The Trophy Taker

by Lee Week

  ‘I need a quick word with the English girl, Georgina Johnson. I won’t keep her long.’

  He stood up as she approached. As she walked across to him she was smiling, but she had lost the youthful flush to her face – she looked drawn and tired. Just as stunning, though maybe a little more practised at arriving at men’s tables in heels and a revealing dress.

  ‘Hello, Miss Johnson, please sit down. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m all right, thanks, but is it true that Bernie’s gone missing?’ Her eyes fixed anxiously on his face.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is, and I have some bad news about another hostess who used to work here.’ He waited for her to sit. ‘We have found the body of an American woman named Roxanne Berger.’

  Georgina looked from Mann to her mamasan. She was visibly shocked.

  ‘She had the room in Lucy’s flat before me. Her things are still there.’ She stared wide-eyed at Mann.

  ‘Don’t worry. But, if it’s all right with you, we’ll go to your flat now and get her belongings. I need to take them back to the station. I’ll bring you back here afterwards, of course.’

  Georgina agreed. Mann explained what he needed in Cantonese to Mamasan Rose, and she consented to losing Georgina for an hour. Georgina went to get changed.

  Five minutes later, she came back. She was wearing a long skirt and a sleeveless top, her long curly hair cascading around her shoulders.

  They left the club, took the elevator down, and stepped out into the hot evening air. Warm outside, cold inside, that was Hong Kong. As she walked beside him, Mann noted that now she was wearing sandals she walked properly: long strides, athletic gait. It was not something he saw often and she would lose it soon. Hong Kong’s pavements were too crowded to allow for big strides. It struck Mann that it was a shame that soon she would have to learn to shuffle like everyone else.

  As they passed the waiting taxi ranks, Georgina glanced towards one of the cars and raised her hand in greeting.

  ‘You know one of these drivers?’ Mann scanned the line of cars.

  She pointed to the third taxi from the front. ‘Max. He brings me to work in the evenings. He knows Lucy.’

  ‘Just wait here for a moment please. I need a quick word with him.’ Mann turned and started towards the cab. But, before he could reach him, Max sped off.

  Mann returned, shaking his head.

  ‘Never mind, I’ll catch up with him soon,’ he said, making a mental note of Max’s cab number.

  38

  They drove in silence along the narrow back streets of Wanchai. Mann glanced across at Georgina a couple of times and she returned a half-hearted smile, but he could see that she was anxious. It wasn’t nice to find out that the person who’d last slept in your bed was now sleeping in a drawer at the mortuary.

  ‘It’s here.’ She pointed to the front of a small supermarket. Mann pulled up outside. As they opened the car doors they were hit by the unmistakable smell of rancid dairy goods. It was a supermarket that tried to offer something for foreigners: milk, cheese and yoghurt specially imported from New Zealand. But dairy had a habit of going bad in the unpredictable world of Hong Kong’s electricity supply and broken fridges.

  Next to the supermarket was a door to the residential block above. It was typical of the old residential blocks in Wanchai, Mong Kok and Kowloon. Ripe for development: scruffy, rat-infested and generally authentic old Hong Kong.

  Mann followed Georgina inside. They took the lift, which was always a risky thing to do – brownouts were common – but Mann wasn’t worried about being stuck in a lift. The one thing you couldn’t have in Hong Kong was claustrophobia. Everything was designed small, compact and space-saving. It left Europeans feeling uncomfortably large. Anyway, if they took the stairs they’d have to negotiate whole families who lived on them, and the overwhelming stench of urine. Plus, Mann wouldn’t have minded being pressed into a tiny lift in the dark with Georgina with nothing to do for two hours.

  But Mann wasn’t going to get that lucky. The lift came to a stop without a hitch, and they alighted to a well-lit landing with four doors leading off from the front and left. To the right were old metal-framed French doors leading to a balcony beyond. One of the tenants was hanging out her washing. The woman turned and stared but didn’t speak.

