by Lee Weeks
Alex Stamp appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Thought I’d come and get a look at my wife’s new partner. Hello, I’m Alex.’ He shook Mann’s hand with a strong grip and honed in with frosty blue eyes that stayed on their subject a little too long. Mann grinned. He was used to people trying to read him—it was a good game but there would only be one winner.
First impressions: Alex Stamp was a monitor lizard. He was a well-turned-out one, though—an expensive dresser—but he was a little too bulky for the designer look. He obviously liked his weights more than his aerobic machines at the gym.
He went over to Becky and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, baby. Managed to cut the trip short…had one hell of a week…tell you about it later. Business meetings…’ He rolled his eyes Mann’s way. ‘You know how it is? Work always gets in the way of fun. Even worse in the police force. I should know. Never marry a copper, hey, Mann? Anyway, what are you doing in the kitchen? Come into the lounge and relax. Becky will call us when it’s ready. Won’t you, baby?’ He kissed her cheek again.
‘Yes, sure.’ She glanced uneasily at Mann, who couldn’t resist a raised eyebrow and grinned.
Alex picked up the bottle of wine and carried it, along with a glass for himself, into the lounge. ‘Crap,’ he muttered as he switched the music off. ‘Becky says you’re here working on a case involving triads. Is that right?’ Mann sat on the two-seater black leather sofa. Alex gave a derisory snort. ‘I can’t believe we have trouble from triads here in London. We are a million miles away from Beijing, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Wherever there are Chinese businesses there are triads extorting money from them, I’m afraid.’
‘Becky tells me you are half-Chinese yourself. How interesting. What side?’
Mann got the feeling that Alex was only asking questions to give himself the opportunity to study his prey. Not so much a monitor lizard as a Velociraptor, thought Mann, testing out his victim’s weaknesses.
‘My father’s.’
‘And this triad-related case originates in Hong Kong—is that right?’
‘In a roundabout way.’
Alex laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Becky doesn’t talk in her sleep. Isn’t that right, darling?’ he said, as Becky appeared in the doorway, new bottle in hand.
‘What’s right?’
‘I said you tell me all your police business, don’t you, baby.’
Mann saw a flash of anger cross her face. She held Alex with an icy stare.
‘I’m surprised you remember me telling you anything about Mann coming. You don’t usually listen to anything I say.’ She smiled, thin-lipped. It was a challenge rather than a smile, and she fixed her husband with a disapproving look before she filled Mann’s glass and came to sit opposite him on a seventies retro armchair that matched the sofa.
‘Mann went to school here, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Mann was starting to feel uneasy. He felt like there was a domestic about to kick off and he was going to get caught in the middle of it.
Alex drank his wine so fast that his second glass had already disappeared. His nose was bothering him. He touched it constantly and sniffed in between.
‘You have a cold, Alex? That’s a bummer in spring—or is it hay fever?’
‘What? Sorry?’
‘The runny nose—hay fever or a cold?’
Alex shook his head and shrugged. ‘An allergy to something, I expect—dust, probably. We need to get a live-in cleaner—don’t we, darling?’
‘Would anyone like hummus?’ Becky jumped up and disappeared into the kitchen. Mann wondered if she was an exploder or an imploder. He suspected that it took a lot to make her lose her cool in public.
‘Tell me? Are you all Kung Fu experts?’ Alex said, pouring himself another glass and raising his glass to Mann as if it were a challenge.
‘My colleague is.’
‘Ahhh…of course…a young man’s sport.’ Alex grinned.
‘Maybe, but I find knives much more interesting.’
Becky returned with a plate of pita and hummus.
‘Mann is being modest. He’s a firearms and martial arts expert and something called Eskrima.’ She looked at him. ‘I read it on your stats. Have you ever heard of Eskrima, Alex?’ He shook his head and had a look on his face like he was waiting for the punch line. ‘It’s a form of Filipino street fighting. Is that right, Mann? Mainly defensive?’
