Текст книги "The Trafficked"

Автор книги: Lee Weeks

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 9 страниц]

19

Mann and Becky parked up opposite the Victorian villa—a three-storey redbrick detached house. It had been built at a time when the area was semi-rural; now it was Bedsit Land and Student Ville. It had long since lost its front garden to tarmac and extra parking spaces and its back garden to a small courtyard and another house.

A small crowd of onlookers was gathered around the edge of the crime-scene tape. Mann and Becky crossed the line and showed their badges to the PC on the perimeter.

They were greeted by the fire detective in charge, an Inspector Ray. They stood in the burnt-out doorway. The door had been kicked in by the firemen.

‘Deliberate.’ It was Ray’s job to ascertain the cause of the fire and to make sure it was a safe environment to hand over to the police and forensics team, whilst trying not to swamp the place with water and thereby destroy evidence. ‘There are two heat seats, one here and one at the back door.’ He turned and pointed behind him, past the stairwell and along a corridor. ‘We found the incendiary devices. They’re crude but effective…’ He picked up the glass bottle that had been used. ‘They went off simultaneously at approximately four a.m. this morning. Unfortunately the local fire station had a series of hoax calls that evening and they didn’t get here for twenty minutes. By that time the place was well alight.’

Mann and Becky stood just inside the entrance. To the right and left were rooms. Beyond was the hallway leading through to the kitchen. Straight ahead was a blackened stairwell that had obviously taken the brunt of the fire.

‘The stairway effectively acts as a chimney. The heat was so intense that even the plaster wall has started to give way. I’m afraid the women at the top of the stairs had no chance.’

They stepped carefully over the debris and stood in pools of black water and sludge, looking up at the charred remains of the stairwell. Parts of the ceiling hung down, wires swung open-ended, and swathes of wallpaper peeled from the walls like strips of scalded skin.

Jimmy Vance appeared from round the back of the house. Ray excused himself and left Vance to take over.

‘The woman who dialled the emergency services was told that the place was empty by a black guy running from the house when the fire caught hold.’

‘How did he get out?’ asked Becky.

‘There was a window open in one of the ground-floor rooms at the back.’

‘So he saved himself and left the women to fry—nice bloke.’

‘Did she get a look at him?’ asked Mann.

‘She said he was over six foot, thirty-ish, American or Canadian accent. She hadn’t seen him before. She was outside looking for her lost cat when the devices went off. She said he ran past and to go back inside and that it was about to blow up.’

‘I suppose he couldn’t risk her hearing the women cry for help,’ Becky said.

‘She wouldn’t have heard them anyway…’ Vance had a face that looked like it surprised itself when a thought struck him. ‘…the place was double-glazed.’

‘Did she know anything about who owned the place?’ asked Mann.

‘She said it had changed hands six months ago. She hadn’t been able to work out who the owners were—she saw men coming and going at strange times of the day and night. The only people she saw regularly were two Chinese guys and a smartly dressed Chinese woman.’

‘Was it the first time she had seen the black guy?’

‘She said she’d seen him and another big white guy a couple of times in the last few days.’

Vance led them up the stairs. ‘There were four bedrooms on each landing, two to the right, two to the left, and a bathroom straight ahead. Watch where you’re standing and don’t touch anything, it will probably give way. The firemen had no idea that there was anyone in here until…they reached here and found this…’

They stopped on the top landing. Vance stood back to allow them to peer inside. The biting chemical smell from burnt paint and melted nylon carpet had a new undertone—the smell of roasted flesh.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Becky reeled and instinctively turned away.

‘It’s not a pretty sight. No way out…horrible death. Each of the victims is chained to their bed,’ said Vance.

The women’s knees were drawn into their bodies; their arms were held up in front of their faces. Their jaws were wide open and their teeth glared in the black of incinerated flesh. ‘The other room is just the same. Each of the rooms has six victims. Both rooms overlook the front, the others looks over the courtyard at the back, but they were both barred and shuttered.’

‘What’s in them?’ Mann pointed towards the other rooms on the landing.

‘I’ll show you.’ Vance pushed one of the doors open. Inside the blackened room, wallpaper hung down from the walls. To the right was an open-plan en ensuite bathroom. Soot and debris covered every surface. At their feet were large shards of broken mirrored glass.

