‘No, that was only a small joke. You are my number one staff.’
‘Now this is really fishy.’
‘So? You agree? You not go to police, we investigate murder that your friend did not do?’
‘So I’m going to get my job back then? I want better pay and conditions.’
‘What pay and conditions?’
‘That’s just it. I get no pay and conditions to speak of. Things are going to have to change. I want a desk by the window.’
‘No room for you to have desk by the window. Very bad feng shui for you to have desk by window. You are a woman. Bad shar to give you a desk there.’
‘I’m going to the police. I’m actually already at the police station, just going up the steps.’
‘No. You have desk by the window, no problem. Bad shar energy, can fix easily.’
‘I’m going to speak to Mr Pun about my salary and holidays.’
‘I speak to Mr Pun about your salary and holidays.’
‘I’m speaking to him, end of story.’
Wong did not like the new assertiveness he could hear in Joyce’s voice. This tricky business was changing the dynamics between them. ‘If you go to police, no use. You have no evidence. Does not help your friend. I have some evidence. I went into room of murder victim on airplane today.’
‘You did? What did you find?’
‘Meet me. I tell you.’
Joyce lapsed into silence. She had to make a quick decision. Should she go to the police? Or should she trust Wong? She realised that if she was honest with herself, she was feeling very unconfident about explaining the whole business to the police. Paul had only told her that he was on the wrong deck at the time of the shooting, and he had delivered the news using an Obcom reference. What if the police officer she was talking to didn’t get it? Did people in Hong Kong listen to 1970s music anyway? Would they be familiar with the single ‘Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude’? If Wong had found an easier way to prove Paul was innocent, that would be ideal. Yet she was suspicious. Wong’s change of attitude was bizarre. It could only be explained by one thing. Somebody had decided to pay him to prove that Paul was not guilty. Well, it didn’t matter who was paying who, or how much money was involved. If the outcome was that Paul was got off a murder charge, then it had to be good.
Joyce made up her mind. ‘Okay. I won’t go to the police… yet. Look, I’ll meet you back at the hotel in a couple of hours. There’s one more person I want to see. My friend Nina got me the address of Kaitlyn MacKenzie. She was the girl who sneaked Paul on to the aircraft. I want to know if there’s anything else she can tell us about what really went on on Skyparc. If we are really going to help Paul get off this murder rap, this woman may be able to tell us something useful.’
Joyce found Kaitlyn MacKenzie’s home easily, but there was no one home. It was in a small, old walk-up block close to what was officially called Soho, but which she thought of as Escalatorland, a settlement of restaurants and apartments on both sides of a long, open-air moving walkway that ran up the mountain which dominated the central part of Hong Kong island. She decided to wait. ‘I’ll give you half an hour, Ms MacKenzie,’ Joyce said to no one in particular, finding a step to sit on and shuffling up a podcast on her iPod. She’d downloaded a long interview with Stongo of The Rogerers the previous night and was happy to listen to it for the third time. His voice was soooo sexy.
Thirty-one minutes later, bored and tired, Joyce had just risen to her feet and dusted the back of her clothes, when an immaculately dressed young woman in her late twenties stepped out of a taxi on Staunton Street. She was laden with shopping bags.
‘Kaitlyn MacKenzie?’
‘Yeah. You are?’
‘I’m a friend of Paul’s. Paul Barker? The guy on the plane? I just wanted to thank you for what you did for him. I know it didn’t work out, but you were just trying to help—I realise that. I’m really grateful.’
‘Look. I can’t really talk. I’m kinda busy right now. I’m sorry about what happened. But I really just want to forget all about it.’
Joyce scanned the array of shopping bags she was carrying. ‘You’ve just been sacked and you’re shopping at Zara?’
‘Uh…yeah…just picking up a few things. Essentials.’
‘No, I totally understand. I’m just the same. When I’ve got no money and everything’s in the toilet, I go out and spend spend spend. I mean, I won’t go to Armani or somewhere really expensive, but Zara—I mean, you gotta have these things for your, for your, self-esteem.’
