Deadly Betrayal: A gripping crime thriller full of mystery and suspense (Detective Jane Phillips Book 4)

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Ok, but that said, we need to do something about this. I’ll ask Fox for more support.’

  ‘I think it’s too late for that,’ said Jones.

  ‘Come on, don’t say that.’

  Jones sighed loudly. ‘Sarah told me she’s been for coffee a couple of times with a bloke from work; a younger guy who’s been paying her a lot of attention.’

  ‘She’s been having an affair?’

  ‘No. At least I hope not, but she says she’s been tempted, and that’s enough for her. She’s suggested we have a trial separation; get some space and give ourselves time to think about what we want.’

  ‘And what do you want?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘I just want my wife back,’ Jones’s voice cracked. ‘For my marriage to be ok.’

  Phillips blew her lips. ‘God. No wonder you went quiet when we started talking about Carpenter and Townsend’s affair.’

  ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Yeah, mate. It was like your batteries died. You just clammed up.’

  ‘Sorry, Guv. This case has been tough.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be sorry,’ said Phillips. ‘I knew there was something going on and I should’ve said something sooner.’

  Jones didn’t reply.

  The cab came to a stop outside their hotel. Phillips paid the driver, and they got out and headed for the main entrance.

  A few minutes later, they stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

  ‘When you get back, I want you to take some time off. Fix your marriage,’ said Phillips as the lift began to ascend.

  ‘But what about the case?’

  ‘Leave the case to me and the guys. We can live without you for a week, ok?’

  Jones smiled softly and nodded. ‘Thanks, Guv.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Phillips.

  A moment later, they arrived at their floor. The doors opened onto the empty corridor and they stepped out.

  As they reached their adjacent rooms, Phillips placed a soft hand on Jones’s shoulder. ‘Now get some sleep, ok?’

  ‘I’ll try, Guv,’ Jones replied as he unlocked the door. ‘I’ll try.’

  22

  The next morning Phillips woke at 5 a.m., and was unable to get back to sleep thanks to jet lag. So she decided to get up and get busy, and took breakfast in her room. Now dressed and ready for the day in lightweight flannel trousers and yet another white shirt, she heard movement coming from Jones’s room, so knocked on the adjoining door to see if he was up and about.

  A moment later, Jones released the lock and opened the door.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. He was dressed in a white hotel robe, his eyes bloodshot and lifeless. ‘You couldn’t sleep either, then?’

  ‘No. I’ve been awake since about five,’ said Phillips.

  ‘Me too. I’ve been watching shit TV for the last hour. This bloody jet lag is a total bastard, isn’t it?’ His south London drawl made it sound like barstard.

  Phillips nodded. ‘The good news is, it’ll be easier going home because you get the time back. It’s always much harder coming out east.’

  ‘D’you fancy heading down for breakfast?’ asked Jones.

  Phillips felt a pang of guilt that she’d not thought to check on him earlier. ‘Sorry, I’ve had room service already. I woke up ravenous.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Jones. ‘I’ll call down and order something up myself. What time are we going to see Li?’

  Phillips checked her watch; it was 6.50 a.m. ‘I’d like to get in there as early as possible, but I have no idea what time he gets to his desk. I’m gonna call him in about an hour or so and check the lay of the land.’

  ‘Well, in that case, I’m going to treat myself to a long hot bath and a full English.’

  ‘Oooh, check her,’ said Phillips playfully, ‘pampering herself.’

  ‘Piss off,’ Jones said with a chuckle, then closed the door.

  Phillips smiled. It was good to see him laughing again.

  Just over an hour passed, and as the bedside digital clock display changed to 08.00, Phillips could wait no longer. She picked up her phone and dialled Li. Once again it seemed to ring for an eternity at the other end, but this time he did eventually answer.

  ‘Jane?’

  Phillips wasted no time. 'Did you get the message I left last night?’

  ‘I did, but not until I checked my phone just now. What’s your information on Wong?’