  Georgina unlocked the door to the apartment and led the way inside. Mann looked around. All was quiet, just the sound of a dripping tap. The flat was shabby, although there had been some attempts to make the place homely. It was dusty and airless and devoid of any natural light. It was crying out to be gutted. It smelt of damp washing and rotting linoleum. There were a few stools around the breakfast bar and a couple of chairs to the left of the entrance: straight-backed, holes in the rattan – definitely not meant for sitting in. Past the chairs were two doors. Georgina opened the second one. She walked in and hastily pulled the sheet across the bed. It amused Mann to note that she was messy.

  In the centre of the tiny room was a single bed. On the right-hand side was a single pine wardrobe and a cluttered chest of drawers. The room was dominated by two oversized windows on the far wall. Even at night the room was light – the neon glare flooded in from the street. He thought how hot it would be in the day. The flat had been designed all wrong. It was back to front. Where you needed light, in the living area, you got none. Where you wanted cool and dark, in the bedroom, you got heat and light. Fucking Feng Shui.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ Georgina said, head down, picking up scattered items of clothing as fast as she could.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Never could stand tidy women. Makes me feel inadequate.’

  She looked up and smiled gratefully at him. For a second he felt himself give that look of affection that he was so used to getting, the one that says – I care.

  Shit, he thought. Better watch that. That’s definitely not what I need.

  Then it occurred to him: maybe he was just feeling paternal towards her. That scared him just as much.

  She turned her back to him and bent over to retrieve the last item of discarded clothing, a size 34C balconette bra. He’d already checked out the label. Definitely not paternal then …

  ‘Nice place,’ he said, trying not to make it sound sarcastic.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She stood up and opened the wardrobe, pulled out a carrier bag and a small pink suitcase. ‘Bit noisy at night. All the construction work. Does it ever stop here?’

  She was still jittery. She set the bags down on the bed in front of him.

  ‘No, afraid not. Hong Kong never sleeps. Buildings go up overnight. You’ll get used to it.’ He picked up Roxanne’s belongings. ‘Okay, I have what I need now. Let’s get you back to the club.’

  It was as he looked at her, standing in the lurid light of intruding neon, that he felt such an urge to hold her. It took him by surprise. The feelings he had for her were not the usual. The feelings he had for Kim were straightforward – honest in their limitations. They didn’t pretend to be anything other than affection and sex. It would never be love. Looking at Georgina now, he had to concede that he felt a small pang of something he didn’t even want to acknowledge: an affinity; a bond. Not since Helen had he felt like this about anyone. He wasn’t sure he welcomed it.

  39

  Georgina turned, looked at him, and hesitated, as if she felt it too and was waiting for him to say something – take charge of her destiny. But, even if he wanted to, Mann couldn’t do that. He had far too much on his plate right then. He felt something more than just his job when he looked at her. He saw someone who needed him.

  He stopped at the flat door. ‘You know, I was hoping not to find you still working at the club, Miss Johnson. Bernadette’s missing and we don’t know who killed Roxanne Berger. We have found other bodies. I’m not allowed to say too much, but I want you to understand the gravity of the situation. This person killed a woman eighteen years ago, and he killed one just a few days ago. He’s a very dangerous man who has managed to elu
de detection and capture for many years. That makes him more than lucky: it makes him clever. He picks his victims. They tend to have no family, be in their twenties, may or may not have some connection to the nightclub world … Does that sound familiar? I’m not saying this just to scare you. But he hand-picks these women and he watches them. You should change jobs straight away. We think he strikes either very early in the morning or late at night. If you do nothing else, then at least vary your routines. Don’t let him see a pattern to your movements.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I am sorry I’ve scared you, but I’d hate to get a call about you.’

  ‘No, don’t be sorry. It’s kind of you. I will start looking for something else straight away.’ She stepped nearer to him and her eyes stayed on his face as if he were her salvation.

  Mann could smell her perfume, feel the heat of her body. He stepped back.