‘These rooms are both bedrooms and so are nearly all the other rooms in the house. There’s a safe downstairs: personal belongings, travel documents inside, still intact. I’ll show you.’

They went back down the stairs and walked along the burnt-out corridor to a small kitchen at the back of the house.

‘No hob, no oven, just a microwave,’ said Becky. ‘Doesn’t look like their guests stayed to dinner.’

One of the SOCO team was examining the contents of a tabletop safe. It had survived the fire intact, only its red-paint finish was bubbled and peeled. Vance passed Becky and Mann some latex gloves.

‘You’ll need those. Some of it has fused due to the heat.’ Vance began to carefully open the pages of a passport. ‘But we will get the experts to unravel it. So far, we have twelve passports and twelve corpses. He held up a passport for them to see. This girl, recently issued passport—three months ago—says she’s eighteen.’

‘Yeah, going on twelve.’ Mann studied the photo. ‘She’s a Filipina.’

‘Here’s a travel itinerary for them.’ Vance passed a piece of paper to him.

Mann took it and studied it. ‘Says they came in via Hong Kong: originally on a tourist visa; been here for two weeks.’

‘Is this the first fire of this kind you’ve had here?’ Mann asked Becky.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘We know they came via Hong Kong and we know they were supplied with travel papers there. We have Chinese and non-Chinese working together at this end. I think these women were brought in by the new boys. I also think someone much further up the chain was watching and not approving. There has been some muscle-flexing here. I think we are done here,’ said Mann.

Becky nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Jimmy, see you back at the office.’

‘No problem. If we find anything interesting I’ll ring you.’

* * *

Back in the car, Becky took her time starting the engine. They sat in silence and stared at the scene. They could see the white-suited SOCOs moving behind the bars of the bedrooms on the third floor.

‘Must be the worst way to go.’ Becky shivered.

Mann didn’t answer. He was busy watching a Chinese man standing on the other side of the road, behind the house, staring intently at the house and talking on his phone.

Becky rested her head back against the head rest and sighed deeply. She looked across at Mann then she looked past him to see what he was staring at. The Chinese man had disappeared.

‘I just don’t get it, Johnny. What about the man who ran away from the scene? Who could do something like that knowing they couldn’t get out? Even if he didn’t set the place alight, he’s just committed murder anyway.’

‘He definitely didn’t set the place alight. My guess is he was left here to look after the women. When the incendiaries went off he saved himself and destroyed the evidence.’

‘That stinks. Evidence? Is that all these women were?’

‘We both know there is no mercy in the trafficking business, Becky. It’s all about money for people. The women represent a massive investment. Their earning potential was huge; they would have been sold on and around this country and all over Europe, earning money for their traffickers as they went. Someone will be left with a big hole in their pocket after this. A trafficker is being punished right where it hurts. Losing face and losing money, two sides of the same coin. Someone’s done both here. We are in the middle of a global turf war.’

20

Amy looked forward to seeing Lenny. He brought her things—some GCSE revision books, much too hard for Amy but it was kind of him. He bought her another macramé kit to make several bead necklaces and bracelets. After the visit from the Filipino people to the school, she had taught herself to make really intricate and pretty things. He also brought her some felt-tips and a drawing pad. Today he said he would bring her something to draw—fruit or something. She wasn’t much good at drawing fruit. She was better at drawing people. But it was nice of him to think of her.

She lay still and looked around the room. It wasn’t a nice bedroom. It had a small windowless bathroom off it with a smelly shower behind a nasty plastic curtain. It was cold in there. The curtain wrapped itself around Amy when she showered. There was little furniture, just a scruffy old raffia lamp and a chair and table for her to sit at. There wasn’t even a proper bed—just a mattress on the floor. No telly. The curtains didn’t fit properly. Anyway, there was nothing much to see. There was a car park below and a block of flats opposite. So Amy just stared out of the window and counted the planes that went over day and night. Amy would be on a plane soon—going home for Easter, a whole month. She was so looking forward to it. Then she realised that it might not happen if her father didn’t give the men who employed Lenny what they wanted—what they were owed, Lenny said. Then she might have to stay here a long time. Amy sighed. She had never really spent any time with her father, she didn’t really know him. But the one thing she did know was that he was rich and powerful and easily irritated. All this would really bug him. She hoped he didn’t get so mad he just wouldn’t pay. Once, she had seen him when he got mad with her mother. They rowed about getting married and about her spending too much money. Her mother had shouted all the time but her father had said little. He was like stone. He had just said what he had wanted to then walked away and left her mother shouting. They had had no money for weeks until her mother apologised, even though she said it wasn’t her fault. Her mother said she always had to apologise.