  ‘I have reason to believe he, and the murder of Victoria Carpenter, are both connected to the Triads, and that unless we find him before they do, they’ll simply make him disappear.’

  ‘And where did you get this information from?’ asked Li, sounding suspicious.

  ‘I still have friends on the Island, Billy.’

  ‘Could you be more specific?’

  ‘Not at this stage, no,’ said Phillips. ‘For their own safety, I’d prefer to protect their identities.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’ said Li, sounding affronted.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying, at all,’ Phillips lied, ‘but I’ve seen and heard what the Triads can do, and I’d prefer not to take any risks with the identities of my sources. Ok?’

  Li paused for a moment. ‘And this intel you have, is it solid?’

  ‘I believe so, yes. And because of that, I really need your help to find Wong before anyone else does.’

  ‘Well, in that case, you’re in luck, Jane,’ said Li. ‘We’ve identified an address in Kowloon where we believe Wong is holding up.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Phillips, as her pulse quickened.

  ‘It’s just off Nathan Road, about twenty minutes in the car. I’ll pick you up from your hotel in an hour and we can check it out. Be waiting in reception, Jane, and be prepared; it’s not a place for the faint-hearted,’ said Li, then hung up.

  ‘Do you know where you are, Jane?’ Li, at the wheel of an unmarked squad car, asked as they entered the ludicrously busy shopping district. The time was approaching 9.30 a.m.

  ‘Tsim Sha Tsui, or TST for short,’ she replied from the passenger seat. Jones watched on from the rear.

  ‘This is Nathan Road,’ Li said over his shoulder towards Jones, ‘one of the busiest shopping streets in all of Hong Kong. Fine for tourists during the day, but somewhere to take extra care at night. It has enough neon lights to put Las Vegas to shame.’

  Phillips had little interest in a guided tour. She knew these streets well enough from her time on the Island. ‘So where exactly are we headed?’

  ‘An apartment on the eleventh floor of the Chungking Mansions.’

  ‘Chungking Mansions? Jesus, I remember my dad talking about that place. Is it still a shit-hole?’

  Li nodded. ‘Like I said earlier, it’s not a place for the faint-hearted.’

  Phillips looked out of the window at the myriad shops with their bright neon signs and colourful frontages. ‘One of my dad’s squad was killed in there, cut to ribbons with a cleaver.’

  ‘Sergeant Cai Yang,’ said Li. ‘He is still talked about whenever Chungking Mansions comes up in active operations, like a mythical warning to every officer to watch their backs within its walls. Only Yang’s murder is not a myth; it really happened.’

  ‘That must have been almost thirty years ago. Surely it’s not as bad as that now?’

  ‘The world may have evolved, Jane, but Chungking Mansions has not. It’s still a place where drugs, crime, rape and murder thrive.’

  ‘Well, in that case, aren’t we a little light-handed?’ Phillips asked, turning to look at Li’s profile.

  Li shrugged his shoulders. ‘As this is not an official investigation for the Royal Hong Kong Police, I’m afraid resources are limited, so you just get me.’

  Phillips exhaled silently and bit her lip as Fox’s words came to mind: Try not to get yourself killed, will you?

  The rest of the journey passed in silence until Li took a right onto Mody Road and brought the c
ar to a stop. He killed the engine and swivelled in his seat to face them both. ‘Ok. Chungking Mansions is split into five blocks, each lettered A, B, C, D or E, and each containing seventeen stories. The bottom two floors are open to the general public, and the residences start from floor three. Wong is reportedly staying in block D; apartment 44, which is on the eleventh floor. This place is like the Wild West at times, and if you go looking for trouble, you’ll find it. So the best way to go in is quietly and with little fuss, ok?’

  Phillips nodded, suddenly nervous.

  ‘Ok,’ said Jones from the back seat.

  Li continued. ‘I am not permitted to carry a weapon unless given express permission from the Commissioner, so we’ll be going in unarmed.’

  ‘This just gets better,’ said Phillips, her tone sarcastic.

