So this is how my story ends, Julia thought. Lying dead in a pool of blood down a Hong Kong back-street.
Something clicked deep inside.
No. Not without a fight. She started to run like a wild thing into the line of assassins, ramming fingers into the eyes of the first one she reached, the one with the knife, and kicking out viciously at another. The first one dropped the knife, and squatted to pick it up. She shoved him, pushing another in his direction. The first collapsed, sprawling to the ground, while the other tumbled down over him.
That’ll teach you to wear a dress for a fight.
The other three came at her now. One punched her in the shoulder. She scratched his face with the spite of a cat – kicking his friend in the groin. She stamped on their feet and kicked their shins.
But it was hopeless. She couldn’t win.
Amid the grunts, groans and squawks of their struggle, Julia heard the creak of a door opening.
“That’s enough,” a voice boomed in the darkness. The goons froze. She looked up from their pincer hold to see Warwick Mantel, his features lit by a torch like a mask in the dark.
“Well done for finding your way here,” he clapped his hands. “You men can go.”
“You bastard. You fucking treacherous monster of a man,” she spat at him, shaking her arms free.
“Calm down dear. I’m nothing of the sort. The night markets can disturb the imagination. It’s a wild world out there. Wilder than you’re used to. But you misjudge me. I’m here to help. You trouble me, a young innocent abroad, thrashing around helplessly in a place like China – understanding nothing of its history, practices and intricate web of relationships which must be maintained. It moves me... really it does.”
“You sent those thugs to hurt me.”
“I wanted you to see how much you need my protection. I have contacts. Not always ones I choose, but relationships bring duties and cares as well as rewards. A society of Chinese gentlemen...”
“Triads,” Julia interrupted.
“My dear, you’ve been watching too many cheap American B movies, but if it makes you happy, yes, we can call them a Triad. Whatever you call them, they asked me to pass some news on to you. News is your business, or so you’re always telling me?”
“Fuck you.”
“No my dear, you’re not my type. But thanks for the offer. These gentlemen have a much more interesting proposition. They have a certain doctor in their possession.”
“Laura?”
“They’re prepared to trade her.”
“Trade her for what?”
“For $10 million. Personally, I think they’re letting her go too cheaply. Then, unlike me, they’ve never seen the way Patrick Silverman looks at her. Oh, and they want it in diamonds.”
“You want me to act as middleman in a hostage trade?”
“We’re all middlemen one way or the other my dear. Isn’t that what working in the media is all about. Newspapers – the man in the middle of the world’s big events. We’re all free agents. You can pick and choose your stories and your crusades. You can decide whether Laura lives or dies. Have a think and let me know. I’m sure you’ll need to call London. I must get going. Busy day tomorrow. When you have an answer get back to me.”
Julia felt sick.
“Ah,” Mantel pointed behind her in the dark. “Your ride’s here.”
Julia turned to see the driver waiting in the shadows of the torrid side-street. “Sweet dreams my dear, and call when you have an answer.”
Mantel switched off his torch. His heels clicked in the dark. She heard a door creak open. With trembling legs, Julia picked a path back up the alley, and returned to the ghoulish night markets – sickening and macabre.
CHAPTER 44
12.45pm
Scotland Yard
“WHO IS ADAM LEE?” Pitcher rapped his chin with broad knuckles, leaning back from his desk. For sure, Lee fitted the role of top villain, running a bank for criminal Triad organisations. Many lost fortunes in the crash. Julia said they wanted revenge, a scapegoat. So which was Adam Lee? Bad guy or fall guy.
Pitcher looked at his watch. 12.45pm. Lunchtime.
“No,” he shook his head. It doesn’t ring true. He’s too much comic super-baddy. I’m sure that’s not what this is about.
He stood to get some lunch when his desk phone rang.
“Bugger,” his stomach was rumbling. He was hungry. He sat down again and reached for the receiver.
“Chief Inspector Pitcher,” his voice was brusque.