‘Yeah…Hey, I gotta go,’ said Kaitlyn, fumbling a key out of a pocket.
‘Let me help you.’ Joyce snatched the key out of her hand. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
‘Look, I don’t think I can help you. I think you should—’
Joyce screamed. ‘Iiieee! Is that a Miu Miu Matelasse handbag?’
‘Yes, it—’
‘You got taste, girl.’
‘I needed a treat.’
‘You definitely did. You also need a cup of tea. This week must have been a total nightmare. I’ll make you one.’
Kaitlyn MacKenzie paused, and then decided: ‘Okay. Quick cup of tea. But then I have to pack. I’m really busy. I’m going on a trip.’
‘No worries.’
They took the lift upstairs in awkward silence. The temperature between them warmed when Joyce took several of the shopping bags and made wildly approving noises at Kaitlyn’s shopping choices: ‘Jimmy Choo, wow, you’re an A-grade shopper, I can see that.’
The apartment was small and rather untidy, but Joyce put that down to the shock of the past couple of days. Designer clothes were strewn on the floor. It kinda fitted, she decided. Kaitlyn was so immaculate on the outside, it made sense that she needed a place where she could slum it, let it all hang out.
‘’Scuse the mess.’
‘It’s okay. You weren’t expecting a guest. And it’s tidier than my place.’
The other woman lowered her shopping bags to the floor and went into the kitchen—actually a tiny indentation in the main room—to put on a kettle.
‘I’m sorry to seem unfriendly. It’s just that this is a difficult time for me.’
‘I can imagine. You just lost one of your colleagues. I mean, it must be awful to know someone and have that person lose his life. Especially with you having played a part in it, so to speak. I mean, how awful. You must feel that it’s partly your fault.’
‘No. It wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’m not saying it was your fault. I was just saying that you probably feel it was your fault, you know—it’s human nature to blame ourselves for things.’
‘No. I don’t think it was my fault at all.’
Joyce knew when to give up on a line of argument. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I guess. That’s the best attitude to take. I’m right behind you.’
‘How do you like your tea?’
The conversation descended into icy bits of small talk for the next five minutes. Kaitlyn MacKenzie was clearly reluctant to talk about the events of the past few days.
Joyce tried to broach the subject of Wednesday from several directions, but to no avail. She decided to just talk honestly about herself and Paul. ‘Paul and I have been special friends for ages—mostly just on email, though. I don’t live here—I live in Singapore. It’s scary to think I might never see him again, if he’s going to be locked up for the rest of his life. Is there anything he said to you that you can remember? Anything that might help me get a handle on what happened, and why it happened? I can’t believe he intended to kill anyone. He’s just not that sort of person.’
Kaitlyn shook her head. ‘I hardly spoke to him. He approached me and asked me if I could get him into Skyparc. I said I could.’
‘He’s a good guy, isn’t he?’
‘He said he was an environmentalist and that what he and others were doing would eventually save the earth for us and our children and the generations to come. It sounded
good. It sounded like the right thing to do. He turned up on Wednesday, and I used my card to get him through the security system. Some minutes later, all hell broke loose. I gave a million interviews to police. I lost my job. That’s it. That’s all I know. What happened on the plane wasn’t anything to do with me.’
‘It must have been awful for you when you heard about the killing.’
‘Yes. No. As I said, that part of it wasn’t really anything to do with me.’
‘But you lost one of your colleagues. And your job. That must have been really awful.’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, absently.
‘What are you going to do? Going to take a break? Or are you going to start looking for another job?’
‘I’ve got another job lined up.’
‘Already?’
‘I’m going to work for the Queen.’
‘You never are.’
‘I am, actually.’ Kaitlyn couldn’t resist a grin.
‘Wow! How did you swing that?’
