Hungry Ghost (49 page)

Behind her on the platform, Lin watched helplessly as the needle on his receiver slammed over to one side. ‘Fuck your mother, bitch,’ he cursed, and put the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

‘They’ve lost her,’ Ng said to his father. ‘She got on to the MTR. I’ve told Lin to catch the next train and go after her, but she could be anywhere by now.’ He looked out of the back window at the queue of cars waiting to pass.

‘Any sign of the gweilo?’ said Ng Wai-sun.

‘Not yet,’ said Ng. ‘But he is not far behind. Hui Ying-chuen?’ The elderly driver stopped waving at the cars behind to overtake and turned round. ‘When I give you the word I want you to put the car in reverse and ram the taxi.’

Hui’s face fell and he looked as if he was going to protest. In all the years he had been driving for the Ng family he had never, ever, been involved in an accident. It was a record he was proud of, but he did not argue. He just nodded and thanked the gods that he was in the Mercedes and not his beloved Daimler.

Ng told his father to make sure he was well strapped in and that his head was against the headrest. ‘The Mercedes is much bigger and heavier than the taxi, we’ll barely feel it,’ he said. ‘But better to be on the safe side. Once we’ve stopped them I’ll hold the gweilo until our Red Poles get here.’

He held the gun down near the floor of the car, his finger clear of the trigger so that it wouldn’t go off accidentally when the cars collided. The rest of the traffic was now streaming past the parked Mercedes and its flashing hazard warning lights.

Chief Inspector Leigh was becoming more confused by the minute. His men in the Toyota closest to Dugan’s taxi had told him how it had stopped near Yau Mat Tei MTR station and how the girl had run into it carrying his case. The Special Branch man had continued after the taxi, but the officer in the Nissan following behind had called in to say that a group of cars had converged on the station and that more than a dozen triads had gone haring down after her.

Dugan was now heading towards Tsim Sha Tsui, alone. Leigh tapped Chan on the shoulder and told his constable to get a move on, to get closer to the taxi so they wouldn’t lose him in the rush-hour traffic.

‘Get up behind the Toyota,’ he ordered. ‘Keep that between us and Dugan’s taxi and he won’t see us.’

Chan put his foot down and began overtaking, thumping the horn as a makeshift siren. He had little trouble making headway and they soon left the green Mitsubishi behind. The Red Poles knew they couldn’t follow the Rover without attracting attention to themselves, especially when the police sped past the airport and drove through two sets of red lights before reaching the neon signs of Yau Ma Tei. They drove past the MTR station and the cluster of badly parked cars outside it. The lights at Nathan Road were against them, but Chan edged the car through, carefully because it was one of the busiest roads in Hong Kong. Every second car seemed to be a taxi now and Leigh knew they’d have no chance of spotting the one Dugan was in, but they soon caught up with the Toyota and edged up behind it. The traffic had slowed down to a virtual crawl.

‘Where is he?’ radioed Leigh.

‘Three cars ahead of us,’ came the reply from the Toyota.

‘What’s the hold up?’

‘I don’t know. Some sort of accident up the road.’

At least it meant they wouldn’t lose Dugan, thought Leigh. At last something was going his way.

‘I see them,’ said Ng. ‘Third car behind us. Be ready, Hui Ying-chuen. Put it into reverse now, and as soon as the two cars have passed us, hit him. Hard. Are you all right, Father?’

His father grunted and settled back into the seat, his head pressed against the headrest. Ng lay down, his face against the leather upholstery.

Howells was beginning to get impatient. The traffic hardly seemed to be moving in his lane. Eventually he saw the source of the trouble; a large Mercedes had broken down and in typical Hong Kong fashion the driver had made no move to get it off the road, the passengers just sitting there waiting for someone to come and sort it out for them. During his short time in Hong Kong Howells had seen several accidents but had yet to see a Hong Kong Chinese with his head under the bonnet or pushing his vehicle off the road.

He could see the entrance to Jordan MTR station up ahead and considered leaving the taxi where it was. Then the car ahead indicated it wanted to pass and Howells did the same, but the vehicles in the right-hand lane were reluctant to let them in, deliberately keeping close, bumper to bumper, the drivers keeping their eyes fixed straight ahead. The car in front managed to squeeze in between a delivery van and a minibus and Howells tried to do the same. The reversing lights of the Mercedes came on, shining whitely next to the flashing yellow lights.

