When Stewart has left, we all go into the main office and stand around my phone.
“Are you OK, Nick?” Cal asks.
“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Nick says.
“I should come back.”
“No way, Rogan. Adry and I can handle this.”
I tell them about my meeting with the real Connor McCoy.
“So we don’t even know the identity of the person who scammed us.”
“The not-real McCoy was just a front,” Nick says. “I’m guessing it’s all being managed by someone with a big grudge against one or both of us.”
“That could be a long list. Each of us put a bunch of bad guys in jail when we were with the VPD. It could be any one of them.”
“We’ve gotta start with finding Connor or whatever his name is. The question is: how?”
“Have we got anything with his prints on it?”
“No, the drug squad took the briefcase. Besides, no one in VPD is going to run the prints for us. It would weaken their case against us.”
“Did you talk to Steve, I’m sure he’d help us out.”
“On the way back from the jail, I tried to call him and tell him we were conned. I couldn’t get through to him. I’ve got a feeling he’s not going to call me back.” That bites. When a former colleague and friend decides to cut you off, it hurts. If we don’t sort this mess out, nobody in the VPD will have anything to do with us.
I think back to our first meeting with the phony Connor. “Wait a minute,” I say. I get up and go back to the reception area. “Luce, you remember on Monday I gave you an envelope with the retainer cheque from Connor McCoy?”
“Yes,” she says. “I deposited the cheque on Tuesday morning.”
“Do you still have the envelope? His fingerprints will still be on it.”
“No, I remember dropping it in the recycle bin. But I could call the bank and try and get the details of the bank account it was drawn on.”
I nod and give her the thumbs up. “Did you hear that Cal,” I say as I walk back into the office.
“Yes. I was just thinking that someone has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to screw us. The retainer was twelve grand and, from what you said, there must have been over a hundred grand’s worth of heroin or cocaine or whatever it was.”
“Maybe it was a drug gang. That would be small change for them,” Nick says. “Oh,” he adds. “What if it was your ex-wife’s ex-boyfriend. He may be locked up in Millhaven, but he’s still got contacts on the streets.”
“No point in speculating. We’ve got to find a way to track down the Connor character.”
“It won’t be through the cheque he gave us,” Lucy calls from the reception desk. “I just phoned our bank. They were going to call us. The cheque he gave us bounced.”
“Crap,” says Nick, summing up the general view. “We’re never going to find him.”
We all sit in silence.
Then I think over the words Cal just said and it gives me an idea. It’s a long shot but I’ll give it a try.
12
Cal
Friday
My words have garnered their full attention. All three are wearing nicely tailored grey suits but their smiles have been replaced by worried expressions. I lay out the pictures on the Kerry hotel’s concierge desk; Adry printed them off from the photos in Zelena’s Instagram feed before I left. “Do you recognize any of them?”
“Yes, him.” The younger woman says. She is pointing at a picture of Chad with his green mohawk and tats. Yes, he’d be very noticeable in the lobby of any five-star hotel. She looks at her more senior colleague beside her, who gives a slight nod. “He was not as polite as our usual guests,” she says in only slightly-accented English. “He asked me to go on a date with him.”
I point to a picture of Zelena. “Do you remember her?” I ask. The lone male concierge nods. “Yes. She and her friend,” he points to a picture of her with Steph. “They came often to the concierge desk. They would ask for advice about their plans. They were very friendly and polite.”
“And we know Mr. Lim of course.” The older woman points to Harvey’s picture. “He’s a regular guest here.”
A fourth young man joins us. Just how many concierges does this hotel have? His male colleague introduces me. “This is Mr. Rogan, he is a detective from Canada. He is looking for this lady who is missing,” he says, pointing at Zelena’s picture.
“Yes, I know,” the new arrival says. “Last week, Thursday I think, a young man was here. He said she was missing and that he was looking for her.” I pull Aleksander’s picture from beneath the others. “Yes, that’s him. He was here with another man. Chinese man.” That would be the private detective Aleksander hired, Mr. Wang.
“Were you able to give them any useful information?”
“Not really,” he says. “I wasn’t on duty the day the lady went missing.”
I check my notes from my meeting with Steph. “That was Friday, two weeks ago today.”
“I was on duty,” the younger woman says. She looks up for a moment, thinking. “I think that was the day before the young ladies were going to see the statue of the Buddha. They were planning their trip and asking about where to get the cable car.”
“Yes, that’s right. She went missing the night before.”
“I went off duty at six o’clock,” she says. “Sorry.”
The older woman says, “Just a minute let me check something.” She taps away at her keyboard. “That was Friday, May eighth… Yes. Mr. Zhao was on concierge duty in the evening. He will be on duty again this evening after six.”
I ask them if they remember anything else unusual—especially if they saw either Zelena or Steph with anyone different or suspicious—but they don’t, which is pretty much what I was expecting. It was a long shot. I thank them profusely and hope my next appointment will be half as friendly and cooperative.
However, I don’t hold out much hope of that.
