The Profit Motive

CHAPTER 1

Sunday 3 June 2001

Wenzhou City, Zhejiang Province, China

The odour of fried Chinese food and beer infused the air as a woman in a shapeless dress removed bottles and half empty plates from the low table in front of Oliver. In the gloom, he couldn’t tell her age but she moved like someone much older than the girls entertaining the all-male guests. As the night wore on, the lights had dimmed and he could no longer distinguish the colour of the red carpet or see the features of the men lounging on sofas at the far side of the room. A headache threatened to develop as music pounded.

The young woman in the low-cut top and red miniskirt had the mic in her hand and did her best to keep in time with Tina Turner’s voice coming out of the speakers. Her companion slid closer to Oliver, edging him towards the end of the sofa. Oliver’s mind drifted back to what he’d seen the previous afternoon. Although the email had warned him what to expect, to have it confirmed had been a shock. The nausea he’d kept at bay all evening returned and with it anger. He’d find the people behind this and make them pay.

A hand on his thigh broke his train of thought. Oliver removed it from his leg. Young enough to be his daughter, the woman gave an anxious smile and said something he didn’t catch. Sure she couldn’t speak Mandarin, he didn’t ask her to repeat it.

He checked his watch: gone midnight and time he made a move. He had an early flight the next morning and didn’t want to miss it. He struggled out of the low banquette and towered over the two girls who now seemed terror-stricken. Sorry girls, I know you’re supposed to keep me here spending money, but my bed calls. He searched for his jacket, saw it on the back of a nearby chair and draped it over his shoulder.

He gave each girl one of the folded fifty dollar notes he’d slipped into his top pocket before he came out. Someone stood behind him. Micky Yuan, his host for the night, studied him with a disapproving air.

“Mister Oliver, why you go now? You no like these girls?” Micky looked askance at the two young women. “We get new girls,” he said and clapped his hands, shouting for attention.

“No, Micky, please don’t, the girls are fine.”

But Micky wasn’t listening. Oliver had seen him like this. The alcohol he’d consumed amplified his ebullient personality and he wouldn’t rest until he righted the imagined wrong his guest had suffered. Oliver stepped in front of him.

“Micky, please, I have to leave tomorrow morning.” He tapped his watch. “It’s late for an old man.”

“You not old man, you strong like me.”

A week ago, Oliver would have agreed with him, but after what he’d discovered on this trip, he felt every one of his fifty five years.

Out in the early morning air, Oliver took a deep breath, inhaling the stink of stale urine and stagnant water. The temperature had dropped, but not so he’d need his jacket. The taxi rank by the entrance stood empty, but he’d already decided to walk. His hotel wasn’t far and the night air would clear his head. The karaoke club lay in a dark side street lit by a neon bikini-clad blonde holding a mic. He paused, letting his eyes become accustomed to the night and getting his bearings. He walked towards the main road, taking care to avoid the potholes.

At the deserted main road, normally a teeming highway, he stopped and checked the landmarks. The streetlights were off but the moon and illuminated signs above the commercial premises lining the street gave enough light. A shout and the sound of laughter told him he wasn’t alone.

Oliver started off in the general direction of his hotel. As he walked, he reviewed what he’d uncovered in the last few days. Shocked by what he’d discovered at the factory, he wasn’t sure of his best course of action. The visit had confirmed what the mysterious email asserted. They were making his products in deplorable conditions. The whole place was an unsanitary death-trap and some of the girls on the production line must have been underage. Apart from it going against his every principle, it would do incalculable damage to H & T’s reputation if this came out. He should have spoken to Kate, not just sent the emails, but he couldn’t face telling her the news.

The sound of footsteps, echoing off the empty buildings, interrupted his thoughts. Three shadowy figures walked behind him, seventy paces away. In other parts of the world he’d have been anxious, but not here, where he’d always felt safe. He dismissed them and continued on his way.

At the main intersection, he took his bearings. He spotted a familiar glass tower, the luxury hotel Daniel favoured, and turned right, glancing back as he did so. The three figures had followed him, maintaining their distance. For the first time, he became uneasy. Why hadn’t they caught him up when he stopped? He lengthened his stride to see if they did likewise.

