Crimson Dragon

By Stephen Collier

Murder. Abduction. Two cities. Two cops… Eighteen months ago. Chinatown, London. A police raid goes disastrously wrong. People die. Today, the police officers involved in the swoop are dead. Serial, Purple One Five, are all dead, except the serial commander – Sergeant Brian Gibson.

In Hong Kong, a woman’s body is discovered in a seedy downtown Wan Chai hotel. Detective Inspector of Police Mandy Lee must determine who she is and who killed her. Lee identifies the woman as Andrea Ventress-Gibson. Lee’s investigation leads her to the UK, but Andrea’s new husband, Sergeant Brian Gibson, is missing – whereabouts unknown. Meanwhile, in the UK, Road Policing Officer PC Ed Roberts discovers a cyber-attack on a police database. But he’s ordered to chaperone D. I. Lee. As a team they soon find that their enquiries are linked.

Against orders, Roberts follows Lee to London’s Chinatown, where they come into direct conflict with a Hong Kong underworld organisation - Crimson Dragon. And confirms Lee’s suspicions her estranged step-brother is involved. Can Lee and Roberts discover Gibson’s whereabouts and stop Crimson Dragon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Apr 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781800467071

Stephen Collier

Stephen Collier served thirty years with Northamptonshire Police. He was recently awarded an MA in Creative Crime Fiction writing from the University of East Anglia. He has two other novels, Blind Murder & Driving Dead.

Book preview

Contents

i

ii

iii

PART ONE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

PART TWO

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

PART THREE

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

PART FOUR

65

66

67

68

i

0600: Tuesday 7th February 2018

Twenty minutes after being briefed by Superintendent Joe Edwards, two elite sub-units of the Met’s SCO19 Specialist Firearms Command, Purple One Five and One Eight, are ready and waiting for the ‘go’ signal from Edwards.

Their objective was to enter the premises of Crimson Dragon, a closed and shuttered restaurant in Gerrard Street, part of London’s Chinatown, and secure the arrest of several members of a gang and their leader running illegal covert operations.

The premises is a three-storey building with boarded windows and sported scaffolding under the belief that it was under renovations. Locals, however, knew that was not the case but never questioned the occupants. For on their head be it, if they ever did.

In the dark and cold morning air, Sergeant Brian Gibson could see the translucent, white exhaled glow of his serial’s heavy and expectant breathing as his team crept towards the red side door of the restaurant. The rustle of their kit the only sound that interrupted the background noise of a city waking up for a new day. Gerrard Street was at peace, and those few who were about seemed to take little notice of the assembled police officers, as if such a thing wasn’t unusual.

Gibson ordered up the big red door key and seconds later was given the signal to go. PC Rachel Harmony gave the door a good hammering until it crashed to the floor and the unit piled in. At the same time, Purple One Eight entered via the rear of the premises to shouts of ‘ARMED POLICE’ and ‘STAY WHERE YOU ARE’, echoing around the old restaurant.

They’d all been advised in the briefing that the occupants would do anything to evade capture, including the use of lethal force. Intelligence on the property and its occupants identified that firearms were available to the occupants and that the units should proceed with caution. For a group of ‘gung-ho’ police officers, this was like the proverbial red rag to a bull, so they had prepared themselves, having fitted ceramic plates into their bulletproof vests and making sure their kit was in tip-top condition. The buzz around the briefing room was typical of a group of alpha males (and females) trying to get one over on each other. Despite this amiable banter, they were a close-knit team, each of whom had the back of each other, whatever happened.

As they entered the first room, a single shot rang out. An unseen gunman fired at the first officer who entered. PC Andy Fullingdale was hit in the chest and fell back towards the wall. Winded by the shot, he crawled to a place of relative safety. His Kevlar vest and plate having done what it was supposed to do by keeping him alive. Despite him knowing that he would have one hell of a bruise on his chest the following day.

The rest of the serial saw that he was not injured and went further into the room. Gibson dropped down beside Fullingdale.

‘You OK, mate?’ he said.

