The Trophy Taker

by Lee Week

  Helen’s arms were pulled high. Her feet barely touched the floor. A black cloth bag was over her head. He knew it was her. He knew every inch of her body. Even as it looked now, thin, bruised and battered, he knew it was her.

  A man came into view, his back to the camera. He was European, of slight build, short, his skin saggy with age, his shape testimony to years of debauchery and bad living. His spindly legs were overhung by a flabby gut. He started whipping her.

  It killed Mann to watch but it was worse to look away. He pulled his laptop closer to him. He had to be with her. He had to feel the full weight of it in his heart.

  For minutes she screamed, twisting her body away from the pain. Then, the man paused. His shoulders heaved with the exertion. He wiped the blood and sweat from his face. Mann caught his profile. In that second his death became a certainty.

  The man removed her hood. The camera zoomed in on her face. It was blotchy and swollen. Her eyes were petrified. Mann’s heart was breaking. The man unhooked her hands and dragged her across to a table. Helen was trying to get away – screaming. Mann would hear that scream – the sound of pure terror – for the rest of his life. The camera angle changed. Now Mann was down directly above the table. Helen was strapped down. Only her head was moving now – thrashing wildly from side to side as she tried to get away from the man’s hands and the polythene bag he held in them. But, she couldn’t. The camera zoomed down onto her face. Mann found himself looking through the mask of clear plastic into the eyes of his beautiful Helen. He watched the light in them slowly extinguish and he listened to the background sound of a man grunting. Helen died at the same second as James Dudley-Smythe ejaculated.

  120

  Georgina refolded the same T-shirt again and again, hovering over her small bag. She didn’t want to leave like this, but she didn’t think she should wait any longer for Johnny. She didn’t know why he hadn’t come back. She felt more alone now than ever. All her instincts told her to go home. She stood at the window and watched the lights go on in the block opposite. People appeared in illuminated windows like in an advent calendar. She wrote him a note.

  My plane leaves just after midnight. If you want me to stay, come and find me. X

  She took the MTR to the airport. She had hours to spare. When she got there she ambled around, changing seats now and again and staring blankly at unfamiliar faces. She wasn’t feeling well, she was breathless and anxious. She felt better when she kept moving. People brushed past her, children spun around her feet. She didn’t move through passport control into the departure area; she had no baggage to check in, just a small bag which she carried with her. She did not have the resolution needed to cross over to the other side, from Hong Kong into no man’s land. She looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time for him to come – if he wanted.

  121

  Superintendent White had just about finished his packing when Mann walked into his office.

  ‘Jesus, Mann! What the hell?’

  Mann slumped straight into a chair and put his head back and closed his eyes. He was nauseous and tired. He felt the cool of the overhead fan on his face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mann heard Superintendent White stop in his tracks. He opened his red-rimmed eyes and stared at a stain on the ceiling. The fan was turning – whooshing rhythmically.

  ‘I could do with a drink,’ he said, without moving or blinking.

  David White unpacked one of his boxes and took out a bottle of vodka for Mann and a bottle of scotch for himself, and two cut-glass tumblers. He set them on the desk and poured out two large ones before walking over and handing the vodka to Mann. Only Mann’s eyes moved – his head remained glued to the back of the seat. He looked at his old friend’s troubled face and smiled ruefully.

  ‘Sorry, David. I must look a state.’

  David White stood, vodka bottle in hand, waiting for Mann to dispatch his drink before he refilled it. ‘Bloody awful.’

  ‘I feel better than I did a few hours ago.’

  ‘What happened, Mann?’

  ‘I saw a film of Helen’s death…’

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Go away!’ Superintendent White bellowed. A young officer, who didn’t dare put more than his nose around the door, answered.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, but there is an important call for you.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Superintendent White picked up the phone and pressed the extension number. Mann watched him as he listened intently for several minutes. His only contribution to the conversation was: When…? Where…? Witnesses…? Anything taken from the scene?