After a few minutes, his phone rang and he checked the number. Kate. With a pang of guilt, he took the call.

“Hi, Dad, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I’m still out. On my way home, actually. Sorry I didn’t ring earlier, I was with Micky and you know what he’s like.”

“I certainly do.” She laughed. “Are you okay, Dad? You sound out of breath.”

“Yes, fine. It’s raining so I’m rushing.” He glanced back: the men seemed closer. “Kate, I’ll ring you from Heathrow in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll speak to you—”

“Good night, Kate. I love you.”

At the next corner, he glanced round. The three men kept pace with him. Checking to make sure he was still going in the right direction, he increased his gait. A tall man, he knew his fast walk would outpace most people.

But shoes slapping on the pavement behind him urged him to a run. Heart racing, he looked back at his pursuers. They’d halved the distance between them. He stumbled on an uneven paving slab and almost dropped his jacket as he fought for balance. A stitch sent a sharp pain through his side and he wished he’d not eaten and drunk so much.

Footsteps echoed back from the buildings and he glimpsed a reflection in a window: the men were closer.

He gritted his teeth and carried on running. The weekly games of squash with Kate kept him fit so he should outrun them. Resisting the impulse to look round again, he pressed on. He came to a junction and charged into a side street. A narrow lane led off on his left and he plunged down it, just missing a sleeping dog.

As he ran, the stitch faded. After a few minutes, he realised he couldn’t hear the others and stole a glance back. He’d lost them, but he didn’t recognise his surroundings. He slowed to a walk, letting his breathing ease, listening. Voices reached him and he ducked into an alleyway. A man hawked and spat, coming this way.

Oliver searched for an escape route or somewhere to hide. The short alley ended in a doorway, blocked by a barred gate. He moved back into the deeper shadows. His heartbeat, already elevated, increased as he waited. He leaned into the wall, trying to melt into the brickwork. The people passed the entrance as his phone trilled. He jumped and dragged it out of his pocket. He killed the call and stared at the mouth of the alley.

A high-pitched laugh told him these weren’t his pursuers. Drenched in sweat, he slumped against the wall and switched off his mobile. Next time he might not be so lucky. What had almost happened to him? They couldn’t have anything to do with what he’d found out. They must be muggers, looking for a rich European.

After a few minutes, he stepped out of the alleyway. He wasn’t sure which way to go, but didn’t fancy going back, just in case. He pressed on until he came to a main road and went right. Still on edge, he made his way along the pavement, keeping to the shadows. The occasional car passed and he contemplated flagging one down, but he stayed out of sight, unable to rid himself of the nagging feeling of danger. The road widened and opposite he recognised a restaurant he’d visited with one of his suppliers.

They’d driven, but it wasn’t far from the hotel. Relief eased the tension in his muscles and he tried to work out the route back. After a couple of false starts, he reached the big stadium behind his hotel. Whenever he’d walked through this place, it teemed with people, but now the dark hulk loomed above a deserted concourse.

He hesitated, reluctant to break cover. The illuminated sign above the hotel shone like a beacon so, keeping a wary watch on the shadows, he edged his way to the kerb.

Movement in the darkness opposite made him start. A cigarette glowed and he froze. Then steps came from behind, running. A figure burst out of an alley a few yards away.

Oliver ran into the road. A pair of headlights appeared and he ran towards them. His pursuer didn’t follow, but waited on the pavement. Two more figures joined him from the shadows. The car wasn’t slowing. Oliver waved his jacket. They must see him.

He stepped to his right, but the vehicle followed. Above the headlights, he saw a face grinning at him, lit by the glow from the dashboard. Oliver leaped aside. Time slowed. He recognised the manufacturer’s badge on the bonnet, above heavy chrome bull-bars. They slammed into his body, lifting him off his feet.

