by Ian Hamilton
“No more than usual,” he said. “There — see that door at the back of the restaurant, the one with the copper dragon fixed to it? He’s in there.”
When she reached the door, she paused. Knock or just enter? She knocked, waited for a few seconds, and then turned the handle.
The man she had seen on the street, the one she assumed was Wan, sat at a round restaurant table that looked big enough to accommodate twelve people. The table was positioned near the far wall. Wan sat facing the door, his back against the wall. The man with the long combed-back hair sat next to Wan. The other two leaned against opposite walls, their eyes fixed on Ava.
“What do you want?” Wan said, his head down, his fingers flicking through a pile of paper in front of him.
“I was told you could help me.”
“With what?”
“Information.”
“I’m not the tourist board.”
“Not that kind of information.”
“I’m also not the police.”
“I understand.”
“Who gave you my name?”
“Does that matter?”
“I’ve asked you twice. I won’t ask a third time.”
“Uncle Chow Tung.”
He looked up. She saw that his head was not as round close up, its shape distorted by sagging flesh around his chin, earlobes that looked swollen and distended, and a deeply etched brow that was partially hidden by layers of fat, making his forehead look like a window blind. His eyes were small, dark, and narrow.
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” he said.
“So you do know of him.”
“I know he is retired and out of our business. I thought he would be dead by now.”
“He’s not.”
“I don’t really care.”
Ava felt her face flush. She started to speak, then stopped.
“What did the old man tell you about me?” Wan asked, his attention turning back to his paperwork.
“He said you run Sabah.”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“I asked.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Two young women were attacked a few nights ago in the parking lot of Lu Ying restaurant. I want to know who did it and who paid them to do it. Uncle referred me to you.”
“Sabah is a long way from Hong Kong. He should stick to his own turf. I don’t like my name being used by people I don’t know.”
“He was trying to help me.”
“Why? What are you to him?”
“A friend.”
Wan raised his head. “The only young women-friends a man his age has are there to keep his bones warm.”
“Or suck his bone,” the other man at the table said.
One of the men leaning against the wall snickered. Ava glanced at him. He nudged his companion with his elbow. Both of them smiled at her.
“Let’s keep this to business, shall we?” Ava said. “I’m here about the two young women who were attacked. I’m prepared to pay to get the information I want.”
Wan tilted back his chair until it reached the wall. He put his hands behind his head, his feet dangling in mid-air. “What two women? What attack?” he said.
“Okay, let’s assume that you don’t already know what happened. I’ll pay you to find out.”
“I told you, I’m not the police.”
“I wouldn’t offer to pay the police.”
“Then you don’t know Sabah,” he said.
Ava closed her eyes, trying to will away the anger that was growing inside her. “How much money do I have to pay you to get the information I need?”
“What are these women to you?”
“Partners in a business.”
“What business?”
“Borneo Fine Hardwoods and Furniture.”
“I know it. I don’t know them.”
“Chi-Tze is local. Amanda Yee is from Hong Kong.”
“And you own part of the business?”
“I do.”
Wan turned towards the other man seated at the table. “What do you think, Yu Fei? Could we find out what this woman wants to know?”
“It’s possible,” he said, his eyes locked on Ava.
“And if we could, do you think we should ask for a fee?”
“A hundred thousand ringgit?”
“No, we would need more,” Wan said. “Maybe double.”
“How much is that in U.S. dollars?” Ava asked.
“Three for one, so sixty or seventy thousand.”
“I’ll pay,” she said.
Wan twisted his head from side to side as if he was trying to unlock his neck. “The problem is, from my side, I don’t know what you would do with the information . . . assuming I could get it.”
“I wouldn’t go to the police.”
“I wouldn’t care if you did, but that isn’t what I asked you.”
“If I pay you the money, why should it matter what I do?”
The chair rocked back and forth and then slammed onto the floor. Wan’s open palm followed it onto the tabletop with a crack. “Get out of here!” he yelled.
Ava didn’t move. She saw Yu Fei nod at the two men leaning against the walls and knew she had almost run out of time. “Chi-Tze has two brothers,” she said. “We think they’ve stolen money from the company and we’ve taken legal action against them. It seems to us that this attack could have been organized by them as a way of calling us off.”
“So?”
“If we can prove that, it will strengthen our legal position. It will give us even more ammunition to go after them.”
“That would involve the police.”
“Not necessarily. There are a lot of things we can do through civil action.”
“How much money did they steal?”
“Enough.”
“Stop fucking around with me,” Wan said.
Ava spun the numbers in her head, trying to find one that would justify spending seventy thousand U.S. but wouldn’t encourage Wan to get even greedier. “About a million U.S.,” she said.