  ‘I could ask some people I know. I’m sure we could find you something else. What kind of work would interest you? Can you type?’ he said, drumming his fingers in the air.

  ‘Yes, not bad. I’ll try anything, I don’t mind.’

  ‘Give in your notice and I’ll ring you as soon as I hear anything.’

  The drive back to the Polaris Centre was a quiet one. He knew she must be frightened. She was out of her depth and treading water but he could only do so much. He would throw her a life raft but it was up to her to paddle it to shore. She wanted something from him that he couldn’t give. She wanted to be rescued. She wanted a hero. He wasn’t it. He didn’t want to be it for anyone.

  He pulled over to let her out. She thanked him, and the smile that lit up her face returned, albeit briefly. He watched as she turned reluctantly into the centre and back towards work. She glanced back at him, her eyes still focused on him. She looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He would have a new job for her within days. He would get the life raft inflated, sea worthy, and there his responsibility ended. Anywhere she worked would be better than Club Mercedes.

  As he watched her walk away from him and back into the Polaris Centre, he felt a small sense of relief that she had listened. Then he felt uncomfortably anxious. Helen came into his head. The day she’d left would haunt him forever. He had watched her pack her suitcases. Was there nothing he could have done? He had asked himself that question hundreds of times, but the answer was always the same. Yes, probably. But, she had chosen to go, and that was something he had to live with. And he had chosen not to stop her.

  He watched Georgina until she was swallowed up by the crowd. Maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been a while since that had happened. He would give Kim a call. It was early. She wouldn’t be starting work yet. She’d have time to see him for a couple of hours. After all, she might have some new information for him, and undercover work was vital to the investigation.

  But first there was someone else he needed to speak to.

  40

  The Albert was a lively pub in Central, established in the sixties. It was somewhat of an antique by Hong Kong terms. It was laid out in three bars of differing sizes and functions. The pub appealed to all ages of expats, but the younger ones stayed mainly in the middle bar, which was big, open and noisy, and difficult to get served in on a weekend. The staff were mainly British, as was the forty-year-old manageress, Mandy. Mann signalled to her as he walked in. She was right in the middle of the dinner trade. She put down her tray of accoutrements: Colman’s mustard, HP sauce and Lea & Perrins.

  ‘Hi, Mandy, how’s it going? Got time for a chat?’

  ‘A chat? Doesn’t sound like you, Johnny? What’s up?’

  Mann smiled. He liked Mandy: she was tough, but fair. He admired her strong character. She had been dumped by a banker boyfriend ten years previously and, rather than run home, she’d made a good life for herself in the region.

  ‘Need to talk to you for a few minutes.’

  ‘Sure, follow me.’

  She led him through the bar to the kitchen beyond and out to the staff smoking room, which doubled as the back alley. There were two stools and a pile of cigar ette butts.

  ‘Sit down, make yourself at home,’ she said, pulling her stool nearer so she could hear him over the noise of the extractors. ‘But, before you start, Johnny, I want to know why you haven’t been in here for ages, and, even now, you turn up without a woman?’

  She was grinning but he saw her eyes searching his, knowing that it was a sensitive subject and wondering if she had gone too far.

  He smiled reassuringly and shook his head. ‘You know me, Mandy, career comes first.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ she snorted. ‘Just because she hurt you, Mann, doesn’t mean they all will.’

  Mann was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Any mention of his ex always made him feel like someone had just pushed him off a cliff.

  ‘I need to find myself someone like you, Mandy.’ He grinned.

  ‘Huh!’ She laughed. ‘I’m too old.’

  ‘You can’t be much more than fifty.’

  ‘Cheeky bastard! Anyway, I’m far too bolshy for you. We wouldn’t last five minutes – one of us would be jumping off the sixtieth floor. But thanks for the offer anyway. I’m serious, though, Johnny. It’s been more than two years now – about time you moved on. Did you ever hear from her?’

