The Borrowed

by Chan Ho-Kei

  If the moral majority saw Well-hung, Bunny and Mandy as authors of their own misfortune, then the man whose brains Shek Boon-sing blew out in the corridor would be the most innocent – or so one would think. He was named Wang Jingdong, aged thirty-eight, a Mainlander from Hunan. Six months ago, he’d come to Hong Kong to stay with relatives, but after constant arguments with his cousin’s wife, finally had no choice but to move out. This was only his second day at the Ocean Hotel.

  Wang Jingdong was a hardworking man from a peasant family, not a nasty bone in his body – but the media chose to depict him as uncivilized, poor and ignorant. Just as Mainlanders saw Hongkongers as money-grubbing and unscrupulous, Hongkongers painted Mainlanders as coarse and stupid. ‘If he had stayed back home where he belonged, he wouldn’t have died in that hotel,’ people said, casting his fate as a different form of retribution.

  And so the same reports appeared in the papers, day after day, until Kwan Chun-dok stopped noticing them. Then, at noon on Monday 8 May, he’d just concluded a meeting in the CIB Division B office and was preparing to go to the canteen, when a friend knocked on his door.

  ‘Superintendent Kwan, do you have a minute?’

  ‘Hi, Benny,’ said Kwan, looking up and smiling to see Senior Inspector Benedict Lau. ‘What wind blew you here today?’

  ‘I’ve been busy for a few days now, but managed to find some time today to come see you,’ said Benny warmly, as Kwan pulled on his jacket. ‘I still haven’t congratulated you on your promotion. Are you doing anything now? I’d like to take you out for a roast pigeon lunch.’

  ‘I’d be honoured to join you.’

  Benedict Lau was eight years younger than Kwan Chun-dok. He’d been in the Hong Kong Island Crime Unit from 1983 to ’85, where his relationship to Kwan was like that of Karl Fung and Edgar Ko, team leader and director. Benny was a forthright, optimistic man who’d received good evaluations from every department he’d worked with. Only in his early thirties, he’d already been allocated to CIB Division A. All his colleagues believed the higher-ups wanted him to take over the management of informants and undercover operatives, and once he had a few years’ experience under his belt, he’d probably be promoted to head the division.

  The two men walked out of Police HQ in Central, chatting as they made their way to Taiping Restaurant. Apart from being Hong Kong’s main business district, Central was also home to many tea houses and Western-style restaurants. Every gourmand knew which establishments along D’Aguilar Street provided value for money. Benny adored Taiping, not just for the great skill of the chef, but also for the generous spaces between tables, which meant less chance of being overheard.

  After biting into the crispy-skinned, tender young pigeon, Benny chatted aimlessly with Kwan, and the topic soon came around to the gun battle the previous Thursday.

  ‘Superintendent, I heard you were on the scene?’ asked Benny.

  ‘Yes, I happened to drop by with Keith to say hi to Edgar Ko, and we saw the whole thing.’ Kwan added two spoonfuls of sugar to the milky tea the waitress had just served.

  ‘Oh.’ Benny raised one eyebrow, looked around and said in a lowered voice, ‘As you were there, I don’t think there’s any harm in telling you. Did you know Internal Investigations have got involved?’

  ‘Really? Quite a few mistakes were made, and TT went rogue, so there’ll have to be some sort of disciplinary inquiry, but Internal Investigations? What’s there to investigate?’

  ‘Naturally, it was an inside job,’ Benny said, grimacing.

  ‘An inside job?’

  ‘Sir, you know how I keep my ears open.’ Benny took a sip of his coffee. ‘After I knew Internal was involved, I asked people in O-Crime and Kowloon West what was going on. Apparently, when Shum Biu and that guy Jaguar were on their way back to their hideout after buying lunch, Shum stopped at the south lobby mailbox to pick up some letters.’

  ‘Letters?’

  ‘Mostly fliers, takeout menus, that sort of thing. After O-Crime took over the case, that’s what they found in the sixteenth-floor apartment. Because the neighbouring units all got similar things, we can be pretty certain that’s what he brought up from the mailbox.’

  ‘Was there anything unusual about these leaflets?’

