Chapter Twenty-Four
The view from Victoria Peak on Hong Kong Island, spanning the flat roofs of the high-rise conglomeration of the Mid-levels, and over the weathered and heat-gleaming Western and Central districts to the mass of shapes on Kowloon peninsula, is one of the most affecting in the world.
At night it is uniquely brilliant, the millions of sparkling lights testifying to the untiring zest for life. There is the sensation that behind every window something interesting is happening. No street is without activity. Even when the city does sleep the impression is one of impatient slumber, urging the night to pass quickly so that it can come to life again. In the daylight one can almost see the fever of industry rising as a mist, an aura of urgency.
Yet it is the dawn that is surreal. Hong Kong itself is a phenomenon of dreams. In the minutes before sunrise it is like a shroud that conceals reality, or which applies a cosmetic transforming a tangible feature into a vision. Then when the warming rays of the sun strike the mystery evaporates and the city and its people are brought back into the world, the shroud rising to reveal truth once more.
There is more to it than meets the wide eyed admirer. In that panorama the filth of the grand harbour is unseen, the squalor of alleys and the poverty of so many, invisible. The superficial beauty and the fascination is the stuff of postcards, of celluloid backdrops, truly spectacular, dishonestly deceiving.
For Brigit and Teller the unreality of their own personal dreams came to an abrupt end as she shuddered and uttered a sharp guttural cry. Teller awoke to see her sitting upright, her knees hugged to her chest and sobbing.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“A nightmare,” she choked. The sobs continued and her whole frame convulsed as if struck by a blistering cold draught.
Teller sat up and put his arm around her shoulders, patting gently. “It’s alright,” he soothed. “It was only a dream. Don’t be afraid. It can’t harm you.”
“You don’t understand. He had a face. I saw who it was.”
“Who? Who had a face?”
“The man on the horse. The one who had no head before. I saw him. It was death.”
“So you dreamed you saw a dead man on a horse my love. It was a dream. Only a dream. Please don’t let it upset you.”
“But Jason,” she turned brimming eyes to him. With a breaking sob they overflowed and tears cascaded down her cheeks. “It was you. I saw it was you. And you were dead. You were cold and dead.”
For a moment all was still, no words spoke. Then Brigit said: “Jason I’m so frightened something is going to happen. I’m scared that it is not over for us yet.”
“Of course it is my darling,” he answered. It is over for us. We’re safe and no-one can hurt us now. We’ll go away. As soon as we can we’ll get away from here. Far away so this is no more than a memory. A bad dream just like your nightmare.”
He pulled her to him and they sank down together into the soft enveloping coolness of the bed. Her tears touched his face and to his surprise he realised they joined with some of his own. The pain and hurt she was suffering, had suffered, dug at his heart. An anger rose inside him but it went as quickly as it had come, overwhelmed by a love and a sense of responsibility he had not experienced before.
Beside him, was a woman he would protect with all his power, a woman he wanted more than anything else to share his life with. He marvelled at how blind he had been in past years, how it had nearly passed him by. He had been given a second chance and nothing, nobody would take it away.
They clung together and their hands explored each other’s bodies with a tenderness and sensuality that exploded in a passion which left them gasping in a desperate union. There was no need for words. None could adequately express what they felt or the depth of that feeling. Teller brushed Brigit’s lips with his own and smiled down at her. He kissed her eyes and the tip of her nose and nestled his face into the softness of her neck. The world outside did not exist. The totality of everything was now. Here. This moment.
*
“If I might ask sir, what was the outcome?” The young man was apprehensive about the question. He knew he had transgressed into territory generally prohibited to his station, but curiosity had been eating at him for some time and he gambled that the worst he could expect was probably a glare and a caution to restrict his attentions to matters that did concern him.
The frown slowly materialised and the cold blue eyes settled on him. “The outcome of what might I ask?” answered the department head.
The junior took a breath. “The telno from Hong Kong sir. The matter raised by the PA. I was just wondering if anything came out of it.” He took one more risk. “It was interesting I thought.”