  Li shot her a look, his brow furrowed. ‘Do you want this guy or not? Because I really don’t need to be here.’

  Phillips raised her hands in mock defence. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of order. We really do appreciate your help.’

  Li nodded. ‘Ok. Let’s go.’

  Out of the car, Li lead the way back onto Nathan Road and through the main entrance to block D, which was helpfully signed in both English and Cantonese. Stepping inside the dimly lit shopping mall that lay in front of them, they were hit by the powerful aroma of curry houses and the sounds of the bustling shops around them. They ducked down a small walkway and through a set of battered old double doors, beyond which they found an elevator.

  ‘Shouldn’t we take the stairs?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ said Li as he pressed the call button.

  The elevator motors kicked into action and the digital display above the metal doors counted down from 7 to 0. The doors opened, and Li ushered them inside.

  Phillips had never been a fan of tight spaces, and was not used to entering a suspect’s address without back up. In fact, the last time she had done that, she had almost been strangled to death. As the lift began to ascend, the butterflies began to dance in her gut. She made eye contact with Jones, who swallowed hard and held her gaze. He was clearly as nervous as she was. Li, on the other hand remained calmness personified, which further unnerved Phillips. A terrifying thought jumped to the front of her mind: does he know what’s waiting for us up there?

  The lift arrived with a bump at the eleventh floor, and as the doors opened, Phillips held her breath. Mercifully, the small lift lobby was empty. Li stepped out, and Phillips and Jones fell in behind him. The trio quietly moved along the darkened corridor. Once more, the numbers on the doors were helpfully painted in Cantonese and English, and within a minute, they found themselves outside number 44.

  A TV was playing within the apartment, loud enough for them to hear the show as if it were being piped directly to them. Li pressed his ear to the door and listened intently for a long moment. Then, pulling back, he signalled for Phillips and Jones to back up, away from the view of the spy hole. Once they were sufficiently out of range, Li rapped on the door and shouted something in Cantonese. He got no answer, so he repeated the process. Still no one appeared, but it was clear that the TV had been turned down significantly; someone inside was listening. Li knocked and shouted again, but this time, with no answer forthcoming, he stepped back from the door, took aim, and thrust his boot into the lock. The old door must have been forty years old and gave way in an instant, wood splintering around the battered frame. Li rushed into the tiny apartment with Phillips and Jones just behind. A man with his back to them grabbed a baseball bat from on top of the bed. He spun and took a wild swing at Li, who deftly ducked and continued running forwards, catching the man in the chest and knocking him to the floor. Li crashed down on top of him a split second later.

  The force of the impact caused the man to release the bat, which Phillips picked up as Jones moved in to help Li restrain the man. When the melee finally came to an end, Phillips stepped up next to Li and Jones. She stared down at the man; he was Jimmy Wong.

  She smiled and produced her warrant card. ‘Jimmy Wong, aka Wong Heng, I’m DCI Phillips from the Greater Manchester Police. I’d like to talk to you in connection with the murder of Victoria Carpenter on the 11th of August.’

  Wong stared at her with a blank look on his face. Li rolled him onto his back and placed him in handcuffs, then lifted him to his feet. ‘I’ll take it from here, Jane. Just so we’re legal.’

  Phillips nodded and stepped back.

  Li continued. ‘Wong Heng, I am arresting you in connection with the murder of a British National. Do you wish to say anything? You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be put into writing and given in evidence.’

  He then repeated the caution in Cantonese.

  When he was finished, Wong locked eyes with Phillips. ‘It not me,’ he said in broken English.

  ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ said Phillips.

  ‘It not me,’ Wong repeated.

  ‘We have your DNA, mate, from under her fingernails when she scratched you.’

  Wong stared at her blankly before Li translated.

  ‘It not me,’ Wong repeated.

  ‘Bullshit, mate. DNA doesn’t lie. We know you killed her.’

  Li relayed the message, and Wong replied in Cantonese, evidently agitated.

  ‘He says he was there when the woman died,’ said Li, ‘but he didn’t kill her.’

