by Chan Ho-Kei
‘Ah, that makes sense,’ replied Inspector Choi. ‘Let me talk to Division D – I’ll get them to send a dog team to Wan Chai.’
‘Are there any other open cases?’
‘No... Oh wait, there’s still the “acid bomb” case from before, but we haven’t had any new leads, and I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for them to strike again,’ Choi sighed.
‘True. This sort of case is the hardest to deal with.’
Half a year previously, there’d been an acid attack at Tung Choi Street in Mong Kok, a market street with many open-air stalls selling clothes, jewellery and toiletries. Also known as Ladies’ Alley, it was a famous tourist destination. On either side of the road stood old-fashioned buildings, making it one of Hong Kong’s most characteristic streets. These buildings lacked security features – quite a few of them didn’t even have a main gate, so anyone was free to walk in and out. A criminal took advantage of this, entering one of these five- or six-storey buildings around nine o’clock at night, opening a bottle of drain cleaner and flinging the concentrated sodium hydroxide down onto the street. Weekend evenings were when the market was at its busiest, and several stall owners and shoppers suffered chemical burns from the corrosive liquid. Another Saturday night two months later, a similar incident happened at the other end of the market, when two bottles of the same brand of drain cleaner fell from the sky. Even more people were hurt this time, some almost blinded after direct hits to the head.
The West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit started investigating, but were completely unable to identify any suspects. The rooftops of the neighbouring buildings were all connected, so the culprit could easily have escaped from the scene of the crime. After the first incident, the police urged residents to increase security, but it was unclear who would be responsible for this in shared buildings, and in any case both landlords and tenants reckoned there was no point – it had already happened; why mend a fence after the sheep had escaped? And then came the second case.
West Kowloon Regional Intelligence asked the CIB to go through surveillance footage from hundreds of local shops, plus ten roadside cameras, looking for anyone suspicious. After sifting through and cross-referencing huge amounts of material from the time of both events, they identified a plump man about five foot two, his face hidden beneath a black baseball cap. The police put out a bulletin on him – as a witness, not a suspect – but nothing turned up.
Fortunately, there’d been no further incidents in the four months since then. Perhaps black baseball cap was their guy, and he’d given up because he realized they were onto him. Or perhaps the business owners had finally been willing to fork out for proper gates and security guards. In any case, no more innocent people were hurt on Tung Choi Street.
The only problem was, their investigation was now stalled.
‘Let’s focus our energies on the Big Circle case, then.’ Kwan closed the folder.
‘Yes, Commander.’ Alex Choi stood, then changing his tone, added, ‘This is probably the last time I’ll be reporting to you?’
‘That’s right. Next week you’ll be in my place, listening to someone else’s report.’
‘Commander, we’re all very grateful for your leadership these last few years. We’ve learned so much.’ Chief Inspector Choi opened the door as he spoke, motioning to whoever was outside. ‘We got this to show our appreciation.’
Kwan Chun-dok hadn’t expected the whole of Team 1 to be standing outside, one of them bearing a cake iced with ‘Happy Retirement!’ They walked in, all smiles, everyone clapping. The man with the cake was Sonny Lok, who’d only joined Division B at the start of the year. Kwan often chose him for tasks, as if he were his personal assistant, and so his colleagues had given him the job of ‘cake ambassador’.
‘You shouldn’t have!’ smiled Kwan. ‘We’ve already arranged to go out for a meal next week. Why the cake as well?’
‘Don’t worry, Commander. Everyone will have a share – not one speck of buttercream will go to waste.’ Choi was well aware of his superior’s frugal nature, and had made sure not to get too large a cake. ‘It’s your last day here, and we couldn’t let you go without marking the occasion.’
‘Well, thank you all. It’s only just after ten, are you hungry for cake?’
‘I skipped breakfast today,’ someone yelled.
‘Everyone’s busy in the afternoon – it was hard to get the whole team together,’ Choi explained.
‘Happy retirement, Commander!’
‘Don’t forget to come visit us!’
