by Lee Weeks
‘Gosia. The cigarette burns on her. They form a pattern.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They look like the Islands – Lantau, Lama, Cheung Chau.’ He pulled out the photo and set it on the desk. ‘See!’ He traced the outline of the Islands.
Ng squinted at the photo. ‘Well, what’s that? A passing ship? A shoal of tuna? And that? What is that?’ asked Ng. ‘You need to get some sleep, Shrimp, you’re hallucinating.’
Li blushed and giggled, embarrassed.
‘Anyway, Shrimp, you’re sure there are sixty-eight, right?’ said Mann. ‘Keep working on it – there is something significant about these burns. Some role play, some clue. Some fucking game or other. It’s good to keep looking at it and trying out ideas. Even if some of them are shit.’
Ng patted Li on the back. ‘What else?’ He could see Shrimp was bursting to tell.
‘I was with a girl last night. She said she’d seen a film. She said it was a snuff movie. She said it had a white woman in it.’
72
‘Did she say where she’d seen it?’
‘No. She wouldn’t say. She disappeared on me after that.’
‘Okay, Shrimp. Concentrate on finding these films. Ng – get every officer we can spare out there looking for these tapes. Any more results through from the path lab?’
‘I have them, boss. They just came through a minute ago. Victim six … Helen … definitely asphyxiated, probably with a bag … no obvious signs of pressure or crush injuries. Traces of metal in the wounds across her body, definitely looking at a metal-tipped instrument of some kind.’
‘What else?’
‘Nothing else,’ Li mumbled.
‘Say it, Shrimp.’
‘She was sexually mutilated.’
‘How?’
No one spoke. Li looked at Ng, but Ng couldn’t save him. He was treading water in the middle of the ocean and he was about to drown.
‘How, Li?’
‘Her uterus and ovaries are missing.’
‘Give me the file. I’m going home – call me if you need me.’
Mann took the file from Li and left the office. He had to face the photos, and he had to face Helen.
They were still waiting for him, spread out over his lounge floor. They hadn’t moved. His eyes scanned all the pictures but missed out Helen’s. He stood in the middle of them: Roxanne, Gosia, Beverly, and the three others – two still without a name.
He stood and forced his eyes towards Helen’s pictures. He focused on her face. He loved that photo. He had taken it himself. It was a black and white shot. The sun was on her face; she was laughing. The wind had blown her hair across her face and she’d put up a hand to brush it away. Her eyes were sparkling and her whole face was full of love, of happiness. She was looking right at Mann.
He picked up all the other photos and pushed them to one side. He collected Helen’s and laid them around the chair. He sat in the midst of them, leaned back and closed his eyes. The cool-season effect was about to hit him. The tornado was about to pick him up by his heels and spin him through time – to somewhere he really didn’t want to go. The dream came back to him. Helen was packing her bag again, throwing everything into a small suitcase, and it wouldn’t fit and she was getting frustrated. He helped her shut it. They pushed together and forced it closed. Mann picked it up. It hardly weighed anything. They walked to the door in silence. Already, an anxiousness was creeping into the dream. Mann was trapped in it now. He’d have to fight to get out of this one. He was being held back. Helen was walking far ahead of him. He couldn’t catch up. Helen was almost out of sight then … BANG … Helen’s voice, not speaking – screaming, with pain. And someone else was with her.
73
Mann rocked on his feet as he held on to the cold porcelain bowl and steadied himself for a few seconds. He wiped the bitter bile from his mouth before turning on the shower and undressing. He looked into the mirror. He was wet with sweat, and his face was blotched from the exertion of vomiting. He stood for a few seconds and tried to see Helen as he wanted to remember her, not as he had just seen her. He wanted to forget that image as fast as he could, but he knew the dream was not done with him yet. It had more to show him.
He stepped into the shower and turned the massage jet on. It blasted his back with needle-thin jets of water. Tipping his head back he felt his scalp tingling as the water pelted him like hard rain. He reached out his hand and steadied himself against the cold white tiles, closing his eyes. He bowed his head. He so wanted to escape. But he knew he had not finished yet. He must go back into the lounge and face Helen’s suffering again. He must relive it and find whoever did it. And he must find Georgina. He owed her that. He owed it to Helen as well.