“Amy Denys here. I’m acting on behalf of Patrick Silverman.”
Pitcher grimaced, prospects for lunch fading.
The lawyer cleared her throat. “About the meeting this afternoon. My client agrees to talk to you voluntarily. He has no obligation to attend.”
If she thinks I’m going to respond to that, she can think again, Pitcher tapped the desk with his forefinger.
“So in acknowledgement of his co-operation, my client would like to ask for some flexibility on the venue for the interview.”
“He doesn’t want to come to the police station?”
“Correct. He has an alternative suggestion. He would like to see the location of the scene of Halamanning’s murder.”
“Excuse me?”
“He feels it’s pertinent to your interview. He’s a free man, under no obligation to provide information. We feel it’s a reasonable request.”
“Do we? To me it sounds highly unorthodox.” Pitcher was silent for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons.
“OK. 4pm, we said? I’ll be there.”
CHIEF INSPECTOR PITCHER pulled up outside Julia’s office at 3pm. Cody was waiting for him. He waved as he opened the passenger door.
“Big meeting, thanks for asking me along. Let’s hope it all goes smoothly,” Cody grinned as he tightened his seat belt.
“That would be a first,” Pitcher winked back. “Who knows? Today may be our lucky day.”
With that, their conversation stopped. Neither exchanged a word, as Pitcher weaved his way skillfully through the London traffic. Soon they were careering towards Chigwell and the Girls’ Camp.
“You’re a much quieter companion than your boss,” said Pitcher, as he turned into the campsite drive.
“Better for that?”
Pitcher laughed. “Sometimes she drives me nearly insane, but I’m fond of Julia.”
As they got out the car, Mrs Cadbury emerged from her reception hut.
“Chief Inspector Pitcher,” she held out her hand.
“Mrs Cadbury, sorry to trouble you again.”
“We’re here to serve. D’you want to head down to the scene of the crime?” she mouthed the last four words for emphasis, and then giggled.
Pitcher and Cody exchanged a look.
“I thought we were waiting for the others?” Pitcher said.
“No no, the lawyer was absolutely clear. They want to meet you down where the dastardly deed was done,” again mouthing the last few words for emphasis. “I’ll wait for them here.”
Pitcher nodded, setting off with Cody down the path past the St Pancras hut, through the field towards the copse.
“I think she’s been at the sherry,” Cody said.
“Going all Agatha Christie. Probably already writing her first murder mystery. Murder Round The Camp Fire.”
“Camp’s the right word for it.” They walked on.
“Seems a long while since we were here with Julia.”
“Not so long. Less than a week. Get your facts right.”
“You’re right, I should. If Julia were here she’d say, journalism lesson ten. First get your facts right.”
“Then distort them. Isn’t that what you journos say?”
“You spend too much time with the gutter press, Chief Inspector.”
Pitcher laughed. But the mood darkened when they reached the thicket of trees.
“Must’ve been terrifying for those girls,” Cody shuddered,
at the thought of the body hanging in the dark, blood dripping. He looked up at the thick green curtain blocking the sun, damp musty smells rising in his nostrils.
“Let’s walk down to the river,” Pitcher picked his way through the trees, pausing to pick up a fallen branch to beat back nearly six feet high thistles, nettles and brambles. Cody trailing behind.
“I can’t imagine how they found their way through here in the dark. There’s no path as such,” he said lashing at the weeds.
“It was full moon, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and a few weeks ago the weeds wouldn’t have been so tall. Even so.”
They emerged into the light, and onto the bank of a narrow rippling stream. Pitcher stared into the dark clear water swirling over stones.
“I guess this little stream ends up in the Thames at some stage...via the Ching,” he said as he stared. “In the end everything’s connected. The Thames flows into the sea, and the sea into the ocean. The oceans all flow into each other. The water here could one day be part of the South China Sea.”
“From Ching to China. Bit philosophical for you Chief Inspector?”