Fullingdale responded with an OK signal, too winded to speak. Among the number of shots being fired towards them, Gibson said, ‘Come on then,’ as he got up and fired a double-tap towards one of the occupants, who seemed to be firing without any consequence of who he may hit.

Fullingdale, having regained his breath, moved onto his knees and fired two shots into the chest of the man who was firing indiscriminately. They heard him fall heavily onto the floor. He moved out and joined the rest of his serial, engaged in more of a gunfight from the ‘OK Corral’.

There were large tables stacked with counterfeit cigarettes in the main restaurant area. These were now scattered over the floor by the firefight. The gunfire was systematically destroying the cache, filling the room with tobacco and white dust, which could have been any harmful substance. Both teams had the foresight to don their respirators to prevent them from being overwhelmed by the tobacco-rich mist that now hung in the air like an old London smog and just as thick.

As Gibson advanced, he saw the primary target for the raid in his peripheral vision. Annabel Chi was crawling towards the stairs. There was a bloodstain on her back, but she appeared unarmed.

Gibson indicated to his team that Chi was trying to escape. As she started to climb the stairs, there was a final burst of gunfire. With small-arms fire filling the air, it was only natural that some, in fact, most, simply ricocheted from the walls and some metal window blinds. Gibson saw Chi fall on the stairs, where she remained. Motionless.

Less than five minutes had elapsed before the two teams had secured the property. Ambulances had been called to the scene to take away the casualties. The location was secured for Scenes of Crime, the pathologist, Major Incident detectives and the inevitable investigation by the Independent Office for Police Conduct.

When Superintendent Edwards arrived at the scene, the only thing he said to Gibson was, ‘Well, this is a right fuck up, Sergeant. We wanted them alive!’

ii

1625: Sunday 23rd December 2018

‘Jesus, Rach, first day back on the job, and we get this.’

Andy Fullingdale deftly drifted his patrol car around the corner of a North London housing estate that had seen better days, in pursuit of a stolen SUV. It had been giving them the slip all morning, and now they were close to chasing it down. Other units were homing in on their position to throw out a ‘Stinger’, or somebody doing the business with a PIT manoeuvre on the rear quarter to spin it out, if they could get close enough to it. But it had been elusive until now, and Harmony and Fullingdale were hell-bent on making sure the driver and passengers saw justice – in any form.

‘NPAS X-ray X-ray Six-Five, do you copy?’ Rachel Harmony needed to know where the air support unit was. They couldn’t keep up these speeds forever. It was pretty hairy now as she held on to the ‘FM’ handle above the passenger door as they rounded another bend, sirens blazing and blue lights bouncing off passing windows and vehicles, like a high-speed Christmas tree.

‘Affirmative,’ came the response. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Six-Five, are you on plot yet?’

Fullingdale threw another sharp right, making the tyres of the patrol car scream in protest as it rounded the next corner. The SUV was heading out of the estate.

‘If he carries on like this, somebody is going to get hurt,’ Fullingdale shouted over the scream of the sirens and the piston-bouncing grating of the engine.

‘Why do you think I’m holding on to the fuck me handle, Andy? If you don’t calm the red mist, it’s us that’ll end up hurt, and I really, really don’t need another suspension.’

Fullingdale glanced briefly at Harmony and smiled.

‘You’re enjoying this, you big kid,’ Harmony said.

‘If he keeps going, there’s a bit of dual carriageway ahead where we can co-ordinate our other units, and we’ll be able to stop him.’

NPAS Six-Five was by now hovering low above the pursuit, seeing everything from a bird’s-eye view. ‘We are over you now,’ the observer said. ‘I see other units making towards, and he’s taking a left, left, left, into a grass field. Suggest you stand down. We’re on him. Do not enter the field.’

The observer viewing from the cockpit of Six-Five watched as the stolen SUV crashed through the wooden gate, sending shards of wood everywhere. Fullingdale and Harmony didn’t respond to the stop request by the observer and ploughed on into the field, bouncing over the broken gate.

‘Purple One Five Alpha, stand down …’ but all he saw was a ball of flame coming up towards the helicopter, which had to bank right to avoid the shrapnel from what was Purple One Five’s vehicle.