‘There’s lots of people with royal connections on the Skyparc. There’s even one of the junior royals there. And there’s also this lobbyist guy called Robbie Manks, who is a sort of PR consultant to the royal family. He approached me with an offer. I’m going to work with him from now on. It’s kinda hush-hush, but it’ll be announced eventually.’
‘I know Robbie Manks. In fact, my boss is doing some work for him at the moment. When do you start?’
‘Tomorrow. I’m flying to London on the Skyparc.’
‘So’s my boss. I was supposed to be going too, but now I don’t know for sure.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps if you do come on the plane, it would be better if we talked then?’ Kaitlyn put down her teacup and started picking clothes up off the floor. ‘I have so much to do tonight.’
It was too obvious a dismissal to miss. Joyce finished her tea and stood up to leave. ‘Sure.’
Friday dawned mild and misty. The sky was a hazy blue-white. Hong Kong lost much of its sultriness on the more pleasant days in December and the breezes were considerably cooler than those of Singapore. The air was fresh-tasting as Joyce McQuinnie left the hotel and headed in a straight line towards the nearest branch of Pacific Coffee. Halfway down the street she spun on her heel and pointed directly at the man following her.
‘Him,’ she yelled.
Two men appeared from nowhere and grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. One was a large Eurasian youth with straggly hair. Another was a middle-aged Chinese with small glasses.
‘Gotcha,’ said the younger one.
‘Step backwards and don’t cause any trouble,’ said the older one.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ J Oscar Jackson Jnr said. ‘Hey! Let me go. I’m not doing any harm here.’
‘You are following our friend—an innocent and defenceless young woman, or at least she could be. And that’s doing harm in our book,’ said Abel Man Chi-keung.
Jackson stopped struggling. ‘You know what? I am just not cut out for this espionage lark. I’m going to go back to my office job at the foundation the day I get back—no, the minute I get—no, the minute you guys let go of me. I’ll resign on the phone.’
Jackson was so urbane and non-threatening that Abel let go of him immediately, but Jason McWong kept his grip tight.
‘You’re wrinkling my Armani jacket,’ Jackson said.
‘Like I care,’ growled Jason.
‘And your Comme de Garcons blouson.’
Jason quickly let go and stepped away.
Joyce approached him. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want a private conversation with you.’
‘Why don’t you just ask me?’
‘I was about to.’
‘You were following me yesterday. I saw you.’
‘I was following you yesterday. And Mr Wong. I was checking you guys out before offering you a very important but rather delicate assignment. I spoke to Mr Wong at length yesterday, and I was approaching you this morning with the intention of merely talking to you. He told me yesterday that you know more about the matter I have an interest in than he does. So think of me as a friend, or even a prospective employer, a source of paid work, if you like.’
‘Most people who offer us assignments phone us up or send emails. They don’t sneak around behind us like creeps.’
‘I have to work more discreetly than most people. I’m sorry if I scared you. I apologise.’
‘Anyway, I’m kind of busy right now. We have assignments up the kazoo. And so do my friends. We have a very important case to deal with.’
Jackson knew he had to put his cards on the table. ‘We may have something in common. The assignment I want to offer you is about Paul Barker of Pals of the Planet,’ he said. ‘My people want to get him out of jail. We think he’s innocent.’
Joyce’s jaw dropped. ‘Talk,’ she said.
For the next ten minutes, Joyce listened to Jackson with her eyes and ears wide open. He was saying exactly what she needed to hear. Joyce and Jackson, along with Jason, Abel and also Nina, were in Pacific Coffee talking over her second breakfast. The young people ordered giant coffees and piles of sticky pastries while J Oscar Jackson Jnr contented himself with a cup of herbal tea, no milk or sugar. There was a huge row of cabinets filled with food, but he was dismayed to note that every single item seemed to be wickedly, frighteningly carbohydrate-based. But Joyce hardly ate. She hung on his every word as he told her that he wanted to get justice for Paul Barker and believed that Pals of the Planet was a major force for good.
