The Trafficked (8 page)

18

 

Mann walked on around the top of the Fields to the end of a parade of shops and took a left. Halfway along the road he stopped at number twenty-five—a Victorian terrace. Becky Stamp greeted him at the door dressed in jeans and T-shirt.

‘Is that for my benefit?’ He gestured towards the T-shirt, which had a picture of Bruce Lee on the front. She looked particularly sexy and sassy tonight, thought Mann.

‘Of course.’ She grinned. ‘Do you only wear white shirts?’ she asked, ushering him inside and closing the door behind him.

‘Not always—saves me thinking too hard, though. Anyway, it shows off my tan and my great physique.’ He grinned.

She chuckled. ‘You’re a bit vain, you know that, Mann?’

She led him through the narrow hall past a neighbour’s open door and the thumping sounds of techno, and up the two small flights of stairs into her flat. They passed a kitchen on the left and continued into the
lounge straight ahead. She opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.

‘Just make yourself comfortable. I need to check the food.’

She excused herself for two minutes whilst Mann looked around the lounge. It was small but nicely decorated with a mix of modern and antique. On the walls were two very different paintings. One was an Andy Warhol poster. The other was a black and white photo of a couple saying goodbye at a train station. She liked her knick-knacks, thought Mann. There were two alcoves filled with a mix of souvenirs from around the globe: a carved black rhino, an African Maasai warrior, a collection of Russian Matryoshka dolls and a family of wooden wild boars in varying sizes, lined up along the shelf.

There were other photos, landscape shots of deserts and rainforest all in ornate silver frames. There was one of a younger fresh-faced Becky with flowers tucked into her shoulder-length hair, smiling out of a wedding photo. The man beside her was blond, good-looking. They made a handsome couple.

‘You’ve travelled a lot then?’ Mann said as Becky returned. He held the black rhino in his hand.

‘I did before I was married. Then Alex and I went around India, safari in Kenya, that kind of thing. We haven’t been anywhere much for a few years. Alex takes off on business trips. That seems to be enough for him. I keep meaning to plan a trip, but I’ve got a bit bogged down with work. You know what it’s like? It’s hard to book something in advance when you don’t know what
case is about to come up. I think about it a lot. That rhino you’re holding is from Zimbabwe. We had our honeymoon there.’ She looked sad, thought Mann, as he watched her move the smallest of the wild boars next to the largest. She looked around the shelves of souvenirs. ‘I watch all those travel programmes—have a real wanderlust, just never seem to get anywhere any more. I have to go and finish the food. You can pick some music for us if you like, then come in and chat with me.’

Mann took his time choosing the Eagles’ greatest hits before following her into the kitchen. She was busy peeling onions on a smart granite worktop. It was a well-designed kitchen, all wood, stone and chrome. It had a breakfast bar to the left of the entrance and a huge American fridge. Becky was stood in front of a window that looked out towards a distant block of flats and down to a row of walled gardens below. Mann sat on a stool and watched her.

‘Can I help?’

‘I don’t know. What are you good at?’

‘Grinding, chopping, opening bottles, multi-talented really.’

‘Are you going to get your famous knife belt out?’

He laughed. ‘So you have done your homework on me, after all?’

‘I found out a few things.’ She gave him a small smile.

‘I usually save the knife belt for when I’ve exhausted all my other pick-up moves.’

‘Well then, just sit and talk. You must be shattered.’

‘I’m all right. Been thinking about that school. You know what struck me today? Something that secretary said. She used the word
resilient
to describe Amy. Odd choice of words, don’t you think? What about her friends? Did you talk to any of the children in her dorm?’

‘She shared with one other girl. There are two to a room. The days of long, windswept dormitories are over, apparently. These days they have a max of two and even an en suite bathroom. I talked to her roommate. She was a jumpy little thing. She was also Chinese, new to the school. The teachers said she’d been put in with Amy to settle her in.’

Becky left the onions caramelising and came over to join him and refresh his glass.

‘Do you think we’ll find her alive, Mann?’