Yu and Wan exchanged glances. They know I’m lying about the amount, Ava thought.
“You’re willing to spend all that money to get back a million?”
“I also want to make sure the brothers are punished, one way or another.”
“What if it wasn’t them? What if it was just some random attack?”
“As long as you can identify who did it and I can verify that, I’ll pay the money.”
“What do you think?” Wan said to Yu.
“We can make some phone calls,” Yu said.
“Maybe, but I don’t want to spend much time on this.”
“I don’t think it would take very long.”
Wan looked at Ava. “If we get you the information, how fast can you get us the money?”
“One day.”
“Who knows you’re here?”
“Uncle.”
He nodded. “Give us a couple of hours. Come back here around eleven.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m only doing it because of the old man.”
“Does that mean you don’t want the money?”
“Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Wan said.
“I was joking.”
“So was I. About the old man, I mean.”
( 24 )
Ava left the restaurant with mixed feelings about the way the meeting had gone. Wan had become annoyed the second she’d mentioned Uncle’s name. She shouldn’t have been so tight-lipped; there was nothing to be gained by it. She hadn’t provoked him, but she had irked him. She would be more careful the second time around, she decided. She had known men like Wan before. They ran a little fiefdom in
some backwater, where they were lord of their own realm, and they didn’t like to be reminded there was a bigger world outside, where other men were kings.
The breeze coming off the South China Sea swirled around her, enveloping her in a salted perfume. She stood on the esplanade, trying to decide how to spend the next few hours. Then she remembered Jacob Smits and his news, and started walking back to her hotel. If Wan came through for her the way Jacob had, an evening that had began hot, muggy, and disjointed would end as cool and pleasing.
The Méridien lobby was empty except for the staff. Ava went to the concierge to ask if he had seen Madam Wong.
“She went to the Circle Restaurant around seven,” the concierge said, pointing across the lobby. “I didn’t see her leave, but I was on break about half an hour ago.”
Ava went to the restaurant and peeked inside. There was no sign of May Ling. She thought about calling her room and then shunted the idea aside; she had nothing definitive to tell her. She would wait until she had seen Wan again.
The maid had been to her room during her absence. The bed was freshly made and a purple orchid and a small box of chocolates lay on her pillow. She went to her laptop and opened her email, expecting to find the scanned copy of the wire transfer from Smits, but there was nothing from him. She looked at her watch. It had been only half an hour since he had called. Impatient, she reached for her cellphone.
“Smits.”
“You were going to send me a copy of that wire transfer.”
“I just had a quick lunch. I’m going to do it now.”
“Don’t bother. I’m back in my room and can take notes. Read the details to me.”
“Wait a second while I pull it from my folder . . . Yes, here it is. It’s a numbered company registered in Aruba, which isn’t surprising, given the Dutch connection. It’s registered as 7793579 Aruba Inc., and the address is Box 459, 12 Willem Street, Oranjestad.”
“Bank account number?”
“022-1098-652377.”
“You said Barrett’s Bank?”
“Yes, at Caya G.F. — I guess that means ground floor — Betico Croes 47, Oranjestad.”
“This is most helpful, Jacob.”
“Do you want the phone and fax numbers?”
“I might as well have them, though I don’t intend to call them directly. Not yet, anyway.”
“You mentioned you have a bank contact?” Jacob said after he read her the numbers.
“Yes, a while ago I had a job that took me to the British Virgin Islands and the Barrett’s Bank branch there. Let’s hope the guy I dealt with is still there and that he remembers me — actually, that he remembers me in a positive way.”
“He might not?”
“Unfortunately there is that possibility. I left a bit of a mess behind, and I’m not sure if he’s aware of that now.”
“A job in the British Virgin Islands? A mess?”
“This is not the time to get into it. I need to phone my man and see what I can do about that numbered company’s bank account.”
“What makes you think you can do anything?”
“Well, if the Aruba branch is anything like the one in BVI, it will be quite strict about how it conducts its business. My understanding is that Barrett’s is absolutely paranoid about being used to launder money. I’m going to make the case that this is exactly what’s going on in Aruba. If I can get my guy worried enough, he’ll call his Aruban counterpart and we’ll take it from there.”
“That won’t get you your money back.”
“No, and that’s not the intent. All I want to do is spread enough doubt to make them freeze the account. That will keep our money in one place while we work out all the legal and bankruptcy issues.”
“I see.”
“Jacob, I’d also like you to call Timmerman when you get back to Amsterdam. I’ll email the guy there and tell him I’ve hired you to work with us on this matter. I’ll tell him that you speak for us and that you have some information you want to share with him.”
“How much do you want me to say?”
