The Rain Killer (7 page)

‘Sure,’ she smiled despite her fear, tossing her wet hair back to try and distract him, cursing herself for being so obvious with her directions. ‘Whatever you say.’ They were both silent for a few seconds. ‘So, what you want to call me?’

‘Call you?’ he asked, sounding a little puzzled.

‘Yeah. Sure,’ she tried to sound casual. ‘You got a girlfriend back in the old country? You want to call me by her name?’

He never looked away from the road, his eyes narrowing as if it was a strain to think of a name. ‘Yanmei,’ he eventually told her his mother’s name. ‘I’d like to call you Yanmei.’

‘A pretty name,’ she played along. ‘Your girlfriend’s? Your wife’s?’

‘Sure,’ he answered without specifying – everything he did and said making her more and more certain she was sitting next to a killer.
Where the hell was Corrigan and his team?
She couldn’t risk losing the arrest team. She had to take a chance.

‘Go straight over the roundabout,’ she told him. ‘I think it’s called Whitmore Road.’

His head snapped round to face her, his face taut and angry, his eyes suddenly on fire. ‘I said no street names,’ he hissed at her. ‘No fucking street names.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she told him as her hand crept towards her purse and the CS spray concealed inside. ‘It’s just a road name. What’s the problem?’

‘You being followed?’ he demanded. ‘You police?’

‘What?’ she tried to sound indignant. ‘’You crazy?’

‘I know your face,’ he suddenly told her, shocking her into temporary paralysis. ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she managed to say as he looked back and forth from her to the road.

‘You work at the Shu Kai restaurant. You’re a waitress there,’ he correctly insisted. ‘I’ve seen you there.’ Her heart sank to new depths as she realized he was Triad. He must have eaten in the restaurant and seen her, but she’d missed him.

‘Yeah,’ she played a wild card. ‘You’re right. I do work there. I recognize you now. So, do I shock you?’ He looked confused. ‘The nice waitress is maybe not so nice?’ Still he said nothing. ‘I just need the money, that’s all,’ she lied. ‘When I have what I need I’ll stop.’ He just grunted, but she was sure he’d bought it, until he suddenly reached out with his left arm and tried to brush her hair away from the side of her face, making her recoil. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked before remembering what she was pretending to be and faking a smile.

‘I want to touch your hair,’ he told her.

‘Not here,’ she played along. ‘Not while you’re driving. When we stop,’ but he didn’t pull his hand away, he thrust it forward and grabbed a length of her hair, tugging her towards him.

‘You hiding something under your hair?’ he demanded to know and yanked her hair back so he could see her ear, but there was nothing there. ‘Show me your other ear.’

‘You’re crazy,’ she told him. ‘There’s nothing in my ears,’ but he wasn’t satisfied, releasing her hair and grabbing her by the lapel of her flimsy jacket – his hand tightening around the concealed microphone, his eyes growing wide with anger as his suspicions were confirmed. He ripped the lapel clean from the jacket and quickly untangled the microphone with one hand. ‘You’re fucking dead pig,’ he screamed at her before expertly slipping the knife from its shoulder holster. But she already had a hand wrapped around the CS canister, her thumb pressing down on the trigger and releasing a long burst of the liquid that splashed off the dashboard onto both of them. The fumes filled the confined space of the car and they both screamed at the burning pain.

The next thing she felt was the impact of the car colliding with an unmovable object – the seat belt crushing against her chest as the airbag exploded in front of her before immediately deflating. Still blind she released the seat belt, opened the door and rolled through the space towards the cold air just as she felt a stinging pain in her upper right arm that quickly turned into an excruciating dull ache. She screamed as she hit the pavement and grabbed her arm – the warm liquid seeping through her fingers confirming that she’d been deeply slashed. More horrifyingly it meant
he
was still alive and conscious.

She stumbled to her feet and staggered along the pavement – the cold rain and wind clearing the fog from her sore eyes well enough so she could see outlines now – well enough so she could see the shape of a man emerging from the car and walking unsteadily towards her. She tried to break into a run, but slipped and fell to the soaking pavement, immediately pushing herself back to her feet. She weaved her way along the pavement, swaying from side to side as she tried to see more – all the time sensing him
growing closer and closer, the knife no doubt clenched in his hand – coming for her.