‘Bollocks!’ was all the observer was heard to say and turned his attention to the stolen SUV sitting in the field. The passenger stuck his head out of the window, gave the helicopter a one-fingered salute and powered away across the field.

‘They’ve been set up, mate,’ was all the pilot could say to the observer.

iii

1035: Thursday 15th August 2019

Alex Shipley had insisted that he met his sergeant, Brian Gibson, face to face instead of talking over the phone. He was worried about his suspension from duty as a member of Purple One-Five. It had been such a long time, and the IOPC investigation continued to drag its heels. Harmony and Fullingdale were given the all-clear, particularly after Fullingdale was shot and then shot his assailant. Alex couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been cleared and returned to duty. He protested that he wasn’t involved in any shooting per se, so he should be allowed back to work. His arguments had fallen on deaf ears. He had to see Gibson. See what his take was on it.

Things had happened which gave him cause for concern, particularly after he was told that Fullingdale and Harmony had been targeted and died in the pursuit of a stolen SUV. He dared not even go to their funerals; he was that paranoid. As a single man living alone in a flat in South London, he was convinced he was being watched. He’d never actually clocked anyone, but it was a gut feeling. He wanted to know whether Gibson had the same problem. Living seventy-odd miles outside London, he had the right idea about keeping well out of the way.

He had a shadow, he knew it, but he couldn’t prove it. Someone had moved things in his flat. Only minor things, but enough to make him believe that his life was in danger. He had to talk to someone, and the only someone left was Gibson.

These thoughts overshadowed everything in his life, and he knew that his time was coming. He knew that he would be next; it stood to reason, didn’t it? He also knew that two officers in Purple One Eight were mysteriously injured.

With all these things whirling around his head, he made his way to the Costa Coffee opposite platform seven on the concourse of Victoria Station. He picked a table outside the shop. A position where he could see the comings and goings of everyone and keep his back to the wall so nobody could sneak up behind him. Something a mate told him about statecraft.

He recognised that the situation he found himself in had produced some mental problems. Although he didn’t think he was going mad, it did make him more and more suspicious of everything that was going on around him. Who wouldn’t be under these circumstances? The doctor called it PTSD and put him on anti-depressants, but nothing seemed to work.

Sipping his hot latte, his phone pinged. He picked it up from the table next to his cup and looked at the message. He frowned then deleted it. Something else that had got his attention over the last few months. An increase in strange messages. He’d taken no notice of them, but they had become increasingly sinister. Even if he blocked the number, the sender found a way around it by changing their number, so they still got to him.

The phone pinged again and, irritated, he glanced at it.

Just landed!

En route to you,

Brian.

Shipley smiled and pocketed his phone. The last thing he wanted was to discuss any unsolicited message that appeared while talking to his sergeant.

When Gibson arrived, he stood, and they shook hands. Shipley stumped up for a cappucino for Gibson and another latte for himself.

Gibson started the conversation. ‘What’s this all about, that we couldn’t talk on the phone?’

Shipley looked around before answering, then looked directly at Gibson. ‘We’re all dead men walking.’

‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’ questioned Gibson.

‘Exactly what I say, Brian. You heard about Andy and Rachel.’

Brian nodded. ‘Of course I did.’

‘Did you know about the One-Eight crew?’

Brian shook his head. ‘No. What happened to them?’

Shipley looked around the concourse again. ‘Two of them were injured. Ambushed in a three-nines call, within two days of each other.’

‘I didn’t think they were back on the job. Are they OK?’

‘Well, Bingo is in a medically induced coma, and Ray is not likely to return to duty.’

Now it was Gibson’s turn to contemplate and scan the concourse before saying anything.

‘What do you think is happening then?’ Gibson asked.

‘Personally, what I think is that we are a target … by those people we raided in Chinatown.’

Gibson frowned. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really. Remember that guy who kicked off in the cells, telling us we were all marked men?’

‘Yeah, but that was just bravado on his part. He didn’t say much when they sent him down.’

‘I still think it’s his mates.’