He towelled dry, slipped on some boxers and a T-shirt and went into the kitchen to make some tea. No more alcohol for him for a while. He needed to stay focused, plus it made him morose and he didn’t need any help with that at the moment.
Back in the lounge the photos were around the base of his chair where he had left them. He walked past them and went to stand at the window. He wished he could see the sea, but he couldn’t. He could just look at the other tower blocks in the development. But the sea was out there somewhere. He looked for it to help him now.
If we ever make enough money, that’s what we’ll do with it … buy ourselves a little shack on Lama Island. Lie on the hot sand, sleep on the beach, get drunk and make love under the stars.
He pulled down the blinds and adjusted them to allow just enough light through, but to take away all distractions. He turned back to the chair.
There were fifteen photos from the autopsy, a lab report and a plastic bag containing her bracelet. He took the bracelet out and held it in his hand and turned it over a few times. Then he placed it next to the black and white portrait and moved the photo and the bracelet away from the rest. Those two items belonged to Helen alive. The rest were from Helen dead.
Mann grouped the photos into the different sections of the body. He picked up the report. She had been frozen approximately twelve hours after death. Her uterus and ovaries had been extracted shortly before that. Her stomach was empty. There was heroin in her system. She had severe bruising around the wrists, consistent with having been suspended by them. There was evidence of rape.
Mann looked at the photos. He kept coming back to the photo of her head. Her face looked swollen and empty but still serene. He stared hard at the photo until his eyes stopped seeing it and he went back to the dream. He went back to Helen packing the case. Mann picked it up. It weighed nothing. He had come back to sort things out with her. He knew she was leaving, she had told him the day before. He had watched her pack her case. He had left for work, but he had come back. When he’d arrived she was already loading her things into the taxi. It was too late. If she wanted to go, then he should let her. But he had come back to ask her to stay. Pride got in his way. He watched her give her case to the taxi driver. Mann could see him now. He’d looked up at Mann as Mann arrived. The files in Mann’s head rolled and flipped, matching images, fitting noses to faces, to expressions, to flashes of frozen memory – searching, searching, until they found what they sought. And then Mann saw Max with Helen’s case in his hand.
74
It was early evening when they set off for the club. Chan was accompanying three of his new clients: Mr Sun Yat-sen and two other newly recruited triad brothers.
The helicopter flew over the ancient walled cities of Kowloon and the small fishing villages of the New Territories. Instead of heading towards Shenzhen, they skirted around it and flew over the reservoir and into the Special Economic Zone. Then they followed a line of disused quarries that pockmarked the land below. Just when the fat trio were beginning to exchange curious looks, they saw it. The men whooped and clapped. There, at the bottom of one of the redundant quarries, two buildings shaped into the numbers sixty-eight dazzled in the last rays of the sun, like diamond-studded birthday cakes.
Chan told the
pilot to take his time so they could get a good look at the place. He was immensely proud of his creation and more than willing to show it off. The helicopter circled around a few times and Chan pointed out the various buildings below. The two main buildings, Sixty-Eight, were connected in the middle. They stood four storeys high, coming halfway up the quarry-side, and were surrounded by lush green garden. There were small lakes dotted around the grounds and a golf course that flowed from that quarry into the next.
In all, the complex took up about a square kilo-metre. The men were obviously impressed, especially when Chan told them about his special attraction for golfers:
‘I keep wild boar in the woods around the golf course, so that if you lose your ball, it is up to you whether to risk finding it, or concede defeat. You are welcome to do a spot of hunting while you are here. This is the place where you only have to ask and it will be arranged.’
The pilot circled around a few times, hovering above the swaying palms and rippling rooftop pools before landing. Four security men met them and took their luggage. It would be returned to their rooms after being checked. They were led to the palm-lined entrance, which was in the Eight building.