‘What the fuck’s he playing at?’ asked Howells.

Dugan leant forward to see what was happening, and as he did the big car leapt backwards, rushing towards them. Dugan yelled and groggily threw himself down on the seat. Howells grabbed at the door handle but realized he wouldn’t have time to open it so he dropped across the front seats, the handbrake handle biting into his stomach as he pulled his legs up out of the footwell, his knees up against his chest.

The Merc slammed into the front of the taxi, smashing the lights and crunching the bumper, forcing the air from Howells’ chest. The thin metal of the Toyota cab screamed and buckled, the mass of the bigger German car seeming to meet no resistance. Water hissed and spurted from the radiator and still the Mercedes reversed, pushing the taxi back as Ng’s driver kept his foot to the floor. There was a second bang then as the rear of the taxi crashed into the car behind it, and only then did the Merc stop. Water flooded around the front of the taxi and bits of metal and glass tinkled to the ground. The distorted car groaned and shuddered like a dying animal. Dugan pushed himself up and looked groggily around, his reactions dulled by the combination of the sedatives and the crash.

He could see startled faces watching from the pavement: an old woman with grey, crinkly hair and her front teeth missing; a young couple in matching T-shirts and stone-washed denims; a man in a grey pinstripe suit with a portable telephone in his hand, a bare-chested teenager carrying a refill for a distilled water dispenser on his shoulder. All were staring at the accident with wide eyes. Dugan smelt petrol and suddenly had a vision of himself and Howells engulfed in flames. With a mounting sense of panic he clawed at the left-hand door, but it had warped in the crash and wouldn’t move. He shuffled along to the opposite side of the cab, his legs wobbling as he moved, his arms numb. Howells groaned in the front seat and then pulled himself up, using the steering wheel for leverage. He kicked open his door and fell into the road. He got to his feet to see Ng get out of the Mercedes, gun in hand.

‘Stay where you are,’ Ng shouted, pointing the gun at Howells’ chest, holding it steady with both hands. He was eight feet at most away from Howells, and he knew he wouldn’t miss.

‘There’s been an accident, sir,’ said Constable Chan. ‘The taxi’s hit the car in front.’

Leigh stuck his head out of the window in time to see a well-dressed Chinese man threatening to shoot the taxi driver while Dugan staggered out of the cab into the road wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. The plainclothes officers in the Toyota pulled out their guns, one stepping on to the pavement and steadying his gun arm on the roof of the car, another crouched down behind the driver’s door. Leigh’s sergeant got out of the Rover and also drew his gun, telling his constables to do the same. Leigh left his in his holster. They had more than enough firepower. The pedestrians began screaming then and running for cover – the Hong Kong police had a reputation for firing first and asking questions later.

‘Drop the gun,’ Leigh yelled. ‘Drop the gun or we’ll fire.’

The surprise showed on Ng’s face and his aim wavered. Howells turned to see who was shouting and he too looked stunned to see so many police only yards away. Dugan was the last to turn and he almost lost his balance when he saw Leigh, his stomach wobbling over the top of his shorts. He looked like a drunken bull seal, thought Leigh. Dugan opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. He was dribbling and he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

‘Drop the gun. This is your last warning,’ shouted Leigh.

Howells stepped to the right, getting Dugan in between himself and the police and then stepped up behind him, drawing the kitchen knife from inside his jacket. He grabbed Dugan with his weak right arm and held the blade close to Dugan’s neck with his left. ‘Don’t move, Dugan, or I swear to God I’ll kill you,’ he whispered.

Howells dragged him over to the taxi. The boot had sprung open in the crash and through half-focused eyes Dugan could see the body of a man inside, his head at an unnatural angle and a wet patch on the front of his jeans. There was no room to get through and Howells didn’t want to go any nearer to the cops so he pulled Dugan back, trying to head towards the MTR station. That brought him nearer to Ng, which made him feel equally uncomfortable. Dugan started to complain that the blade was cutting him and Howells told him to shut the fuck up.

Leigh’s men looked at him for guidance. In the chief inspector’s mind there was no confusion. The Chinese with the gun could kill a lot of people, and the only person the taxi driver was going to hurt was Patrick Dugan. In Leigh’s present frame of mind that was no great disaster.