As he flew through the air, he realised this was no random mugging. These men had hunted him down. The three figures on the pavement watched him. He hoped they wouldn’t hurt Kate. Thoughts of his dead wife and children rushed at him. Why couldn’t he feel any pain? His heels hit the road. And then blackness.

CHAPTER 2

Wenzhou City, Zhejiang Province, China

The shrill ringing dragged Senior Inspector Jie Gang from a deep sleep. His wife rolled over, pulling the pillow over her head. He reached out and picked up the phone before it rang a third time.

“Yes?” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have another hit-and-run.”

Jie’s heart shrank. He hoped this wasn’t the start of an epidemic. “How many dead this time?”

“None, sir, but—”

“Why are you ringing me?”

“It’s a visitor, sir. A European.”

Jie’s despondency increased. This would be a headache, he could just feel it. “Where?”

“Xinhe Street, near Zhuguan Alley.”

“I know it. Who else is going?”

“Sergeant Tang Shu.”

“Thanks, book me on the way.” He put the phone down and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He swung his legs out of bed and, giving his wife a pat on her rump, rose slowly to his feet. If his hearing hadn’t deteriorated so much, he was sure he’d have heard his joints creaking.

Once dressed, he stumbled to the kitchen and opened the window, lighting his first cigarette as the kettle boiled. Outside, it remained dark and his reflection stared back. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them; his shirt tail hung half out of his creased slacks. He tucked it in and made himself a strong coffee. Mei didn’t like the smell but he needed the caffeine. He didn’t have to rush: his sergeant would have already set off. Despite his own, and colleagues’, misgivings at promoting a woman to detective, Tang had proved herself to be very capable and would have everything under control.

Jie slowed when he neared the incident, taking in the scene. Two police cars parked in front of an ambulance and behind them all, his sergeant’s Xiali. He couldn’t understand why she insisted on driving such a bad car.

Three large Europeans stood behind a taxi parked to one side. Were they friends of the victim? The car rolled to a stop and, after crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, he got out. Despite the strong coffee he’d downed, sleep still gripped him.

A uniformed sergeant approached and brought him up to speed, giving him the benefit of his theory of what had happened. Jie thanked him before dismissing him. Tang clambered out of the back of the ambulance and walked towards the three westerners. On seeing Jie she changed course.

“Morning, Tang, how is the victim?”

In contrast to her superior, the younger officer appeared wide awake. The creases in her suit were in the right places and her shoes gleamed. Although the same height as Jie, she seemed taller because of her posture and the fact she weighed twenty kilos less.

“Still alive, sir, but…” Tang had a cultured voice which fitted her appearance, one of the new breed of officers, well-educated and ambitious.

Jie expected, if allowed, she’d go far in the service, although her promotion to detective sergeant had already upset many fools. “Let’s hope, for all our sakes, it stays that way. What happened?”

“A fast-moving vehicle hit—”

“The sergeant suggested it might be a lorry, one of the long-distance jobs. If the driver was half asleep, he wouldn’t have even noticed the impact.” Jie hoped this was how it had happened.

“The vehicle braked.” Tang pointed at skid marks on the road. “Whoever hit him knew what they’d done. Anyway, the point of impact isn’t high enough. I suggest a large car, one of those Jeep types or a small commercial vehicle. We’ll know more once the forensic team have made their—”

“Who authorised their attendance?”

Tang lowered her gaze. “I took the liberty...”

Come on Jie, don’t blame her because she saw the evidence. “Have you identified the victim?” he said as the ambulance started.

“Oliver Hetherington.” She stumbled over the second name. “I have his wallet. The men found it on the road, next to the victim.”

“The impact might have dislodged it and thrown it free,” Jie said, and checked on the whereabouts of the uniformed officers. “Unless one of the constables took it out of his pocket to help himself...” If they had, he’d make sure the culprit regretted it.

“Apart from money and credit cards, it contained a European driving licence. The address is in Manchester, in the UK.”

“Where is he staying in Wenzhou?” Jie hadn’t dealt with the British Consul before.

“The Imperial.” Tang pointed at the tall hotel, visible above the roofline. “There’s no room key, but an email confirming the booking is in his pocket. According to the message, he’s been there four days and is due to leave tomorrow.” She checked her watch:“Today.”

