‘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.

38

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.