“Interesting,” drawled his superior. The coins rattled in his pocket, sorted by manicured fingers. “You found it interesting did you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well Johnson,” the tone of the two words unmistakable. “Your interest is of little consequence. Your function in this department was clearly spelt out when you were seconded here from Hong Kong. For that three year period your job is to keep the files in order, act as a conduit for routine correspondence – and I stress routine – liaise with the Hong Kong Government Office in Grafton Street, and in all other things do as you are instructed. I do not recall anything in your job description sheet which entitles you to be kept abreast of sensitive and confidential matters that are outside your classification.”
The pause for effect had an effect, though it was not the one the head of the department wished. The young administrative officer turned his back and renewed his concentration on the file that lay open on his desk.
“In this office Johnson,” continued the lecture. “we have a practice of obedience, loyalty, and if you can tear yourself away from that business while I am speaking to you, respect. You understand what I am saying?”
“Yes sir,” said the junior, again looking at the face peering down at him. “It was out of loyalty to Hong Kong that I asked the question. I care what happens there.”
The tall man’s eyes narrowed. “You care. You express loyalty. Johnson don’t you realise you are an outsider there. You are not accepted. You are tolerated, that’s all. I admire your so-called loyalty but don’t deceive yourself. You’ll be coming back here after all. And not too long from now is my guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that while the Joint Declaration is an excellent agreement, one that HMG can be justifiably proud of, it does somewhat limit the horizons of the British civil servant in the colony. You can never be a branch secretary. And when the Basic Law comes out I daresay you might find that your chances of directing a department will be slim. So what do you do Johnson? Where do you decide your career lies? If I were your age I would begin making plans to secure something worthwhile back home. Here is your home. This is where you belong. You are, and always will be, a foreigner in the Far East. Hong Kong belongs to the Chinese.”
“The Hong Kong Chinese.”
“I mean the Chinese,” the head waved his hand dismissively. “It will be a Special Administrative Region. But it will be a Chinese SAR.”
The young man from the Hong Kong Government on secondment to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office kept his eyes fixed on the now smiling face above him. The lecture went on: “That is why you should start to understand, learn over again if you must, the way we do things. We do not pry into things that do not concern us Johnson. We respect our job and just get on with it. Leave Hong Kong to Hong Kong. That is the message in the JD and it will be the message reinforced in the Basic Law. The sooner you accept that the better it will be for you.”
The tall man moved to leave. He took two steps and stopped. The clinking of the coins in his pocket began again as he turned. “I will tell you this,” he said. “Gould’s information had some basis in fact. Something was afoot out there. But a stop has been put to it. It is under control and we do not expect things to change. The local police have been brought in at last and the two missing persons we needed have been located. It won’t be long now before the whole business is a thing of the past. Alright then? Now let’s leave it at that shall we. Just keep up the good work and let us worry how to handle the troublesome locals. We’ve had a good deal of experience after all.”
As the head of the department disappeared into the echoing corridor Hong Kong Administrative Officer Johnson shook his head. Audible only to himself he muttered: “Thank god he’s here and not there.”
The nagging worry that all was not well in Hong Kong remained with him
*
It was after ten in the morning and Brigit sand Teller were in the tiny kitchen of her flat eating yoghurt and drinking strong black coffee. Outside they could see the weather forecast had been right for once. The sun was shining and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. The change, combined with their love-making hours before, had cheered them considerably, and despite the short sleep they were fresh and in good spirits. Her fears looked to have been blown away with the mist.
“He’ll be here soon,” said Teller.
Brigit nodded. “I know. I wonder what he wants. It can’t be a courtesy call, yes?”
“I doubt it. The Chief Secretary doesn’t go around dropping in on the likes of us to just wish us the time of day. I suspect he has something specific in his mind.”
“Maybe he wants to thank you.”
“I doubt that too. I caused them trouble rather than helping.”
“If we’re honest about it I suppose we both did. Maybe even more than we realise. Though I will say that without you they would not know who to look for. So that’s something.”