‘I don’t know. So far, someone has CK’s money and his daughter—they are giving him the finger whilst issuing a challenge. This is much more than a kidnap. I think we are being used; we are pawns in a game and we are not being told the rules. If we follow the path they expect us to—normal lines of inquiries, etc.—then we haven’t got a hope in hell. I saw Micky.’ Becky stopped mid swig of her wine. ‘On the way over here, he was waiting for me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Chinatown’s jumpy. No one knows who the new muscle is, but the implication is that CK has pissed people off or that there is a new domination war about to kick off. Either way, it spells trouble.’

‘He’s a big guy, CK?’

‘As big as you get.’

‘But he’s a triad, that’s illegal. How does he get away with it? Why isn’t he arrested?’

‘He has friends in high places. He’s the head of numerous respectable, legit businesses. He launders money through film production, taxi firms, nightclubs, to name a few. Some of his ventures even have government backing.’ Becky’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah, I know, and to top it all off he’s suspected of being the biggest trafficker of people from Asia into the UK and Europe.’

‘The flesh trade is replacing all the others. It’s overtaken drugs, guns or money laundering, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it has. Human trafficking is big business and getting bigger ever day. Girls abducted on their way to school or sold by their mothers for the price of a new TV. Women chained to their beds, forced to work twenty-four hours a day. It’s becoming an everyday occurrence all over the world.’

Becky shuddered. ‘I know. We’ve even had it in tiny villages here. They are finding under-eighteen-year-old girls who have been conned and lied to and ended up as sex slaves. Mainly from the Eastern Bloc. I talked to one woman who had been rescued. She was a respectable woman, conned into going across the border to fetch some merchandise to sell on a neighbour’s market stall, just to have the neighbour sell
her
when she got across the border.’

‘Life is way too cheap, that’s for sure. If we don’t watch it, we will all become as mercenary as the Chinese, and that would be a big mistake…’

He looked at her, watched her reaction. At first she
didn’t know whether to smile, but then she did. At the sound of a key in the door, the smile froze. She stopped mid-stir, hovering wooden spoon in hand, her eyes opened wide, puzzled for a second at the sound of the front door closing followed by a man’s footsteps on the stairs.

‘Hi darling—we’re in here,’ she called out, recovering quickly. Mann watched her reaction with interest and wondered what it meant. ‘My husband, Alex,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘Didn’t think he would make it—that’s nice…’ she continued, as she gave Mann a fleeting smile before concentrating on her stirring again. Mann could see that she was ruffled.

Alex Stamp appeared at the kitchen door.

‘Thought I’d come and get a look at my wife’s new partner. Hello, I’m Alex.’ He shook Mann’s hand with a strong grip and honed in with frosty blue eyes that stayed on their subject a little too long. Mann grinned. He was used to people trying to read him—it was a good game but there would only be one winner.

First impressions: Alex Stamp was a monitor lizard. He was a well-turned-out one, though—an expensive dresser—but he was a little too bulky for the designer look. He obviously liked his weights more than his aerobic machines at the gym.

He went over to Becky and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, baby. Managed to cut the trip short…had one hell of a week…tell you about it later. Business meetings…’ He rolled his eyes Mann’s way. ‘You know how it is? Work always gets in the way of fun. Even worse in the police force. I should know. Never marry a copper,
hey, Mann? Anyway, what are you doing in the kitchen? Come into the lounge and relax. Becky will call us when it’s ready. Won’t you, baby?’ He kissed her cheek again.

‘Yes, sure.’ She glanced uneasily at Mann, who couldn’t resist a raised eyebrow and grinned.

Alex picked up the bottle of wine and carried it, along with a glass for himself, into the lounge. ‘Crap,’ he muttered as he switched the music off. ‘Becky says you’re here working on a case involving triads. Is that right?’ Mann sat on the two-seater black leather sofa. Alex gave a derisory snort. ‘I can’t believe we have trouble from triads here in London. We are a million miles away from Beijing, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Wherever there are Chinese businesses there are triads extorting money from them, I’m afraid.’

‘Becky tells me you are half-Chinese yourself. How interesting. What side?’

Mann got the feeling that Alex was only asking questions to give himself the opportunity to study his prey. Not so much a monitor lizard as a Velociraptor, thought Mann, testing out his victim’s weaknesses.

‘My father’s.’

‘And this triad-related case originates in Hong Kong—is that right?’

‘In a roundabout way.’

Alex laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Becky doesn’t talk in her sleep. Isn’t that right, darling?’ he said, as Becky appeared in the doorway, new bottle in hand.

