Mann shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. It serves a good purpose. It’s the cheapest place to stay in Hong Kong. One hundred and twenty nationalities live there at any one time. Where are they going to go?’

‘They’re mainly made up of illegal immigrants, overstayers and drug pedlars, every type of scammer and Triad. Fights are commonplace. Deaths are a daily occurrence. Now we have young Triads taking over in there.’

‘You go in there like some fucking stormtrooper and they’ll split, reform and make an even bigger problem somewhere else. It’s not only them in the Mansions. We also have the impoverished backpackers, poor migrant workers. Four thousand people live there amongst the sweatshops and saunas.’

‘I agree with Mann.’ Mia looked tired. They were all fractious. ‘Mann and Shrimp can achieve a lot more by being discreet in there. We want to try and find out why she was killed as well as who she was.’

‘I’ll get down there as soon as this meeting’s over with,’ said Mann. ‘I have other business in there. One of the schoolgirls active in the recruitment is a girl named Lilly Mendoza. Her mother Michelle is a singer.’

‘Have you had trouble with her before?’ asked Mia.

‘Now and again. Sometimes she had to double as a hooker just to make ends meet and feed her habit. I’ve ticked her off a few times. She used to have a bad habit of fleecing the johns she went upstairs with after her set. We haven’t had any complaints for a while. Either she’s stopped or found a new angle. When I’m in the Mansions I’ll pay them a visit.’

‘What about Victoria Chan?’ Sheng was watching Mann very closely. ‘You met with her?’

‘Yes.’ Mann put down his coffee cup and looked hard at Sheng. ‘She wants to redevelop the Mansions. She says she wants to make it a community project. I think we can be pretty sure she is lying and intends to make a luxury development out of it. She hopes that if her new group, the Outcasts, cause enough trouble then the Mansions will have to be pulled down.’

‘Why does she have to go to those lengths, why doesn’t she just do it?’

‘Because the Leung Corporation doesn’t own the majority share. I have inherited the majority share of the Mansions.’

A silence spread through the incident room.

Sheng shook his head and grinned. ‘This is all a very convenient home from home for you, isn’t it, Mann? Doesn’t it feel more than a little fucking ironic that we devote our lives to hunting down and eliminating Triads when we have one on our own doorstep?’

Mann looked at Sheng and then at Mia. She was willing him not to rise to the bait.

‘The thing is, your father wasn’t just a Triad; he was a damn good one. He made a lot of money selling heroin to the kids of Europe. I wonder how many lost lives he was personally responsible for taking. A lot more than we have ever saved, that’s for sure.’ Sheng looked at Mia. ‘How can someone whose inheritance includes large chunks of Triad dough, be considered a secure officer in the OCTB? We don’t know where his loyalties lie. Do you trust him to watch your back? Because I fucking don’t.’

Mann thought about it. ‘You’re right, Sheng. You are so right.’ Mann stood; Sheng got to his feet. ‘I am never going to watch your back. I don’t give a shit who sticks a knife into it. And…’ He picked Sheng up by his jacket lapels. ‘…If I do ever cross the line, Sheng, believe me I’m coming for you first.’

Chapter 22

‘Tailor, sirs? Copy watches? Copy bags?’ It was the middle of the day and the Indian touts were out in force. They swarmed around the pink-skinned tourists like flies on fresh meat.

The Mansions were at the harbour end of Nathan Road. Nathan Road was the place to get anything made or copied. It was nicknamed the Golden Mile: it glittered, it sparkled, even when it was real it looked fake. It was a great snapshot of Hong Kong. Twenty-foot-high neon signs flashed their adverts. Girls with thigh-high socks and mini skirts chased one another across the linear images. Music videos blared down next to ginseng sellers and noodle bars. The middle of the buildings bulged like saggy pot bellies over the road, weighted with fifty competing neon signs. The back streets were impassable by car.

Shrimp was waiting for him. Mann hadn’t any trouble spotting him – he had slicked his hair back Saturday Night Fever-style and was wearing a vintage black suit, purple shiny shirt, thin black tie.

‘Hello, Boss.’

Mann held him back as he went to walk up the steps. ‘Did you dress especially for this?’

‘Huh?’

‘Never mind.’ Mann smiled to himself.

Shrimp shook his head and followed Mann up the steps to the Mansions.

Within a few paces they were engulfed by the din and chaos of another world. They wound their way through making slow progress amongst the money changers and the touts for guesthouses. The place was like every type of bazaar or busy market, a snapshot of Africa, India, Asia. Together they set up their food stalls side by side blaring out their brand of music. The Mansions belonged to no country. It was its own world under the canopy of fluorescent lighting and overhead pipes. It had corridors like narrow hospital wards. By day the ground floor was crammed with shoppers and stalls selling goods from around the world, food stalls that offered goat and Halal food, all castes, all colours catered for and fed. But there was a tense, precarious harmony.

Mann steered Shrimp through and towards the second set of lifts on the left. ‘We’ll start on the third floor. I have a friend who might be able to help us narrow down the search.’

The lift coming back down was taking its time. They stared at the TV screen above the lift doors. The lift was stopping frequently; people were getting in but then getting out again and sending it on its way. Mann called the security guard over and pointed at the screen. The guard nodded, stepped forward and waited for the lift to arrive.

‘Out of the way, move.’ The security guard pushed the queue back.

The lift stopped; the door opened. A young black woman was unconscious in the corner. The guard stopped people getting in whilst he held the door open for Mann and Shrimp. They knelt beside her. Mann pressed his fore and index finger to the side of her neck.

‘She has a pulse, just.’

Shrimp felt inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim plastic pouch. He unclipped the top and opened it out. It had two syringes inside. He tore the plastic off one, pulled off its protective needle cover and pulled up her sleeve.

The queue started grumbling. There were now so many people waiting that single file had become treble. The security guard held his hand up for patience. In this city time meant money, whether you were dying or not. Shrimp injected into the muscle in her upper arm, her bicep. A few minutes later the colour began coming back to her face. She breathed deeply. She opened her eyes and looked at them. She knew instantly what had happened. She tried to stand.

‘You want to wait for an ambulance?’ Mann helped her up.

She shook her head. She staggered forward, leant on the side of the lift wall for just a few seconds and then lurched off towards the mall and was swallowed up by a thousand anonymous people.

‘What did you give her, an opiate blocker?’ asked Mann. They were joined in the lift by twenty others. Mann didn’t bother whispering; out of the nationalities in the lift probably just he and Shrimp spoke Cantonese. With them were three Africans, four Indians and some giggling Filipinas.

‘Yes. Naloxone. I got it when I was in the States. The other is epinephrine – adrenalin. If they’re still breathing you use one. If not, the other.’

They were crammed inside the lift with Africans, Indians and giggling Filipinas. Mann turned to see Shrimp staring at the Africans. They spoke English to one another because they came from different parts of Africa. They were stereotypical in their appearance, striking in their presence; they had ebony skin and bald heads and big muscular bodies. They brought a menacing presence to the area; they were mistrusted because of their colour, their size. Shrimp was still staring at them. Mann smiled to himself as he caught Shrimp looking at their feet. The Africans stopped talking. One of them followed Shrimp’s gaze to his feet and then waited till Shrimp’s eyes came back up to meet his.