Another click of the front door, this time louder. Amy strained to listen. Heavy but precise footsteps, a strong but careful closing of the door…Lenny was back—Amy was pleased. She heard him talking to the Chinese woman in English. Her English was very good, thought Amy, but she had a strange accent. Amy couldn’t put her finger on it. She was giggling again. Footsteps were coming towards Amy’s room. The door opened.

‘Morning, Amy…Here, I brought you these.’ Lenny came in with a bag of pastries and a mug of hot chocolate. He set down another bag on the table.

‘Thank you.’

Amy smiled at Lenny and began pulling the pastries apart. He was watching her. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the pastry to his face. He reached out and patted her leg. Amy stared at the hand. She wanted to knock it off but she knew she had to leave it there.

‘Can I go back to school soon? I am missing my classes and my friends.’ She looked up unblinkingly at him, her eyes enlarged by the thick lenses in her glasses, her face covered in pastry crumbs.

‘Soon, soon.’

‘Thank you,’ she said as she followed his eyes to his hand, which was still resting on her leg. ‘Thank you, Lenny.’

The door opened and the Chinese woman came in. Amy hadn’t seen the face behind the voice before. She had had an image of her in her head, but it wasn’t quite right. She hadn’t expected her to be this beautiful, like a model. She had long black hair down her back like Pocahontas, red lipstick and nails. Amy stopped eating and stared. The woman didn’t look at her. She spoke to Lenny. She was definitely the woman Amy had heard talking but when she was speaking to Lenny her voice became soft. She must be Lenny’s wife, thought Amy. Although she didn’t have a ring on her wedding finger and he did. Maybe she’d lost it and he was getting her a new one.

‘Amy, this is Suzanne. Suzanne will be looking after you for a few days. I have to go away on a business trip. I won’t be long. When I come back, hopefully it will be time for you to go back to school.’

Amy said nothing. She smiled but felt a sense of panic. Lenny was leaving? Who would be nice to her when he was gone? Not that one who stank or the spotty pale one, and

definitely

not Suzanne?

‘Suzanne will get you everything you need. She will stay here in the flat and look after you. All right?’

Amy nodded, but said nothing. It wasn’t all right at all. She felt like crying. She looked at the beautiful Chinese woman and tried a smile. Suzanne smiled back, thin-lipped. The pastry had become stuck to Amy’s brace. The chocolate was all over her teeth. Amy saw Suzanne look away in disgust.

21

Hong Kong

Stevie Ho walked up from Central to the Peak terminal and waited in the tunnel entrance for the tram to come to a stop. There were only a few people waiting. It was too early for the tourists and too late for the few workers who went upwards to the Peak to work. Stevie was going because he had been summoned.

He sat at the back of the school-like wooden benches and waited for the juddering tram to crank itself into life. As it grunted its way forwards and upwards, the gravity coupled with the incline pinned Stevie back to the seat. He felt the wooden back of the bench dig into his spine. He was a big man, broad and carrying a little more weight than he used to. His back ached and he had a touch of gout—he had to lay off the drink completely. He shook his head. Thirty-five, no drink, what a fucking life! But secretly he didn’t mind: the lack of booze had made him smarter, more alert, and he knew that he needed every ounce of intelligence he could muster now. His life was on the line.

The tram ascended, leaving Central behind and inching its way upwards, slicing the Mid-levels in half. Stevie looked about him, peering into peoples’ windows, roof gardens, front rooms, lives, as he went. Plenty of time to stare—the journey was fifteen minutes, it gave him time to collect his thoughts. He knew what CK wanted to say and he knew why he had brought him to the Peak to say it. He wanted to make sure they were alone. He wanted to talk about the taboo subject—the day his son in law, Chan, had died. He would want to know if Stevie had been there and if Stevie could have stopped it.