‘Keep your guns on Ng,’ he ordered.

To Ng he shouted a final warning. Realizing he stood no chance against so many police, Ng threw his pistol to the ground and raised his hands.

Howells saw the gun clatter to the tarmac. He knew he had only seconds to act. Police reinforcements were sure to arrive soon, and he was already outgunned. The roads were too busy so there was no point in trying to hijack a car, and besides, he wasn’t sure how effective a hostage Dugan would be. He looked as if he was about to pass out and he wouldn’t be much of a shield if he slumped to the ground. His best chance, his only chance, was to get to the MTR and try to do as Amy had done and disappear in the crowds. The Special Branch officer standing by the Rover shouted that he was to drop the knife. He pushed Dugan into the road and dived for the gun, dropping the knife as he moved. Dugan fell to his knees as Howells got the gun in his right hand and then rolled over, howling as he jolted his injured shoulder. He felt the wound open and bleed but he kept on moving, coming up into a crouch, aiming the gun at the police and firing off two quick shots, the recoil burning into his shoulder. The bullets hit Chan in the neck and he fell back, blood streaming down his chest.

‘Shoot him,’ shouted Leigh, though his men needed no encouragement.

Howells leapt on to the roof of the taxi and rolled over it, dropping on to the pavement in a smooth movement. The crowds of pedestrians scattered like startled sparrows finding a cat in their midst. Sergeant Lam stepped away from the car and aimed at Howells’ chest. As Howells raised his gun Dugan staggered to his feet, bellowed and threw himself across the bonnet of the car. He managed to tackle Howells around the waist with his flailing arms and brought him down to the ground. Howells slammed the butt of the gun against Dugan’s head but he barely felt it. His grip slackened a little and Howells wriggled away, but Dugan grabbed his left leg and hung on for all he was worth, his eyes closed and his mouth wide open.

‘Let go, you stupid bastard!’ yelled Howells, but Dugan seemed not to hear him. All Dugan could hear ringing in his ears were the cheers of the crowds at the Rugby Sevens and he hung on for all he was worth, waiting for the ref to blow his whistle.

Howells pointed the gun at Dugan’s head and started to pull the trigger, but as he did Sergeant Lam fired. The bullet ripped into Howells’ chest and knocked him backwards, the gun falling from his hand. Dugan’s eyes opened at the sound of the gun-shot. He drifted in and out of consciousness but kept hold of the leg and crawled slowly up the body as it lay on the pavement. There was a hole the size of a fist in Howells’ chest, filling with blood, bubbling in time to his breathing. His eyes were open but seemed not to see Dugan’s face.

Ng came running over and shoved Dugan away. He began going through Howells’ pockets until he found the bag of diamonds. He waved them triumphantly over Howells’ head until Dugan pushed him away angrily. He knelt down beside Howells, conscious that the police were running up and that he didn’t have much time. Neither did Howells, that was clear enough.

‘The girl,’ mumbled Dugan, his voice thick and the words slurring. ‘Where is Sophie?’ Howells seemed to become aware of Dugan for the first time and he almost smiled. ‘Where is the girl?’ Dugan asked again, not wanting to beg but knowing that he would if necessary. There was no need. Howells told him and then died.

Dugan sat back heavily on to the road, shaking his head to try to clear it. He felt elated at knowing that Sophie was safe, but he felt cheated too. He had no idea who the killer was, or why he’d wreaked such havoc. Maybe when his head was clearer he’d be able to think and put it all in perspective, but all he wanted to do was to sleep, to curl up in the road and close his eyes and dream of Petal.

Leigh came up behind him and put his hand on Dugan’s shoulder. ‘Great tackle, Dugan.’ Dugan shook his hand away. He got unsteadily to his feet and slowly and carefully went over to see Ng Wai-sun.

The two labradors jumped up and down with excitement as Grey opened the back door to let them out into the night for their last run before turning in. His wife had banned them from the bedroom but had grudgingly allowed them to sleep in the kitchen. While the two dogs did whatever they had to do Grey poked the embers of the fire and looked at the flames. When he was a child he’d spent hours gazing into the fire, making stories out of the twisting shapes; knights fighting dragons, angels against demons. Now when he looked into the fire he saw nothing, just burning coals.