In her blindness she tripped on some unseen obstacle and fell heavily to the ground, rolling on to her back. Now she could see the man who she was sure was going to take her life – his silhouette moving steadily closer, the outline of the knife clear in his hand. But as he was almost upon her the shape of another man crashed hard into her would-be executioner, both of them tumbling to the floor. Her eyes cleared enough for her to make out Sean struggling with her attacker before a flurry of precise blows knocked him still – the killer springing back to his feet and once more coming towards her before a woman’s voice stopped him.

‘Stop or I’ll cave your head in.’ She could see Townsend was holding her telescopic truncheon above her head, ready to bring it down on his skull, but he didn’t hesitate, seemingly springing into the air and roundhouse kicking her in the side of the head. Townsend collapsed in on herself like a detonated building, before rocking to one side and lying prostrate on the pavement, her nemesis spinning back towards Daiyu, holding the knife out in front of him. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable, her regrets at things she’d never done and now never would do pushing more tears from her sealed eyes. A sudden overwhelming sadness swept over her like a huge crushing wave, knocking the wind and fight from her until the glare of lights forced her eyes to blink open as they suddenly seemed to be surrounded by cars – the sounds of sirens, doors flying open and loud voices drowning out the pounding rain.

‘Armed police,’ she heard clearly. ‘Drop the knife or I will open fire.’ She couldn’t see who was shouting the orders, but she could see the killer
standing above her holding the knife, staring down at her as if he was deciding whether killing her was worth losing his own life for. ‘Drop the knife or you will be shot,’ the same voice warned him. After a few seconds he casually threw the knife to the ground and he smiled at Daiyu. They would both live.

‘Get down on your knees and place your hands on top of your head, interlinking your fingers.’ He slowly did as he was told, his eyes never leaving hers – the smile never leaving his face as she watched Sean appear and one by one pull the kneeling man’s hands behind his back and handcuff him, pushing him face-first into the puddled pavement before hurrying to where she lay.

‘You alright?’ Sean asked her, helping her into a seating position as he examined her wounded arm.

‘Yeah. I think so,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m okay.’

‘You’re hurt,’ Sean told her as he continued to check her injury.

‘It’s nothing,’ she argued.

‘Yes it is,’ he insisted. ‘Can you stand?’

‘I think so,’ she answered and, with his help, staggered to her feet.

‘Okay?’ Sean checked.

‘Yeah,’ she tried to assure him.

‘Why the hell did you get in the car?’ Sean suddenly demanded. ‘I told you –
never get in the car
.’

‘Because he was going to drive away,’ she answered.

‘You should have let him,’ Sean told her. ‘You should have let him.’

‘Is that what you would have done?’ she asked. ‘Let him drive away?’

‘You’re not me,’ Sean snapped at her a little, ‘and trust me – you never want to be.’

***

Sean pressed the record button on the double-deck tape machine and immediately filled the room with the loud shrill sound that warned them they only had seconds left before the interview was to begin proper. He used the few seconds to roll his knotted neck and shoulders to try and loosen his tired, aching muscles before confronting the man who sat on the other side of the table from himself and Townsend with his solicitor. Sean was still nursing a split lip and an increasingly blackening eye, while Townsend’s temple was marked with an angry-looking bruise. The high-pitched warning finally stopped, although it still seemed to reverberate around the small, dull interview room in the bowels of Streatham Police Station.

‘This interview is being tape recorded,’ Sean began. ‘I am Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan and the other officer present is …’

‘Detective Sergeant Vicky Townsend,’ she stated for herself.

‘The time is 2.25pm on Thursday the 21
^st
December and we are interviewing – could you state your name for the tape, please,’ Sean asked.

The man opposite him slowly bent forward as if to ensure his voice was recorded properly. ‘My name is Mao Ma,’ he told the room and leaned back in his uncomfortable chair.

‘And the other person present is …?’

‘Matthew Coleman,’ the middle-aged white man sitting next to Ma answered, pushing his longish sandy hair from his forehead. ‘Duty Solicitor acting for Mr Ma.’

‘Are you happy to continue this interview without having an interpreter present?’ Sean checked, not wanting to leave himself open for criticism later on.

‘I’m happy that Mr Ma doesn’t need an interpreter,’ Coleman answered for him. ‘He understands and speaks English fine.’

