James Craig - Acts of Violence

‘How do you know Sonia?’

Ren shifted in his seat restlessly. ‘I know the agency. There has never been any problem of this sort before.’

‘I’m sure that Harry will be mortified.’

Ren said nothing. If he knew Harry Cummins, he wasn’t letting on.

Time to change tack. ‘Why are you in London?’

‘I’m a businessman,’ Ren replied casually, ‘I travel a lot.’

‘And do you like it? The travel? It must be very tiring.’

Ren gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It is necessary.’ In the doorway, Umar appeared, gesturing that Ren’s entourage had arrived upstairs. Carlyle nodded and got to his feet. Following suit, Ren turned and marched to the door. As he did so, an idea occurred to the inspector.

‘I was just wondering . . .’

Without showing the slightest interest, Ren kept walking. Heading out of the canteen, he took the stairs two at a time, rather than wait for the lift.

‘Doesn’t he like your hospitality?’ Umar quipped.

‘Ungrateful sod,’ Carlyle groused.

In reception, a very expensive-looking lawyer was berating the desk sergeant about the most horrendous infringement of his client’s human rights. Ignoring the brief, Carlyle’s eyes were drawn to the impressive Amazon standing next to him, deep in conversation with the unfortunate ‘businessman’. Tall, for a Chinese, she had the lean, hard look of an athlete. The most striking thing about her, however, were the dark, dead eyes staring out from under a fringe of black hair.

Carlyle elbowed Umar in the ribs. ‘Put your tongue back in,’ he whispered. ‘Who is she?’

‘No idea. His daughter? Some kind of PA, perhaps?’

‘PA my arse,’ Carlyle murmured. The word that came to mind was ninja .

Once the necessary paperwork was signed and the lawyer felt he had spouted enough dire threats to impress his client, the woman said something to Ren and they started towards the door.

Skipping in front of them, Carlyle made a performance of opening the door. ‘I was just wondering,’ he repeated, ignoring the woman’s glare. ‘A friend of mine does a lot of business in China. He’s got a company called Tallow Business Services. I wondered if you might have come across it at all?’

Ren shot an irritated glance at Xue Xi before giving the inspector a gentle shake of the head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, his English slowing to almost glacial speed. ‘I don’t think so. China, as you are aware, is a massive country. You can’t know everyone.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Stepping aside, Carlyle let them pass. ‘I just thought I’d ask – on the off-chance.’

When he made it back to his desk, Sonia was gone, although she had left him a message – see you later xx – in pink lipstick on the screen of his PC monitor. The passing Sergeant Elmhirst clocked the childish scrawl and gave him a big grin. ‘Got an admirer then, boss?’

‘How am I supposed to get that off?’ Carlyle said crossly.

Sitting at the inspector’s desk, the youthful figure of Harry Cummins looked up from his copy of The Economist . ‘A little bit of washing-up liquid should do the trick,’ he suggested.

‘Get out of my fucking chair,’ Carlyle growled.

‘Nice to see you, too,’ the posh pimp replied as he moved to a seat nearby.

Pulling open the top drawer, Carlyle half-heartedly looked for some paper napkins. ‘What do you want, anyway?’

Temporarily distracted by the sight of Elmhirst sashaying across the floor, Cummins said nothing.

‘Well?’ Carlyle demanded.

‘Blimey,’ Cummins blurted out, still staring at Elmhirst’s bottom, ‘where did you find her? She belongs on a catwalk.’

‘She was on a catwalk, I think, but decided to come here instead.’

Leaning back, Harry let out a laugh that sounded a bit like a hyena confronting a baby antelope. ‘Not right in the head, is that it?’

‘Not at all. Sharp as a tack.’

Harry scratched at the logo of his pink Lacoste polo shirt. ‘She could make a fortune working for me. An absolute bloody fortune.’

‘Harry, leave it out.’ Giving up on the napkins, Carlyle decided just to leave the lipstick where it was. Maybe the cleaners would sort it out.

‘I’m just saying.’

‘If you “just say” anything more,’ Carlyle retorted, ‘I’ve got a nice empty cell downstairs that has just been vacated by one of your clients. Smells a bit, mind.’

‘That’s what I’m here about.’

‘What?’

‘The guy who was downstairs.’

Carlyle fell back into his chair, almost parking his arse on the carpet in the process. ‘Mr Li Hang,’ he yawned. ‘Great name.’

‘That’s just the point,’ Harry said, tossing The Economist into the cardboard box that served as a bin. ‘It’s not his real name.’

Oh, really? Carlyle began to sit up and then resumed his slouch. There was no point in appearing too keen. He forced another yawn. ‘Why would he lie on his release form? He was the victim of an assault.’

Harry leaned forward. ‘How much do you know about Chinese politics?’

‘About as much as you know about morals,’ was Carlyle’s instant response.

‘That’s hardly fair,’ Harry protested.

‘OK, I apologize. Give me the short version. And keep it simple.’

‘Well, to start with, Mr Li Hang’s real name is Ren Qi.’

‘Hold on . . .’ Carlyle grabbed a Post-it note and a black biro that had been leaking out on his desk. ‘Spell it.’

Harry obliged, going on to give the inspector the helicopter view of Ren’s role at the centre of the current spate of Politburo infighting.

Carlyle gestured at the magazine peeking out of the top of the box. ‘All very interesting, Mr Economist , but what does any of this have to do with the price of beans?’

‘Because,’ Harry said excitedly, ‘the word is that Ren is building himself a little business empire over here. He wants to make London one of his primary bolt holes.’

None the wiser, Carlyle stuck out his lower lip and nodded.

‘A bit like a Chinese Abramovich,’ Harry explained, offering up the Russian tycoon as a point of reference.

‘What?’ Carlyle frowned. ‘He’s gonna buy Chelsea?’

‘You know what I mean, you berk. He needs an escape route. That’s what London is these days, or hadn’t you noticed? This place isn’t really for the likes of you and me, it’s just a refuge for the rich. Ren certainly has the cash to play in this market. He might be more of a politician than a businessman but in places like China the line is very blurred indeed.’

‘I suppose.’

‘They say all political careers end in failure,’ Harry continued, ‘but whereas over here that might mean retiring to the country with wife number three and a collection of directorships, there it can mean a bullet in the back of the head. Ren is just being prudent.’

‘He wasn’t prudent enough to avoid getting caught up in a nightclub brawl with a hooker on each arm,’ Carlyle observed.

‘He was just a bit unlucky, according to Sammy.’

‘So you know Sammy then?’ Carlyle was hardly surprised.

‘Yeah, ’course I do. He’s tried to get me to invest in the Racetrack a couple of times.’

Carlyle raised an eyebrow. ‘Business is that good?’

‘Sure. Pretty girls never go out of fashion.’

The inspector glanced at the lipstick on the computer screen. ‘Even poor old Sonia.’

‘She does fine. That guy who complained, Yates, he was just a total dick. Thanks for sorting that out, by the way.’

‘It was nothing.’ Carlyle shrugged it off.

‘No, seriously. Consider the heads-up on Ren a bit of quid pro quo.’

A bit of quid pro quo? Those educated pimps; you had to laugh.