The Mongkok police station is just off Nathan Road and it is just like any police station in Vancouver or anywhere else for that matter. Inspector Ho holds open the door of the interview room for me and we sit at the metal table bolted to the floor.
“How can I help you Mr. Rogan?” he asks. His English is excellent and he has a British accent. He’s short and is carrying a few extra pounds around his middle. And he’s older than I expected.
“First, thank you for seeing me, Inspector.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “I used to live in Toronto, so I love to meet Canadians.”
I haven’t done business in Hong Kong before, so I don’t know the protocols. Maybe 'getting to know you’ is first on the agenda. “My ex-wife lives in Toronto, it’s a great city.”
“It is,” he says, nodding but not showing any level of warmth.
There is a moment of silence, which I fill with, “You have a British accent, did you live there too?”
“I did, I studied English Literature at Cambridge.”
“No way. I have a Masters in English Lit. but it’s not from Cambridge. Just UBC, I’m afraid.” It reminds me of the job-offer email from SFU.
He gives a sigh. “And here we both are, humble detectives.” He sits more upright. “But you didn’t come here to discuss literature, I expect.”
The rapport-building phase is over. “As I told you on the phone, I’ve been hired by her parents to find Zelena Gutkowska.”
“Yes, as you said. Unfortunately, we have been unable to find her and, to be frank, our inquiries indicated that she was, how can I put this politely, a… party girl.”
I feel a little jab of annoyance. Just because she liked to flirt with men shouldn’t mean she doesn’t have the protection of the law. “Maybe she was, but she’s still missing.”
“So no one has had any communication from her?” he asks.
“She has posted a couple of pictures on Instagram but we have reason to believe they may have been coerced.”
�
�Why do you say that?”
I tell him about Adry’s observation of Zelena wearing the same dress on consecutive days, but saying it out loud makes me doubt its importance. Ho clearly feels the same way. “Hardly conclusive,” is all he says.
“I was wondering if you could give me copies of your files, so that I don’t have to go over ground you’ve already covered.”
He sighs. I don’t think he relishes the work needed to do the copying. “You read Chinese then?” he asks.
“No, I don’t, but I’m working with someone who does.”
He gives me a long look. “Who would that be?” he asks.
“Mr. Gutkowski has also hired a local detective with whom I’ll be working.” Not entirely true. I haven’t yet contacted Mr. Wang of Jiang and Lee Investigations Company Limited. For some reason, a little voice in my head tells me to just drop in on him. His office is five minutes from here.
“Who’s that?” he asks again.
The same little voice tells me to withhold the information but I resist lying to the police; it’s never a good policy. “Mr. Wang,” I say.
“Never heard of him.” His British accent is starting to grate on me. “You should be careful who you deal with. There are some shady unlicensed operatives who you don’t want to get mixed up with.”
I force a friendly smile. “So, could I have copies of your files?”
“I’m afraid that’s against our policy,” he says. “I shouldn’t really be talking to you about an ongoing investigation anyway.”
“Can you at least tell me what lines of inquiry you have opened up?”
“I’m afraid not,” he says.
I know what’s going on here. He wants to cover up how little he’s done to try and find Zelena.
“So,” I say innocently, “your investigation is still ongoing.”
“It’s ongoing until I decide to close the file,” he says.
I was right. He is orders of magnitude less cooperative than the people at the Kerry.
“Her brother came to see you,” I say.
“Yes. A nice young man.”
“Did you know that he’s now missing?”
There is a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “No,” he says. “For how long?”
“Almost a week.”
He thinks it over for a couple of seconds.
“Do you want to file a formal report of a missing person?”
A big part of me wants to say no but I can’t leave any option untried. He may be a washed-up, lazy cop but just maybe he’ll unearth something.
“Yes, I do.”
He sighs again. “OK, I’ll get the paperwork.” He waddles out of the interview room.
Something tells me this is going to be a long use of my time for little or no result.
I get out of one of the red taxis which are everywhere in the Kowloon district of Hong Kong; there seem to be more of them than there are private cars. The road is one-way, narrow and teeming with people. Except for a few people who are obviously tourists, everyone seems in a hurry.
My destination is an arched doorway between a restaurant, packed with lunchtime customers, and an empty jewellery store, the name of which would make Ellie giggle. Restaurants and jewellery stores are also ubiquitous here. I pull open the glass door and walk down a narrow hallway. Beside the elevator is a directory in both Chinese and English. One of the legacies of a century and a half of British rule is bilingual signage. The Jiang and Lee Investigations Company Limited is on the third floor. After a long wait, the ancient elevator arrives and takes me slowly upward.
I step out into a dim corridor, lined with wooden doors, each door with a frosted-glass panel bearing the name of a company. It makes me feel I’ve gone fifty years back in time. The last doorway on my left is covered with the names of seven companies, the last of which is Jiang and Lee. I turn the handle. It’s locked. This does not bode well. I tap my knuckles on the glass panel.