‘Quick, get a knife and cut Commander a slice.’
‘Hey, what’s going on here?’
At those words, everyone froze except Kwan Chun-dok. Standing behind the crowd was Chief Superintendent Keith Tso, his suit perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place, his face stern. Chief Superintendent Tso, four years Kwan’s senior, was the Director of CIB. He hardly ever smiled, and his brow was creased for roughly twenty-three hours of every day. Everyone in the bureau treated him with fear and respect. Choi and his team hadn’t expected their ultimate superior to suddenly show up in Division B’s office, and they hastily stood to attention. Sonny Lok was in the most awkward position, momentarily unable to find anywhere to put the cake down, yet frantic to salute the Chief Superintendent.
‘Were you looking for me, sir?’ Kwan said calmly, standing. ‘My team got a cake to celebrate my retirement.’
‘Ah. Shall I come back a little later?’
‘No, no,’ said Chief Inspector Choi quickly. ‘We’ll leave you two to talk.’
Chief Superintendent Tso nodded as if nothing could be more natural, and Team 1 hurried out of the office, the last person carefully shutting the door without a sound.
After they’d all gone, Kwan chuckled, ‘Keith, you gave them such a fright.’
‘Only because they’re cowards,’ shrugged Tso, settling himself into a chair. He had known Kwan Chun-dok for many years, and he’d never put on airs around an old friend – not even if he was that old friend’s superior.
‘Is it anything urgent?’ Every CIB division commander and deputy commander had a weekly meeting, but these took place in the conference room. Keith Tso very seldom put in a personal appearance in the Division B office.
‘You’re leaving today, of course I had to come by.’ Tso pulled a small box from his pocket. Opening it, Kwan found a silvery-white fountain pen. ‘Old farts like us still prefer the traditional ways, even though reports all have to be on the computer these days.’
‘Ah... thank you,’ Kwan said, although he was happy with any pen as long as it could write, and an exquisite instrument like this felt like a waste to him. ‘To be honest, I don’t know how often I’ll need to pick up a pen after I’ve retired. Or are you hinting I should write my memoirs?’
‘Apart from this little memento, I’m also here to ask about your plans.’ Chief Superintendent Tso leaned forward, looking straight into Kwan’s eyes.
‘Keith, you’re wasting your breath. You know I’ve made up my mind.’ Kwan shook his head, smiling.
‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you? Whether we’re going by track record, ability or human connections, you’re the best in the department. I’m leaving next year, and the CIB won’t be left with any top-notch commanders. Ah-dok, you’re still young. Recontract and take my seat for the next five years. Number One himself will be overjoyed.’ The Police Commissioner was often known as ‘Number One’, as the license plates of his official car bore no other number.
After retiring and starting to draw their pension, Hong Kong police officers have the option of coming back to the force on a contractual basis, with a limit of four terms of two-and-a-half years each, after which they’d get a cash bonus. Even so, this tended not to happen for anyone over the age of 55, with an exception made for high-ranking individuals, such as gazetted officers, because their experience was irreplaceable.
Kwan knew very well that Chief Superintendent Tso would be retiring in a year’s
time. Tso’s family had already migrated to the UK, like many Hongkongers who were wary of what would happen after the handover of sovereignty, but he had chosen to stay behind and continue to serve in the force. Although the British government had decided against giving blanket permission for Hong Kong citizens to emigrate in their millions, they had allowed eligible public servants to apply for residency; the existence of this escape route meant they were more likely to remain in Hong Kong, preventing a mass exodus from the civil service. Meanwhile, their families made new homes in the UK or other Commonwealth countries, while their children inevitably chose to go to university abroad, and then never returned.
‘No thanks, let someone else have a shot at it,’ said Kwan. ‘Benny’s very suitable for the job, and he’s younger than me. Even if I came back for five years, at the end of that we’d be left with the same problem of succession. Why not nip that in the bud by letting younger folk learn on the job?’
