He was relieved. It meant he wouldn’t have to hang about. The autopsy was scheduled for eight. It was twenty to. The sooner they got going, the sooner they’d be able to get out. The mortuary was a place he’d never got used to. The bodies didn’t bother him but the smell – dentist meets butchers – stayed in his nostrils like school dinners and old people’s homes – there for life.
He took off his jacket and draped it over the back seat before reaching in and pulling out his briefcase. Then he slammed the door shut and strode across the gravel to the mortuary entrance. Mann had a tall, athletic English frame along with high cheekbones and a square jaw. He had hooded eyes: deep set, dark chocolate, and smudged with sadness.
His finger was barely off the buzzer before Kin Tak, the young mortuary assistant, appeared. He was smiling – enthusiastic as always – glad to see that Mann was early and eager to begin the morning’s autopsy rota. Dressed in his off-white coat, Kin Tak had that permanently dishevelled look of someone who had never known youth and had spent far too much time caring for dead people. In the mortuary hierarchy Kin Tak was a Diener. He moved, handled and washed the bodies. He didn’t get to do the technician’s job of removing and replacing the organs or sewing up the bodies afterwards, although he was hoping to do that someday. He practised his stitching whenever he could and when no one was looking.
Mann shivered as he hit the wall of cold just inside the door of the once ‘clinically clean’ but now slightly grubby autopsy room. The room had to be kept below minus five to stop further decomposition on bodies awaiting identification and autopsies. He stood squinting beneath a flickering fluorescent strip-light.
‘Full house?’ He looked around at the stainless-steel fridges that ran along three sides of the room.
‘All but two drawers. We had a gang fight come in overnight – twelve chopped – lots of needlework to be done. Lots of practice.’
Two men emerged from a doorway on Mann’s left. He knew one of them well – Detective Sergeant Ng. They’d worked together at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau. The other man – young and slight – Mann had never seen before.
‘Good to see you again, Ng.’
‘Hello, Genghis.’ Ng came forward to shake Mann’s hand warmly. Ng was portly, in his mid-forties and already losing his hair, but still a notorious flirt. His soft brown puppy eyes, quick smile and deep intelligence made him a magnet for women. He always seemed to find one to look after him. ‘Thought they’d managed to lose you in the New Territories,’ said Ng with a lopsided smile. ‘I’m glad to see they didn’t.’
‘You know me, Confucius – easy-going type, can’t think why some people don’t like me.’ Mann grinned. ‘How’s it going with you?’
‘Not bad, not bad at all, thanks. Still working too hard for too little pay. We miss you down at the OCTB – things are really quiet there without you.’
Mann shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t leave there willingly.’
‘I heard. You irritated the wrong people too many times – that was your trouble. You need to be more careful, Genghis. You should know by now: when you go up the mountain too often you eventually encounter the tiger.’
‘Yeah, but you cannot fight a fire with water from far away – unless of course you’re pissing in the wind, which you do all the time. Then it’s possible.’
Ng’s face broke into a big crooked grin.
‘Very good. Very good. But what does pissing in the wind mean?’
‘Very old English saying. I’ll explain it to you one day.’
‘You’ve been swotting up on your proverbs.’
‘Yep! Thought I’d give you a run for your money …’
Ng turned towards the officer just behind him. ‘Have you met Detective Li?’
Mann looked at the young man who was grinning up at him and evidently itching to speak. He was wearing a brown, seventies-style pinstriped suit with the widest orange kipper tie Mann had ever seen. Mann never remembered going through that fashion stage, although he guessed he must have. He hoped it hadn’t lasted long.
‘I know! I know!’ Ng rolled his eyes towards Li and put his hand up to his mouth to hide what he was about to say. ‘They get younger every year! But …’ he slapped the young detective on the back, ‘he may be only twenty-two and wet behind the ears … talks like a Yank and he definitely hasn’t found his dress sense yet … but …’ Detective Li’s anxious eyes flicked from one man to the other ‘… this guy passed with honours from cadet school. He can Kung Fu kick ass and he knows all about computers. He’ll get there – eventually. Hey, Li?’ Ng pulled him forward by the sleeve. ‘Don’t be put off by the look of this guy,’ he said, gesturing towards Mann. ‘He may look big and white. He may only be half Chinese but he’s still the meanest cop you’ll ever meet. Meet Genghis Khan.’
Clutching his laptop under one arm, the young detective stepped forward and stared up into Mann’s face.
‘Awesome,’ he said. ‘Truly awesome. Heard all about you, boss – honoured.’ His eyes stayed fixed on Mann’s face as he shifted his weight from one snakeskin boot to the other and grinned inanely. ‘You’re a legend – a one-man triad annihilator. Never heard you called Genghis Khan before, though.’
Ng thumped Mann in the ribs. ‘I named him that because he is a tenacious warrior and he looks like a wild man.’
Li giggled nervously – high-pitched and girly. Ng put a protective hand on his shoulder and edged him further forward.
‘And I have decided to call Li “Shrimp”, owing to his peculiar resemblance to one.’
The boiled-sweet complexion; the random crests of over-gelled hair. Mann could see what he meant.
‘Shrimp here is a regular Bruce Lee. Aren’t you?’ said Ng proudly.
Detective Li blushed a deeper scarlet and his eyes darted around the room. ‘I wouldn’t say that … but …’
Mann shook Li’s hand with an extra-firm grip that left Li wincing and Ng chuckling. ‘Good man – useful to have around. Take no notice of Confucius. Good to have you on the team, Shrimp.’
‘Thank you, boss …’ Li beamed, his mouth showing more gum than teeth. ‘Awesome.’
‘We called in at headquarters earlier, Genghis. The place is heaving. There are people there I haven’t seen for years,’ said Ng.
‘I know. This is big. The top brass want it dealt with super-fast, before we lose what few tourists we have.’
‘Is it true it’s a Gwaipoh?’
‘Yes, a white foreigner. She was discovered sixteen hours ago, dumped in a bin bag on a building site out in the New Territories, near Sha Tin. A workman found her when he started moving some rubble. She’d been there a few days.’
‘Anyone notice anything?’
‘No. There’s a constant stream of construction vehicles twenty-four hours a day. It’s easy to get in and out