  After a few minutes he put the phone slowly and deliberately back onto the receiver. Then he walked over and refreshed Mann’s drink. Mann watched him as he paced mechanically around the room, piecing his thoughts together. Mann waited. After a few minutes White came back to sit at his desk. He poured himself another scotch, put the bottle back into the drawer and drew the air in through his nose in a cleansing gesture of having finally reached a decision. He didn’t look at Mann while he spoke.

  ‘There’s been another death,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s a man this time. James Dudley-Smythe was found hanging in his wine cellar this evening. Found by his maid – hanging – naked – severely beaten. We don’t need to look for the weapon. A metal-tipped whip was found implanted in his rectum. He probably died of a heart attack in the midst of it all. The maid seems to think there’s nothing missing.’ White glanced at Mann.

  Mann sat up. ‘That’s what I was going to talk to you about, David.’

  David White put his hand up to stop him.

  ‘I don’t think we need to waste police resources on this. The officers at the scene have found all sorts of apparatus in his house. It’s most likely he did this to himself. One of those weird sex rituals. Open and shut. He got what he deserved in the end. As you said – karma with laser sights.’

  122

  Georgina took out her photo album. She smiled at the pictures of her and Ka Lei, squeezed into photo booths, laughing and making faces at the camera. Then she closed the album and put it back in her bag. She didn’t need to look at photos of Ka Lei to remember her. She would carry her cousin in her heart forever.

  She would always miss her and she would always wish things could have been different, but she would never regret coming. She looked up at the screen:

  Now boarding…

  She closed her eyes for a few minutes. Inside her stomach was a solid weight of trepidation. But she knew she had to go. She must repair herself and rest. She needed to do this on her own. She was a grown woman now, she had to stand on her own two feet and find her place in the world. She would return one day. Maybe Johnny Mann would still be around. She hoped so. She stood and made her way through to Departures.

  123

  ‘Hello, Kin Tak. Sorry it’s late.’

  ‘Of course, I don’t mind, Inspector. I wanted to see you. Please, come with me.’

  Mann followed him into the long storage section, even colder than normal. He could see that Kin Tak was nervous. He looked like he hadn’t slept, or if he had it was fully clothed. Kin Tak stopped at a fridge and checked the list.

  ‘I am glad you called, Inspector. Just bear with me. I have something to confess. Something to show you.’

  Mann began to feel decidedly uneasy. This wasn’t a good place to have a lengthy conversation. It was never going to hold fond memories for him.

  Kin Tak opened the fridge and wheeled out a trolley. He unzipped the white body bag and for a moment stood in front of it, shielding it from Mann’s view.

  ‘What is it, Kin Tak?’

  ‘Helen Bateman was a special friend of yours?’

  Mann felt a surge of anger. He almost pushed the young mortuary assistant aside. What the fuck had he done to her?

  Kin Tak stepped out of the way. And Mann saw that Helen had been lovingly washed: her hair was glossy and bright, her body reassembled with the
neatest stitching that would have served a plastic surgeon well. Her face was serene, beautiful. She was dead and gone, but she was his Helen again.

  ‘I thank you, Kin Tak.’ Mann found himself unable to speak. ‘Thank you very much. You have done a really good job.’

  Kin Tak held his hands up as if to say there was no need to thank him. ‘I’ll wait outside. Take as long as you like. I am not going anywhere, Inspector.’ He beamed his baby smile.

  Mann looked at Helen’s face for the last time. ‘See you on a beach somewhere, my love. Please forgive me.’

  He zipped the bag back up.

  124

  He arrived back at the apartment. It was dark. It was empty. He saw the note on the table.

  He checked his watch. It was nearly eleven – she wouldn’t be lifting off for an hour. A night flight to Heathrow, care of Cathay Pacific. He had plenty of time to get there, if he wanted to.

  His phone rang.