Gibson sat quietly for a moment. ‘I have to say when you link it all together it does look a bit sus.’

‘Anyway, how come Rachel and Andy were at work? That’s what I can’t understand; I thought we all got suspended.’

‘We all did, but some got returned to duty after somebody petitioned the IOPC and PSD. Even Edwards thought that was strange.’

‘And we weren’t brought back?’

‘Perhaps they have something else on us.’ Gibson gave a quick smile.

The day-to-day hustle and bustle of Victoria Station continued around them, and they both found themselves contemplating their situation. Commuters were going about their business, walking past, having no idea what these two men had gone through.

‘What do you think we should do?’ Shipley said finally.

‘I suppose we could take it to the guvnor.’

‘Not Edwards. They retired him last month.’

‘Who’s in charge then?’

Shipley shrugged.

‘We could try the Ops Commander.’

‘I suppose we could see what she has to say about it.’

‘When?’

Gibson glanced at his watch. ‘No time like the present.’

‘They won’t let us into NSY – we’re suspended, remember?’

‘You still have your warrant card, don’t you?’

Shipley nodded. Gibson retrieved his wallet, waving it in front of Shipley.

They both finished their drinks and made their way to the Underground station. The concourse and the platform were bustling. It seemed to Shipley that it was more packed than usual. They flashed their warrant cards to the ticket collector, and he let them through.

All it needed was a couple of stops on the Circle or District line to Embankment and the Metropolitan Police’s third iteration of New Scotland Yard on Victoria Embankment.

Like most people who use the Underground regularly, they moved down the platform through the crowds towards where the rear of the train would stop.

They continued to chat as they stood waiting for the train, just like all the other travellers.

Alex became unnerved by the number of people around them.

‘I don’t like this,’ Alex said.

‘It’s OK, Alex, this is nothing out of the normal, calm down.’

Alex heard the sound of the approaching train. The hot underground air was pushed out of the Tube. Just before it entered the station, the last thing that Alex felt was a hand on his back.

Five hours after giving statements and meeting with the Operations Commander, Brian Gibson arrived home in Northampton, to the flat in Kingsthorpe where he and his new wife lived. He’d already phoned ahead to tell her to pack a bag.

‘What the hell is going on, Brian?’ That was the first thing Andrea said as she ran to him at the front door.

‘Alex is dead.’

‘What? How?’

Brian walked into the lounge and sat down heavily in his chair. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands, at the same time wiping a tear from his eye.

Taking a big gulp of breath, he sat back in the chair and closed his wet eyes, trying not to think about the way Alex stepped off the platform in front of the Tube. ‘They’re all dead. Every one of my serial, except me,’ he whispered.

Andrea sat down in front of him and, in a calm tone, asked, ‘What happened?’

‘Alex stepped off the platform in front of a train at the Victoria Underground station. We were talking normally, although he’d been very paranoid during our meeting about people being after us because of the raid for which we were suspended.’ He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his hands. ‘He never gave any indication of what was in his mind, and I never thought he would do such a thing. It was terrible, Andi. I’ve seen some things in my time, but this has blown my mind.’

Andrea took him in her arms as more tears welled up.

‘They were friends and colleagues, and now they’re all gone. And we have to get away, as far away as we can.’

‘Where though?’

Brian sat back in his chair, disengaging from Andrea. He stood up and went to his bag, where he retrieved a packet from the travel agent he had visited before catching the train home. He handed it to Andrea.

She took it and opened it. ‘Hong Kong – Business Class.’ She rummaged through the pack. ‘First night in the InterContinental.’ She looked up – shocked.

‘Packed your bags yet? We leave in an hour.’

Now Andrea sat down in the chair Brian had just vacated.

‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Brian asked.

‘I’m too stunned to say anything, and I’m so sorry, Brian, but don’t you think that Hong Kong is the last place we should go … you know … considering your situation and what I’m working on.’

‘It was the only option available if we wanted to leave today. And after what has happened, I want to go asap and as far away as possible. Hidden in plain sight, so to speak.’ He gave Andrea a brief smile, convinced that someone would find him sooner or later, wherever they went.

