‘Is that understood?’ he demanded.
There were nods and mutterings of agreement.
‘Even the New Territories, as well as Kowloon and Hong Kong,’ he emphasised.
‘We understand,’ said the man in the front.
‘Everyone must know,’ insisted the millionaire’s son. That was as important as the tradition of making the announcement.
‘They will,’ promised the man who had spoken earlier.
9
Charlie had expected his appointment to be cancelled after the court deaths of the two Chinese, but when he telephoned for confirmation Superintendent Johnson’s secretary assured him he was still expected.
Unable to lose the feeling that he was being watched, Charlie walked to police headquarters by a circuitous route, frequently leaving the wider highways to thread through the shop-cluttered alleyways, their incense sticks smouldering against the evil spirits, all the while checking behind and around him, irritated when he located nothing and growing convinced, yet again, that his instinct had become blunted.
There was another feeling, even stronger than annoyance. He’d always thought of his ability to survive as instinctive, too. It was an attribute he couldn’t afford to lose.
‘Perhaps I should bum incense,’ he muttered, recognising the indication of fear.
The police headquarters were as ordered and regimented as the man who commanded them, the regulation-spaced desks of the head-bent clerks tidy and unlittered, the offices padded with an almost church-like hush.
Johnson’s office was the model for those outside. Never, decided Charlie as he entered, would it achieve the effect of being occupied and worked in; it was more like an exhibition case.
Even seated behind the predictably imposing desk, Johnson had perfected the stretched-upright gaze of intimidation. The police chief indicated a chair to the left of the desk and Charlie sat, waiting in anticipation.
Almost immediately Johnson looked at his watch, for Charlie to know the pressure upon his time.
‘Appointment in thirty minutes,’ he warned.
‘It was good of you to see me so promptly,’ Charlie thanked him. ‘Especially after what happened in court.’
Such men always responded to deference, Charlie knew.
‘Murder,’ confirmed Johnson.
‘Murder?’
Johnson would need very little encouragement, guessed Charlie.
‘Post-mortem examinations proved they both died from a venom-based poison… created involuntary lung-muscle spasms. Cause of death was asphyxiation.’
Charlie said nothing, remembering the strangled breathing.
‘The Chinese farm snakes, you know. For food.’
‘I know,’ said Charlie.
‘So venom is freely available in the colony. Chinese doctors even use it in some cases as a health remedy. It’ll take more tests, but we think it was either from a Banded Krait or a Coral Snake.’
‘You said murder,’ Charlie reminded him.
Johnson leaned back in the chair, refusing to be hurried despite his own restriction upon time.
‘Know what solves crime?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ asked Charlie. Had Johnson always been as overbearing as this? Or had he developed the attitude since he arrived in the colony?
‘Routine. Just simple routine. Finding those responsible for the fire was merely a matter of gradually working through those Chinese employed on the refit, matching the fingerprints to those we found all over the sprinkler systems and the incendiary devices and then confronting them with the evidence. Simple, logical routine.’
‘And now you’ve made an arrest for their murder?’ said Charlie.
Johnson shifted, off-balanced by the question.
‘Employing the same principle, we’ve satisfied ourselves we know the man responsible. We’ve eliminated every person who had contact with the dead men except one.’
‘Who?’
‘A prison cook. Ideally placed to introduce the poison. His name is Fan Yung-ching.’
‘But you haven’t made an arrest?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Because he’s returned to mainland China?’ suggested Charlie.
Johnson frowned at the anticipation.
‘That’s what we strongly suspect,’ admitted the police chief. ‘We’ve established that he disappeared from his lodgings and that his family have always lived in Hunan, on the mainland. Apparently he crossed about six months ago.’
‘I’m surprised how easy it appears to be to go back and forth over the border,’ said Charlie.
The superintendent leaned forward on his desk, always alert for criticism.
Basically unsure of himself, judged Charlie.
‘It’s virtually impossible for us to control or even estimate the number that cross each year,’ conceded the police chief. ‘At least five thousand come in without Chinese permission, swimming across the bay. Double that number must enter with official approval.’
‘Ten thousand!’ said Charlie.
‘Would it frighten you to know that the majority of Chinese crews on British warships and naval support vessels come from communist China, with merely accommodation addresses here to satisfy the regulations about their being Hong Kong Chinese?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Charlie. ‘It probably would.’
‘It’s a fact,’ insisted Johnson. ‘And it frightens the Americans, too. Particularly during joint NATO exercises.’
‘So you’re convinced that the men who destroyed the Pride of America were infiltrated into the colony. Then killed by another Chinese agent?’
Johnson nodded, tapping another file neatly contained in red binding at the corner of his desk. The word ‘closed’ was stencilled on it, Charlie saw.
‘To save the embarrassment that might have been caused by the trial,’ the policeman confirmed.
Johnson had a pigeon-hole mind, decided Charlie.
‘Once we confronted the two with the evidence of the fingerprints and the incendiary devices, they made full statements,’ continued Johnson. ‘Admitted they were told to cross, then wait until they were contacted… what espionage people call being…’
He hesitated, losing the expression.
Sleepers, you bloody fool, thought Charlie. He said nothing. His feet were beginning to hurt and he wriggled his toes, trying to become more comfortable.
‘I forget the term,’ dismissed Johnson. ‘Anyway, they were eventually contacted, given the materials to cause the fire and did what they were told.’
‘Just as you think the prison cook did?’
Again Johnson looked curiously at the doubt in Charlie’s voice.
‘From other people at the man’s lodging house, we know that the night before the remand hearing another Chinese came to see him, that he handed the cook a package and that afterwards the man seemed agitated and frightened. We’ve got fingerprints from his room which match those on the rice bowls from which the men ate before they came to court…’
‘And that, together with his mainland background, fits neatly into the pattern?’
‘I’ve considered all the evidence,’ Johnson defended himself.
‘I’ve seen most of it,’ Charlie reminded him.
‘And mine is the proper conclusion on the facts available’
‘But doesn’t it seem just a little clumsy?’ asked Charlie.
‘Clumsy?’
‘The two who fired the liner were opium smokers, weren’t they?’ asked Charlie, recalling the indications at the court hearing.
‘There was medical evidence to that effect,’ admitted Johnson. ‘Many Chinese are.’
‘And almost illiterate?’ pressed Charlie.
‘There was no education, no,’ conceded Johnson.
‘What about the cook?’
‘Apparently he smoked, too. We haven’t been able to establish his literacy, obviously.’
‘Then to use your guidelines, it’s not logical, is it?’ said Charlie. ‘Or even sensible?’