  ‘No, but investigators also found a piece of paper.’ Again Benny looked around to make sure they weren’t being observed. ‘Three by six inches, on the table, six numbers written in blue ballpoint pen: “042616”.’

  Kwan’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘I see you get the meaning,’ said Benny.

  ‘Escape,’ muttered Kwan. The pager code 616, which originally meant ‘cancel appointment’, now meant ‘run for it’.

  ‘According to reports from the scene, the three of them left in a great hurry. Two of the packed lunches on the table hadn’t even been opened, and the third had only one bite taken out of it. Next to the food was the jumble of leaflets, and on top of them, that note.’

  ‘So O-Crime thinks one of us gave Shek a tip-off?’

  ‘To start with, they thought it might have been Shek Boon-tim getting word to his little brother, but Boon-tim would just have called the pager – there was no need for a middleman. In fact, on the day of the incident, Boon-tim did send his brother a pager message with the date of their rendezvous.’

  Kwan recalled that Edgar Ko had mentioned this.

  ‘That means someone other than Shek Boon-tim sent that note.’ Benny rapped the tabletop. ‘O-Crime thinks it must be an associate of the Shek brothers who had no other way of getting in touch with them – which must mean the traitor is someone from within Kowloon West Crime Unit. That’s why that part of the case has been handed over to Internal Investigations.’

  ‘Hang on, that doesn’t stack up either,’ protested Kwan. ‘If Shek Boon-tim had someone infiltrating the Crime Unit, the insider could just call Boon-tim when he had a break or was changing shift, and get him to pass the message on to Boon-sing.’

  ‘You’re right, sir, which is why there’s a third theory now.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The person who wrote the note is from the Crime Unit, but not working for the Shek brothers.’

  ‘Why would he sabotage the operation, then?’

  ‘To stop a difficult colleague. Permanently.’ Benny pursed his lips.

  ‘A difficult... You mean TT?’ Kwan hesitated. ‘Then the prime suspect would be his nemesis, Karl Fung?’

  Benny burst into laughter. ‘Sir, your brain works faster than anyone else’s. That’s right, Karl’s the main target of the internal investigation. Everyone knows TT’s a real hothead, and if it looked like Shek Boon-sing was getting away, he’d definitely charge right in. Even if he didn’t get himself killed, he’d still have disobeyed a direct order, and there’d be an inquiry afterwards. Besides, if the op failed, Edgar Ko would most likely be removed from his post, and his misfortune would be an opportunity for Karl to grab promotion. Two birds with one stone.’

  Kwan pondered. ‘Who supplied the evidence that it was Mad Dog Biu who checked the mailbox?’

  ‘The Kowloon West constables stationed by the south exit,’ said Benny, deadpan. ‘The funny thing is, two of the three guys there mentioned this. Guess who didn’t?’

  ‘Karl Fung.’

  ‘Right. He said he was worried that if they all focused on Jaguar and Mad Dog, they might miss something else important, so he was looking in the other direction – which could, of course, be the truth. Besides, I heard that a day before the incident, Karl and TT got into an argument in the command centre over who was stationed where. Maybe that lit the fuse on Karl’s rage, and he decided to set a trap that would damn TT beyond redemption.’

  This reminded Kwan to ask, ‘How’s TT now?’

  ‘Been discharged and resting at home. Before Internal Investigations stepped in, the disciplinary inquiry was already looking bad. He might not actually have been demoted, but maybe would have been sent to some regional station to sh
uffle papers. But now it seems his left arm’s broken, so who knows if he’ll even be fit for work in the field after this.’ Police departments had their fair share of administration and support work, such as applications for alcohol licences, drafting internal strategies for workplace health and safety, maintaining police vehicles and firearms – all tasks, Kwan knew, that would be utterly incompatible with TT’s personality.

  ‘I heard – and this really is just a rumour’ – Benny gulped down his last mouthful of coffee – ‘during the incident, Karl Fung’s team deliberately slowed down, so they were only at the sixth floor when TT’s lot reached the ninth. You could say that’s because Karl is cautious by nature, but it might also be that he didn’t want to come to TT’s assistance, hoping that if he stayed out of it, TT and Shek Boon-sing might destroy each other.’