“I like a bit of philosophy,” Pitcher cleared his throat and started to walk back through the forest to the clearing. “Small trickles powering big waves.”
“Came out this way on a Geography school trip. If I remember right, the Ching flows into the River Lee and then on to the Thames.”
“The River Lee eh? See what I mean. Everything’s connected.”
They fought their way back through the forest. Cody burst into violent sneezes as the pine and woodland smells triggered his allergies. Finally they emerged back into the clearing.
“Look, they’re coming,” Cody raised his arm to point at the figures trampling down the field. “Four of them, with Mrs Cadbury.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Pitcher squinted into the distance, a hand over his eyes to block the sun. Then he threw back his head and roared a booming laugh, clapping his hands together.
“I can’t wait to see Julia’s face when I tell her.”
They stood side by side and watched the figures approach. Three of them swaggered in a line, marching robustly down the sloping field, heads held high. Mrs Cadbury followed behind. Silverman broke ranks first, waving at Pitcher. A few more steps and they arrived.
Pitcher didn’t wait to be introduced but held out his hand.
“Stephen Chandler, I take it?”
“Pleased to finally meet you Chief Inspector.”
“Not as pleased as I am. Not every day I shake hands with one of my unsolved crimes. You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do when you see your wife again.”
Pitcher extended a hand to Silverman. “Good to meet you Mr Silverman. This is Cody. Works for Julia Lighthorn.”
My imagination? Or did Silverman’s eyes flicker at Julia’s name? Pitcher thought.
“He’s made himself very useful,” he continued .
“Good to hear,” Silverman said. “And good work, on your recent scoop.”
“I guess indirectly, I work for you too. You bought the paper didn’t you?”
“Sleeping partner. I shouldn’t worry about that. This is my lawyer. Amy Denys.”
“We’ve spoken, Chief Inspector,” she said exchanging a cursory handshake. “I’m here to observe.”
“Observe what? I’m not sure what we’re all doing here,” Pitcher lifted questioning palms.
“My client wishes to see for himself what happened that night.”
Pitcher talked them through the layout of the field, and where the girls’ tents stood. He rehashed the story of the midnight feast, the girl feeling ill, the two pals leaving the tent, escaping for fresh air, then making their way down to the little stream where they previously washed their dishes. He held out an arm pointing the way through the copse, down to the stream. They picked their way through the gloomy trees, emerging at the rivulet.
“The girls played here for a short while before deciding to go back to their tent. I believe they raced back Mrs Cadbury?” he added.
“So they were out in this wood in the middle of the night alone?” the lawyer tut-tutted, as they returned to the dense trees.
“I’m afraid that’s correct,” Mrs Cadbury blushed, biting her lip nervously at the thought of a negligence claim. “And yes Inspector, they raced back through the trees, before Grace slipped on a pool of blood and little Lily arrived to see...” she stopped by a large oak and looked up.
A flock of birds weaved a path through the branches, shaking the treetops. An owl hooted. “Creepy,” Cody muttered, and started to sneeze again at the dispersing tree pollen.
“This is where he was found hanging, his back slashed to ribbons. A machete rammed between his blades,” Pitcher said. They all looked up.
“Why here? It’s so weird – so vicious,” Stephen Chandler said.
“Not weird at all, if you want to send a message.”
“To little girls?”
Pitcher decided not to answer that one.
“Gentlemen, now we’ve found Mr Chandler, I’m left investigating two murders. Both stink of money, Triads and Hong Kong. If you have any information you’re not telling me, it’s time.”
Chandler cleared his throat, “As you say Chief Inspector, it’s time.”
Silverman nodded, and the six of them strolled back up through the field. They said goodbye to Mrs Cadbury. After a short exchange between Silverman and Pitcher, they left their cars and walked to the Two Brewers. The bar was deserted. Lunch clients had gone, the evening crowd not yet arrived. Pitcher, Silverman, Chandler and the lawyer sat at a table in the far corner.