The tram came to a halt and he walked around the corner and onto Lugard Road, which was more of a pathway than a road. Almost immediately he was met by the view that so many came to marvel at every day. Past the shimmering bamboo forests was a wall of skyscrapers, magnificent against the blues of sea and sky. He stood and waited and watched Hong Kong. He didn’t often get time to do that and he knew the man he’d come to meet would already be watching him. He knew he’d be walking over to him at that very second. He took a last look at the glittering harbour far below, before turning to the man who had come to stand beside him, and then he inclined his head towards him in a small bow of respect.

‘Good morning, CK.’

‘Walk with me, Stevie.’

The two men walked along the narrow road, which was cool and dark and had the smell of damp vegetation and the sound of noisy crickets. Around another corner and the islands appeared, sunbathing in a sea of glitter below them: Lantau, Macau, Green Island and Peng Chau. CK walked slowly with a measured pace; he would not be hurried.

‘Look down on these islands, Stevie. Was it on one of these islands that Chan was killed?’

‘I heard it was off Cheung Chau, sir.’

‘But we haven’t got a body to prove it, have we?’

‘No, we don’t, but if he drowned I think his body will have been eaten by the sea by now.’

‘Do you?’ He stopped and stared hard at Stevie. ‘I want to know how Chan died.’

‘I did not see it, CK.’

‘They say you were there. You did not protect him. You did not save him…They say you betrayed him.’

They walked on. Below them the junks and sampans of Aberdeen were bobbing in the water like blown-in litter collected at the coves. CK stopped and faced Stevie. Stevie was taller by a few inches and he was twice the breadth of the older man, but he had none of CK’s calm or coolness. Stevie’s bald head was getting hot; his forehead was shining with sweat. His small eyes looked puffy in his bloated face as they squinted in the glare. CK’s face was untouched, bone-dry, unmoved by earthly feelings.

‘Here is the solution I propose. I did not care for my son-in-law, he was not an asset to the Leung Corporation. He was a man with many vices and faults. But I cannot ignore your desertion of duty, your lack of loyalty. I cannot be seen to allow it—it would mean “loss of face”. We will make a deal, you and I, a private arrangement. It will be just for our ears. My daughter Amy is still missing.’

Stevie bowed again. He held up his hands in an apologetic gesture.

‘I delivered the ransom, CK. They want something more than money.’

‘Are we sure who has her?’

‘I believe she has been taken by a new society that call themselves the White Circle. I know little about them, but I do know they are making trouble for us across the globe. They are taking over some of our trafficking routes in the Philippines. They are disrupting many of our shipments.’

‘I need them stopped. The abduction of my daughter will give me this opportunity. I have involved Johnny Mann. He will soon realise that in order to get my daughter back he will need to destroy the White Circle. That will leave us free to snap up the routes that become vacant as Mann destroys them. That will be your job. Follow Mann, make your deals along the way, buy up everything you can and expose the White Circle for Mann to do his work. Make him think you have changed sides. Make him believe that you are working for the White Circle. After the job is complete, Mann will not live long. There are many people in Hong Kong, many amongst our brethren, who will pay well to see him dead. You will oversee it. That will be your first duty in your new command. You will be promoted to the rank of Paper Fan, the same rank Chan held, and you will have your own team to command. You will be in charge of the trafficking throughout the Philippines into the UK and Europe.’

‘What about your daughter?’ Stevie studied the old man. He had worked for him all his adult life, but still CK’s callous nature never ceased to amaze him. He knew what he would say.

‘If I were them I would have killed her by now. I don’t believe she is still alive.’

‘But if Mann manages to find her?’

‘We will not consider that option until we have to. Many doors will open to us by then. Many others will close to him.’

22

‘I could have come to your house; you didn’t need to meet me in town.’ Mann had been waiting for David White in Caffe Nero on Regent Street. He got up to shake his hand.

‘It’s okay—I don’t get out much. I welcome the chance to sample the delights of decent coffee.’

It was nine thirty in the morning. There were only a few others in the cafe. Mann sat back in the lounge seats in the window and watched as White queued for coffee. He still found it strange to see David White in civvies, but he thought his old friend looked better than he’d seen him for years. The tension had disappeared from his shoulders. He watched him banter happily with the Polish girl behind the counter. He heard him laugh; he hadn’t heard him do that for a long time. White came over to join Mann with his briefcase tucked under one arm, an Americano in one hand and a biscuit in the other. He set it down on the small circular glass-topped table before sitting down opposite Mann.

