I must not give support to outsiders if so doing is against the interests of any of my sworn brothers. If I do not keep this oath I will be killed by a myriad of swords.

If I should change my mind and deny my membership of this society I will be killed by a myriad of swords.

And so on.

The oaths done, Stevie handed Sun Yat-sen a small bowl of cleansing tea, which he drank. Then Stevie filled the bowl with wine and picked up the small knife from the altar and handed it to the minister. Sun Yatsen pricked his middle finger and squeezed two drops of blood into the wine. He sipped the wine first, then he handed it to Stevie, who took a sip before passing it to every man in the room to drink from, ending with Chan. Each man sipped from the cup so that the oath of secrecy was shared. Then Stevie smashed the cup on the floor. He handed the list of oaths and the yellow paper, on which was written the man’s name and his pledge, to Chan. Chan burnt them in the bowl on the altar. Chan then took a new cup of wine and spilled his own blood into it before addressing the minister:

‘From this moment on your old life is finished. You are reborn in this room as a triad brother. Together we will make this society the most wealthy and the most powerful ever known in the world. I will give to you the opportunity to realise your dreams. You will have your heart’s desire – whatever it may be. In exchange I expect your absolute loyalty to me. Until death we are joined.’

He passed the cup around. Each man repeated the oath: Till death we are joined.

48

The next morning Johnny Mann arrived at Headquarters as Max was leaving, having just finished giving his statement to Ng when Mann passed him on the stairs. Police stations were obviously not his favourite places, and ‘rat out of a barrel’ came to mind as Mann watched Max’s small wiry frame slip elusively past the men in the hallway and disappear.

Only Ng was in the office, deep in files. The room was sweltering. The men’s three desks were set out along each of the three walls; the door and a filing cabinet took up most of the fourth. There was so little space in the centre of the room that the three men’s chairs clashed if they all chose to stand at the same time. Their office was originally part of a fine Georgian room with high ceilings, ornate coving and a marble fireplace. It had been subdivided and partitioned to create several smaller rooms. That meant that the only Georgian feature left in there was one large sash window.

As soon as he entered, Mann stripped off his jacket and threw it over a chair. Ng looked up and nodded his greeting, deep in thought.

Mann went around behind his desk to pull the blind down. The sun was blasting in – thank God for the breeze. He opened the window as far as it would go. His eyes were dark-rimmed, aching with tiredness. Just as he allowed the blind to slip through his fingers he caught his reflection in the window and thought of Helen. She’d have told him to get some sleep, that he was getting the look of a trapped animal about him. She’d have made him close his eyes, sit down, whilst she rubbed his shoulders and soothed his brow. She always showed him how much she cared, always told him how much she loved him. He wished he’d been able to return that love in the way she wanted. Wherever she was, he hoped she knew that he missed her.

He scanned down towards the harbour and felt the presence of the sea. His eyes closed for a second; he was calm again. He smiled to himself, and in his head he saw Helen smile back. Then he saw Georgina. He snapped his eyes open. Shrimp came in, grinned at Mann and headed for his desk. Shrimp’s desk was the most untidy – littered with files, sticky drinks cans and hair products. Ng’s was the tidiest – everything in neat, chronological piles. Mann’s desk was as empty as he could make it – he hated clutter. Mann looked over Ng’s shoulder. Ng had started writing up the interview he’d had with Max.

‘Any good?’ Mann asked.

Ng saved his work and looked up. ‘Max, or Fong Man Tak is his real name, has been a taxi driver for thirty years. He says he doesn’t really know the girls, he just gives them lifts. Lucy always does all the talking. His English isn’t brilliant – so that part must be true. But he’s nervous, shifty, couldn’t look me in the eye. I don’t know what it is he’s guilty of, but he’s done something he doesn’t want us finding out about. Somehow I don’t think it’s murder. He’s not young any more, either, can’t see he’d be able to do it. He’s shorter than most of these women, and he’s slighter. Bernadette must be at least twice his size. He’s much smarter than I thought, though.’

‘Any form? What’s his history?’

‘He has no previous. Never married. He lives with his father and brother. The brother works for the Ho Young Dim Sum manufacturer. His father is Doctor Fong. He was a well-known medical practitioner. The family had money once.’

‘What happened?’

‘The practice went into decline after the death of Max’s mother. The old man remarried but the business collapsed, and then the new wife seems to have disappeared. He has family connections, though.’ Ng looked up and grinned. ‘You’re going to like this. The doctor’s first wife was Chan’s mother’s sister. That makes Max and Chan cousins.’

‘It also makes Max a fully paid-up member of the Wo Shing Shing, whether he likes it or not. I wonder what he has had to do for them? Shrimp – go and find out all you can about any new developments in the New Territories. Our women are co-connected with the area somehow. The Butcher knows it well. He always dumps the bodies out there. Maybe he has some business concerns there. Find out if anybody’s been buying up land, Shrimp. Any new business going on.’

Shrimp reappeared two minutes later, popping his head around the door.

‘That was quick,’ said Mann.

‘Just to let you know, boss, the Super’s on his way back.’ Shrimp disappeared again.

Superintendent White came straight in – he didn’t knock.

‘Have you seen these headlines?’ He threw the South China Morning Post onto Mann’s desk. BUTCHER CARVES HIS WAY THROUGH HONG KONG …

‘They even know what the investigation is called. They’ve got some facts spot on. Some of it is rubbish designed to cause panic. They’re even suggesting that people shouldn’t come to the region right now. No woman is safe, it says. Bloody hell, Mann! We’d better sort it fast. Get hold of the papers and put out a statement telling people there’s absolutely no need to panic.’

‘You mean unless you happen to be young and white and female?’

‘You know what I bloody mean. Tell them we need the public’s co-operation on this. Tell them we need to know if anyone’s acting suspiciously, that kind of thing. It seems we have no choice. We may as well throw it open, get people involved. Now let’s get something positive to tell them.’

49

Bernadette sat at the dressing table staring into the mirror. She was arranging her hair. It hadn’t been the best feckin’ start to this new life. She’d been there a week already. But things were definitely looking up. She looked over at the costume hanging above her bunk. A kimono. Japanese shite. She hated wearing it, and the stupid shoes, the white make-up and that feckin’ irritating black wig with the dangly bits that smacked her in the face. The way those men sat around her in a circle with a box of tissues, a razor and that feckin’ flannel! Weirdos! They could feck right off!

Bernadette looked disdainfully at the outfit. Well, this was the last time. She’d been offered a real acting part – costumes, director, the works. She’d made some influential new friends through the club. Soon she’d be starring in her own film. The director and the rest of the cast were on their way to the club right now.