He who rides the tiger is afraid to dismount.

119

Mann had to make one more stop – back at the office. He needed to pick up some things if he was planning to take time off. Headquarters was relatively quiet. Shrimp had gone home to rest. David White was still packing up. As soon as Mann walked into the office he saw it – a small brown package on top of his desk. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands – no sender’s address. It had been hand-delivered.

He looked around the office as if something might tell him where it had come from, but Ng’s and Li’s desks were empty. Mann held the package in his hands for a few more moments before carefully slitting it open. His heart began to beat faster. He reached inside and slid out the contents – a black plastic DVD case. He opened it: a DVD, no title.

Mann watched his fingers perform the ordinary task of preparing his laptop, flipping it open and firing it up as if in slow motion. Smoothly and slowly, these familiar actions were taking him to the point he dreaded. His heart was racing now, his palms were sweating.

He inserted the DVD into the drive and waited. He heard Helen’s voice before he saw her – begging for mercy. There she was – her arms tied together at the wrists, suspended from a hook in the ceiling. It was in Sixty-Eight, at the same station where Kim had died.

Helen’s arms were pulled high. Her feet barely touched the floor. A black cloth bag was over her head. He knew it was her. He knew every inch of her body. Even as it looked now, thin, bruised and battered, he knew it was her.

A man came into view, his back to the camera. He was European, of slight build, short, his skin saggy with age, his shape testimony to years of debauchery and bad living. His spindly legs were overhung by a flabby gut. He started whipping her.

It killed Mann to watch but it was worse to look away. He pulled his laptop closer to him. He had to be with her. He had to feel the full weight of it in his heart.

For minutes she screamed, twisting her body away from the pain. Then, the man paused. His shoulders heaved with the exertion. He wiped the blood and sweat from his face. Mann caught his profile. In that second his death became a certainty.

The man removed her hood. The camera zoomed in on her face. It was blotchy and swollen. Her eyes were petrified. Mann’s heart was breaking. The man unhooked her hands and dragged her across to a table. Helen was trying to get away – screaming. Mann would hear that scream – the sound of pure terror – for the rest of his life. The camera angle changed. Now Mann was down directly above the table. Helen was strapped down. Only her head was moving now – thrashing wildly from side to side as she tried to get away from the man’s hands and the polythene bag he held in them. But, she couldn’t. The camera zoomed down onto her face. Mann found himself looking through the mask of clear plastic into the eyes of his beautiful Helen. He watched the light in them slowly extinguish and he listened to the background sound of a man grunting. Helen died at the same second as James Dudley-Smythe ejaculated.

120

Georgina refolded the same T-shirt again and again, hovering over her small bag. She didn’t want to leave like this, but she didn’t think she should wait any longer for Johnny. She didn’t know why he hadn’t come back. She felt more alone now than ever. All her instincts told her to go home. She stood at the window and watched the lights go on in the block opposite. People appeared in illuminated windows like in an advent calendar. She wrote him a note.

My plane leaves just after midnight. If you want me to stay, come and find me. X

She took the MTR to the airport. She had hours to spare. When she got there she ambled around, changing seats now and again and staring blankly at unfamiliar faces. She wasn’t feeling well, she was breathless and anxious. She felt better when she kept moving. People brushed past her, children spun around her feet. She didn’t move through passport control into the departure area; she had no baggage to check in, just a small bag which she carried with her. She did not have the resolution needed to cross over to the other side, from Hong Kong into no man’s land. She looked at her watch. There was still plenty of time for him to come – if he wanted.

121

Superintendent White had just about finished his packing when Mann walked into his office.

‘Jesus, Mann! What the hell?’

Mann slumped straight into a chair and put his head back and closed his eyes. He was nauseous and tired. He felt the cool of the overhead fan on his face.

‘Are you okay?’ Mann heard Superintendent White stop in his tracks. He opened his red-rimmed eyes and stared at a stain on the ceiling. The fan was turning – whooshing rhythmically.

‘I could do with a drink,’ he said, without moving or blinking.

David White unpacked one of his boxes and took out a bottle of vodka for Mann and a bottle of scotch for himself, and two cut-glass tumblers. He set them on the desk and poured out two large ones before walking over and handing the vodka to Mann. Only Mann’s eyes moved – his head remained glued to the back of the seat. He looked at his old friend’s troubled face and smiled ruefully.

‘Sorry, David. I must look a state.’

David White stood, vodka bottle in hand, waiting for Mann to dispatch his drink before he refilled it. ‘Bloody awful.’

‘I feel better than I did a few hours ago.’

‘What happened, Mann?’

‘I saw a film of Helen’s death…’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Go away!’ Superintendent White bellowed. A young officer, who didn’t dare put more than his nose around the door, answered.

‘Sorry, sir. I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed, but there is an important call for you.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Superintendent White picked up the phone and pressed the extension number. Mann watched him as he listened intently for several minutes. His only contribution to the conversation was: When…? Where…? Witnesses…? Anything taken from the scene?

After a few minutes he put the phone slowly and deliberately back onto the receiver. Then he walked over and refreshed Mann’s drink. Mann watched him as he paced mechanically around the room, piecing his thoughts together. Mann waited. After a few minutes White came back to sit at his desk. He poured himself another scotch, put the bottle back into the drawer and drew the air in through his nose in a cleansing gesture of having finally reached a decision. He didn’t look at Mann while he spoke.

‘There’s been another death,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s a man this time. James Dudley-Smythe was found hanging in his wine cellar this evening. Found by his maid – hanging – naked – severely beaten. We don’t need to look for the weapon. A metal-tipped whip was found implanted in his rectum. He probably died of a heart attack in the midst of it all. The maid seems to think there’s nothing missing.’ White glanced at Mann.

Mann sat up. ‘That’s what I was going to talk to you about, David.’

David White put his hand up to stop him.

‘I don’t think we need to waste police resources on this. The officers at the scene have found all sorts of apparatus in his house. It’s most likely he did this to himself. One of those weird sex rituals. Open and shut. He got what he deserved in the end. As you said – karma with laser sights.’

122