The Mak Collection (101 page)

The vendor screamed something angrily in Cantonese. ‘
Wai! Gwoh lai a!
’

She finally had someone’s attention.

Off the next table Mak snatched up a set of thin chopsticks held together with a pretty red ribbon. They looked like they might be plastic but they had sharp points. She pocketed them as she ran,
making a show of her thievery, catching the eye of the incensed seller.

Yes, come after me. And bring the police.

With her mane of blonde hair rising above the rest of the pedestrians, Mak had no hope of disappearing into the market crowd. She needed to gain ground and find somewhere to hide, around a corner or through a doorway—to give her just enough time to flee way towards the Mongkok subway station where she’d noticed some uniformed officers earlier. There
had
to be police officers at the station. But which way was it from here?

There. Behind that last stall. Someone in a uniform.

‘Hey! Help me! Police!’ she called out.

Makedde dodged to her right, shielded momentarily from Ed’s view by a tall canvas tarp that protected a stall overflowing with toy planes buzzing, toy monkeys clapping symbols, toy ferrets chasing balls.

Clang, clang, clang…

She squeezed her way into the corridor behind the stalls and found herself at the mouth of a dimly lit alley. Tarpaulins blocked her way, she had to double back—this was a mistake, she realised now.
Oh God, where to?
The alley was filled with rows of garbage bins, each overflowing with rotting food. There was a high chain-link fence at the end.
No officer.
Whoever she’d seen was on the other side of those tarpaulins.

She had a fraction of a second to decide. Go back the way she came?
Or
…

Hide.

Mak flattened herself against the brick wall and gripped the snow globe tightly in both hands.

There he is.

In seconds Ed Brown had appeared at the mouth of the narrow alley, panting. She would not have had enough time to double back even if she’d tried. Without hesitation Makedde lunged forward to strike him hard over the head with the snow globe. The killer must have sensed movement. He flinched and the globe only glanced against the side of his temple, propelling her forward as she missed her target. She struggled to retain her grip on the globe but it slipped from her hands and crashed on the pavement at their feet, scattering water and fake snow as the cheap glass shattered. Already his hands were on her and they began to struggle like boxers in a hold, he so much shorter but somehow stronger, his power shocking. They wrestled grimly, their bodies straining and twisting. She tried to get free to hit him, to go for his eyes, to reach the sticks in her pocket. Even if they were too flimsy to be effectual, she might scare him, slow him down maybe. She only needed a bit of distance, just a few seconds on her side in order to escape his clutches.

But her strength was no match for his freakish vigour. Ed got hold of her windpipe with both hands and squeezed, the black leather of his gloves creaking as they stretched tight. She batted at his arms in panic, a futile act, and in seconds felt her mind slip dangerously as she began to cloud into
unconsciousness. His face was close to hers, those pale eyes burning through her, eyes that were windows to a diseased soul. She had to escape that sickness, that foulness. She would not let it claim her. The instincts of years of self-defence training finally came to her. She braced her palms together as if in prayer and lodged her hands upwards between his, the strength of her shoulders breaking his grip on her throat.

‘Mother-fucker!’ she gasped, swinging out with one good kick and striking his kneecap hard on the side. He cried out and stumbled backwards, his head briefly silhouetted by a halo of neon. She backed up one step. Two. Shattered glass crunched under her feet. He blocked the entrance to the alley. There was nowhere to go but the chain-link fence and the open ground-floor windows beyond, where she could use a phone, get someone to help. Mak turned and ran towards the fence, leaping at it with force and meeting it a full five feet above the ground, her fingers clawing through the holes in the wire mesh, her feet scrabbling for purchase as she pulled herself up, up, ever closer to the top. She had to get over it, get into the buildings beyond. Someone would have to find them soon, someone who was chasing the thieving Westerner who had run down a back alley.
Where was everyone? Where was the police officer?

A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled.

Mak struggled to hold tight to the fence. She was almost there, her fingertips only inches from
the top, her voice crying out as loud as she could make it, but the hands had her, Ed had her in his grip and he was strong, so strong. She strained with every fibre of her being, tears springing from her eyes.
‘I will save the fatal incisions for last’, ‘Have you ever seen an autopsy Makedde?’, ‘You are special…’, ‘Such pretty toes…’
Her fingers stung as the wire pressed into them, threatening to cut them as his binds had when he had her tied down, immobilised and helpless: her shoulders cried out, he had her by the waist now with both hands, how could it be, he had her, after everything he had her, he was pulling her down with both arms and her desperate determination was no match for his strength. She heard his breath hard in her ear. A sharp smell, like alcohol but stronger, a rag over her mouth, a strange sensation, something lifting, she was being lifted, she felt weightless for a moment—
fight it, fight it Mak
—she struggled and kicked, felt her oxygen fade, her head going, lifting away.

With a final moment of focus she grabbed the chopsticks from her pocket and jabbed them into Ed’s neck.