They stood in the reception area. It was a classy mix of crystal and black marble with antique Chinese furniture mixed with modern paintings and swathes of hanging silks. Above their heads the building spiralled upwards to its four floors. Two young girls dressed as Korean brides served them tea and hovered over them with warm towels. Checks completed, a receptionist approached to escort the men to their rooms. They took the lift up to the fourth floor and walked down the plush-carpeted landing till they reached the first of three rooms. The receptionist opened the door and bowed as she stood back for the most senior man – Sun Yat-sen – to enter.
‘Please enjoy … your fantasy-maker will be along in a minute.’
She shuffled backwards, bowing as she went. Sun Yat-sen closed the door and looked about him. A bottle of scotch was waiting for him on the glass coffee table. He poured himself a generous one and took a slug, undoing his tie and stripping off his jacket. He threw it across the zebra-skinned bed. As he did so there was a knock at the door. A man in a tuxedo brought in his leather holdall and placed it on the rack. He bowed and left. Sun Yat-sen took another swig of the scotch and waited. He was excited, anxious even.
Another knock on the door. A young man waited outside, briefcase in hand. He was immaculately dressed, if a little too carefully, and to the feminine side: his eyelashes were too long, and his mouth was slightly too wide with a smile that required a tilt of the head and a pursing of the lips to perform.
‘Mr Sun Yat-sen?’
‘Yes.’
The young man entered. ‘How do you find the room?’
‘Good. Very good.’
‘Let me refresh your drink for you.’ He poured out another scotch and placed it in front of Sun Yat-sen. Then, with a small bow, he sat perched on the edge of the leather sofa, knees together, legs tucked to one side.
‘Now, Mr Sun Yat-sen, I have been looking at your requirements.’ He looked up from Chan’s letter, which he had in front of him. ‘I believe that you are more interested in the fantasy side of Sixty-Eight rather than the gambling?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Normally our clients like to have the full experience of earning their fantasy – but, when you come with this sort of recommendation …’ he fluttered Chan’s letter, ‘we don’t tend to argue.’ He giggled as if his voice had never broken. ‘As you know, we do not use currency here – clients pay a fee to enter and earn the rest. Your benefactor has, of course, provided unlimited funds for you. So, you may have whatever you desire. Although …’ he smiled his wide smile and batted his inch-long lashes, ‘you may find it more fun to earn the points needed in some other way …’
The young man shifted his legs to the other side and waited for an answer. Sun Yat-sen just stared at him.
‘Well, let’s see now, your fantasy is pretty straight anyway, isn’t it? I believe that you wish to have some intimate time with one of the girls, preferably foreign.’
‘Must be foreign.’
‘I see, well, that can be done. And no other requirements, sir? Believe me, you can ask me for anything you wish.’
‘I don’t think so, but thank you for the thought,’ Sun Yat-sen replied, growing tired of the young man.
‘It’s my job.’ He stood and bowed. ‘See you later, Mr Sun Yat-sen, enjoy your fantasy, she will be waiting for you in the nightclub.’
75
Big Frank had decided to update his image. He had hair extensions glued onto his own white-blond strands of thinning hair. The hair once belonged to a fourteen-year-old Bangladeshi girl named Sonali. In order to achieve the look that Big Frank required, the hair had been bleached till it was ruined. Sonali had been paid enough to buy her brother some shoes so that he could walk the five miles to school each day. Sonali never went to school – there wasn’t one for girls.
Big Frank had bought himself a pair of tight leather trousers and a Harley Davidson motorbike, which he kept beneath the stilts of his Captiva house. He wasn’t able to ride it yet. Occasionally he flicked back his long hair, hoisted his creaky leathered leg over the saddle, and straddled the Hog, making engine noises. He kept a helmet for Lucy on the back. He had decided to ask her to marry him. There was some quality in her that he just hadn’t found elsewhere. Whether it was her devotion to her work, the pleasure she took from it, or just that she knew which of Frank’s buttons needed pushing – he had decided he could do a lot worse than spend the rest of his life with a willing whore. He caught a plane back to Hong Kong to seal the deal.
