The Wardens of Punyu (The Handover Mysteries, Volume I)

by D. L. Kung

  Slaughter nodded sympathetically.

  Claire went on. ‘Um, he dressed casually, but you could tell it was expensive casual. Sort of Mediterranean tropic. I don’t see why I have to keep it a secret. I didn’t like the guy.’ Claire laughed nervously. ‘But I didn’t drown him. I guess he wasn’t slavish enough to be my stringer.’

  ‘Fair enough. We won’t hold that against you. Airport records show he arrived in Hong Kong by plane a week ago. When was his last contact with you out of Bangkok?’

  Cecilia nodded, eager to be helpful. ‘I called him in Bangkok the previous week to ask him to resend pages that got garbled on the fax.’

  ‘Did he mention seeing any friends here? Any particular business? Was he here for a story?’

  ‘He only mentioned Vic. In fact, he broke the news to me that Vic had gone to China over the New Year break without telling me. And he seemed inordinately close to Vic’s girlfriend.’

  ‘She was already in the apartment with the victim when you arrived?’

  ‘Both of them butt naked and . . . deep in conference.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  They pondered Claire’s disclosure without further comment for a moment.

  Slaughter continued. ‘We made inquiries at the Cheung Chau ferry terminals on both the island and in Central. The ticket sellers and boatmen recognized his passport photo. Apparently, Mr Hager traveled in and out of Central fairly often over the last week,’ said Slaughter. With the cooperation of the Thai police, we’re following up some leads on phone calls he made to Bangkok. How long has there has been a romantic involvement between the deceased and Miss Chew, do you think?’

  ‘As I just explained, I only discovered it inadvertently on Friday and I wouldn’t assume there was anything romantic between them,’ she said.

  Dobbs interrupted with a whispery voice. ‘What does your coroner tell us about Mr Hager’s death?’

  Slaughter turned to Dobbs. ‘We’ve only had the body for a day, but some facts are self-evident. The first question is whether Mr Hager drowned to death or was dead when his body entered the water. The second question is whether his death was an accident, a suicide or murder. Both are easy to answer.’

  ‘We know that the body was in the water less than 48 hours since Miss Raymond saw the victim alive on Friday afternoon and we found him at ten in the morning yesterday. That is scarcely enough time for gases to form and bring the body to the surface, especially with the water being so chilly this time of year.’

  ‘Fortunately for us, something caught the body and left it in the tide along Sai Kung shore. But unfortunately for our labs, the remains took quite a beating in that short time. Part of the problem was that the water is very rough with high winds at this time of year. Nonetheless, we established that the sand and debris clinging to the nose and mouth is for our purposes an external addition after death; the lack of seawater and sand within the lungs themselves signals death before entering the water.’

  ‘There was also a gunshot wound on the left temple, inflicted at very close quarters, which often hints at suicide, but there was no suicide note and no weapon.’

  ‘And it’s extremely unlikely he shot himself, then walked his corpse to the beach.’

  ‘Precisely, Mr Hillward. There were also some curious wounds on the torso, one very deep, possibly caused by metal embedded or protruding along the shoreline. The problem is that we can’t yet be sure how or when these wounds were inflicted, since the remains are thoroughly washed out and the blood flow very hard to establish. As you saw yourself, the corpse also suffered numerous abrasions or lacerations across those wounds from ropes— the lab identified fibers from fishing ropes— and the body had lost critical parts, excuse me, of his anatomy—one leg and most of his genitalia—to the sharks. He was a bit of a mess, frankly.’

  Claire had recovered from her initial shock and nausea at the sight of Hager’s body but Slaughter’s photos were spread out on the table to remind her. Suddenly she thought of another body, that of Gu Weng-kin, violated by a surgeon’s knife and a People’s Armed Policeman’s pistol, and a rope lacerating her young and innocent neck. She felt an awful queasiness returning, no matter how cool and succinct Slaughter’s account. She yearned to get this inquiry over with. She needed to throw herself back into work.