‘Good,’ Sean replied. ‘Mao Ma, I need to remind you that you’re still under caution – you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be recorded and could be used against you. Do you understand the caution?’

Again Coleman answered for Ma. ‘I fully explained the caution to my client during our consultation and he understands his position and what it means.’

‘Fine,’ Sean acknowledged before quickly moving on. ‘What do you prefer to be called?’ he asked Ma. ‘Mr Ma or Mao?’

Ma shrugged his shoulders before answering. ‘You may call me Mao.’ Sean could sense the arrogance in the man. Fine. He’d use it as the weapon to destroy him.

‘Let me start by asking if you know why you’ve been arrested and brought here?’ Sean began.

Again Ma shrugged before answering. ‘Of course.’

‘And why is that?’

Ma looked at Coleman. ‘You may answer that,’ the solicitor told him.

‘Because you think I killed some whores,’ Ma answered.

‘Not think,’ Sean warned him. ‘Know.’

‘You know nothing,’ Ma insisted.

‘We’ve searched your flat,’ Sean reminded him. ‘We found your
book
, Mao. Interesting pictures of snakes. Look a lot like your tattoo.’

Ma said nothing. ‘The book alone would kill you in court. Articles cut from newspapers about the murders. Are they your souvenirs, Mao, to help you relive the killings?’

‘The book proves nothing.’ Ma smiled.

‘And we have your knife,’ Sean added. ‘Early tests show it has traces of blood on it and not just from the undercover officer you tried to kill – older blood. Blood from someone else. Blood means DNA, which means we’ll be able to match it to the victims, because I’m guessing you never cleaned the knife, Mao. You couldn’t bear to wash away the memories of being with
them, could you? Did you lick the blade from time to time? Did you hold it close to your face so you could smell their dried blood?’

Ma moved uncomfortably in his chair and so did the others. ‘You know nothing,’ he sneered. ‘You’re just guessing. You know nothing.’

‘And the semen taken from the victims,’ Sean continued, ‘it’s going to match your DNA. You know it and I know it.’

‘They were whores. So maybe I had sex with them? So what? It proves nothing.’

‘Your DNA in six different women who all ended up being murdered,’ Sean explained. ‘The chances of that are millions to one. Maybe even billions.’

‘These questions are somewhat hypothetical,’ Coleman intervened. ‘Until it’s confirmed my client’s DNA has been found on the victims, this is just conjecture.’

‘Not on their bodies,’ Sean bit. ‘In their bodies.’

‘DNA,’ Ma suddenly jumped in. ‘Books. Dried blood. Who cares? I have
political
connections. You let me go. I go back to China. You can’t touch me.’

‘You have diplomatic immunity?’ Townsend asked.

‘No,’ Ma admitted, still smiling. ‘Political friends. Powerful people. I don’t care about your evidence. You let me go.’

Sean leaned back in his chair and tried to suppress a slight smile as he pulled a sheet of paper from his thin brown cardboard folder and pushed it across the table towards Ma. ‘I’m not sure you really want to go back to China, Mao. You see I’ve been in contact with our colleagues in the Chinese Criminal Investigation Department. When I found out you’d only been here a little more than a year, it made me wonder what you might have done before. So I thought I’d better find out. Our Chinese colleagues told me that you’re a known Triad. An enforcer. A suspected assassin.’

‘They can’t prove anything.’

‘Maybe not the
work
you’ve done for the Triads, but I asked them to check on unsolved cases involving the murders of prostitutes, and guess what they found, Mao?’ Ma said nothing – his face stone as he waited for Sean to continue. ‘Three unsolved cases. Two women raped and killed in Shanghai and one more in Hong Kong. DNA recovered from their bodies belongs to the same man. The Chinese police are very interested in comparing your DNA to their samples. Chinese justice is swift and final, Mao. The penalty for murder is death by firing squad. Lethal injection, if you’re lucky. Are you sure you want to go back to China?’

‘You think I’m afraid of death?’ Ma replied.

‘Perhaps not,’ Sean played along. ‘But what about spending the rest of your life locked up in a British prison – like a caged animal?’

‘No prison can hold the Great Snake,’ Ma answered. Townsend and Coleman raised their eyebrows in confusion, but from the moment he’d seen the snake wrapped around Ma’s body, Sean had suspected it was more than just a tattoo. ‘If you saw what I had escaped as a child, you would know I can escape anything.’