‘It’s good to see you, David. How’s it going?’

‘I stand by my decision to come back. I just couldn’t afford a decent standard of living in Hong Kong on my pension, but I am finding it hard to adjust, shall we say, but happy to be working again, albeit briefly. Where’s the investigation at right now?’

‘You heard about the fire in Hackney?’ Mann dropped two sugars into his double espresso.

‘Yes, I did.’ White shook his head sadly. ‘What a terrible waste of life. Do you know who the victims were?’

‘They were young Filipinas. It is looking likely that they were brought in by the new trafficking ring I told you about. If that is the case then it can’t be a coincidence. They must have died for a reason, and it must have something to do with why Amy Tang has not been released. The two things cannot be random acts. There seems to be a lot going on in the Philippines right now. I could do with an insider. Are you still in contact with that mayor, Fredrico something? He looked like Castro and was mad about rugby and tried to get us to tour?’

‘Sorry.’ White shook his head. ‘Lost contact years ago. Any news on the girl’s whereabouts?’

‘No. We’ve heard nothing. It’s two and half weeks now since the ransom was paid by CK.’

‘Do you have any more leads?’

‘The man slipped in an out without leaving a trace. The school is off the M25. She could have been driven anywhere from there. She could be out of the country. I feel like I’m trying to referee a game when I don’t even know the rules. I want to know who the players are and what they want and what’s the best way to stop them getting it, whilst getting this child back unharmed.’

‘Who’s your undercover guy here?’

‘He is in the Flying Dragons, name of Micky.’

‘Have you met him? Is he secure?’

‘I think so. How are you getting on posing as the new paedo on the block?’

‘I set myself up as a likely customer. I’ve had to submit pornographic pictures of kids being abused, supposedly by me and my friends, in order to join. They are checking them out right now. Once they trust me I should get somewhere.’

‘Jesus Christ! Where did you get the photos?’ Mann pulled his chair forward so that an elderly Italian could squeeze past with his coffee and paper. Outside Regent Street’s shops were opening. The shop assistants were filing in to get their skinny lattes to go.

White lowered his voice and leaned in closer as the Italian behind them shuffled his papers and grated his coffee cup on the edge of the saucer.

‘I asked a favour from an old mate here who works in child protection. He gave me some amateurish ones that had been confiscated. They won’t have been seen before. Then I will be able to access the cyber-sex sites that specialise in Filipino kids. As soon as I get something I’ll let you know. I have made contact with a few sex tourist firms. There are just a few main players. There’s a whole range of services on offer, from going from resort to resort and being part of a thirty-strong whorists’ package holiday, to hiring a house on your own for a week and choosing a child from the Internet to share it with you. I’m cross-referencing phone numbers, names and sorting out who does what. I keep coming up with two men from Puerto Galera.’ White opened his briefcase and pulled out two plastic sleeves with press clippings inside. He handed them to Mann. Mann could see that White was pleased with himself. He had enjoyed being back at work.

‘Here we have Bob English and Harry Moyles—alias English Bob and Fat Harry. They have a company called Paradise Beach. They seem to have an interest in just about everything seedy.’ He waited whilst Mann speed-read the stories on them. ‘Do you know of them?’

‘I remember reading about Harry Moyles a few years ago. He was a sergeant in the Royal Ulster Constabulary. He retired early, some say he jumped before he was pushed, after a few too many scandals involving bribe-taking. He cashed in his pension and bought himself a bar in Olongapo. He was caught offering underage girls for sex, but he disappeared.’

‘He turned up again in Puerto Galera. He married a Filipina, which is how he has the licence to trade. In the beginning it was marketed solely to Irish perverts, now he’s branching out and, with his new friend—English Bob—is wanted for child sex offences in Thailand and in the UK. I managed to trace them via a website. Paradise Beach is quite an impressive organisation. It’s no small enterprise but I still think they’re getting help from someone bigger, and the company definitely has Hong Kong links. It even boasts of it on the website. Could well be CK. Get Ng to work on who actually owns it all—see if we can come up with a connection to any new players. What’s the score on CK?’