PART ONE

HONG KONG

1

August 2019

Standing.

That’s all anyone could do. Stand. Within minutes, you may as well have been standing in the shower wearing your clothes. In the forty-degree heat and rampant humidity of Hong Kong’s hottest summer on record, Detective Inspector of Police Mandy Lee was standing.

Standing.

In the morning, in front of raw recruits, telling them about her role in the Hong Kong Police murder squad.

Standing.

On the edge of the parade square outside the Hong Kong Police College junior officers’ canteen.

Standing.

By her Toyota Prius CID car, she wanted to get in and switch on the air-con. To feel the cooling breeze around her. To dry her clinging white blouse. It would be disrespectful to get into the car before her boss, Detective Superintendent of Police William Ho, returned.

Standing. Standing and waiting.

However, she was anxious to get back to the real world of policing. She’d only done the job at the college as a favour to her senior colleague Detective Senior Inspector of Police Martin Cheung. But what did she know? She was the latest recruit to the murder squad. A post she had unsuccessfully applied for on several occasions – until now.

Now, she was a murder detective. Her delight at getting the job was short-lived. A rift had developed between her family due to her choice and other childhood traumas; she could not be sure of them ever being resolved. She doubted that she could ever treat the family in the way a daughter should.

As she stood, leaning on the car, she shaded her eyes and watched her students sitting in the sun outside the canteen as she recalled her time at the college. Proudly joining as a junior inspector with one star on her shoulder. She had marched from class to class in her plain green fatigues. She had been up with the sunrise to run up the hill behind the college, past the gun range. It all seemed so long ago.

Lee was brought up to recognise Hong Kong as an independent and democratic outpost of Great Britain. And recent democracy protests seemed to echo her views on the matter. Not that she could make that known with her colleagues. But since the handover to China and latterly changes in the security law, Beijing had begun the slow, inexorable creep of Chinese communist entrepreneurism. It was now clear that even before 2047, when the Sino-British Treaty expired, Hong Kong would be unrecognisable as a former British colony. At least she was in agreement with her father on this subject, except that his motivation for staying as a British democracy would only assist his activities better than being under the rule of communism.

She leaned into her car and removed a packet of tissues from the pocket of her jacket that she’d put on the back seat. Retrieving one from the pack, she wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced at her Apple watch, wondering how much longer she would have to wait for Ho.

Looking at her watch again, she considered telephoning her boss but then saw him across the other side of the football-pitch-sized parade ground, making his way towards her. From this distance, she noticed for the first time that his gait reminded her of a waddling duck, and a fat waddling duck at that. Ho would have her marched out of the department if he knew that such a thought had crossed her mind.

He had not been present at her lecture, something for which she was both grateful and disappointed. She had wanted to show him what she was capable of, but she was also glad that he would not be able to critique her knowledge or delivery in the car on the way back to headquarters.

Ho arrived out of breath and apologised for keeping her waiting as he got into the car. Lee climbed into the driver’s seat next to him and started the engine. The quiet hum of the electric motor and the lights on the dashboard display were all that indicated the engine was running. She drove away, acknowledging some of her students, who waved to her as she left.

Other than an occasional comment, the journey back to headquarters was mainly made in silence. Lee’s boss was, it would seem, preoccupied with his thoughts.

Hong Kong Police headquarters is situated in the Wan Chai district on Hong Kong Island. It is a fifty-storey modern skyscraper overlooking Hong Kong Harbour and has a vast Hong Kong Police badge high on the wall. Driving into the underground car park, she stopped. Ho got out, leaving her without a further word. She knew he had a reputation. His silence was not to be thought of as rude. It was just the way he was.

She parked her car in the allocated bays and made her way to the large air-conditioned open-plan office in the west wing, on the fourteenth floor of police headquarters. Lee went to her desk, which looked out across the Convention Centre, where the handover ceremony was held. She was too young to remember anything about it, other than the pouring rain.

