Lee Weeks - The Trophy Taker

‘You all right, Shrimp?’ It looked to Mann like he was about to throw up.

‘Totally.’ Li cleared his throat while managing a half-smile. ‘No problemo.’

‘Good lad.’ Mann and Ng exchanged grins.

‘Okay, gentlemen, let’s move on, shall we?’ Saheed peeled off his gloves and apron and pulled out a new set from the box above the sink. He indicated to Li to do the same and resumed his dictation:

‘The torso is showing greenish-black discoloration on the abdomen – a sign of decomposition. There is a deep cut which runs directly across from one hip bone to the other, measuring …?’

Mann stepped forward. ‘Twenty-one centimetres,’ he announced, holding the ruler while Ng photographed.

‘A large-bladed knife with a sawing action made this wound, and it was made at least twelve hours after death.’

Li shook his head with disbelief. ‘How do you know that? How do you know the size of the knife? Awesome!’

Saheed paused, looked over his glasses at Li, then, with a small upward jerk of the head, he beckoned him nearer.

He’ll learn … thought Mann, as Li hesitated. The hard way …

‘Come closer, young man. I want to show you something.’ Mr Saheed guided Li’s hands to the edge of the wound. ‘Put your fingers in there and gently pull back the surrounding flaps of skin … Now what do you see?’

Li reached in gingerly.

‘A pattern of straight and jagged cuts, sir …’ he held his breath, ‘along the length of the wound.’ He stood up and turned his head away to breathe.

‘Stay there!’ Mr Saheed said as he held on to Li’s retreating hand. ‘Give him the ruler, Inspector.’ Mann handed it over. ‘Now … how long are the horizontal cuts?’

‘Four centimetres, sir.’ Li measured it with his free hand.

‘How far into the muscle and flesh has the knife travelled? Fingers in, young man, get on with it!’

‘Right through, sir. The cut goes past the fat and through the muscle.’

‘As far in as the length of your thumb, would you say?’

‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Okay. So the blade has to be at least that thick, doesn’t it? Does that answer your question, young man?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Li stood up and backed away to safety. He looked like he was about to throw up.

Mann winked at him. You had to admire his guts – he’d just had to ask, and that was a sign of a good detective. You had to be a good listener and a great questioner. Of course, timing was also important, but Shrimp hadn’t learned that bit yet.

Saheed moved his attention to the upper half of the torso.

‘There is a cluster of small burns across the chest area – cigarette burns by the look of them.’ He scanned the scatter of black dots, a centimetre in diameter, that were spattered across her chest and collarbone.

‘They were made over a period of days and are at different stages of healing.’ Li didn’t ask, even though he wanted to. Mr Saheed hovered over her chest. ‘And there is a tattoo here above the left breast. Can’t make out what it is.’ He paused, peeled off his gloves, and waited while Mann and Ng finished photographing and plotting the position of the tattoo. As he waited he was handed a slip of paper from a mortuary technician. He took it, studied it, picked up his file and flipped back over his notes.

‘Something else, gentlemen. According to the results of these blood tests …’ he checked his notes again and looked over his glasses at the detectives ‘… there isn’t just one woman on this table.’

The video stopped. He sat back, satiated, weary. He closed his eyes. Then the crying started. Behind him Glitter Girl cowered in the corner of the room. Still sat in the chair, his head relaxed against the back of the seat. Still holding the remote. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

‘Your turn will come – be patient. You just paint your pretty nails like I told you – make them sparkle.’

7

‘All three Caucasian?’

‘We may never know for sure, but the measurements, the forward curve to the femur, they tally.’

‘We may get lucky with some IDs,’ said Mann. ‘We have one skull, in pretty good shape at least, and a tattoo.’

‘And a fingerprint,’ added Li. He wasn’t going to let them forget that.

‘We’ll download these photos we’ve taken onto Detective Li’s laptop – get them straight across to headquarters so that they can begin working on it,’ said Mann. ‘Let’s hope it’s enough to positively establish the race and identity of these women. One Gwaipoh is bad enough – three will start a mass exodus.’

‘What about the texture of the skin?’ asked Li. ‘Would that help to give the ethnicity of the victim away, sir?’

‘How?’

‘Everyone knows that Gweilos have really rough skin and are very hairy.’

Mann looked at him, half-amused, half-appalled. ‘Yeah, that’s about as true as the one about all Chinese men having tiny cocks. Oh wait! That one is true!’ He turned back to the pathologist who was suppressing a grin.

‘Any theory about cause of death, sir?’ asked Mann.

‘We need to wait for the toxicology results to be sure about poisoning, but I suspect the cause of death to be asphyxiation again – manual strangulation or with the aid of a ligature. We’re just waiting for the x-rays to come back; that might give us an idea of how it was done. Right, let’s see what else we can find.’ He pressed his fingers inside the wound again and eased it apart.

‘We’re quite lucky here – because of the freezing process we still have some organs left intact. However …’ his gloved fingers disappeared inside ‘… some are not where they should be.’ He looked at Li.

‘Sir?’

‘The ovaries and uterus are missing …’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Li, before he could stop himself.

The pathologist paused and looked at him. ‘It means … young man …’

Li blinked back at him, ready for the worst, but before Mr Saheed could answer, Kin Tak exploded:

‘We have a trophy taker …’ and immediately smacked his hand across his mouth to silence his excited giggle.

8

Before the process of reclaiming land from the sea, Hong Kong Island was just a big rock. Now, the further up the Rock you lived, the more prestigious the address. At the top, the Peak represented the pinnacle of affluence. Its lofty head rose above the smog and heat, affording some respite from the stifling summers. Its wooded areas were a welcome contrast to the skyscraper world below. It was where the fabulously wealthy lived; where fleets of lucky-numbered Bentleys sat idling in air-conditioned garages. Up to two million US was paid in Hong Kong for a lucky number plate. Two stood for ‘easy’ or ‘fast’. Three for ‘living’ or ‘giving birth’. Six for ‘longevity’. Eight for ‘prosperity’. It wasn’t just number plates and the numbers weren’t always lucky. Four stood for death. Two and four combined – fast death.

Halfway up the Rock towards the Peak were the Mid-levels, a sought-after residential area populated by high-earning professionals. At the foot of the Rock was the business heart of Hong Kong: Central District.

Headquarters was situated at the top of Hollywood Hill, on the rise above Central District towards the Mid-levels. It was a wonderful Victorian colonial legacy: big, white and smack-bang at the top of the hill. At one time Headquarters was a ‘one-stop shop’ where criminals could be held for questioning, interviewed, judged, sentenced and incarcerated all in one place. Now it was the centre for all serious crimes.

In room 210 Superintendent David White sat behind a heavy oak desk. On one side of the desk were photos of his grandchildren. On the other was an engraved cigar box and a small silver rugby ball on a stand – a trophy from his coaching days, awarded for surviving five unbeaten seasons and presented to him by his beloved police rugby team.