Tom Bradby - The Master Of Rain

She shook her head.

“There have been no unexplained disappearances?”

She shook her head again.

“Have any of the girls died this year in any circumstances?”

“No,” she said.

“How much violence does he like to inflict?”

The girl looked down again and Caprisi glanced over toward Field, shaking his head.

The Fraser’s headquarters was on the Bund. A uniformed security guard took them from the reception desk, across the wide marble lobby, to the lifts.

Lewis’s office on the top floor reminded Field of the private room at the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank, except that the windows were bigger here, affording a still more panoramic view of the bend in the river. Lewis’s desk faced the water and he sat in a leather chair, invisible save for his feet on the desk.

Field looked out beyond him at a line of junks on the far side of the river that appeared to be sailing tied together. They bobbed up and down violently, their patchwork sails tilting to and fro like fans. A thick plume of smoke from another steamer cut a jagged line through the sky. Field could see the passengers on deck and sticking their heads through dirty portholes. New arrivals, he thought, feeling that his own seemed like years, rather than months, ago.

When Lewis finally replaced the receiver, he swung round, dropping his legs to the floor. He stood and walked over to the sideboard. He was in a vest and shirtsleeves, and he moved aggressively. “This had better be good. Drink, gentlemen?”

“No,” Caprisi said. “Thank you.”

“Never drink on duty?”

“Something like that. The shipments go the day after tomorrow. Will you be monitoring them?”

Lewis looked at Caprisi, and then at Field, as if they were insane. “I’m sorry, but-”

“We have a witness,” Caprisi said. He looked as if he were going to step forward and thump him. “A witness who saw you entering Natalya Simonov’s house on the night of her murder.”

Lewis poured himself a whiskey. A muscle in his cheek was twitching, and he scratched the end of his long nose with an elegantly manicured fingernail. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“You claim you’ve never heard of a Natalya Simonov?” Caprisi pulled out his notebook.

Lewis was still being icily polite. “If you would care to explain, Officer, then perhaps I could help you.”

“I’m sure you know that Natayla Simonov was the Orlov killer’s previous victim. We know you were seeing her, and have an eyewitness account of you going into her apartment on the night of her murder.”

“Should I call a lawyer?”

“It is your prerogative.”

“That was a joke, Officer.” Lewis took out his cigarettes, lit one, and then threw the case to Field. “I’m afraid I have no idea who your Natalya is.”

“She’s Natasha Medvedev’s sister,” Field said, without having intended to.

“Poor old her.”

“So you knew her?” Caprisi asked.

“No.”

“But you know Natasha Medvedev?”

Lewis smiled. “There are a lot of fish in the sea, Officer.”

Caprisi turned toward the wall. Like all the others, it was covered in pictures of previous taipans of the company.

“Do you have family here?” Caprisi asked.

“If you’re asking if I’m married, then the answer is no.”

“Other family?”

“Why is that relevant?”

“I’d be grateful if you would answer the question, sir.”

“Well, Officer, my father is, of course, dead, which is why I am taipan. My mother chose to return to Scotland. My first cousin Hamish and his wife are therefore my only close family here, though I have a number of other cousins involved at different levels of the company.”

“Did you know Lena Orlov?”

“As I have previously said, we may have met a couple of times at the Majestic.”

“But you never went to her apartment?”

“No.” Lewis had his arm draped over the leather chair. His eyes were steady as they moved between the two of them.

“You’ve never been to the Happy Times block?”

“I didn’t say that, Officer.”

Field felt his face reddening.

“You’ve been to Miss Medvedev’s apartment?”

“Once or twice.”

“Only once or twice?”

“Generally speaking, Officer, I like to avoid associating with Russians. They’re too much trouble.”

Caprisi moved toward the window. “Lena Orlov kept detailed notes about illegal shipments from one of your factories. We understand from Delancey’s that you have certain proclivities that would fit the profile of this case.”

Lewis looked at Field, unperturbed. “Really, Officer.”

“Lena Orlov believed she was going to escape Shanghai. She told friends that she’d been promised a passport and passage to a new life in Europe. She kept the details of these shipments as an insurance policy.”

“Influential as I am, Officer, even I don’t have the right, I’m afraid, to hand out passports on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government.”

The more Caprisi said, Field thought, the more languid and arrogant Lewis appeared to become. If, at first, he’d been irritated, he was now laughing at them. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“We have a witness who saw you going into Natalya Simonov’s apartment on the night of her murder. When we approached your factory on the first occasion, your men attempted to kill us.”

“So what do you want from me, Officer, exactly?”

“An explanation, before we move to bring charges.”

“I keep thinking to myself that this must be April Fools’ Day.”

“You can think what you like, Mr. Lewis.”

“Gentlemen, I could go on all day. Really, I could. It’s been most amusing, but I have work to do.” His expression hardened. “I’m afraid to say that running the biggest company in Shanghai doesn’t give me much time for listening to this kind of fanciful nonsense.”

“Very well.”

“If you wish to bring charges, then please be my guest. But I suggest you run your so-called evidence past your superiors before you do so. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if you don’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “I may say that I’ve always been a great supporter of the work of our police force, but I am beginning to wonder why.” He looked from one to the other. “I’m sure you can show yourselves out. Do give my regards to Mr. Macleod.”

Outside, the sun was still shimmering on the choppy waters of the river, but it had begun to lose some of its heat.

They watched as a steamer tied up on the wharf, belching black smoke from its funnel. It hooted twice and was greeted by a cheer from a crowd of people waiting on the dock.

Field leaned against the car.

“You didn’t tell me the two women were sisters,” Caprisi said.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me more.”

Field turned around and looked up toward the top floor of the Fraser’s building. “Natalya Simonov was Natasha Medvedev’s older sister. She changed her name once she started work as a prostitute, but their father found out anyway and shot himself. He’d been a general of the tsar and couldn’t cope.”

“So Natalya was also one of Lu’s girls?”

“I think so, yes.” Field realized that he had never asked Natasha.

“Why doesn’t the boy go live with his aunt?”

“I don’t know.”

“He kidnaps the boy so that he has a hold over Natasha.”

Field thought of his last exchange with her.

“Can she help us find him?”

“She seems to have gone to ground. I can’t find her. I-I thought she might have gone to Lu, or perhaps been taken by him. I’ve tried her apartment, her friends. Where could someone like Natasha hide in this city?”