The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (32 page)

There was a knock at the door and Lehman stood up to answer it. Lorn stood outside in a black shirt and yellow wrap-around skirt. She looked up at him and gave him a beaming smile. “Hello,” she said brightly.

“Hello,” he said.

Her smile widened, showing perfect, white teeth. “I come see you,” she said.

“I can see that,” he answered. He frowned. “Are you okay? The manager didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”

“No, I okay,” she said. “I want see you.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled. She looked shorter than when Lehman had seen her in the bar and he realised it was because she’d swapped her high heel shoes for a simple pair of sandals.

She pouted, her lower lip pushed forward as she waited for him to ask her in. He could feel her eyes pleading and he melted. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider. “Come in,” he said.

She stepped inside the room and looked around. “Bathroom there?” she asked, nodding towards a door.

“Yeah,” said Lehman. Part of him wanted to ask her to leave, but he could feel himself growing hard at the thought of being in bed with her.

She dropped her brown leather handbag on the dressing-table by the television and headed for the bathroom. “I shower,” she said gaily over her shoulder. “You want come with me?”

Lehman wrestled with his conscience for about ten seconds before following her.

Neil Coleman sat at his desk with a grin from ear to ear, luxuriating in the warm feeling of a job well done. He swung his feet up on to his desk and sipped his fifth cup of coffee of the day. The one thing that would make his morning perfect would be a cigarette, but he was determined to quit once and for all. On his desk was an internal memo from the Commissioner’s office, congratulating him on the previous night’s work. The glowing praise would look good on his record, even though he knew that it wouldn’t lead to promotion, but it was the speed with which it had reached his desk that had impressed him. Normally it was only bad news which travelled quickly through the police bureaucracy.

Coleman yawned and closed his eyes. He had been up all night, and spent most of it in the front seat of a police van overlooking Chek Mun Hoi Hap, the narrow channel which linked Tolo Harbour with the sea. Hui had been with him, and there had been six uniformed constables sweating in the back. Hui had offered Coleman a cigarette on at least three different occasions, and each time had expressed apologetic surprise when he had refused. Coleman was sure he was doing it on purpose.

They’d spotted the men loading the cars on to three high-powered speedboats at two o’clock in the morning. Coleman had parked the vehicle at Wu Kai Sha from where they could see most of the harbour and the landing area where they’d been told the stolen cars would be loaded. The tip had come from one of Coleman’s contacts, a triad member who’d been feeding him information in exchange for cash for the past couple of years. He’d phoned Coleman and said that a rival triad was planning to send six stolen cars to China and had given him detailed instructions on where and when. Coleman had the feeling that his informer was more interested in the police damaging a rival triad than he was in the money, but he’d take information any way he could get it.

He’d requisitioned a pair of night-vision glasses – the sort the army used to spot illegal immigrants trying to sneak across the border from China – and had watched a group of young men drive three Mercedes, a Nissan saloon and two Toyotas off the Tolo Highway and head towards a gently sloping beach. They were accompanied by two green trucks which drove right up to the water’s edge. As a dozen men climbed out of the back of the trucks, Hui had called up the Marine Police on his radio. They had six launches in position, three just beyond the channel at Bluff Head, one off Chek Chau and two more on the apex of Ocean Point. The launches could effectively seal off the channel when required.

The triads had been incredibly well organised. In the space of ten minutes they unloaded several dozen planks of wood and steel barrels from the trucks and had constructed a rough pier stretching thirty feet out to sea. Coleman scanned the harbour and eventually spotted the three speedboats bobbing close to Ma Shi Chau, a small island about three kilometers offshore. Coleman pointed them out to Hui and he radioed the details over to the Marine Police.

One of the triads aimed a torch out to sea and flashed the beam. On-off. On-off. On-off. There was an answering flash from one of the speedboats and then all three began coursing through the waves.

“It’s going down,” said Coleman, under his breath. It was rare for there to be any sort of excitement in the Stolen Vehicles Unit and he relished every moment.

The first speedboat cut its power and made a long, arcing turn to take it parallel to the home-made pier. Ropes were thrown to moor the boat and a Mercedes was driven gingerly along the wooden planks. The driver timed his final approach to the swell of the waves, surging forward at just the right moment and driving up to the front of the boat. Coleman tried to make out the registration number, hoping that it was William Fielding’s car, but it was too far away.

The driver got out of the car, climbed out of the boat and ran back along the pier as the second car, a Toyota, made the trip. When it was safely in the boat and the driver back on the pier, the boat surged away and out towards the channel.

Coleman nodded and Hui called in the Marine Police. Their instructions were to apprehend the boats one at a time as they reached the mouth of the channel.

The second boat was loaded with two Mercedes and it also headed for the open sea. Coleman waited until the fifth car was driving along the pier before telling Hui to bring in the rest of the team, four vanloads of uniformed constables who had been waiting in nearby Ma Liu Shui.

A voice crackled in Cantonese over the radio and Hui translated for Coleman, the sole gweilo occupant of the van. “They have the first two boats in custody,” he said, a wide grin on his face. He flicked a Marlboro out of its pack and lit it with a blue disposable lighter. He offered one to Coleman who shook his head and pointedly wound down his window.

From their viewpoint on the Wu Kai Sha peninsula they were able to see the four police vans roar up to the beach and the constables dash out to round up the men. They were armed but no shots were fired and within five minutes the triads were being marched to the vans with their hands handcuffed behind their backs.

“Let’s go,” said Coleman. Hui started the van’s engine and they drove quickly to the Tolo Highway to help collect the evidence they needed: the cars, the pier and the triad vans. It had been a major success and those who took part in the operation had been on a high ever since.

