Mann grinned. ‘Educational trip, is it, boys?’

‘Depends what you mean by educational … banana boy.’

The three men laughed. They didn’t take their eyes from Mann.

Mann smiled, studied each man, gave them the chance to back down before it was too late.

‘I can’t abide rudeness, racism, ignorance or base stupidity. And, guess what, boys? You tick all those boxes. Thought you might be here to learn some manners.’

The big bald duo shifted their bulk, took a small step towards him and flexed their muscles, ready.

Mann picked up his drink and walked past them.

‘Manners are my speciality. But I’ll have to teach you some other time.’

Someone had caught his eye, and she was smiling at him.

The barman leaned across to the three men.

‘You were very lucky. Keep out of Johnny Mann’s way for the rest of your holiday, unless you want to go home on a stretcher.’

‘’Avin’ fun with your friends, Johnny?’ said Kim, reaching up for a kiss. She was sitting at one of the small tables on the raised section. ‘Thought it was goin’ to kick off. Never was much of a fuckin’ negotiator, was you?’

Mann laughed. ‘Sorry – bit wired. How’s it going, Pussy – night off?’

‘Can’t decide whether to go in tonight. I’m definitely quittin’ the Bond Bar.’

‘Glad to hear it. What are you going to do instead?’

‘I used to be good with figures – accounts, that type of thing. I could go back to it. I’m always dreamin’ of doin’ somethin’ different.’

‘To believe in one’s dreams is to spend all of one’s life asleep, Kim. Make it happen if you want it to.’

‘I love it when you get all philosophical on me! Let’s go back to my place and discuss the works of Nietzsche, Plato, and who was that other guy? Aristotle Onassis …?’

He laughed. ‘Believe me, I’d love to – but I have to take a rain check.’

She frowned. ‘You look knackered. Ain’t you gettin’ any sleep?’

‘Not much. It’s a big case. Do me a favour, Kim. Take a couple of weeks off, at least. Stay home. Don’t work at the bar until we catch this guy. It isn’t safe. If you need money – let me know. Just stay away from the bar.’

‘Awww, Johnny – that’s so sweet. But I’m a big gal. I can take care of myself. You know what happens if I have to stay in? I turn into a caged animal!’

He kissed her cheek. ‘I love it when that happens. Okay, Kim … I’ll leave it to you – just look after your self … call me if you need me.’

Mann got up to leave. Kim held on to his arm.

‘Thanks, Johnny. I miss you. Would be nice to talk more.’

‘Sure – call me.’

As Mann walked out, he couldn’t resist one last grin at the three men.

36

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.’

37

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.’