The Trophy Taker (13 page)

The call from Mamasan Rose came as Mann was on his way back to Headquarters. Bernadette hadn’t been seen for three days. He went straight round to her flat.

She lived in a prestigious complex in the Mid-levels, which she shared with a load of bankers. It was the sort of accommodation that most of the foreigners on contracts lived in. The flats were spacious, had communal swimming pools, a live-in maid, and afforded a standard of living that none of the occupants had ever seen before – nor would again. The experience might be short-lived, but the imbued arrogance would stay with them forever.

Mann stood in the lounge, watching the maid clear up the previous night’s revelry. A half-dressed Filipina came out of one of the rooms, saw Mann, giggled and darted straight back inside.

He stopped the maid as she passed him with another tray of empty beer bottles.

‘Tell them if they’re not out here in three minutes, they’ll spend three days in the cells.’

That did the trick. Three men stumbled out, blinking away the beery blur, and told him what they knew. They all had the same story – they had known Bernadette for a couple of months and they regretted giving her a room. She had proved a belligerent house guest – antisocial towards them most of the time and a huge party girl who had a temper when drunk. They had been drawing lots as to which one would tell her she had to go, when she’d disappeared and saved them the job.

Mann had a look at her room. Despite the attempts by the maid to keep up with it, it was a mess. It didn’t look as if she spent much time in there.

He rummaged through her belongings and quickly found her passport. Within five minutes of Mann phoning in the information, Ng had found a match. Bernadette was the wayward daughter of an Irish MP. She had gone AWOL shortly after her father had been elected. This time the killer had chosen the wrong woman to kidnap. This woman would bring them all a heap of trouble.

Mann headed back to Club Mercedes. It was early evening and the club was just warming up. The band were playing ‘Hotel California’. There was a group of mamasans giggling at the bar. A few of the larger tables in the centre were occupied by several groups of Koreans on a works bonding outing. It looked like they were forming a kitty to get one of them laid.

Mamasan Rose escorted Mann to a booth. She ordered a Diet Coke. Mann accepted the offer of a double espresso. He needed all the help he could get. He was surviving on a few snatched hours of sleep.

They went over the particulars of Bernadette’s working life. Mamasan Rose told him what she knew. Bernadette was a good girl. She always came to work. It was unlike her to miss even one night at the club. She loved it: the sex. Yes, she could be difficult when drunk. Yes, she had a short temper, but she had a kind heart and was well-liked by everyone. She didn’t really have any special clients, and, so far as Mamasan Rose knew, she had not been invited to go on holiday with anyone. Apart from that there was little else she could tell him. Bernadette didn’t mix with anyone except the foreign girls, and none of them seemed to have socialised with her outside work. On her rare night off she frequented the foreign bars, especially the Irish ones, but she worked most nights anyway. She loved it. He got the point.

‘Anyone see her leave that last evening?’

‘The doormen. They saw her. She left alone. One of the men left at the same time, went down to the taxi rank with her. He saw her get into a cab.’

He arrived and slid clumsily into the circular seat, the way that overly big men do. He was a former Taiwanese wrestler of some television notoriety. He was as wide as he was tall. His neck, which spilled over his collar, was bigger than his head. His hands were like shovels. The wrinkled skin on his bald head reminded Mann of a Ferengi.

Christ! Was everything in life going to come back to
Star Trek?

The wrestler sat there uncomfortably and recounted the last time he had seen Bernadette. From what Mann could gather, the wrestler was quite partial to her.

‘I saw her get into a cab.’

‘Why? Were you leaving at the same time?’

‘Yes. I didn’t feel well – gut rot.’ He clutched his stomach – although the pain had long since gone, the memory was obviously lasting.

‘So you decided to leave at the same time?’

‘The boss told me to go. Just happened to be when Bernie was walking past. We went down in the elevator together, that’s all.’

‘Then she got in the cab … alone? You didn’t offer to see her home?’

‘It wasn’t like that. Anyway … the gut rot …’ He screwed up his face, which transformed him from ‘hard man’ to ‘baby’ in one frown. ‘Not that she would have wanted me to … Well, maybe she might … I don’t know …’ He blushed like a teenager.

‘Which driver?’

‘I saw her get into a cab with one of the older drivers that hangs about here … Max. He drives a lot of the girls. Small old guy.’

‘Okay, that’ll do. Thanks for your help.’

Mamasan motioned to him that he could go.

‘I hope you find her. Real nice girl … lovely … perfect.’ The big wrestler extricated himself from the narrow seat and waddled back to his station.

Mamasan Rose apologised that she couldn’t be more helpful about Roxanne Berger, but she was new to the club herself and hadn’t known her. Mann would have to interview one of the others for that. She did fetch the work record for him, and it stated that the last time Roxanne Berger had worked was three months ago, in early June. He was just about to ask Mamasan Rose where she had worked before, when he caught sight of Georgina walking across the floor, on her way to sit at a table.

‘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.

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.

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 elude 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.