‘I will find out now when I get back. He’s playing games with me, that much I do know. There are too many things linking up here. It’s not sitting right. There’s some global networking going on. I think he intends to use this as an excuse to wage war. I can’t let that happen.’

‘Maybe it’s time CK was taken out, Johnny? He’s just one man. You chop off the dragon’s head and the rest of it dies. People like Fat Harry wouldn’t get far without the triad gangs to get a supply of girls for them. And a lot of those gangs are members of the Wo Shing Shing.’

Mann gave him a wry smile. ‘Huh! Yeah…in an ideal world. If he wasn’t hiding behind the cloak of respectability it might be possible. But for now I will settle for stopping him trafficking any more women and kids. One thing at a time, huh?’ He smiled. ‘You’re getting bolshie in your old age.’

White smiled back. ‘This Internet stuff is getting to me. I am surprised how much of it is done on the Internet these days. People think they can do whatever they want and remain anonymous, invisible. We could do with putting some Trojans on their PCs.’

‘Trojan?’

‘It’s a gift horse that contains something nasty—a program that delivers a virus, infects a computer. The Trojan can perform various tasks. We need a RAT—remote access Trojan. Then we will be able to log keystrokes. The virus kicks in when certain words are spelled. You can program it to respond to a particular word, in our case “child” or “Circle”, whatever. When it hears that word it will show you everything that is being written at that time. You can read people’s emails, get passwords, everything. You can spy on exactly what they are doing.’

‘That’s impressive. Can you do it remotely?’

‘Yes, as long as the receiving PC doesn’t recognise it as a virus, otherwise you need to type it in to their keyboard and upload it manually. Another thing—ask your man Micky in the Flying Dragons to start asking questions about Stevie Ho, see what he comes up with. Someone in Chinatown must know what’s going on.’

‘I will, but I don’t think this is Chinese, David. How many Chinese do you know who would be stupid enough to want the money dropped in a bin in Chinatown, no matter how elaborate the scheme? Why not just have it wired to a Chinese bank and get a few favours called in to launder it? The person who has the audacity, the stupidity, to take on CK isn’t Chinese—someone wants to make this

look

Chinese.’

White sat back in his chair and finished off his biscuit. The cafe was filling up with people looking to kick-start their day. Outside on the street, the shops were lifting their shutters. White looked like he was preparing to go. He zipped up his briefcase. Then he remembered something.

‘Was Ginger all right? Did you check up on your mum before you left?’

Mann grinned and gave a slow nod of the head. ‘Put it like this: Ginger has adjusted very well to life without you.’

‘Ha…that’s good to hear. What about your mum? How is Molly?’

‘She’s loving having the cat, but I don’t know how she is really. She seems in reflective mood at the moment. When I went to see her this time she wanted to talk to me about my father. I mean

really

talk, about their marriage, about him as a person. But at the last minute she clammed up, the way she always does.’ Mann looked across at White, who had put his coffee cup down, and watched him as he instinctively ran the palm of his right hand across his head, smoothing the hair that had long since disappeared. Mann waited for White to make eye contact with him.

The old man’s pale blue eyes stared back as he shook his head.

‘It’s not for me to comment on your parents’ marriage. I always thought that it was strong, that it was what both of them wanted. People remember things differently as they get older.’ He drank the last of his coffee and picked up his briefcase. ‘Now, I must get back to work. Ha…that sounds good. It’s great to be busy again: I’m going home to surf the cyber-sex world.’

‘I’m pleased I’m not the one having to do it. The thought of infiltrating that dark world makes me sick to the stomach.’

‘Yes, it’s yet another sad indication of the state of the planet—money

can

buy anything.’

‘But at a massive cost, David.’

They shook one another’s hands as they parted outside the cafe door. The old man held on to Mann’s hand, stared straight into his eyes and smiled.

‘Take care of yourself, Johnny.’

Mann watched him walk away, heading home via the tube. He looked a small figure headed towards Oxford Circus and he was soon lost in the crowd of shoppers. Mann cut through side roads then he headed up Oxford Street. He was off to pay someone a visit, but he wasn’t expecting to be welcomed with open arms. As he walked along he felt the cold steel against the skin inside his wrist. He smiled to himself. There were a few things in life he could always count on—Delilah was one.