  Kwan Chun-dok was silent. A popular saying in the force was ‘Anyone in uniform is family.’ Kwan didn’t want to believe it was possible that someone had hurt a fellow officer for selfish motives, but it couldn’t be denied that Internal Investigations was right to look in this direction, based on the available evidence.

  ‘Sir, you were at the scene, so Internal might ask you some questions down the line. You’re much cleverer than those fellows, so I thought I’d give you a heads-up, and perhaps you’ll dig up the truth sooner. The way things are in Kowloon West, if the Crime Unit is compromised, no one wins but the gangsters, which means all the more work for us in Intelligence.’

  After saying goodbye to Benny, Kwan began pondering the question. Had Karl Fung really used such a despicable method to deal with TT?

  Like TT, Karl had once been stationed at Wan Chai, and Kwan had a vague impression of him – a meticulous worker who undertook his duties scrupulously, unlike the slapdash TT. Unless Karl had undergone a radical personality change in these last few years, Kwan’s instinct said it was unlikely that he’d ever do such an awful thing.

  But Kwan also knew how preconceived ideas can affect one’s deductions, so he didn’t definitively proclaim Karl Fung innocent – or guilty.

  In the afternoon, he pulled the relevant case files from Organized Crime and Kowloon West. Intelligence was supposed to be looking for clues to Shek Boon-tim’s whereabouts, so no one would wonder why he wanted to look at the Ka Fai Mansions incident. He read through every officer’s report, including one by Fan Si-tat, known as Sharpie, who’d spent half a day in surgery, barely emerging with his life.

  It was all as Benny said, including the details about the mailbox and one division being delayed. The situation after TT’s solo attack was the least clear, but as all three members of that group had survived, he was able to piece together the circumstances.

  According to TT’s statement, he’d charged out of the staircase door, requested back-up, then heard gunshots and screams from the hotel and knew Shek Boon-sing was ‘thinning the herd’ – he wouldn’t need that many hostages. In fact one would be ample. Ko unsuccessfully ordered him to stand down, but TT fired twice into the room before running out of ammo. Shek Boon-sing was clutching the cleaning lady, Lee Wan, so TT tossed aside his pistol and put his hands up. In the instant when Shek Boon-sing moved the rifle away from the hostage to point it at him, TT whipped out his other gun, Sonny’s pistol, and scored a direct hit. At the same time, Shek shot at him, hitting his left wrist. TT said his error was aiming at the torso, a larger target, rather than the head, which meant Shek survived long enough to pull out another pistol and fire off a few more rounds, killing Lee Wan. By the time TT got off a second shot to stop Shek for good, it was too late.

  Sonny Lok, who’d just joined the Mong Kok unit, filled in some of the blanks. He described their encounter with Jaguar and Shum Biu. Even with TT charging ahead, this rookie insisted on staying with his fellow officer, disobeying a direct order and abandoning the possibility of saving even more lives. Kwan thought this Sonny Lok would probably get torn apart by the disciplinary committee, and with a mark like that on his record, could forget about ever getting promoted.

  TT didn’t explicitly say so, but strongly hinted that Edgar Ko hadn’t acted logically or quickly enough. Team B arrived half a minute after TT had said he was going in, but by then it was already too late. TT believed that if the director had given the green light sooner, at least some of the hostages might have been saved.

  Two days later, Kwan Chun-dok took advantage of a free moment to make a trip to the Identification Bureau. He was curious about that ‘042616’ note, which hadn’t been written about much in any of the reports. Having broken many cases, Kwan had been in and out of the Identification office numerous times, and was familiar with the workings of the department. Inspector Szeto there was a friend, and he knew it would be far easier to ask for a favour than go through official channels.

  ‘Superintendent Kwan! Aren’t you in CIB now? What are you doing back here?’ smiled Szeto, his moustache waggling comically. He was right to wonder – as a division head, Kwan shouldn’t have to run around getting his own reports.

  ‘I’ve got something on my mind I was hoping to have a chat with you about,’ said Kwan. ‘A detail about the Ka Fai Mansions incident.’

  ‘Are you after Shek Boon-tim?’

  ‘No, I’m more concerned about the internal investigation.’