Lucy had accepted Chan’s deal, and she wouldn’t be returning to work at the club. She had a new job – looking after Ka Lei. Soon Chan would want them to move into the flat he had in mind for them. Then Lucy would have to tell Ka Lei that she had a new life ahead of her. That her nursing career meant nothing. It was over before it began. She would have no more money worries but she would have no freedom either. She would be owned by Chan.
Lucy dreaded telling her. She couldn’t do it yet – Ka Lei was deteriorating daily. She went from pacing around the flat to sitting on her bed for hours, staring at nothing. She was going mad, Lucy was convinced of it. She spent much of her time talking to the bathroom mirror: I love you, Georgina. Come back to me, Georgina. I can still see you in my eyes, Georgina … She repeated it endlessly. Lucy asked her what she was doing. She was talking to Georgina, she said. She could see her in the mirror, in her eyes, in her soul. Lucy despaired.
Ka Lei was sleeping when Big Frank called. Lucy was delighted to hear his voice. He wanted to see her straight away. She told him she couldn’t. Maybe tomorrow. But Frank was adamant. She must come over – he had one helluva surprise for his good little Hong Kong girl – something really special.
Lucy knew she shouldn’t go but she was sick of hanging about the flat looking after Ka Lei. She would love to get dressed up, go out and have some fun … So she agreed to go. She’d see him in his hotel room in one hour.
She left Ka Lei sleeping. She didn’t intend to be more than an hour – Ka Lei would be fine until she came back.
The rain woke Ka Lei. She listened out for Lucy. There was only silence and she knew she must be alone in the flat. She lay in her bed and watched the light change in the room as evening came, and she watched the shadows stretch out around Georgina’s room. Outside it was raining hard: tropical, pouring, soaking rain, streaming down the dirty windows.
Ka Lei began to feel panicky. She looked at her watch – Lucy had been gone for at least two hours now and Ka Lei had no idea where she was. She tried ringing her sister’s mobile, but it was switched off. She felt that panic again, like the day Georgina had disappeared. It squeezed her heart in a tourniquet. She couldn’t breathe. She listened to the rain and her mind went back to the happy days when she and Georgina had been caught in the downpour. Laughing and splashing
like children, they got soaked. They didn’t care about the people who watched them, thinking they were mad. They didn’t care – they had each other.
Ka Lei cried so much that her stomach hurt.
Finally, exhausted by her grief, she wiped her face with her dress. Looking up from her lap she saw that darkness had descended. She watched the rainfall stick in large globules to the oversized windowpanes and she felt suffocated, imprisoned. She got out of her seat; her tiny frame was agitated now. The memories of Georgina that made her smile were the hardest to bear. The sadness weighed her down, but the happy memories cut so sharply that they made her want to scream with despair. She went to the bathroom for the hundredth time that day. She needed to look into Georgina’s eyes. She switched on the bathroom light and stood in front of the mirror, touching its cold surface, tracing the outline of her face with her fingers. Her eyes flicked back and forth, endlessly searching.
76
In the centre of the room was a king-sized bed, draped in purple silk. A red velvet pillow was laid at the top of the bed and on it rested the sleeping head of Georgina. She wasn’t actually asleep, she had been given a dose of Rohypnol and was merely inert. Her hair was brushed and laid out artistically over the pillow. Her cheeks blushed a rosy pink. Her lips were painted red. She was naked. She remained very still as all around her lights were adjusted. She heard the voices of the technicians but could not open her eyes to see their faces. Above the sound of equipment being adjusted and technicians communicating, she heard the sound of people: voices and laughter, but she could do nothing but listen. She was an inanimate object, fully aware of her body but unable to communicate to it.
Then she felt the man’s breath on her face. She felt the crush of his body. She felt him inside her. From some faraway place she felt it – the pain and the hatred. She saw it accurately, recorded it, but could do nothing to reach it. She couldn’t breathe. Squeezing hands were around her throat. She was drowning.