‘The opposite, actually. Attack first, is the Eskrima motto. Kill before you are killed. It uses knives, mainly. It’s all about staying alive on the street.’
‘More knives…’ said Alex. ‘Your speciality…’
Mann sat back on the sofa and grinned at Alex.
‘We all have to have one, don’t we? What’s yours, Alex?’
‘Ha ha…that’s for me to know and you to find out. I am a model husband, of course, isn’t that right, darling?’
‘Dinner is ready.’ Becky stood, flashed him an over-sweet smile and strode off to the kitchen.
Mann left soon after he’d eaten. He walked back through the Fields. A group of boys were testing each other’s skateboarding skills on a makeshift ramp. The tennis courts were lit and in full use. Apart from giggling girls watching bravado boys and the sound of the tennis balls being thwacked, everything else was quiet; the commuters were safely back at home enjoying a glass of wine and waiting for EastEnders to start. He could imagine it would be noisy back at the Stamps’ house. There would probably be an almighty row going by now. He also wondered why he disliked Alex so much. His attitude was confrontational. He was not a man to reason with. He was brittle, volatile. He was also a cocaine addict. He didn’t even realise he sniffed constantly. He had obviously come back home just to check Mann out. He didn’t trust his wife, though clearly he could. He didn’t trust her because he was playing away himself, thought Mann.
His phone rang just as he reached the door of the B&B. It was Ng.
‘You’re up early, practising your Tai Chi?’ said Mann.
‘Just about to start. No, busy night—we have trouble here. Wo Shing Shing officers have rounded up at least eight high-ranking members of three other societies. It seems CK is targeting anyone he thinks may have any affiliation to the White Circle. We haven’t seen the bodies yet, but we will.’
‘Stevie involved?’
‘That’s another thing—as soon as the trouble hit, Steve left town. He’s back to the UK.’
‘Okay. I’ll catch up with him as soon as I can.’
‘How’s it going there? Is it raining?’
‘No…it’s not raining here, and before you ask, a pea-souper is rare these days…You should stop watching all those old black and white movies. I just met my partner’s husband.’
‘Nice guy?’
‘Slimy bastard…’
‘She must be good-looking, huh…?’
Mann said his goodbyes and went up to his room. The weight of the cool white cotton sheets made him suddenly too exhausted to think of anything else but sleep, and he slept his first night in the UK for seventeen years.
It was cut short—at five o’clock his phone rang.
‘Sorry to wake you.’ It was Becky. ‘There’s been a fire. Twelve people dead…all chained to their beds.’
19
Mann and Becky parked up opposite the Victorian villa—a three-storey redbrick detached house. It had been built at a time when the area was semi-rural; now it was Bedsit Land and Student Ville. It had long since lost its front garden to tarmac and extra parking spaces and its back garden to a small courtyard and another house.
A small crowd of onlookers was gathered around the edge of the crime-scene tape. Mann and Becky crossed the line and showed their badges to the PC on the perimeter.
They were greeted by the fire detective in charge, an Inspector Ray. They stood in the burnt-out doorway. The door had been kicked in by the firemen.
‘Deliberate.’ It was Ray’s job to ascertain the cause of the fire and to m
ake sure it was a safe environment to hand over to the police and forensics team, whilst trying not to swamp the place with water and thereby destroy evidence. ‘There are two heat seats, one here and one at the back door.’ He turned and pointed behind him, past the stairwell and along a corridor. ‘We found the incendiary devices. They’re crude but effective…’ He picked up the glass bottle that had been used. ‘They went off simultaneously at approximately four a.m. this morning. Unfortunately the local fire station had a series of hoax calls that evening and they didn’t get here for twenty minutes. By that time the place was well alight.’
Mann and Becky stood just inside the entrance. To the right and left were rooms. Beyond was the hallway leading through to the kitchen. Straight ahead was a blackened stairwell that had obviously taken the brunt of the fire.