  Inspector Szeto let out a whistle. ‘You’re involved in that too?’

  ‘I happened to be at the scene that day.’

  ‘Ah, in that case...’ Szeto scratched his scalp, his hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. ‘Of course, I know you’d never let anything go if you had a doubt.’

  ‘Is that note still here?’

  ‘You mean the one with the code? Yes, with the other items. The officers at the scene dumped a whole load of stuff on us, every one needs to be fingerprinted and recorded. Where are we supposed to get that kind of manpower? My colleagues have been glued to their lightboxes all day long, staring themselves blind... Hang on a minute, I’ll get you the note.’ Inspector Szeto shrugged and spread his arms wide, a habitual gesture with him, then trotted into the room next to the office, coming back with a cardboard box.

  ‘This is it.’ He pulled out a clear plastic bag. Inside was a sheet of white paper on which was scrawled ‘042616’.

  Kwan looked carefully at this piece of evidence from every angle. It was roughly three by four inches, its edges smooth on three sides and jagged on the fourth, probably torn from a pad, the right side more roughly than the left, meaning it had been done by a right-handed person. The paper was thin and yellowish – cheap and unlined. Holding it up to the light, Kwan couldn’t make out any marks from whatever had been written on the sheet above it.

  The numbers ‘042616’ were sloppily written, as if someone were trying to disguise their handwriting. Blue ballpoint pen, Benny had said. Kwan looked carefully and saw it was indeed the common sort, not a fountain pen or anything like that. Even the Identification Bureau would be at a loss when it came to differentiating the different models or type of ink of regular ballpoint pens. That would take a government lab to sort out.

  ‘No prints on the note?’ asked Kwan.

  ‘Only the three suspects.’

  Kwan stared some more at the note, flipping it back and forth, but it yielded up no further clues. He returned it to the box, where it lived together with a vast quantity of objects including the gang’s pagers, a few notebooks, and business cards they’d found on the criminals’ bodies. Then something grabbed his attention.

  ‘Those are the leaflets they got from the mailbox?’ He pointed to a few other evidence bags.

  ‘Right, yes.’ Szeto nodded, retrieving them and laying them out on the desk. There were three of them, a takeout menu for a restaurant near Ka Fai Mansions, a promotional mailshot from a big pizza chain – the envelope hadn’t even been opened – and a black-and-white card advertising a removal business, with the company slogan under a drawing of an old man giving the thumbs up.

  ‘There were quite a few prints on these, bu
t they’re probably all from the postman or whoever printed or delivered these. Internal Investigations wants us to go through them one by one, which is a waste of manpower and resources – we really have better things to do.’ Szeto waved his arms before his chest, as if to ward off trouble.

  ‘Only three?’ interrupted Kwan.

  ‘Yes, just these.’

  ‘Sure there weren’t others?’

  ‘That’s all we got. Something wrong?’

  ‘Um... I just noticed.’ Kwan didn’t really answer the question, being unwilling to share his ideas until he was sure of them.

  ‘Actually, the reason I asked earlier about Shek Boon-tim is Arms Experts found something that might not be a major clue, but you might “just notice” it.’ Szeto mimicked Kwan’s tone.

  ‘Arms Experts?’

  ‘Yes. Shall we go over there now and have a chat with Inspector Lo?’

  The Forensic Firearms Examination Bureau, also known as the Arms Experts, were in charge of analysing evidence to do with weaponry and explosives – studying gun trajectories, examining bullets and so on. They also stored any firearms confiscated by the police in the course of their duties.

  Szeto brought Kwan up in the elevator to the Arms Experts’ office. Fortunately, Inspector Lo was free and could chat with them a moment.

  ‘Superintendent Kwan, long time no see,’ said Inspector Lo in English, offering his hand. Lo Sum was a strapping Scotsman, a long-serving member of the Arms Experts. After more than a decade in Hong Kong, he still hadn’t mastered Cantonese, only knowing a few words and phrases. His actual name was Charles Lawson, his Chinese name being an approximation of his surname.

  ‘Charles, you said there was something odd on Shek Boon-sing’s body. Superintendent Kwan happened to drop in, and I thought he should come have a word,’ said Inspector Szeto, switching to heavily accented English.