  ‘Who else would know his way around Headquarters? I knew it was you who left it.’

  ‘I felt you were owed it. I had no hand in her death, or any of the others, you know that?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I will deny being on the island when CK asks.’

  ‘Of course. I never saw you.’

  ‘See you around, Johnny.’

  ‘See you, Stevie.’

  Mann stood watching the night sky: glass in one hand, Georgina’s note in the other. Finally, he put the note down. He respected her decision to leave. He hoped she would come back one day. He shrugged and smiled sadly – people and their paths. His was a lonely one some times. But he’d rather walk it alone – for now. In the morning he would go for a long run, clear out his head, focus on his future, think about what had to be done and how to achieve it. For now, he needed to get a good night’s sleep.

  But the morning seemed a long way away, and the night before him loomed lonely and long. He was restless. He had a need to forget everything for one night. He rolled the iced vodka glass around in his hand and searched the sky again. High up, a plane blinked its colours at him. He downed his drink, poured another, and drank a toast to Helen, to Kim, to Georgina, and to all the women he had known.

  He was tempted to get blind drunk, but he didn’t think it would work. It wasn’t what he needed. He needed…He needed…Then it hit him. He picked up his phone. He needed Honey Ryder. At least it would be a good start.

  Twenty minutes later he was stood by Ng’s bedside.

  ‘I thought you’d be in bed or out getting drunk somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, well. Nearly was, then I got a better offer and here I am. How’s it going, Confucius?’

  ‘In a couple of days I should be able to pee for myself, which will be nice.’ Ng rolled his eyes around the room. ‘Getting sick of lying about. What’s the news? Did you get Chan?’

  ‘I got him.’

  ‘I knew you would. He who walks on snow leaves footprints.’

  ‘Snow, water, he wasn’t very good at walking on either.’

  ‘What else…? I can see it in your face.’

  ‘I took the law into my own hands, Ng. I crossed the line. Not just Chan. I found out who murdered Helen.’

  There was a silence in the room, just the droning of equipment. After a few minutes, Ng spoke.

  ‘Justice is not always written in stone or in the law books, Genghis. Justice comes in many forms.’

  ‘There will be repercussions.’

  ‘There will be some people who won’t like it, but there will be many more who will back you. There are lots of policemen just like us who won’t tolerate the triads any more. Enough is enough! Remember, Mann: It is not the cry, but the flight of the wild duck that leads the flock to follow.’

  ‘We’ll soon see. Hurry up and get well, Confucius. It’ll be good to have you back.’

  Mann got up to leave.

  ‘I mean it, Genghis: Set yourself as standard and others will fall in behind you.’

  ‘You know, Ng – you’re full of shit. Take care of yourself. Leave the nurses alone. I’ll see you in a couple of days.’

  Mann smiled to himself as he walked quietly down the empty corridor, just the sound of his Prada loafers on linoleum. Ng was right – there were many roads to justice.

  THE TRAFFICKED

  DETECTIVE JOHNNY MANN IS BACK …

  Missing children. An evil racket. A race

  against time…

  Nine-year-old Amy Tang is the third child to be kidnapped recently and held for a vast sum of money. While the other two children were released after the ransom is paid – Amy is not.

  Summoned to appear before his boss, Inspector Johnny Mann expects to be told that, owing to his insubordination, he is heading back to traffic duty. Instead he is ordered to lead the investigation into the kidnapping of Amy – who happens to be the illegitimate daughter of a major player in the Flesh Trade, CK Leung.

  Mann’s investigation takes him to London, where he teams up with DC Becky Stamp. Within days of arriving in London, there is an arson attack that kills more than a dozen women and children. The bodies of the victims are found chained to their beds and are unidentifiable.

  Mann must uncover the link between Amy’s kidnappers and the arson attacks before it’s too late.

  Prepare to be terrorised all over again with this

  disturbingly addictive thriller, unleashed in

  autumn 2008.

