they entered, although there was a marked difference in her reaction today. Her face lit up as it rested on Ken.
They had an animated conversation in Chinese, accompanied by lots of nods and smiles before he pointed at Jackman and Davies who she had completely ignored until that moment. She nodded, bowed her head to them and scurried away,
around the long curtain that Jackman guessed covered the entrance to the back of the shop.
The shop area felt smaller than yesterday somehow and for the first time, Jackman noticed a small, black leather sofa against the far wall, next to a low table with glossy magazines fanned out on top. As if she’d read his mind, Davies wandered over to it and pressed the seat with her hand, a cheeky grin on her face.
At that moment, a Chinese man with grey hair and a curved moustache emerged. He greeted Ken like an old friend and smiled at Davies and Jackman. More words were exchanged in Chinese. The photo was passed about. If there was any recognition in the Chinese man’s face it didn’t show, although he spent some time studying it. Jackman looked from one to another, trying to glean an ounce of their conversation. He was starting to feel frustrated when Ken lifted his mobile phone, nodded and gestured for them to follow him out of the shop.
A wave of thick heat hit them outside. Jackman loosened his collar. “What happened back there?” he said.
Ken faced him. “Jian Zhou is what they call a community leader in this area.”
“And he doesn’t speak English?”
Ken smiled briefly, “He does, but only with his customers. He prefers to speak Mandarin. We can go to The Oriental Garden now. They’ll speak to us.”
Jackman tugged at his arm to slow him down. “You seem to know him pretty well?”
Ken turned. “His son was involved in a racial attack. I helped the family through the trial. He’s always been grateful.” He moved on, heading in the direction of the restaurant.
As they crossed the main road Jackman had to shout to speak over the engine of a passing lorry, “We’re not going to do all of this in Mandarin, are we?”
Ken hesitated a moment, “It’s okay,” he said. “Tao Chén at The Oriental Garden speaks good English.” Then, sensing Jackman’s concern, he added, “Don’t worry, Inspector. I’ve been working this area for three years now. You get to know the locals. They learn to trust you.”
“I suppose it helps if you speak the language.”
“It’s all about following protocol really. They come over here and form their own little cultural organisation. There’s a hierarchy. Unless you have agreement from the person at the top, nobody will speak to you.”
Jackman nudged his head back towards the acupuncturist’s shop. “He runs the show?”
Ken nodded. “Nothing happens without Jian’s backing.”
“Does he know Qiang?”
“The photo looked familiar. That’s all he would say.”
They paused as a car indicated and turned in front of them, then crossed the side street and headed to the restaurant. “In fact, he thinks he might still be around.”
A different waiter met them at the door of the restaurant today. He opened it, smiled and exchanged pleasantries in English, much to Jackman’s relief, as he guided them through with an open arm.
“We’re here to see Tao Chén,” Ken said.
“He’s expecting you,” the waiter bowed his head slightly. “Follow me.”
They walked in formation behind the bar and through a beer cellar then out into the back of the restaurant. In contrast to the opulent décor inside, the walls here were painted cream and bore black and grey scratches, nicks and scrapes where things had been carried through and caught them over the years.
The waiter made a fist, gave a single knock and opened the door. He moved aside for them to enter, nodded and retreated without speaking.
Expecting to see the man from the day before, Jackman was surprised to see a younger man stood at the window. He could have been no more than forty, Jackman guessed, with short hair and a square jaw. He was dressed in a pink open-necked shirt and dark trousers and smiled at them as they entered.
“Tao Chén.” He walked around the desk as he introduced himself, shook their hands in turn, and indicated for them to sit. “I hear you are looking for a Qiang Li?” he said as he returned to his own side of the desk. “I’m not familiar with that name.”
Jackman sat forward in his chair. “Yes. We came in yesterday and asked, but were introduced to another man?”
Tao nodded. “The restaurant supervisor. He’s not here today.” He smoothed out the green blotter on the desk in front of him. “I’m not sure what I can say to help you,” Tao said.
Davies passed over the photo which was looking crumpled and dog-eared around the edges now.
He shook his head. “I don’t recognise him, although we get so many people come here. Some stay a few weeks, others longer.” He rambled on for a moment but Jackman was no longer listening. His eyes had fallen on a double-page cutting from a local newspaper that hung beside him on the wall in a clip-art frame. The heading read, Local Restaurant Celebrates 25 Years. A group of staff were huddled together in front of the bar smiling with Tao in the middle. In the background there was another figure, just on the edge of the shot, standing behind. His head was twisted to face the audience.