‘Benny isn’t bad, but he’s too led by his emotions.’ Benedict Lau was the Commander of Division A. ‘Ah Dok, you know very well that the head of CIB needs a crystal-clear mind, as well as eyes and ears in all directions. Benny’s better suited to regional work.’
‘Keith, stop trying. I’ve only ever enjoyed deduction and analysis, and you’re asking me to go into planning. There’s no way I’d be able to put up with it. Don’t you know this? It was your idea for me to stay in charge of my division after I was promoted.’
In Intelligence, most division leaders were regular superintendents, with a senior superintendent serving as deputy director. After Kwan rose in rank to senior superintendent some years previously, he had remained at the head of his division – a special arrangement Tso had made after weighing up his strengths.
‘Fine, I give up.’ Keith Tso’s brow settled into its habitual furrows. ‘Can I at least tell you about our Plan B?’
‘What Plan B?’
‘You recontract for a new post, but don’t take my chair.’
‘Then what am I meant to say to Alex? He’s all set to take over my job.’
‘No, you won’t be staying where you are either. I’ve talked it over with Commissioner Hung – we’d keep you on as a special consultant. Officially under Intelligence, but you’d be free to step into any case you like – naturally, only where the department’s asked for help. We wouldn’t want to interfere where we’re not wanted, it would be bad for morale.’
‘Oh?’ Superintendent Kwan’s deductive abilities were extraordinary, but he hadn’t expected his superiors would make such an unusual proposal to him. The man Tso had mentioned was Senior Assistant Commissioner Daniel Hung, Director of the Crime and Security Department, which the other bureaus came under. Daniel was only forty-one, but being a university graduate, had been on the inside track from the moment he joined the force – a very different breed from Keith Tso or Kwan Chun-dok, who’d started as lowly constables and worked their way up.
‘This was the best plan I could come up with. I’m not going to force you, but have a think about it. After July, who knows what new challenges we’ll face – your experience will certainly come in handy.’
Kwan was silent for a while. This was an attractive proposition. He’d be able to return to frontline investigation without worrying about the burden of his ageing body – probably the best possible compromise. Still, Kwan was a meticulous thinker in life as in his job, and wasn’t going to give an answer until he’d considered every angle.
‘Let me turn it over in my mind,’ he said. ‘When do you need an answer?’
‘Before the middle of July.’ Tso stood. ‘You’re not officially retiring till then, anyway. Just let me know.’
Kwan walked him to the door. Tso added, ‘Ah Dok, whether or not you agree to this, I’m going to wish you a happy retirement now. In this line of work, making it safely to pension age is something to be celebrated.’
‘Right you are, Keith. Thanks.’ Kwan shook his hand, and held the door open for him.
Outside, the officers of Division B were busy at their desks, some speaking on the phone, their faces grim, others leafing through documents. Kwan expected them to drop the act as soon as Chief Superintendent Tso was out of sight, but they carried on, and he realized this tense atmosphere wasn’t just put on for Tso’s benefit.
‘Commander, something’s come in.’ Inspector Choi hastily filled him in. ‘Hong Kong Island Regional called – another acid attack. Their Crime Unit is looking into it. To think we were just saying we couldn’t proceed without more evidence, and now this.’
‘Hong Kong Island?’ Kwan frowned. ‘Not Mong Kok?’
‘In our neighbourhood this time – Graham Street Market in Central. For now we don’t know whether this is the Mong Kok perp or a copycat – we’ve sent someone for details.’
‘Good, let me know if there are any updates. If we find the same suspect, we’ll have to inform Kowloon West.’ Kwan patted Choi on the shoulder. Whatever happened next with this case, Choi would be in charge – Kwan was leaving tomorrow, and wouldn’t be giving any more orders. Yet even as he went through his final batch of op reports, Kwan kept an eye on Team 1. In the rise and fall of their voices as they spoke on the phone or chatted amongst themselves, he gleaned the first bits of info about the case – that at 10.05 a.m. four containers of drain cleaner had been flung from the roof of an old building, hitting the market stalls on Graham and Wellington Streets. Graham Street was the oldest open-air market in Hong Kong’s history, selling fresh food as well as other items, and people who lived nearby often went there for their daily needs, alongside the tourists. Thirty-two people were so far known to have been injured, three of them seriously – hit in the face or head by the corrosive liquid.