“Tell him about the accounting and banking irregularities you’ve come across. Tell him about the offshore bank account. Tell him that we expect him to do nothing — at least, nothing just yet — but that on our end we intend to talk to the bank in Aruba.”
“What do you hope to gain?”
“An ally,” Ava said finally. “The best I can do with the bank is freeze the account. I won’t be able to get the money released to us and the other creditors without a court order or instructions from the trustee, so I want the trustee on side. I want to lay the groundwork to make him willing to go to the bank and lay claim to the funds.”
“Have you thought of hiring a lawyer here?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“From my experience, regardless of what you tell them, Timmerman is not going to be that willing to listen to me. I’m a bit too . . . ex officio. A lawyer, on the other hand, would get their attention.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“I do.”
“Then hire them.”
“It will be done as soon as I get back.”
“Thanks, Jacob.”
Ava closed her phone and turned to the computer. She punched in “Barrett’s Bank, British Virgin Islands” and then wrote down the phone number listed on the website. There was no mention of Jeremy Bates on the site. He had been the branch manager when Ava had last visited for a job. Things had gone relatively well between them, but Ava had not only stood him up for a dinner date but also left behind two bodies — live, if slightly damaged — in the apartment she had been renting. Her hope was that he hadn’t heard about the bodies, one of whom was a customer of his bank, a customer she had drugged and taped up and then forged his signature to get funds released from Barrett’s back to her client. There are so many reasons for Bates not to take my call, she thought.
“Barrett’s,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Jeremy Bates, please.”
“And who shall I say is calling?”
“Ava Lee.”
“Just one second.”
The second became a minute and the minute became three. Whatever optimism she had began to fade. Then she heard, “Is this Ava Lee from Hong Kong?”
“It is. Thank you for taking my call, Jeremy.”
“I have to say I’m surprised to hear from you again. You left us quite suddenly the last time you were here.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” she said, struggling to detect disapproval in his voice. “It wasn’t my choice.”
“Are you here in Road Town?”
“No, I’m in Asia.”
“Then this is business.”
“Yes, unfortunately it is.”
“Involving the bank?”
“Only in the most peripheral manner. It’s a little bit complicated.”
“Like everything else to do with you.” He laughed.
Ava found herself smiling. “At least I’m never boring.”
“You are most certainly not. Now this matter you’re calling about, it concerns my branch?”
“No, the one in Aruba,” she said. “I didn’t want to call them directly, as I have no contacts there.”
“So you’re looking for an introduction?”
“I would actually prefer if you could call them for me.”
“Really? That’s a rather unusual request.”
“This is a rather unusual situation.”
“You obviously have some questions or some information you want me to pass along. Am I guessing correctly?”
“That’s the general idea, but of course only if you think it’s advisable. I do have to tell you, though, that if they exercise the same degree of prudence that I saw at your branch, I think they will appreciate ha
ving the information that has come to my attention.”
“Another client playing games?”
“Not a client, but games certainly. One of our businesses has been a victim of fraud, and that’s something I know Barrett’s would not appreciate being implicated in, even at second or third hand.”
“Explain, please.”
“Well, my business partners and I are part-owners of a company in Sabah, Borneo, that manufactures furniture. We sold millions of dollars’ worth to a Dutch firm that promptly declared bankruptcy and left us with nothing. The Dutch firm, we’ve discovered, was in league with a finance company in the Netherlands. Together they’ve cooked the books and doctored bank statements and are selling off the furniture and sending the profits to a numbered account at your branch in Oranjestad. We’ve hired lawyers and we’re going to take civil action and try to have criminal charges brought. We’re also in the process of notifying the bankruptcy trustee, but in the meantime a lot of our money is in Aruba. We just want to make sure it remains there while we resolve the legal issues.”
“Do you have documentation to support your claim?”
“We do.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“I’m working with an accountant in Amsterdam named Jacob Smits. I’ll have him send you everything he has.”
“Today?”
“Yes, I think that should be possible.”
“Okay, I’ll look at the information when it arrives and then I’ll decide if I should get involved. As it happens, the Aruba branch is run by a colleague who is a very good friend, so it won’t be entirely uncomfortable for me to call him on the matter. And you’re correct, of course, that the bank is as sticky as ever when it comes to the ethics of our business.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“I haven’t made any promises, you understand. All I said was that I would look at the information.”
“I wouldn’t ask for any more than that.”
“And to be clear, if I decide to make the call, all you’re requesting is that the account be suspended pending —”
“Not suspended,” Ava said quickly. “The account should remain active in terms of taking in deposits. What we’re asking is that no money leave the account until the legal and bankruptcy issues are resolved.”
“Understood.”