  ‘I watched her go, Mandy.’ He shrugged sadly. ‘She definitely wanted out. Anyway, can I please get back to the reason I came here?’

  ‘Okay. Go on.’

  ‘We found some bodies – five altogether – dumped out in the New Territories.’

  ‘Is that all? Christ! I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t dozens of them out there. Triads killing other triads. Hopefully that’ll get rid of a few more.’

  ‘This is different, Mandy. All the victims were women, women like you.’

  ‘What do you mean … Gwaipohs?’

  ‘Yes. All foreign women. We think they were mainly workers in the entertainment industry, nightclubs, but we are only just beginning to put names to faces here, Mandy. And, we have no idea how many victims there are, how many more will turn up. This man’s been around a long time, we’re sure of that. His psychological profile is all over the place. We have to assume he could be anybody … He could be a regular of yours, sitting at your bar every night. He could be Foxy, Toad … whatever their stupid names are. Have a think.’

  ‘All right, Johnny. I’ll be careful and I’ll be vigilant … I promise.’

  ‘Another thing. Have you got any jobs going here at the moment? I need to get this young Englishwoman out of a club. She’s a nice girl. You’ll like her.’

  Mandy raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘And?’

  ‘There’s no and. Just wanted to help her, that’s all.’

  ‘Help get her horizontal and naked, you mean?’

  ‘Maybe, but preferably not on a mortuary slab.’

  ‘Tell her to ring me. I have an Aussie guy returning home next week. She can take his place. She’ll have to work various shifts, some evenings, some days, but I’ll keep her on earlies.’

  Mann leaned over and kissed Mandy’s cheek. ‘I owe you, Mandy. Ring me if you suspect anything,’ he said, getting up to leave. ‘And be careful.’

  ‘Okay, I will. Come again soon, Johnny. You don’t visit often enough any more. But remember what I said,’ she called after him as he disappeared up the alleyway, weaving his way past the piles of dumped rubbish. ‘I want to see you with a new woman.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Maybe,’ said Mann, with a backward wave.

  He called Georgina and left a message on her phone, telling her about the job in the Albert and leaving Mandy’s number. He felt a sense of relief. He’d done all he could.

  Kim was waiting for him when he got round to her place. He was late. She had started getting dressed for work. He told her to take it all off again.

  Two hours later he was back at Headquarters, sorting through Roxanne Berger’s belongings. The place was heaving. Police officers were arriving from everywhere to help with
the case. Ng was on the phone when Mann walked into the office. Li was out chasing the path lab results. Mann began emptying out Roxanne’s possessions onto his desk. There wasn’t a lot worth looking at. A few items of clothing, cheap jewellery, lots of make-up. Inside a handbag he found her passport, but there was little else of any significance. He had the impression that someone else, probably Lucy, had been cherry-picking through her things.

  Ng got off the phone as Mann was putting everything back in the bag.

  ‘They’ve traced Roxanne Berger’s only relative, her husband, Darren. Guess what?’ Mann waited. ‘He had already remarried. He’s facing a bigamy charge now. And that, coupled with the assault charge his new bride is bringing against him, should see him locked away in a small room without a window for some time.’

  41

  Mann finally made it back to his apartment. David White had said he looked like shit, and that he needed a shave and a shower and a few hours in a proper bed. Mann had argued, then given in. He didn’t much like going home. It wasn’t a home. Since Helen left he’d felt more and more uncomfortable there. It was where he kept his stuff, crashed, showered and watched too many DVDs. It would be better to sell it, but he couldn’t be bothered. It was a good investment, after all, even if he didn’t like living there.

  He switched on the air-con, washed his face, tore off his shirt and fell onto his bed. Within seconds he was asleep.

  He woke up feeling worse. He sat on the edge of his bed, reeling from tiredness, unable to focus for a few seconds. Then he checked his watch. He’d been asleep for three hours. That would have to do. He rang in to work, and Li answered.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you to ring in, boss,’ he said, unable to curb the high-pitched excitement that had crept into his voice.