‘But that’s incredible. Should I believe any of this?’
‘Why shouldn’t you?’
‘It’s too perfect. It’s ludicrous. I thought I was the only person on this planet who believed Paul was innocent and then my boss suddenly changes his mind and now you—a big, expensively dressed corporate kind of dude—come along and say the same thing. It’s too weird. It just seems so…where are you going?’
Jackson had risen to his feet. He stretched like a cat. His stomach rumbled and he winced. ‘I’m going to my hotel to get my bag. Then we’re going to the airport.’
‘You may be, but I’m not. I gotta stay here and help Paul.’
‘I think you’re going to come with me. You are going to do no good at all by staying here. You’d be able to visit Paul from time to time, make him feel better, but that’s it. He won’t even talk to you. He’s not talking to anyone. You’re better off coming with me, you can meet my team in London, and then we have a chance of springing him.’
‘Why London?’
‘Listen lady, I haven’t got time to go into everything just now, but here’s the deal in a small package. To get someone on a murder charge out of prison, you need big guns. A few of his friends hanging around moping is not going to cut it. You need a top team. You need big lawyers. You need QCs. You need finance. You need strategy. You need people with connections who know what they are doing. We’re going to go to London, where I understand you and your boss have an assignment anyway, and, on the side, we are going to have some meetings where we can get the process underway to get Paul out of prison. We’re going to give you some detailed briefings, and then when you get back here, you spend as long as it takes doing research and investigation. The thing won’t come to court for months, so you’ll probably have time. But we want to work with you to get Paul Barker and Pals of the Planet cleared. Sound good?’
‘I can’t go on Skyparc. I’ve been negatively vetted.’
‘I can overrule that. My people have higher clearance than the security officers at Skyparc Airside Enterprises.’
Joyce felt torn about the idea of leaving Paul in jail and flying away from him, but what this American guy was saying made sense. What they needed most of all was a strong team of qualified supporters together, and if that meant visiting J Oscar Jackson’s mysterious backers in London, that’s what they had to do.
‘Jojo, you go to London. We’ll visit Paul,’ said Nina.
‘Your parents won’t approve.’
‘Hey, I’m an adult now.’
Joyce turned back to Jackson. ‘You said you spoke to CF Wong about this? My boss? Are you the guy who changed his mind about Paul?’
‘I did. He’s cool. We’ll all be flying together to London on Skyparc. It all fits together rather well. We leave this afternoon. I’ll tell you more about what’s going on when we’re in the air.’
‘But you’ll be in business class, I’ll bet. Or first.’
Jackson smiled. ‘Little lady, we’re travelling on Skyparc. It’s all first class.’
Wong and McQuinnie arrived early at the airport so they would have at least an hour to look around and get a feel of what happened—or what was supposed to have happened. Nicola Teo, after a lot of arm-twisting, had agreed to escort the two of them into the Skyparc hangar to talk to the staff.
Their first job, Wong decided, was to talk to the witnesses, which meant the technical staff who had seen the shooting. The feng shui master was soon chatting in Cantonese with several of the engineers.
Teo pointed Joyce in the direction of a woman standing by herself, a thirty-something Chinese woman in overalls who was filling in some notes on an electronic clipboard of some kind. ‘Speak to that woman. She’s a senior member of the team you want to talk to, and she speaks English. Her name’s Poon Pik-kwan. I think her English name is Tammy.’
Joyce raced over to her. ‘Excuse me, are you Ms Poon?’
‘Yes?’ she answered, suspicion in her voice.
‘Your team witnessed the killing on Wednesday? We’re helping with the investigation and we’d like you to tell us exactly what you saw.’
‘You a police officer?’
‘No. We’re from a, er, independent investigating organisation.’
‘Well, we were working on Skyparc. There’d been some worry about the window seals and we were just checking them. They were fine. A little adjustment on one or two of them, my guys said. Replacing of loose rivets, that sort of thing.’
Mr Wong Goes West Page 13