“Get some drinks in Cody,” Pitcher said.
He took an order, then left the others to talk.
CHAPTER 45
Thursday August 26
“I GUESS IT ALL STARTED with the call,” Stephen Chandler began.
“The call?” Pitcher quizzed.
“I took a call from Adam Lee on the evening of July 26. Can you believe that, with all that’s happened? Only a month ago. Completely out of the blue. Hadn’t spoken to him for years. He was in London and wanted to meet up.”
“Just like that?” Pitcher folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and stared hard at the speaker.
“Yeah, just like that. I wasn’t keen. I was busy. Prices were yo-yoing. I’d never liked the guy. Looking back he always gave me the creeps. On top of that, he reminded me...”
“Of a time you’d rather forget?” Pitcher said. Cody returned to the table, placed a glass before each of them and sat down.
“Maybe. He said it was a matter of life or death, which I confess didn’t make the idea of meeting up any more attractive.”
“But you agreed?”
“I did Chief Inspector. I said I ran early, and usually ended up at a health club in Holborn where I showered before going into the office. He suggested coffee in the British Museum. Discreet. Not to tell anyone, not even my wife.”
“But you did.” Pitcher drummed his middle finger impatiently on the table.
Patrick Silverman leant forward. “Stephen called me. He didn’t trust Lee. I was in London. We agreed, for the time being, he wouldn’t tell Rebecca.”
Stephen Chandler looked away, embarrassed.
“What did he want?” the Inspector asked.
“I was shocked when I saw him. He looked gaunt. Couldn’t keep his eyes still, constantly flicking around, as if looking for someone. His hands trembled when he lifted the coffee cup.”
“He was worried?”
“Spooked, I’d say Chief Inspector. He said his life was in danger and so was mine, and it all went back to Mantel and Hong Kong.”
“Where you all met?”
“Not entirely,” Silverman intervened. “Stephen and I were both at Cambridge – different colleges. Laura I met through friends of Dad’s”
“But we only became close...” Stephen continued.
“At Peak?”
“Actually no. At Cornwall. That strange weekend, where we made a pact with the devil.”
“Bit strong there Stevie,” Silverman laughed.
“I’m not ashamed of what we did, Patrick. We were young, so full of ideas. We wanted to change the world for the better. It could’ve worked. It did for a while. But we didn’t account for greedy bastards like Mantel.”
“Stick to the facts,” Silverman touched Chandler’s arm gently.
“OK. Essentially Lee had gone back to Hong Kong and worked for Mantel for some years. Top job at First State came up and somehow Lee was shoe-horned in. Not long behind the desk before even he realised he was a puppet. To Mantel, First State was a golden goose, ripe for hatching.”
“Wasn’t he rich enough already?” Cody couldn’t resist.
“For some men, greed is a hunger they can never satisfy. Julia taught me that,” Pitcher said.
“Exactly. Peak served the legitimate economy, but Mantel knew Hong Kong’s black economy was vast. He used Lee as a front to grow a massive Triad banking empire. Money laundering, tax evasion, crooked accounting. Nothing too hot to handle. Garbage in – garbage out. They were drowning in cash, investing heavily in all kinds of dodgy junk.”
“And then the markets crashed.”
“They did,” Chandler nodded grimly at the Chief Inspector. “Many of these investments were worthless. The Triads wanted their money back. The Dragon Masters didn’t understand market volatility. If someone lost their money, they’d stolen it – just like gamblers who didn’t pay their debts. Lee was at a meeting with some goons who turned ugly. They threatened Mantel. It was a question of face. To lose face was shame. They wanted revenge.”
“So he needed a fall guy?”
“Mantel gave them three names to get them off his back – me, Patrick and Laura. They wanted names and Mantel gave them to them.”
“Names for what?” Cody asked.
“To punish. The Chinese have always been big on punishment. Lee came to warn us the Triads would be coming for us.”
Take A Thousand Cuts Page 23