Half an hour later, Alex Choi rapped urgently on Kwan’s door.
‘What’s up? Did one of the casualties die?’ asked Kwan.
‘No, no, Commander, this report’s much worse – a convict has managed to escape while being treated at the hospital.’
‘Where? Queen Mary?’ This was where Stanley Prison sent its convicts when necessary, a public hospital in Pok Fu Lam on Hong Kong Island.
‘Yes, yes, Queen Mary,’ stammered Choi. ‘But the problem isn’t where, it’s who – the escaped prisoner is Shek Boon-tim.’
Kwan Chun-dok froze at this name. Eight years previously, on his very first day in the CIB, he’d been roped into an operation against the Shek brothers, Boon-tim and Boon-sing, who’d occupied the first and second places on the Most Wanted list that year. Boon-tim, the older man, was cunning and knowledgeable, while Boon-sing would kill a person without blinking. The younger brother died in a gunfight during that operation. Boon-tim got away – until the police uncovered his hiding place a month later, and took him into custody. And the person who’d managed to piece together the fragments of evidence to make that arrest was Kwan Chun-dok himself.
2
AN HOUR AFTER Choi’s report of Shek Boon-tim’s escape, Division B felt like they’d been on a rollercoaster ride, dizzy from the ups and downs.
To start with, they only heard of the incident by chance. Alex Choi had dispatched an officer to the Command and Control Centre to get incident reports on the latest acid attack. That officer happened to arrive as someone from Correctional Services was requesting urgent help because Shek Boon-tim had just fled from the hospital. The Control Centre’s director immediately put out a call for all Emergency Units, mounted police and patrols to assist.
According to the initial report, Shek Boon-tim ran from Queen Mary Hospital and jumped into a white Honda Civic parked close by. As soon as he was in the back seat, the car zoomed off, crashing through the flimsy railings and speeding northwards along Pok Fu Lam Road. Because of disruption resulting from the fire in West Point that morning and the traffic accident in Central, patrol cars weren’t able to intercept it.
When Alex Choi got that initial information, which he passed on to Kwan at eleven o’clock, that was the state of play. Wh
at he didn’t know was at that very moment, an Emergency Unit car had spotted the target vehicle at West Mid-levels. Following radio instructions, they drove ahead to place a road block at the junction of Pok Fu Lam Road and Hill Road. But before they’d finished setting up, the white Honda charged towards them, smashing their barricade to smithereens. The squad car chased it down Pok Fu Lam and onto Bonham Road, driving dangerously fast. Near Honiton Road, the Honda swerved to avoid a goods truck and crashed into a lamppost.
This was where the trouble started. The five officers in the squad car hadn’t expected the suspects they were pursuing to be heavily armed. Before they could even disembark, a dense swarm of bullets came towards them. The commanding officer quickly activated the vehicle’s MP5 sub-machine gun and Remington shotgun, exchanging fire. In an instant, bullets were flying and the street had turned into a battle zone. Neither police nor criminals could advance or retreat, but fate was smiling on the cops, and another Emergency Unit showed up in the nick of time, firing on the Honda from the other side. After heavy fire, the three criminals lay dead, and only five bystanders and officers were injured – a bit of relative good fortune amongst the bad. Fifteen minutes later, officers from the Crime Unit showed up, and uncovered an astonishing fact.
Of the three deceased, not one was Shek Boon-tim.
In the chaos of the gunfight, the convict could have jumped from the car and got away – no one from the police vehicles could swear that they hadn’t been tricked by a decoy, watching the man with the gun while the escapee dashed out the other side of the car, blending into the crowd of fleeing civilians. It was also possible that Shek Boon-tim had already left the vehicle by the time they caught up with it, switching cars or even hopping onto public transport, again disappearing into the crowded city.