Out of a movie, long-forgotten, an image springs into my consciousness of an octogenarian, wearing a green velvet jacket and a fez, opening a squeaky door and peering out. But the man who actually opens the door is the polar opposite. He is about my age, dressed in business casual and he looks energetic. He reminds me of the former US Democratic hopeful, Andrew Yang. He gives me a broad smile. “How can I help you?” he asks in slightly-accented English.
“Hi. I’m looking for Mr. Wang.”
“I’m sorry there’s no one of that name here,” he says. The second thing not to bode well.
“He’s a private investigator with Jiang and Lee.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed. I’m Philip Jiang and I can assure you we don’t have a Mr. Wang here.”
That’s why Inspector Ho didn’t recognize the name as a private investigator.
“My name’s Cal Rogan, I’m a private investigator in Vancouver. I have a client named Janusz Gutkowski,” I say. “His son Aleksander said he hired a Mr. Wang at your firm.”
He throws me a puzzled look for a moment, then steps back and opens the door wide.
“You’d better come in,” he says.
The office is the antithesis of the building. It is bright, clean and modern, with vivid, framed prints on the walls. There are two desks both with dual-screen Apple computers. There is a single two-drawer filing cabinet and there are two bookshelves, bursting to the point of overflow, with books of all types. In one corner of the office is an area with what look like Ikea leather chairs and a couch. It is to this area he gestures. “Please have a seat Mr. Rogan.”
“Call me Cal,” I say.
He smiles and extends his hand. “I’m Phil.” His shake is firm and warm. “I think your client must have just got my name wrong, Jiang… Wang…” He smiles.
“I guess he must have.”
“I haven’t heard from Aleksander in over a week,” he says. “Do you know how I can get hold of him?”
“No, he went missing a week ago.”
“So they’re both missing now?” he says.
“Kind of.” I pull out my phone and show him Zelena’s Instagram feed using the phony Instagram account which Adry created.
He looks at the posts. “So she’s not missing but Aleksander is. It’s odd.”
“Maybe,” I say. “One of my colleagues thinks maybe these posts were coerced.” He looks puzzled. “Like someone forced her to do the pictures,” I add.
“Why would he think that?”
“She,” I correct him. “Zelena’s wearing the same dress in both pictures. My colleague says Zelena would never wear the same dress two days running.”
“Maybe the pictures were taken on the same day but posted to Instagram on consecutive days,” he suggests.
It makes sense. This guy’s good. “How about we work together on this?” I say.
He thinks for a second or two, then extends his hand. “Deal,” he says. We shake.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
I realize I am. All I had this morning was a coffee and it’s already one o’clock.
A few taps on his phone and he says, “I’ve ordered from the restaurant downstairs. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned so far about the case?”
I give him a full debriefing of what I learned in Vancouver. The food arrives just as I get to the end. While we eat, he speaks. “I haven’t found out as much as you but the first thing I did, after Aleksander hired me, was go to the hotel. I know the security manager at the Kerry and he told me Zelena and her friend Steph had their boyfriends stay over and that it was one of the boyfriends, Harvey Lim, who paid for the rooms. He also let me look at the security videos from the time she and her friend got back to the hotel until the next morning when her friend found out Zelena was missing. Just before midnight, she appeared in the lobby and then took a cab.”
“Was she alone?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Did anyone know where she went?”
“She told one of the doormen she wanted a taxi to take
her to Hong Kong Island.”
“Did he remember where specifically?” I ask.
“No. But I was able to see the taxi’s licence plate on the video. I was able to track down the driver who drove the cab that night. I showed him Zelena’s photo and he remembered her. He took her to a nightclub in Stanley.”
“Was it the Golden Dragon?”
He frowns. “No. The Golden Dragon is near here and it’s a very respectable, well-known place. The nightclub he took her to was called IF. It has a reputation. A lot of prostitutes operate from there. I have no idea why Zelena would go there.”
“Did you go and check it out?” I ask.
“No. Aleksander hired me on a provisional basis to see what I could discover. When I tried to get hold of him to get his agreement to investigate further, he didn’t call me back. I assumed that maybe he had hired someone else.”
“Did you speak to his father in Vancouver?”
“No.”
I grab my phone. “I’m going to email my partner and have him tell Mr. Gutkowski to contact you and give you a retainer. I’m sure he’ll agree.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“How did Aleksander find you, by the way?”
He thinks for a moment. “You know, it’s odd. I don’t think he ever said. Normally I ask new clients who referred them but I don’t remember asking Aleksander.”
“How do you feel about going to this IF nightclub tonight and see what we can learn?”
“Sounds good. How about we meet for dinner first and we can drive over there together.”
“That would be gre— Oh, wait a minute. My girlfriend’s over here with me. She’s a journalist and she’s doing a piece on what the protesters are up to after the crack down by Beijing. I really ought to at least have dinner with her before I ditch her to go to a nightclub.”
Cal Rogan Mysteries, Books 4, 5 & 6 (Box Set) Page 56