  Slaughter continued going over his notes. ‘Our search of the flat produced the most dramatic discovery. The floor matting in the living room, the room used as an office, and the mattress in the main bedroom were all stained with the victim’s blood in a way that’s not consistent with the head wound. There are signs of a struggle, including the victim’s bloody fingerprints across the living room wall, but no signs of breaking in, so we are deducing that the murderer was admitted or had his or her own key.’

  Claire interjected: ‘We keep a key to his flat at the office. Vic carried his key and I suppose there must have been a spare shared with Craig or Nancy.’

  The Senior Superintendent looked Claire straight in the eye. ‘This is Hong Kong. You know how many times a flat like that passes hands around the guay lo community. There could be a dozen spares out there.’

  Partly to recover face, Claire spoke up again. ‘I may have seen the weapon.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Slaughter looked up. Hong Kong had strict laws on weapons. Only two categories of people had guns in the colony—the Royal Hong Kong Police or the criminals they chased.

  ‘A pistol. About eight inches long. With ridges on the side.’

  ‘Serrations?’ Harris leaned forward.

  ‘Yes, with a star on the grip.’

  Harris and Slaughter straightened up at this.

  ‘In a circle with five points. A star within a wheel.’

  ‘That sounds like a Black Star or Red Star from China,’ said Harris. He took a deep breath and glanced at Slaughter for confirmation.

  ‘An automatic, caliber 7.62mm, based on the Soviet Tokarev TT33. The Hungarians have something like it, the Model 48, and the former Yugoslavs called theirs the Model M57. But you can tell the difference, because where the Chinese put their star, the Hungarians have a star, a wheat sheaf and a hammer all inside a wreath. The Chinese have those serrations whereas the Russians and the Poles don’t.’

  ‘I’m impressed, Mr Hillward,’ congratulated the Senior Superintendent. Clearly Harris knew more than the finer points of wine and Chinese poetry. He avoided Claire’s half-astonished gaze and mumbled, ‘Until recently, it was standard issue to Chinese officers—’

  ‘People’s Armed Police or the People’s Liberation Army?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Both services use it. They’re manufactured by the national arsenals but with the demobilization of more than a million men in 1987, this gun has been getting around.’

  Slaughter nodded, ‘We see them coming in from Vietnam via Guanxi province and moving regularly across the border between Guangdong and Hong Kong.’

  ‘So it’s a pretty serious weapon?’ she asked.

  Slaughter chuckled. ‘Actually not. It’s only reasonably reliable even when it’s new and well maintained. If it’s rusty or neglected in any way—and by the time they get to Hong Kong, most of them would fit that description— you tend to have accidents.’

  ‘But you must have found the gun when you searched the apartment,’ Claire said.

  ‘Actually, we didn’t,’ Slaughter admitted. ‘Someone took it or hid it very well.’

  ‘How would someone like Vic or Craig get one?’ Cecilia asked.

  Slaughter chuckled cynically. ‘It isn’t like when you first arrived here, my dear. It’s been a couple of years since guns were hard to come by in Hong Kong. Why do you think this latest rash of robberies, all the jewelry store holdups in Kowloon, is so serious for our friends over on Arsenal Street at the C.I.D.? We’ve got shootouts nearly every week now over measly crimes committed by thugs coming across from Guangdong. Bokchoy cabbage, cha siu pork, and wide boys, that’s what China exports to Hong Kong by the lorry load every
afternoon.’

  There was a knock at the door and Slaughter gathered all his papers and photos back into his folder. Nancy Chew came in, wearing a tight black leather skirt and a matching jacket with grommets studding her padded shoulders. There was a lot of gel spiking her hair, and as she took a chair, she sent a cloud of Dior’s Poison settling over their heads.

  ‘Ms Chew, thank you for coming in,’ said Harris, introducing her around. Nancy glared at Claire, assuming that the American reporter had conspired in this summons. She looked completely unlike that orgasmic Fury of the previous Friday. Her face was now a cool mask of rice powder. The tiny breasts were demurely tucked inside a white blouse underneath the leather. Dark, wide eyebrows were sketched in makeup pencil across the sparse hairs over her eyes. Her lids were shaded dark green.