‘The stairway effectively acts as a chimney. The heat was so intense that even the plaster wall has started to give way. I’m afraid the women at the top of the stairs had no chance.’
They stepped carefully over the debris and stood in pools of black water and sludge, looking up at the charred remains of the stairwell. Parts of the ceiling hung down, wires swung open-ended, and swathes of wallpaper peeled from the walls like strips of scalded skin.
Jimmy Vance appeared from round the back of the house. Ray excused himself and left Vance to take over.
‘The woman who dialled the emergency services was told that the place was empty by a black guy running from the house when the fire caught hold.’
‘How did he get out?’ asked Becky.
‘There was a window open in one of the ground-floor rooms at the back.’
‘So he saved himself and left the women to fry—nice bloke.’
‘Did she get a look at him?’ asked Mann.
‘She said he was over six foot, thirty-ish, American or Canadian accent. She hadn’t seen him before. She was outside looking for her lost cat when the devices went off. She said he ran past and to go back inside and that it was about to blow up.’
‘I suppose he couldn’t risk her hearing the women cry for help,’ Becky said.
‘She wouldn’t have heard them anyway…’ Vance had a face that looked like it surprised itself when a thought struck him. ‘…the place was double-glazed.’
‘Did she know anything about who owned the place?’ asked Mann.
‘She said it had changed hands six months ago. She hadn’t been able to work out who the owners were—she saw men coming and going at strange times of the day and night. The only people she saw regularly were two Chinese guys and a smartly dressed Chinese woman.’
‘Was it the first time she had seen the black guy?’
‘She said she’d seen him and another big white guy a couple of times in the last few days.’
Vance led them up the stairs. ‘There were four bedrooms on each landing, two to the right, two to the left, and a bathroom straight ahead. Watch where you’re standing and don’t touch anything, it will probably give way. The firemen had no idea that there was anyone in here until…they reached here and found this…’
They stopped on the top landing. Vance stood back to allow them to peer inside. The biting chemical smell from burnt paint and melted nylon carpet had a new undertone—the smell of roasted flesh.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Becky reeled and instinctively turned away.
‘It’s not a pretty sight. No way out…horrible death. Each of the victims is chained to their bed,’ said Vance.
The women’s knees were drawn into their bodies; their arms were held up in front of their faces. Their jaws were wide open and their teeth glared in the black of incinerated flesh. ‘The other room is just the same. Each of the rooms has six victims. Both rooms overlook the front, the others looks over the courtyard at the back, but they were both barred and shuttered.’
‘What’s in them?’ Mann pointed towards the other rooms on the landing.
‘I’ll show you.’ Vance pushed one of the doors open. Inside the blackened room, wallpaper hung down from the walls. To the right was an open-plan en ensuite bathroom. Soot and debris covered every surface. At their feet were large shards of broken mirrored glass.
‘These rooms are both bedrooms and so are nearly all the other rooms in the house. There’s a safe downstairs: personal belongings, travel documents inside, still intact. I’ll show you.’
They went back down the stairs and walked along the burnt-out corridor to a small kitchen at the back of the house.
‘No hob, no oven, just a microwave,’ said Becky. ‘Doesn’t look like their guests stayed to dinner.’
One of the SOCO team was examining the contents of a tabletop safe. It had survived the fire intact, only its red-paint finish was bubbled and peeled. Vance passed Becky and Mann some latex gloves.
‘You’ll need those. Some of it has fused due to the heat.’ Vance began to carefully open the pages of a passport. ‘But we will get the experts to unravel it. So far, we have twelve passports and twelve corpses. He held up a passport for them to see. This girl, recently issued passport—three months ago—says she’s eighteen.’
‘Yeah, going on twelve.’ Mann studied the photo. ‘She’s a Filipina.’
‘Here’s a travel itinerary for them.’ Vance passed a piece of paper to him.
Mann took it and studied it. ‘Says they came in via Hong Kong: originally on a tourist visa; been here for two weeks.’