“Something. But it can’t make up for the accountant and that sampan girl. If we hadn’t been involved they would still be alive today. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
Brigit could have explained that the consequences of actions could often not be predicted and that when he did what he did he had no way of knowing others would be hurt. Besides, the killer had left them little choice. It was either act to defend himself or be murdered in cold blood. Perhaps he had acted somewhat rashly but he had done so with the best of intentions. That aside, she knew he meant what he said. The sorrow that was left behind would remain with him always. But she did not say these things. Before she could there was a knock at the door.
“It’s him,” said Teller. “We’ll soon know now what he has on his mind.”
Robert McNamara entered the flat leaving a wake behind him. Dressed in his familiar grey suit he seemed almost larger than life. It could have been his impressive size or merely the presence of a person of his position. However, he immediately put his two hosts at ease by smiling broadly and shaking Teller’s hand with a firm steady grip.
“I’m pleased you are well Jason,” he beamed. “And I am extremely glad to see you have not suffered too much Miss Rolanne. I hope your ankle is not too painful.”
“No,” she answered, a little on the defensive. “It’s sore, but otherwise I’m still in one piece.”
“I know you have experienced a terrible ordeal,” said McNamara. “I also want to thank you for what you’ve tried to do. We do acknowledge the roles you have both played.”
There was a sudden silence and Teller and Brigit were not sure whether the visit was already over. It was Teller who offered a drink and indicated the sofa.
“Yes, tea would be fine if you don’t mind,” answered the Chief Secretary. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Brigit immediately busied herself in the kitchen and Teller and McNamara settled on the sofa. “Very nice indeed,” said McNamara casting his eyes around the room. “You gave excellent taste Miss Rolanne.”
“Thank you,” Brigit replied. The Chief Secretary was a nice man too, she thought to herself. Even if he did not mean it, the thought was appreciated.
“Sir, you said you had something to discuss with us,” said Teller.
“That’s right Jason. With you really, but I suppose it also concerns Miss Rolanne.”
Teller waited. Brigit set the tray on the table and began pouring from a blue and white china teapot.
“First of all,” opened the Chief Secretary, “is there anything about your ordeal that you have not told the police?”
“Of course not. We’ve told them everything,” Teller said.
“You haven’t overlooked anything? Nothing that you’ve recalled since you spoke to them?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, we have a problem. We have the name and the address along with an extremely good likeness of the killer thanks to you. And we have an idea of what he planned to do. You filled in all those gaps for us.”
“Yes?”
“Obviously the only piece missing is the suspect himself. We’ve not been able to track him down.”
Teller glanced at Brigit who was studying Robert McNamara closely. “I’m afraid there’s nothing further that I can tell you,” he said. “I wish there was more I could do, but I can’t think what it is. I feel sort of responsible you know. Guilty I guess is nearer the truth.”
The muscles in McNamara’s jaw twitched. “It is a pity it was allowed to get so far, but I wouldn’t blame yourself too much. The man is clearly a lunatic.”
“You can say that again,” interrupted Brigit. “He’s got this fixation and is determined to carry out his absurd plan.”
“And that’s precisely why I wanted to talk to you Jason. As you say Miss Rolanne the killer is bent on doing what he threatens. We believe he is not going to stop even though he’s lost you two.”
“And?” asked Teller.
The Chief Secretary stood up. He looked out the window and then turned to face Teller on the sofa. “You are the only one who knows first hand what he looks like. Even if he altered his appearance you could probably recognise him. You were close, very close to him for a long time. I suspect you will not forget his features, his build, his mannerisms. We want your help.”
“How do you mean? What can I do now?”
“We want you at Legco tomorrow. We need you there to try to spot him if he tries to get in.”
“No!” Brigit had not meant it to, but the word was blurted out. Both Teller and the Chief Secretary looked at her with surprised expressions.