One of the drivers was already offering to talk to them about other vehicles if they didn’t press charges and he promised to blow the smuggling chain wide open. The threat of a criminal record was a potent weapon against potential informers because countries like Canada and Australia always insisted on proof that new immigrants were not law-breakers. The triads were as keen as the middle classes to leave Hong Kong, and within the next day or so Coleman hoped to persuade more of the triad soldiers to open up. It had been a great day. The only disappointment had been that William Fielding’s Mercedes hadn’t been among the cars they’d recovered.

Thoughts of the chairman of the Kowloon and Canton Bank brought Debbie to mind. Coleman swung his feet off his desk and reached for his phone. He dialled the Fielding house and he tapped his fingers against his in-tray. Debbie answered, to his surprise.

“Debbie? It’s Neil.”

“Oh. Hello, Neil. How are you?” She sounded distant, as if she were thinking about something else. Coleman felt tongue-tied. He’d expected one of the maids to pick up the phone.

He told her about the bust and how they’d recovered the stolen cars.

“That’s great,” she said. “Was one of them my dad’s?”

He had to admit that he hadn’t recovered her father’s Mercedes yet and he could tell that she was disappointed.

“Anyway, I was wondering if we could go out one day this week and celebrate,” Coleman said.

“I’d love to, Neil, but I’ve a really hectic work schedule. We’re up against a deadline so it’s nose to the grindstone all week.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to hide his frustration. “What about Saturday?”

She sighed. “Can’t, I’m afraid. Mum and Dad are giving a dinner party for a couple of their friends who are leaving Hong Kong. I have to be there.”

“Can’t I come?” asked Coleman, trying not to sound like he was pleading.

“You wouldn’t enjoy it, Neil. I’ll call you next week, okay?”

Coleman bit his lip, hard enough to make himself wince. “Debbie, is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” she said. “What do you mean?”

“We haven’t been out for weeks now. I miss you.”

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Don’t you miss me?” he said, squeezing his thighs together. He knew he sounded like a teenager and he hated himself for it.

“Neil, I had a great time with you, and I’m happy to go out with you again …”

“But?” he said.

“What do you mean?” She was beginning to sound tense.

“It sounded like there was going to be a ‘but’ there.”

She sighed deeply. “What I was going to say was that you shouldn’t take what we did so seriously.”

“Debbie, you made love to me. That means something.”

“Yes, it means something to me, too. It means we had a good time. And I like that, I like having a good time. But you scared me when you asked me to get engaged, Neil. I mean, we’d only been out four times.”

“Six,” corrected Coleman.

“Okay, six. But I’m too young to settle down. I just want to enjoy myself.”

“That’s what I want, Debbie. But I want to enjoy myself with you. I don’t want to go out with anyone else.”

“But I don’t want that, Neil. Not right now. When I’m your age, maybe I will, but right now I’m only twenty-three and I don’t want to be committed to one person.”

“Not even to me?” asked Coleman. She didn’t answer. “Debbie, I want to talk to you.”

“We’re talking now,” she said sharply.

“I mean face to face. I want to see you. I want to touch you.”

“I told you, I’m busy. I’ll call you next week.”

“Jesus, Debbie, I can’t believe you’re like this,” complained Coleman. “No one has ever made love to me like you did. You can’t turn me away now. I love you …” Hui walked into the office, sat down at his own desk and opened a file. Coleman flushed, wondering if Hui had been listening outside the door.

“Neil, don’t be so immature,” said Debbie. “We had fun, that’s all.”

There was so much that Coleman wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t do it while Hui was in the room. “You’ll call me next week?” Coleman asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Look, I’ve got to go. Bye.”

The phone went dead. “Yeah, that’ll be great,” Coleman said to the buzzing line. “I’m sure we’ll have a terrific time. Bye for now.”

Hui looked at him as if he’d seen right through the charade. “You seen this?” Coleman asked, walking over to Hui’s desk and handing across the congratulatory memo.

Hui nodded and grinned. “Got one myself,” he said without reading it. “Good to be appreciated, isn’t it?” He passed it back to Coleman.

Coleman went back to his desk, crestfallen. He’d assumed that he’d been signled out for special treatment. He hadn’t thought that everyone involved had got a memo.

“Great bust, Neil,” said an east London accent behind him.

“Whotchya, Phil,” said Coleman, without looking round. He sat down and picked up his cup of coffee. “News travels fast.”

“Twenty triads under arrest, six stolen cars recovered and three smuggling boats impounded! You should be bloody pleased, mate. You going to be at the press conference?”

Coleman frowned, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What press conference?”

Donaldson looked at Hui and back to Coleman. “Three o’clock this afternoon. The Commissioner’s meeting the press. They’re putting the cars on display; it should get a great show in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Yeah,” said Coleman, confused. He looked at Hui. “Did you know about this, Kenneth?”

Hui looked embarrassed. “The press office called earlier. I have been asked to attend.”

“They didn’t say anything about me?” Hui shrugged and said nothing. “Fucking terrific,” said Coleman. He scowled at Donaldson. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Donaldson sympathetically. The force was continually playing down the importance of the expats and it was clear that Coleman’s role was being side-lined. Neither wanted to voice their opinions in front of Hui, however.

“Shit,” said Coleman.

“Maybe the Commissioner will give you an honourable mention,” said Donaldson.

“I’ve already got a memo,” said Coleman bitterly.

“Yeah, well that and a dollar will get you a ride on the Shau Kei Wan tram,” said Donaldson.

“Hey, can you do me a favour?” asked Coleman.

“Maybe,” said Donaldson cautiously. “What is it you want?”

“Can I borrow your car for a few days? I’ll be careful.” Donaldson owned a six-year-old Suzuki Jeep which he mainly used to go windsurfing at weekends.