“Do we know what he was doing out at this time of night?”

Tang shrugged. “Walking back to his hotel? There are a few nightspots and bars along there.” She indicated with her thumb. “He could have been at one of them.”

Jie knew a few of them. “You could be right. Get them checked, will you? See if anyone remembers him.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, sir. He’s distinctive, very tall with blond hair. There wouldn’t be many tall blond Englishmen out and about in Wenzhou on a Sunday night.”

At least it was something in their favour. “Anything else on him?”

“No, sir, that’s what’s funny. These businessmen usually have a mobile, but we can’t find one.”

“Could the impact have thrown that clear?”

“I got the men to search a wide area. There’s no trace.”

“Unless someone stole it?” Jie nodded at the taxi. “Maybe somebody else found him before those people.”

“Wouldn’t they have taken the wallet as well?” Tang enquired.

Jie thought for a moment. “Not if the impact threw the phone clear. Whoever found it might have not wanted to approach the body.”

“You could be right, sir.” Tang’s tone told him she didn’t believe it.

Nor do I. Suppressing a sigh, he said, “Let’s see what these three have to say for themselves.”

Although he could make himself understood in English, Jie let the sergeant take the lead. The three men identified themselves as German businessmen and Tang noted their names. One of them, a bulky man with receding red hair, had appointed himself spokesman. The boss, Jie guessed.

When Tang asked if any of them had found the victim’s phone, he said, “The other men could have taken it.”

“Other men?” Jie jumped in.

“Three or four men were by the body, but they left before we arrived. And a car. A big dark SUV with—” he struggled for a word and said something in German to the others, describing the object with his hands.

“Bull-bars,” Jie said, pleased to have remembered the words from a documentary his wife made him watch.

“Ja, ja.” The man smiled at him.

“What happened to the car?” Tang said.

“It drove away,” the one with red hair said, pointing toward the hotel.

After finding out they hadn’t got the registration number, Jie left Tang to finish questioning the men and approached the taxi driver stood chatting to the officer who’d greeted Jie. “Why didn’t you mention the other car?”

“I forgot, sir,” the taxi driver said, unable to meet his gaze.

Jie glared at him but, before he could speak, the sergeant said, “Sorry, sir, I’ll make him regret lying—”

“No need.” Jie felt a pang of sympathy. He didn’t blame the driver not wanting to get involved, losing a night’s work while the police made him complete reams of paperwork. The driver had no more information than the Europeans, so Jie dismissed him and re-joined Tang. The irritation in his gut since receiving the call had developed into a full blown attack of acid. This would be a dog of a case.

Jie and Tang walked the short distance to the Imperial Hotel in silence. Jie wondered if he’d have time to go home and catch a couple of hours before he had to go to the office. The receptionist, a young woman wearing a smart black suit, stiffened when they introduced themselves, her professional smile freezing.

“Can we speak to the manager?” Tang demanded as Jie lit a cigarette.

The receptionist made a panicky call on an internal phone, her gaze straying to the two officers as she spoke. Jie smiled at her but the gesture increased her agitation so he stopped.

A few minutes later, another young woman clacked into the foyer and introduced herself as the night manager. She couldn’t answer their questions and asked them to wait for the general manager.

Jie sighed. That’s the trouble with this country, too many managers and all scared to make decisions. The woman led them to the bar and offered tea or coffee. Jie accepted a coffee and took a seat, leaning forward to stub his cigarette out in an ornate ashtray on the dark wood coffee table. Tang sat across from him and leaned back to avoid the cloud of smoke emanating from the smouldering tobacco. Her white shirt glowed under the bright lights and Jie couldn’t help contrasting it with his own, covered in assorted food stains.

The lobby of the Imperial was almost empty: only a few staff and the occasional guests returning from a late night. A small man, wearing a tailored suit and cravat, charged in through the doors. Unlike the guests, most of whom looked like they’d been celebrating, he wore an irritated expression. The night manager stopped pacing in front of the desk and