  ‘So who did?’ asked Phillips.

  Li did the honours and once more translated Wong’s response. ‘He says he cannot tell you or he will be killed.’

  ‘By whom?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘He’s talking about the Triads,’ said Li.

  ‘Well, tell him that if he doesn’t give me the name of the killer, he’s going to be spending the rest of his days in a maximum security prison in the UK.’

  Li related what Phillips had said.

  Wong shrugged his shoulders for a moment, as if he couldn’t care less.

  ‘That does not scare him,’ said Li.

  Phillips could feel her frustration building. ‘We’ll soon see about that. Let’s get him into custody as quick as we can. We need Mr Wong alive.’

  Li nodded, and pushed Wong forwards and into the dark corridor.

  Soon they were back in the lift, but with four people now filling the small space, Phillips could feel the walls closing in. As the elevator began to descend, she watched as the digital display counted down, her heart beating harder with each floor that passed. After what felt like an age, but had probably been less than a minute, they reached floor zero and the metal box shuddered to a halt. There was a slight delay before the doors opened and Li pushed Wong out. Phillips followed, but as she stepped out, she sensed someone rushing towards her from the left. She raised her arms to protect herself, but was too late. Something heavy smashed into her temple and everything went black.

  23

  As Phillips regained consciousness, she tried to open her eyes, but they were fixed shut by something pressing tight against her face. Although disorientated, a hard surface pressed against the whole of her left side. It took her a while to realise she was lying on that side. Her hands were tied behind her back and her mouth was filled with some kind of foul-tasting fabric. The hum of an engine, and the steady movement of her surroundings, confirmed she was in a vehicle; a faint echo led her to the conclusion she was in a van. She told herself not to panic, but with her mouth full and her heart racing, she knew she wasn’t far away from a catastrophic anxiety attack. Trying desperately to distract herself, she forced herself to recall the last moments before she was attacked. Li and Wong had left the elevator first, and she had followed them out. She was sure Jones had still been in the lift. Had he managed to get away? Had he been seriously injured? Killed, even? Or was he in the same vehicle as her? She had no way of knowing.

  With her airways partially blocked, she was beginning to feel light-headed. She was certain that, unless the gag was removed
soon, she would suffocate. Myriad thoughts rushed through her mind. Her job had brought her close to death on a number of terrifying occasions, but she had always managed to survive. Now she wondered if she had been spared each of those times because her fate was to die in the place where she had been born: Hong Kong.

  The van came to an abrupt halt, which helped draw her mind back into sharp focus. As the engine died, there was movement of feet around her and sudden chatter in high-volume Cantonese. They sounded agitated, but then, to her ear, everyone speaking Cantonese sounded that way.

  Thick fingers gripped at her arms before she was dragged backwards until the floor of the van gave out and her feet dropped onto what sounded like concrete. As she breathed in and out, the fabric in her mouth seemed to move deeper and deeper. A second later, it touched the back of her throat and, doubling forwards, she retched.

  A man on her left shouted in Cantonese and someone in front of her pulled her head back. Then their fingers entered her mouth, grabbed at the fabric and pulled it out. She gagged and retched as it was released, and hot, foul-tasting spittle dripped from her lips.

  A scuffling sound coming from her right made her wonder if someone else was being held captive just as she was. Then muffled noises, followed by the sounds of someone gagging and retching, just as she had, confirmed her suspicions.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  Her heart leapt. ‘Jonesy?’

  ‘Guv?’ he replied. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘I dunno, mate. I can’t see anything. I’m blindfolded.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘What happened to Li and Wong?’ asked Jones.

  Before Phillips could reply, there were more orders – she could tell from the tone – in Cantonese, then something hard and thin was pressed against her, back forcing her to move forwards.

  With no idea where she was headed, she took tentative steps whilst being continuously encouraged, by whoever was behind her, to speed up. Soon the acoustics changed and Phillips could hear her footsteps, along with many others, echoing around her. She figured they had entered a large building. A moment later, all movement stopped.