The office was deserted by the time Lee arrived. Most of her colleagues had finished. She was the duty officer for the whole of the weekend and knew that the heat, the tourists and the local gangs were an explosive mixture, so something was bound to happen. She could almost guarantee it.

Sighing deeply, she pushed her jet-black hair out of her face and rubbed her eyes. She was tired.

Sitting back in her chair, she opened the top drawer of her desk and took out a bar of chocolate. She removed part of the wrapper, pleased that the bar had been kept in a semi-solid state by the air-con, but it was still softer than she preferred. She stared out of the window across the bay and ate the chocolate bar as she watched the growing twilight over the harbour’s panorama. She never got bored of the way Hong Kong lit up at night.

She heard the lift door open and realised she had been dozing. Several detectives came into the office, laughing and joking. They acknowledged Lee as they did so. A detective sergeant wandered over to her.

‘You look a bit lonely sitting there, Inspector,’ he said in Cantonese. ‘We’re all going into Central for dinner. Do you want to come along?’

‘Thanks, you go, I’ll sort myself out. I’m on duty all weekend. I wouldn’t be much company anyway.’

‘OK.’ The sergeant gave Lee a mock salute and strolled back towards his colleagues at the other end of the office.

Lee thought about his invitation after they had left. She should have gone with them, but she really couldn’t pretend to be sociable, so decided to go home.

2

The Same Day

The honeymoon suite of the Oriental Harbour hotel looked out across the same picture-postcard Hong Kong vista as Mandy Lee’s. Gibson’s suite was well placed to view the rising sun making the waters glisten and sparkle as the ships, boats and old dows plied their trade.

Brian Gibson had been awake since before the dawn. Unwanted memories were crashing into his dreams, turning them into nightmares. Hot sweats, the calling out at night. At some point, he would have to explain the real reasons to his new wife lying beside him, instead of passing it off as no concern.

He’d risen, being careful not to wake her. He opened the blinds and pulled back the balcony door to let in the fresh early morning air. He looked towards Andrea; she stirred momentarily then turned over. He poured himself the last dregs from the second bottle of champagne he’d ordered, both having consumed the first bottle on their arrival. It was warm and had lost its fizz overnight. He looked at the glass and grimaced but still drank it and returned to bed to watch the sunrise.

Andrea was younger than he, and as she snuggled up towards him, he sighed with the delight of a man in a new all-encompassing relationship.

His decision to come to Hong Kong was not only a result of what had happened with Alex Shipley, but it was also a bucket-list location for both of them. They’d been married for all but a few months, and the circumstances back home made him aware of the fact that they needed to get away and hide. It was in the forefront of his mind as an influence on their getaway. And anyway, the fact that Andrea was working on something here in Hong Kong, his decision to choose this place was, she had told him, lucky.

The sight of Alex being struck by the Underground train whirled around in his brain like an old reel-to-reel film. An explosion of red, screeching brakes, shouts and screams were there in his head every time he closed his eyes.

With the difficulty of the last eighteen months, it was hard for him to explain to someone who was not in the ‘police family’ why everything took so long to get sorted. ‘It’s just the way they work,’ he’d explained. He’d also told Andrea that they couldn’t leave the country, but he couldn’t care less now in deciding to fly BA out of Heathrow and limo pick-up at Hong Kong International’s Chek Lap Kok Airport.

They had received the warmest welcome from the front-of-house manager, and a bottle of champagne, a bouquet and a bowl of local fruits were in the suite when they arrived at their first hotel, InterContinental. They then stayed in the New Territories for a while before returning to the hotel they were in now. It had, despite everything, been a wonderous few days. Gibson had tried to put all his troubles behind him while they were there and enjoy the moment.

The fact that his new wife had brought her laptop and some work with her didn’t detract from their enjoyment of the province. Well, not so far anyway. It wasn’t as if she was on it twenty-four hours of the day. A few hours in the morning before they went out and that was it until the next day. He was happy with that, knowing how she worked and her subject matter.

As he looked out over the Hong Kong scene, he couldn’t help but think about his situation. It was in the forefront of his mind all the time. Any moment of quiet reflection was interrupted by the never-ending incident that forced