‘Is this the first fire of this kind you’ve had here?’ Mann asked Becky.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘We know they came via Hong Kong and we know they were supplied with travel papers there. We have Chinese and non-Chinese working together at this end. I think these women were brought in by the new boys. I also think someone much further up the chain was watching and not approving. There has been some muscle-flexing here. I think we are done here,’ said Mann.
Becky nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Jimmy, see you back at the office.’
‘No problem. If we find anything interesting I’ll ring you.’
* * *
Back in the car, Becky took her time starting the engine. They sat in silence and stared at the scene. They could see the white-suited SOCOs moving behind the bars of the bedrooms on the third floor.
‘Must be the worst way to go.’ Becky shivered.
Mann didn’t answer. He was busy watching a Chinese man standing on the other side of the road, behind the house, staring intently at the house and talking on his phone.
Becky rested her head back against the head rest and sighed deeply. She looked across at Mann then she looked past him to see what he was staring at. The Chinese man had disappeared.
‘I just don’t get it, Johnny. What about the man who ran away from the scene? Who could do something like that knowing they couldn’t get out? Even if he didn’t set the place alight, he’s just committed murder anyway.’
‘He definitely didn’t set the place alight. My guess is he was left here to look after the women. When the incendiaries went off he saved himself and destroyed the evidence.’
‘That stinks. Evidence? Is that all these women were?’
‘We both know there is no mercy in the trafficking business, Becky. It’s all about money for people. The women represent a massive investment. Their earning potential was huge; they would have been sold on and around this country and all over Europe, earning money for their traffickers as they went. Someone will be left with a big hole in their pocket after this. A trafficker is being punished right where it hurts. Losing face and losing money, two sides of the same coin. Someone’s done both here. We are in the middle of a global turf war.’
20
Amy looked forward to seeing Lenny. He brought her things—some GCSE revision books, much too hard for Amy but it was kind of him. He bought her another macramé kit to make several bead necklaces and bracelets. After the visit from the Filipino people to the school, she had taught herself to make really intricate and pretty things. He also brought her some felt-tips an
d a drawing pad. Today he said he would bring her something to draw—fruit or something. She wasn’t much good at drawing fruit. She was better at drawing people. But it was nice of him to think of her.
She lay still and looked around the room. It wasn’t a nice bedroom. It had a small windowless bathroom off it with a smelly shower behind a nasty plastic curtain. It was cold in there. The curtain wrapped itself around Amy when she showered. There was little furniture, just a scruffy old raffia lamp and a chair and table for her to sit at. There wasn’t even a proper bed—just a mattress on the floor. No telly. The curtains didn’t fit properly. Anyway, there was nothing much to see. There was a car park below and a block of flats opposite. So Amy just stared out of the window and counted the planes that went over day and night. Amy would be on a plane soon—going home for Easter, a whole month. She was so looking forward to it. Then she realised that it might not happen if her father didn’t give the men who employed Lenny what they wanted—what they were owed, Lenny said. Then she might have to stay here a long time. Amy sighed. She had never really spent any time with her father, she didn’t really know him. But the one thing she did know was that he was rich and powerful and easily irritated. All this would really bug him. She hoped he didn’t get so mad he just wouldn’t pay. Once, she had seen him when he got mad with her mother. They rowed about getting married and about her spending too much money. Her mother had shouted all the time but her father had said little. He was like stone. He had just said what he had wanted to then walked away and left her mother shouting. They had had no money for weeks until her mother apologised, even though she said it wasn’t her fault. Her mother said she always had to apologise.
Another click of the front door, this time louder. Amy strained to listen. Heavy but precise footsteps, a strong but careful closing of the door…Lenny was back—Amy was pleased. She heard him talking to the Chinese woman in English. Her English was very good, thought Amy, but she had a strange accent. Amy couldn’t put her finger on it. She was giggling again. Footsteps were coming towards Amy’s room. The door opened.