  ‘Ms Chew, before we start, perhaps I should explain something to you right away, to help you relax, I mean,’ said Harris. ‘This is not an interrogation, just a meeting. We need help in answering some obvious questions.’

  Slaughter cleared his throat. ‘Now we understand you are a close friend of Victor D’Amato, Miss Raymond’s colleague, and a close acquaintance of Mr Hager, the deceased.’

  Nancy’s glare shifted from Claire to Slaughter. At least Claire was off the hook for the moment.

  ‘Yes,’ Nancy muttered.

  ‘Well, first we wondered how much you knew about Mr D’Amato’s plans or whereabouts upon leaving Hong Kong.’

  ‘He left on Thursday night before Chinese New Year,’ she said sullenly. ‘After that, I didn’t hear from him.’

  ‘Did he tell you where he was going?’ asked Dobbs. ‘Really, anything you can say would be helpful to us.’

  Claire saw Nancy’s expression turn canny. Nancy might be wondering how helpful she could be in exchange for a quick working visa to the US.

  Harris read her thoughts. ‘Of course, it’s really a matter of cooperating because we are all concerned about your friend Victor, especially considering what’s happened to Mr Hager. I’m sure you want to find him as much as we do.’

  Nancy shifted in her seat. ‘I guess he went to Guangdong province. He said he had work there.’

  ‘What kind of work?’ probed Dobbs in his desiccated nun’s tremolo.

  ‘An investigation of an American company. He got the idea from my brother,’ Nancy answered.

  ‘What?’ interrupted Claire. She knew Chew Lo-Man only as a small-time entrepreneur leasing outdated little factories in the Tai Po Estates for fly-by-night ventures that lasted about as long as the home perms he applied to his hair.

  ‘Vic got a story idea from my brother. Lo-man knows a lot about Guangdong,’ Nancy stared defiantly back at Claire.

  ‘What does your brother do?’ asked Dobbs, even more gently than before.

  ‘What doesn’t he do?’ murmured Claire to Cecilia who smiled back in mutual distaste for Chew Lo-man.

  ‘Import-export,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Trading what?’ Harris prompted.

  ‘Many things. Last year he sells mobile telephone with a plastic cup that you carry and put inside your car and drive without holding it.’

  ‘A suction cup,’ explained Claire. She had seen Vic try to palm one of these contraptions off on Cecilia, even though the secretary didn’t own a car.

  Nancy nodded, adding importantly, ‘Yes. And some people in Canada want parts of electrical supplies. He sells small motors for hair dryers.’

  For a moment, they looked perplexed. Nancy’s pronunciation of ‘hair dryers’ sounded exactly as if she’d said ‘head rice.’

  Harris battled on. ‘How well did Victor know your brother?’

  Nancy looked uneasy. ‘They were good friends two months now. Vic invested in my brother’s companies. He couldn’t give payroll when his company had trouble. Vic borrowed him the money when he first came to Hong Kong.’

  This was disturbing news. Claire realized where Nancy was heading. Of course, Nancy didn’t realize her audience knew of her two-timing Vic. She would be trying to build an impression that she was grateful and appreciative of Vic, not a disloyal opportunist.

  ‘How much money, exactly, Miss Chew?’ asked Slaughter. He was starting to sound impatient. Vic’s disappearance was an appetizer for Harris and Dobbs. The British police had Craig’s corpse in their jurisdiction as the main course.

  ‘Five hundred thousand Hong Kong,’ answered Nancy. Claire and Cecilia gasped. No one else spoke. That was $64,000 in American currency. It explained one reason why Vic was living on Cheung Chau. Perhaps he’d lent that money to impress Nancy into going out with him. Claire now fervently wished she’d been kinder to Vic, if only so that he would have confided this sort of misstep to her. If Vic wasn’t found healthy and whole soon, how would this sit on her conscience?

  Harris took notes as Nancy told them Vic’s specific destination was a place called Punyu. Harris was asking, ‘Punyu? That’s where he said he was going?’

  Claire nodded to Harris. ‘Okay,’ he said, stilling her momentarily with a gesture of his hand as he added this to his notes. ‘Did he mention anywhere else?’