‘What’s right?’

‘I said you tell me
all
your police business, don’t you, baby.’

Mann saw a flash of anger cross her face. She held Alex with an icy stare.

‘I’m surprised you remember me telling you anything about Mann coming. You don’t usually listen to anything I say.’ She smiled, thin-lipped. It was a challenge rather than a smile, and she fixed her husband with a disapproving look before she filled Mann’s glass and came to sit opposite him on a seventies retro armchair that matched the sofa.

‘Mann went to school here, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Mann was starting to feel uneasy. He felt like there was a domestic about to kick off and he was going to get caught in the middle of it.

Alex drank his wine so fast that his second glass had already disappeared. His nose was bothering him. He touched it constantly and sniffed in between.

‘You have a cold, Alex? That’s a bummer in spring—or is it hay fever?’

‘What? Sorry?’

‘The runny nose—hay fever or a cold?’

Alex shook his head and shrugged. ‘An allergy to something, I expect—dust, probably. We need to get a live-in cleaner—don’t we, darling?’

‘Would anyone like hummus?’ Becky jumped up and disappeared into the kitchen. Mann wondered if she was an exploder or an imploder. He suspected that it took a lot to make her lose her cool in public.

‘Tell me? Are you all Kung Fu experts?’ Alex said, pouring himself another glass and raising his glass to Mann as if it were a challenge.

‘My colleague is.’

‘Ahhh…of course…a young man’s sport.’ Alex grinned.

‘Maybe, but I find knives much more interesting.’

Becky returned with a plate of pita and hummus.

‘Mann is being modest. He’s a firearms and martial arts expert and something called Eskrima.’ She looked at him. ‘I read it on your stats. Have you ever heard of Eskrima, Alex?’ He shook his head and had a look on his face like he was waiting for the punch line. ‘It’s a form of Filipino street fighting. Is that right, Mann? Mainly defensive?’

‘The opposite, actually. Attack first, is the Eskrima motto. Kill before you are killed. It uses knives, mainly. It’s all about staying alive on the street.’

‘More knives…’ said Alex. ‘Your speciality…’

Mann sat back on the sofa and grinned at Alex.

‘We all have to have one, don’t we? What’s yours, Alex?’

‘Ha ha…that’s for me to know and you to find out. I am a model husband, of course, isn’t that right, darling?’

‘Dinner is ready.’ Becky stood, flashed him an over-sweet smile and strode off to the kitchen.

Mann left soon after he’d eaten. He walked back through the Fields. A group of boys were testing each other’s skateboarding skills on a makeshift ramp. The tennis courts were lit and in full use. Apart from giggling girls watching bravado boys and the sound of the tennis balls being thwacked, everything else was quiet; the commuters were safely back at home enjoying a glass
of wine and waiting for
EastEnders
to start. He could imagine it would be noisy back at the Stamps’ house. There would probably be an almighty row going by now. He also wondered why he disliked Alex so much. His attitude was confrontational. He was not a man to reason with. He was brittle, volatile. He was also a cocaine addict. He didn’t even realise he sniffed constantly. He had obviously come back home just to check Mann out. He didn’t trust his wife, though clearly he could. He didn’t trust her because he was playing away himself, thought Mann.

His phone rang just as he reached the door of the B&B. It was Ng.

‘You’re up early, practising your Tai Chi?’ said Mann.

‘Just about to start. No, busy night—we have trouble here. Wo Shing Shing officers have rounded up at least eight high-ranking members of three other societies. It seems CK is targeting anyone he thinks may have any affiliation to the White Circle. We haven’t seen the bodies yet, but we will.’

‘Stevie involved?’

‘That’s another thing—as soon as the trouble hit, Steve left town. He’s back to the UK.’

‘Okay. I’ll catch up with him as soon as I can.’

‘How’s it going there? Is it raining?’

‘No…it’s not raining here, and before you ask, a pea-souper is rare these days…You should stop watching all those old black and white movies. I just met my partner’s husband.’

‘Nice guy?’

‘Slimy bastard…’

‘She must be good-looking, huh…?’

Mann said his goodbyes and went up to his room. The weight of the cool white cotton sheets made him suddenly too exhausted to think of anything else but sleep, and he slept his first night in the UK for seventeen years.