  ISBN: 978-1-84756-083-4

  Read on for an exclusive extract from Lee Weeks’s next novel, The Trafficked, coming soon…

  1

  ‘Shhh, stop crying. The white man will hear you. What’s your name?’

  ‘Perla.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘I’m Maya. I’m eight. You from Mindanao?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me too. Where are we?’

  ‘Angeles City.’

  ‘Why are we chained up? Are we in prison? Why does that Kano hurt everyone? What will happen to me?’

  ‘You will be sold.’

  ‘Sold?’

  ‘Sold to a man.’

  ‘What will the man do with me?’

  ‘He will have sex with you.’

  ‘I’m just a girl. I can’t. I’m going to run away. Let’s do it, Perla. Let’s run home to Mindanao.’

  Perla stated to cry again.

  ‘Don’t cry. Kano will come. He will hurt you. He will poke you with the electric stick again.’

  ‘My legs are wet. I am bleeding.’

  ‘Don’t cry, Perla. I’ll be your friend. I’ll tell you a Mickey Mouse story.’

  By the time Maya finished her story Perla was dead.

  2

  Detective Inspector Johnny Mann was at the end of the bar. He held on to a glass and rolled it in his hands, savouring the cool condensation, before allowing it to slip through his fingers and land in the centre of the barmat. He checked his phone – another message, same as the last one. He pushed his dark hair back from his sun-sore eyes and signalled to the barman that he was ready for another vodka.

  Mann was one of nine men sat in the Boom Boom Bar – a palm-thatched, rattan-floored beach hut. Apart from a dozen stools, there was a tatty couch that had lost half its back and had two threadbare cushions to sit on. There was no fan in the Boom Boom Bar, only the breeze to cool it down and tonight there was not a breath of wind. Five of the ten men were watching a boxing match on a small television set suspended from the ceiling. The other three stared at their drinks, willing the alcohol to hit. Mann’s t-shirt stuck to him in the suffocating heat, tracing the contours of his strong, lean frame.

  A cockroach dropped from the roof and landed on the barman’s back. It clung to his shirt.

  ‘How’s it goin’, bro?’

  Mann felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Jojo, the proprietor, a short, fat, fifty-year-old Filipino wearing a pink shiny shirt with Boom Boom Bar embroidered on the back. His soft afro hair balloo
ned over his shoulders.

  ‘Good, Jojo. Place is busy, I see.’

  Mann gestured toward the area of candlelit tables on the beach outside. Most of them were occupied.

  ‘Yeah, pretty busy, man. We gotta real good singer tonight.’

  A young brown-skinned singer, his hair in a wide ponytail, was wailing a Bob Marley song on a small stage pitched into the sand. Next to him, a young musician sat on a drum box with his back to the sea. His eyes were closed. His long bony fingers beat a rhythm on the box’s stretched skin. His name was Rex. He was Jojo’s eldest son.

  The barman set another drink down in front of Mann. As he did so, the cockroach crawled onto his arm. He knocked it off and stamped on it hard.

  ‘Stick around, Johnny, it’s gonna be a good night. Plenty of people about.’

  Jojo was about to walk away when Mann caught him.

  ‘Thought about what I said?’

  Jojo laughed uncomfortably. ‘I told you, bro, this is paradise – you should know, you been comin’ here for long enough. Best place on Mama Earth.’

  He disappeared to play the ‘happy patron’, circling the bar and talking to his customers. After twenty minutes he came back to stand at the end of the bar. Mann proposed a toast to Boracay.

  ‘To paradise – where every hour is ‘happy hour’. You’re right, Jojo.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been coming here a long time. I’ve known you since I was a rookie and your son, Rex….’He nodded in the direction of the youth on the drum box.‘…was a small boy.’

  ‘Long time, bro, long time.’ Jojo nodded his head.

  ‘Remember that time you were suicidal over a woman? What was she called?’

  Jojo screwed up his face, struggling to remember her name.