  ‘Cha Ling,’ Nancy said. Harris kept his eyes on his notes. No one wanted to choke off Nancy’s flow with too obvious an interest in any particular fact. The girl was nervous enough already. Harris said, ‘Cha, that’s ‘cha,’ as in tea? And ‘ling’?’

  ‘Mountain,’ said Nancy, tracing the character on her palm with the index finger of her other hand, the way all Chinese clarified one homonym from another.

  ‘Yes,’ said Harris, carefully copying the Chinese character on his notepad. ‘Have you been there yourself? Do you know what was in Punyu or Cha Ling, or where they are exactly?’

  ‘No,’ Nancy replied.

  ‘Something to do with this company?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Nancy. She realized the pressure was off, and she was getting restless.

  Slaughter took the reins and pulled a little tighter. ‘By the way, when did you meet Mr Hager? We assume that during those nights he borrowed Mr D’Amato’s flat, you were becoming acquainted with him?’

  Nancy flushed.

  ‘Yes. He’s a good friend. Knows a lot of people. Just a friend.’

  ‘To Mr D’Amato, you mean?’ pressed Slaughter.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean,’ said Nancy.

  But it’s not what you meant, Claire thought.

  ‘And did Mr Hager have anything to do with Mr D’Amato’s plans to visit Punyu and Cha Ling?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘I don’t think so. No. Anyway, we don’t talk much about Vic,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Did Mr Hager talk to anyone, receive any phone calls or meet anyone? Did he speak to you of anything that could help us in learning who killed him?’ resumed Slaughter.

  ‘He get a lot of phone calls from Bangkok,’ said Nancy. ‘But he didn’t return them from Vic’s house. He didn’t want Vic to pay the bill.’

  Claire was unconvinced, but said nothing. Claire encouraged Hager to send his transmission receipts and business-related lunch and dinner bills to Business World for reimbursement, partly to make up for the low monthly retainer. And he did, in spades. Even though he wasn’t hurting for ready cash, judged by the standards of most stringers, she’d noticed that Hager was always pretty quick to see ways of transferring charges to other people.

  Ten more minutes yielded little else from Nancy, whose makeup and temper were wearing thin under the fluorescent lighting. Only once, when she sensed the interview had finally come to a close, did emotion show in her eyes.

  She spoke up; ‘If you catch the person who shot Craig, you make that person suffer.’

  Slaughter straightened up with impatience. ‘Yes, of course, that’s why we’re here, my dear.’ He ran his thumb back and forth across his folder reports and photographs safe from Nancy’s curious eyes.

  Harris took a phone call in the corner of the room.

  ‘Miss Chew’s brother is here to pick her up. Why do
n’t we ask him up?’

  Harris returned from the lobby in less than two minutes with Chew Lo-man in tow. The salesman smiled broadly as he saw the group. Was it nerves or gall? What did he think this was—a toy marketing meeting in Mongkok? Claire pitied Vic for getting himself mixed up with the Chew family in the first place.

  Harris tried to warm him up, repeating his pitch that all they needed was information.

  ‘I can do anything for you, I do it,’ grinned Chew. His cheeks were stippled with acne scars. A greasy diet ran in the Chew family.

  ‘You knew Mr Hager?’ asked Slaughter.

  ‘Only my sister here talked about him. I never meet him. I know his friend Victor D’Amato, now in China. A very good friend of mine. Perhaps we do business in the US someday soon. I hope so. Journalism is a waste of time for him, I tell him this hard truth many, many times.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, do you know where Mr D’Amato is at this very moment, Mr Chew? His office has lost track of him. Your sister tells us that you gave him some advice—a tip perhaps? A story?’

  Slaughter tapped his pencil on the folder sitting in front of him.

  Chew noticed the gesture. His expression turned ludicrously sincere. ‘Not exactly. He was looking into an electronics business story. I can tell him many, many things about components, prices—things like that. No big deal.’

  Slaughter cleared his throat impatiently. ‘Yes. Yes. Do you have any idea of his location right now? For example, have you heard of a place called Punyu?’

  ‘Punyu? Sure, everybody knows Punyu, south of Foshan. Lots of American factories there.’’