She looked around, flustered, threw it to him. He pressed the fabric into the wound. Above the screams of frightened tourists, Mann heard Ng shouting for him.

‘Over here, Ng. It’s Tammy, she’s hurt.’

Ng crouched beside them for a second. Shrimp ran past. Ng called out to him: ‘Check if there’s any sign of them, Shrimp.’

‘I’m on it,’ Shrimp answered, leaping over the smashed stalls, dodging the screaming tourists who were caught in the middle of it, frantic to get away. He caught sight of the backs of running gang members and increased his pace. As he exited out from the tunnel of stalls he heard voices. He came face to face with an Indian boy holding the bloody knife in his shaking hand.

Shrimp pinned him to the ground and read him his rights.

The ambulance screamed down Saigon Street and came to a halt as its lights filled the night sky above the bright stalls.

Mann felt Tammy’s pulse…nothing. He knelt over her, locked out his arms, placed one hand above the other over her chest. Tammy’s body bounced under Mann’s pressure as he pressed hard and fast rapid presses onto her chest. Blood seeped through his fingers turning the white silk shawl crimson.

Chapter 52

Mann watched one of PJ’s customers dip naan bread into the bright red tandoori sauce and wipe it around the metal bowl. His stomach knotted. Tammy’s blood was ingrained in his fingertips. It had been a terrible night and it showed. Mann was ashen faced and his eyes were smudged and dark with tiredness. Mann had helped the paramedics for forty minutes. They had stabilized Tammy before leaving the market but she was barely alive. He waited for PJ to finish wiping his hands on the white starched napkin that hung over his arm, traditional waiter style, then he called him over.

‘Is everything all right, Inspector?’ PJ smiled, but his eyes showed concern as he looked at Mann’s face. Mann gave a small nod and half a smile by way of answer and thanks for the concern. He took a sip of water and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin – a nice touch, cloth napkins in a place where all you could eat came for less than a coffee in a plush hotel.

‘Please sit down at a table, eat.’

Mann kept one eye on Hafiz as he talked. He kept glancing over. He worked hard to serve all of the tables; the place had a hundred customers all crammed into what was only ever meant to be someone’s front room.

Mann raised his hand and shook his head. ‘No time, thanks, PJ.’

He looked across at Hafiz who was waiting on the tables. Mann watched him work the tables. Hafiz passed them on the way to the kitchen. Mann grabbed his arm, held on to it tightly. ‘You all right?’

Hafiz was sweating heavily. He looked at Mann’s hand on his arm and then he turned to answer the shouts for service that went up from a table behind them. He nodded. Mann released his arm.

‘Walk me to the hall, PJ. I have some questions.’ Mann got up to leave.

PJ did as he was told and they stood in the airless landing outside the restaurant. PJ stood eye to eye with Mann. The two men: tall, broad-shouldered Mann, PJ with the weight of fifteen more years around his girth and too many poppadoms.

‘Tonight there was trouble in Yau Ma Tei. The Outcasts were involved. Several were wounded. Many were arrested. A young police officer was badly hurt.’ Behind them, through the glass door, Mann could see Hafiz watching them.

‘I am so sorry, Inspector. It is a terrible thing. When people risk their lives in public service.’

‘The thing is, PJ, some Indian youths were amongst those arrested.’ A look of confusion crossed PJ’s face. Mann continued. ‘And your son Mahmud was one of them.’

PJ gasped as he clutched his apron. ‘No, he can’t be.’ PJ shook his head and then instinctively swung round to look through the glass door at Hafiz who was staring back at his father. ‘I do not understand how this has happened. My cleverest son. He will be a doctor, a lawyer. He is the one who has gone bad?’ PJ turned back to Mann. ‘It must be a misunderstanding. It cannot be true…’

‘It’s serious, PJ. We’re still holding him. He’s not talking to us. He won’t tell us why he joined up and he won’t tell us who recruited him. I can’t help him unless he helps me. He was caught with a knife in his hand.’

The colour drained from PJ’s face.

‘Is this the first you’ve heard of Mahmud running with the Outcasts?’

‘Yes. It’s the first I’ve heard of that.’ He shook his head, dazed, in shock. ‘If Mahmud got caught there then it was an accident. You couldn’t get a smarter boy than him. There’s no way it was what it looks like. Mahmud is too smart for that. What is the charge?’ His voice came out loud but shaky.

‘Attempted murder of a police officer.’

Chapter 53

Mann went to the hospital and sat in the chair by Tammy’s bed. He watched the nurses come and go, checking on their patient. The machines breathed for her. The drips fed into her system. Pouches of blood hung from hooks. Mann looked at her and wondered what she was dreaming of. Mann’s dreams scared him. He was too frightened to fall asleep any more. He was frightened to be alone. He felt he belonged to the life of shadows more than ever. Nothing made him happy. Everything brought him a heavy burden. He hadn’t smiled in a long time. He hadn’t had a good sleep for weeks. Mann had so many snapshots of hell locked into his brain that he could barely contain them. When he slept, someone let them out. He longed to run on the top of a mountain range, to lift his head and feel the icy wind cut into his lungs. He longed to be free of the burden of knowing too much, feeling too much. He closed his eyes briefly. He listened to the comforting sound of the machines. He didn’t want to go home. Home was where his heart had been broken. Home was where he didn’t belong.

His body felt heavy. He listened to the sounds of voices in the corridor outside and was comforted by the noise, the odd shout, laugh, whispered concerns and the swish of a uniform, the rolling of trolley wheels. Now, in the quiet of the room, listening to the comforting electronic beep of Tammy’s heart, he felt safe enough to close his eyes and try to sleep. He tried to find that mental paradise – once it had been a white sand beach, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves, feeling the sun on his face and the breeze over his skin. He and Helen dreamed of escaping to a beach hut somewhere. That was in the early days of their relationship. That was when Mann had let his guard down and Helen had found the cracks in his armour. But it hadn’t lasted and over the five years they were together by the end, they were almost strangers again, come full circle. Helen knew it was over, that’s why she had pushed so hard to go to the next stage in their relationship: marriage, kids. The more she pushed, albeit gently, the more Mann realized it was never going to be for him. The more she loved him the more trapped he felt. It was then that he realized he wasn’t someone who would find happiness through loving another. He was irrevocably damaged.

He was just a scrawny eighteen-year-old, when the men held him back and forced him to watch his father’s execution. His father had taken twenty minutes to die as each man aimed his cleaver and felled his father like a tree. The last blow split his skull. Mann had been as helpless as a baby to stop it happening. The men had left him weeping. He had crawled on his hands and knees to his father, and cradled his bloody body. Mann had scars in his heart and soul that would never heal, no matter how much Helen tried. So Mann had let her go when she called his bluff. He had let her leave when she said it was now or never. He hadn’t realized the taxi would take her to hell.

He sat back in the chair and willed sleep to come. He felt his body become heavy, his muscles released their tension. Mann’s dreams were often in English. But his dreams were nightmares in any language. The background noise of the corridor outside filtered in as dull lullaby, comforting, droning and then it stopped resisting and let the muscles go and Mann drifted into an uneasy sleep. He found himself back with Helen. She was laughing, smiling. For a few seconds he was so happy to see her face and then her expression changed. Mann couldn’t wake up. He was caught in hell with her. He was twisting with pain. His head was inside the hood. He was with Helen. Her voice was his. Her screams coming out of his own mouth. From outside the darkness he heard two men talking. Mann had always believed he killed the man who took the last breath from Helen until now.