Jackman stood and pointed at the frame. “Who’s that?”
Tao looked briefly taken aback at the interruption. He quickly recovered himself and moved around the desk to Jackman’s side. “It was our twenty-fifth anniversary celebration,” he said.
“I can see that,” Jackman said. He pointed at the figure behind the bar. “Who’s that?”
A flicker of unease travelled across Tao’s brow. He swallowed before he spoke, “His name is Peng Wu. He’s… helped us out a bit in the past.”
Jackman paused before he spoke, retrieved the photo from the desk and held it up next to the cutting. Both men held their heads at a similar angle that obscured their left ear. He peered in closer and just caught the thread of a scar on the left side of his face. “Well if I’m not mistaken he has a very similar disfigurement to the man we are looking for.”
Tao dug his hands in his pocket and buried his eyes in the press cutting.
“What can you tell us about this man, Peng Wu?”
“He helped us out for about three years, waiting tables in the restaurant. He was a good waiter. People liked him.” He gave a single head shake. “But he finished last summer.” Tao turned and eyed Davies suspiciously as she retrieved her notebook and pen. “Not officially, you understand?”
Jackman raised a flat hand. The last thing he needed was for Tao to clam up over an immigration issue, just when he’d managed to get him talking. “It’s okay,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “We are here to investigate a missing girl and we think that Qiang Li or Peng Wu might be able to help with our enquiries. That’s all. Why did he leave?”
“He was constantly late. Came mostly in the evenings as he seemed to cope better with that but still the lateness. We couldn’t rely on him. Then some nights he didn’t turn up at all. We had to let him go.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Not personally, although I believe he’s been in a few times. His brother-in-law works in the kitchen – he does have a visa,” he added rather hastily.
“Can we see him?”
Jackman watched him make a quick phone call which was followed a moment later by a knock at the door. A wiry man in a white chef’s hat and long black apron appeared.
Tao introduced the officers, “This is Jie Wang. His sister is married to Peng Wu.” He tapped Jie on the shoulder, “Tell them anything they need to know,” he said. “Excuse me. I’m needed in the restaurant.”
“Please, sit down,” Jackman said, after Tao had left the room.
Jie sat in the chair behind the desk, the only one available, where he looked smaller than before and distinctly uncomfortable.
“When did you last see Peng?” Jackman asked.
Jie looked from one officer to another. “What is all this about?”
“We just need to speak to him in connection with an enquiry,” Jackman said. “We think he might be able to help us.”
The answer did nothing to curb the suspicion on Jie’s face.
“How long has your
sister been married to him?” Jackman asked.
“There are not officially married. We just tell people that because they have a daughter and it sounds better.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “They’ve been together for about three years. Although for the last year they’ve been living separately.”
“Do you know where?”
“She and their eighteen-month-old daughter live with me. Peng?” He shook his head. “No idea. He only visits once a week to give her money and he doesn’t always come. He’s a very bad man. Spends too long in the casino. Owes people money and they come looking for him.” Disdain coloured his face. “He should have come last night. The baby needs milk.”
“Does he come to your house?”
Jie nodded. “My flat is above here.”
“What time?”
“It could be any time. Usually at night time or in the early hours of the morning. Never in the daytime. He’s almost nocturnal.”
Jackman eased forward. “Why don’t you tell us everything you know about Peng Wu?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jackman tore open a sachet of sugar, added it to his espresso and looked up at Ken as he stirred the coffee. “I’m impressed. You’ve achieved more in fifty-five minutes than we managed in a couple of hours yesterday.”
After the restaurant they’d walked back through the Arcadian and into the supermarket. The same girl was behind the counter today. They were joined by her protective manager, although today his manner was much more convivial when they approached and, after a quick exchange, he allowed her a few minutes away to talk to them. In a mixture of broken English and Mandarin, with Ken translating, she was able to confirm that the man that fitted the description of Min’s uncle had been in there shopping on Tuesday evening. Her eyes searched the photo. She said his hair had thinned but pointed to the scar just visible on the left side of his face. She was in no doubt it was him. He was a regular customer at Kitzy’s Casino around the corner where she worked night shifts as a cleaner. She also knew him as Peng.
Ken smiled, “It’s all about how you ask the questions. You have to be direct. Make it clear what you want. None of this skirting around the issue and trying to catch people out like we do in our interviewing. If you try that, they just clam up and you get nowhere.”