“I mean you can’t expect Jason to do that,” she hurried on. “He’s been through enough surely. If he’s there and that crazy sees him you don’t know what he might do. And if he does set off a bomb or whatever Jason will be caught in the middle of it. You’re asking too much. Jason you can’t. Don’t listen.”
Neither said anything. She stood and faced Robert McNamara. “Why can’t you all leave us alone? We didn’t want any part of this. We’ve been almost killed because of you politicians. And journalists like Amelia Tse. Even his editor wants him to write some damn fool story that could endanger him further. It’s not fair.”
“What’s this about an article?” asked McNamara.
“Davidson wants a wrap up piece for tomorrow what’s all.” Teller turned away. “To set the scene for whatever might happen.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Don’t do it Jason,” said the Chief Secretary. “You’ll only succeed in throwing fright into everyone and creating a media circus around Legco. The whole place would be turned into a mad sideshow. It could be just the cover the Catskinner needs. I’m asking you Jason. Please don’t add to this serious problem.”
Teller shook his head slowly. “I hadn’t made up my mind but I did have my doubts. I won’t do anything until after the sitting.”
“Do what you like later on,” McNamara said calmly. “I can’t stop you. It’s up to you. But at this point in time, to come out with a scare story in the morning could be disastrous.”
“Fair enough. I take your point.”
“Now about helping us out in the building. Will you do it?”
“Jason?” said Brigit warily.
Teller watched her face and saw the deep concern in her wide eyes and taught skin. A pink rash had appeared on her throat, a blotching marring the opening in her blouse.
He nodded slightly. “Tell me exactly what I would have to do.”
*
The man known to the New Kowloon Hotel as Kenichi Takahito rounded the corner and stopped briefly, scanning the throng of people in Nathan Road. Deciding his route he crossed over in front of the infamous Chungking Mansions and began threading his way in a northerly direction.
Nathan Road drives through Kowloon from Tsimshatsui on the tip of the peninsula to Mongkok about four kilometres away. It is to the tourist the ultimate shopper’s paradise. It begins with the twin hotel giants the Peninsula on one corner and the Sheraton on the other, and spears in a straight line through glitter and glamour to the incomparable agglomeration of the most densely populated area of its size on the face of the planet. The artery is lined with every imaginable attraction and enticement, orderly, planned and space at one end, to a haphazard jumble of humanity and commerce at the other.
There are only two places along the thoroughfare where a pedestrian can slow his step and derive some relief from the incessant onslaught of noise and barter. One is in front of the impressive turreted Islamic mosque and adjacent to Kowloon Park with its profusion of trees and dusty open space. The other is almost opposite. The old headquarters of the meteorological bureau sits atop a small hill overlooking the congested roadway below. Every other square meter is taken up by traders in virtually every conceivable commodity. Nowhere else is the true life blood of the territory more obvious. Side streets shoot off in both directions from Nathan Road adding additional blocks of bustle which make Tsimshatsui, Yaumati and Mongkok one giant mishmash of excitement and fascination.
The man would visit six shops, some in Nathan Road itself, more in the back streets. He carried in his head a list of nine items he intended purchasing. The first he would arrange in Mongkok, and while he could have ridden on the underground or taken other public transport he chose to walk and be one of the jostling sidewalk crowd.
The sign hanging above the counter read “Choi Shek-hon” and printed beneath were the dual trades of the proprietor – business cards printed and keys cut. The Catskinner had been there before and knew if he doubled the price asked the man could produce the required goods overnight. No questions were asked. The money was paid in advance and Choi Shek-hon promised that if the caller returned at nine thirty the next morning the items would be ready. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Next, the Catskinner retraced his steps to a stationary shop a few blocks away in Nathan Road. Within minutes he had bought a steno notepad, three pens, four Venus Velvet HB pencils and a plastic clipboard.
Across the road were a number of shops which dealt exclusively in leather and pseudo leather carrying bags. Hundreds of all sizes and shapes were stacked on the floor and shelves and hung on wire hooks dangling above the sidewalk. Again in only minutes the choice was made and the transaction completed. As the Catskinner left the shop with a somewhat flawed rectangular shoulder bag over his shoulder the assistant thanked the gods for his good fortune. The bag had been sold despite the inferior quality of the workmanship and almost unbelievably the customer had not bothered to haggle over the price. Perhaps it was an omen that it would be a profitable day.