His body jerked from the impact and the sticks snapped in half, the sharp ends left jutting straight up above his collarbone. He clawed at them, trying to get them out, his eyes wild with pain and confusion. He made a terrible noise, and there was a great exhalation of air from his mouth, then blood, blood covering the shoulder of her top and down her front. Mak lunged forward and kicked at his kneecap again, which buckled this time. ‘You
fucker!’ she screamed at him, and was ready to swing again…but he was not fighting back now, he was flat on the ground and she could see him grip his stomach. He had blood all over him. But not just from the broken chopsticks that protruded at a disturbing angle from his neck. There was blood and vomit, he was choking on it, coughing. He held a rag in one leather-gloved hand, clenched tight.
What’s happening?
She stumbled backwards and hit the chain-link fence; she turned and climbed. ‘Call the police! Someone call the police!’ she yelled towards the windows above. She pulled herself up to the top and threw a leg over, panting. Behind her Ed was on the ground surrounded by a growing pool of darkness. She watched him heave, once, twice, and give out a spray of dark vomit. His body convulsed, his head falling back to hit the concrete. He vomited again. She paused, perched on top of the fence, mesmerised, watching in frozen awe as Ed Brown suffered and writhed in the filthy back alley.

‘Why me, Ed? Why, you fucker?’ she yelled at him.

He did not respond.

Makedde sat in her underwear on the edge of an examination table in Kwong Wah Hospital, feeling both exhausted and pumped with uneasy adrenaline. She had been thoroughly checked for injuries. The blood on her clothes had not been hers. She couldn’t control her shakes now. Her body tensed and released, tensed again. It wouldn’t stop.

‘Thank you. You can get dressed now,’ Dr Luk said, and pulled the white curtain across for Makedde’s privacy. She had a flawless English accent, and was probably one of the few overseas-trained medical doctors to stay in Hong Kong after the handover in 1997.

Mak hopped off the table and reached for a small pile of clean clothing she had been provided with: drawstring pants and a loose top. They reminded her of surgical scrubs. She got dressed and came out from behind the curtain. The doctor was at her desk.

‘The shakes are just a bit of shock, all quite normal under the circumstances. They should disappear in the next few hours or so. Try to stay
warm and drink plenty of liquid. And rest as much as possible,’ she said. ‘You don’t appear to have any physical injuries apart from those scratches, though you might have a bit of bruising around the neck tomorrow. I have cleaned and bandaged the small abrasions. They should be fine. We would know by now if you had been affected by any of the poison, but just to be sure if you notice any blistering in the next twenty-four hours alert a doctor immediately.’

Mak had been admitted to Emergency covered in blood. Her clothing had been stained heavily with it and would need to be examined. With Ed critically ill, not from the chopstick stab wounds, but from an as yet unidentified poison, they had to be certain that none of it had entered Makedde’s system orally, or through any broken skin. As Mak had not fully lost consciousness during the struggle, Dr Luk did not believe that the chloroform Ed had used would have any lasting effects.

Dr Luk got up from her desk and gave Makedde a reassuring look. ‘You will be fine. I will let them know we are finished. Good luck.’

‘
Dor jeh
,’ Mak whispered. ‘Thank you.’

Shortly after, there was a knock on the door and a tall Caucasian man stepped inside. ‘Miss Vanderwall?’ The officer was square-faced and grave. He sat down opposite Makedde and took a deep breath. Mak felt on edge. She wished he would speak.

‘Edward Brown passed away a few minutes ago,’ he said.

The tiny hairs on the back of Makedde’s neck bristled, and somehow her heart
lifted.
He had been such a part of her life for the past eighteen months, subtly invading every thought, tainting everything she did, and now it seemed he was truly, really
gone.

‘Um…are you sure?’ Mak asked, knowing the question was strange, but needing to be certain.

‘Yes. He is dead. We thought you would want to know.’

Mak nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’m glad you told me.’

That was it. Catherine’s killer was dead. Ed Brown was really gone, forever.

‘The Australian authorities have requested that you return to Sydney to answer some routine questions.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Will you be okay to leave tomorrow?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. I was only planning on staying another few days anyway. I can um…pack up by then.’

She would see Andy again, in that case. And soon. It was probably a good thing that they meet again face-to-face. There was a lot to talk about. She had feelings for him that she needed to resolve. Their bond was not so easily broken, it seemed. Perhaps now, with Ed out of their lives, they would be able to get on with whatever relationship it was that they had—or didn’t have.

‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Well, yes, actually. Not bad, considering,’ Mak responded. Her body was still buzzing, and she was
still shaking from time to time, but she was also relieved and it felt good. It felt good to be able to slowly start adjusting to life without Ed Brown. She was finally free of his obsession, and it was wonderful.

‘Your friends are here,’ the man said. ‘Are you okay to see them? They can take you home.’

‘Friends?’

Jen had been found through her mobile phone, still in the markets. She had been in the hospital waiting room while Mak was examined. But what was this about friends, plural?

The officer walked Mak back to the waiting room where she found that he was right. She had not one, but two friends waiting for her.

‘Oh my God! Macayly!’ Gabby cried. Her mascara had run. She looked distressed, her usual look of posed disdain had evidently vanished. ‘I couldn’t believe what happened when I heard.’

This wasn’t something Mak had expected to see.

Gabby engulfed her in a bony hug. ‘You poor darling! Are you okay?’

‘Um. I think so. I’m fine.’

A sign of humanity from Gabby the model? Life kept getting stranger.

‘I had no idea what you had been through! Oh my God!’

‘Oh, Makedde!’ Jen exclaimed.

‘It’s over now. It’s finally over,’ Mak whispered, more to herself than anyone else. ‘It’s done.’