The remaining items the Catskinner needed would all be found in Tsimshatsui and he quickened his pace as he headed back towards the harbour area. At the end of Kowloon Park in front of the mosque again he sidestepped his way across Nathan Road and headed into the back streets. At one shop behind the old Mariner’s Club he bought a two hundred and fifty dollar tape recorder and three mini tapes. Next door he paid considerably more for a black Minolta camera and four rolls of Fuji film and two rolls of black and white film.
Two blocks away in Carnarvon Road he entered an optometrists and enquired about spectacles. He knew precisely what he wanted. His eyes wee extremely weak, he told the white coated attendant. Unfortunately he had broken his spectacles the night before and was waiting for his regular optometrist to replace them. But they would not be ready for another twenty-four hours at least and he discovered that though he had expected to get by in the meantime his hopes had been unrealistic. He was fed up with being jostled by other pedestrians and he had, only minutes before, narrowly escaped being knocked down by a taxi. He tried on a dozen pairs and finally chose one with steel frames. The glass was clear but so thick they enlarged his eyes to make him look, as he joked, like a goldfish. They were far from perfect but at least they might save his life for another day. The attendant was amused and unconcerned at the damage that might be caused to the customer’s eyes. A sale had been made and that was all that mattered. The Catskinner negotiated his way out of the shop and joined the crowds again. Around the corner he removed the spectacles and dropped them into the bag with his other purchases.
Only one more item remained. It was probably the most important and he would have to be careful in his selection. However, first he walked into the Miramar Hotel at the top of Carnarvon Road. He located the hairdresser and being the only customer was shown immediately to a chair. To the surprise of the hairdresser he requested his head be shaved.
“All of it?” asked the hairdresser.
“Yes.” He said. He wanted to be completely bald.
Half an hour later he looked at himself in the mirror. His round head was pink and seemed larger than he would have imagined. When the hairdresser held the mirror to the rear he noted two folds of skin over protrusions below the crown that gave it an odd shape, like a peeled potato.
The last shop was in Wun Sha Street. The shop was oddly one of the few places in the colony where a man could buy a good wig. There were many which catered for female needs, and factories which supplied overseas markets. But the market for men’s hairpieces locally was small and the quality of the product was more often than not shoddy. The Kwok Lok Hairpiece Emporium was an exception. It occupied a small front space but at the rear of the shop there was a huge cold room that was stacked with wigs of varying styles, mostly black but a few with flecks of grey showing through.
The woman who tended the shop was also the owner and she had had many years of studying the male head and features. She knew what could pass undetected as a wig and she regarded every request as a challenge. Her present customer was no exception. Indeed, what he sought was slightly unusual. It took no less than two hours, but finally when they both stood looking at the reflection in the full length mirror she could not help remarking: “It’s incredible.” The Catskinner said nothing but he smiled broadly.
When he left the Kwok Lok Hairpiece Emporium the Catskinner strolled slowly along the streets back to the New Kowloon Hotel, peering through the thick spectacles at shop windows and watching the expressions on people in the lunch hour crowd. No-one seemed to take the slightest notice of him.
Back in the hotel room he emptied the contents of the shoulder bag into the bed. Carefully he ripped one corner of the bag and with one of the pens scored a long jagged mark across the front. He broke the lead in one of the pencils and tore out a number of pages from the notebook, leaving the thin remnants locked in the spiral bind. Then he inserted a black and white film in the camera and quickly snapped six pictures of the wall. Finally he slipped one of the tapes in the hand held recorder and spoke into it. “Testing. One, two, three, four, five.” He rewound it and left it on the bed.
Removing the spectacles he pressed his eyes with his fingers and sank into an easy chair. Keeping his fingers to his eyes he sat motionless in the silence. He was almost ready.