Tom Bradby - The Master Of Rain

Granger leaned forward. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

The commissioner indicated that Granger should present his case, but he simply shook his head. “There’s no evidence here that would stand up for a second in a court of law. Even if you are right about the shipments, there is no evidence whatever to suggest that Lewis knows anything about them. It could have been one of the factory managers who was fucking the Russian girl and shooting off his big mouth in an attempt to impress her. And the rest of it is so circumstantial as to be preposterous.”

“His response has been swift,” Macleod said.

“Of course it fucking has. His company taxes account for about twenty-five percent of our annual budget.” Granger looked exasperated. “We’re cutting our throats. As for the increase in the budget, we’ve spent months trying to persuade Geoffrey Donaldson.” He sighed again. “You can kiss that good-bye, Macleod.”

“Money doesn’t buy innocence.”

“But it pays our wages.” Granger bristled. “You’re wrong about Lewis, anyway. I know he’s a little rougher on the inside than we expect in someone of his standing, but I don’t believe he’s behind these… girls.”

“They were murdered.”

“They were Russian.”

“So they don’t count?”

“Of course they do, but get a sense of proportion. If it was a society woman of his acquaintance, then it would be intolerable, but they were Russian prostitutes, for Christ’s sake. If you have the evidence, then it’s a different matter; but so far, you’ve not got a row of beans and you’re acting like a bunch of cowboys.”

“Perhaps that is what is required.”

Granger rolled his eyes. He looked at the commissioner. “Are you going to say anything?”

“It does seem a little premature.”

“Thank you.”

The commissioner turned back to Macleod. “What explanation do you want me to offer Geoffrey Donaldson?”

Both Caprisi and Macleod were looking at Field. “We acted within bounds we thought were reasonable in a very unpleasant case,” the Scot said. “No offense was intended and we apologize if any was caused. Clearly, the involvement of one of his factories and his association with some of these girls, and with that side of the city’s life in general, may have led us to act in haste, but we will continue to pursue the matter vigorously.” Macleod tugged at his nose. “I’m still going to watch that factory tomorrow.”

“Then they’ll move it through somewhere else,” Granger said.

“Is that so?”

Granger and Macleod glowered at each other.

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” the commissioner said. “I think we’ve progressed as far as we’re going to.”

A few minutes later, after watching Granger walk into his office and shut the door, Field went down to C.1. Caprisi was standing by the door, talking to one of the secretaries, and Field waited until she had gone back to her desk.

The American went to get himself some water.

“Where do you think she’s gone?” Field asked.

“I’ve no idea.”

“Do you think they know she is working for us?”

“I didn’t even know. Is she?”

Field realized he was making a fool of himself. “We need to find the boy and we won’t without her.”

“If she’s chosen to be lost, then we’re wasting our time. People disappear here, if you haven’t noticed. If she’s been taken, we’ll never find her.”

Field contemplated for the first time the possibility that Natasha might be dead already.

“You’ve left a note?” Caprisi asked.

Field’s throat was dry. He wondered now if even leaving the note was dangerous. “Yes.”

“Caprisi!” Macleod shouted.

Both of them walked down to his office and shut the door behind them. Macleod retreated behind his desk, shaking his head. He was half-angry and, Field thought, half-amused, in the way that a father is with a troublesome but spirited child.

“So you’re being tailed as well,” Macleod said.

“Lu’s men.”

“Then I want you in the office, unless otherwise agreed. In fact, in the office, period. We’ll arrange an escort back to your quarters tonight.”

Caprisi looked at Field. “We believe Natalya Simonov’s son can positively identify the killer,” the American said. “We need to look for him.”

“Not today, gentlemen. If you’re being tailed, then you’re at risk, and I can’t afford the manpower to move you around with an escort all day.” Macleod leaned across and pushed his paperweight from side to side. “I’m going to fix a watch on the factory tomorrow, so we’ll see what transpires. Perhaps that will be your evidence.” Macleod stood. “Is Chen fit?”

“No.”

“Fit enough to supervise a watch?”

“I doubt it.”

Macleod looked annoyed by this. “Don’t cause me any more trouble, will you, boys.” It was not a question.

Field felt caged in the office, so, after lunch, he resolved to return to Katya’s house.

He tried to get out of the station the back way. He walked through the canteen and the kitchen and emerged into a small side alley by the rubbish bins. He could see no sign of anyone, so stepped out into the street. He kept close to the wall and ducked under the steam that was pouring from an open kitchen window.

He had only walked ten yards when he saw them leaning against the wall at the far end of the alley: two on each side of the street. They straightened and Field stopped. For a moment he felt like testing them out, the adrenaline pumping through him, but his instincts told him the risk of inadvertently leading them to Katya’s house was too great. He turned back. There was no choice but to sit by the phone and wait.

That night Lu’s men were still out front, but Granger shoved Field roughly into the back of his Chevrolet and then turned to check that they were not being followed.

Granger had dismissed Macleod’s suggestion that they would need an escort.

The house was close to Penelope and Geoffrey’s, just behind the Bund, and of similar design and size, with a veranda and high-ceilinged, airy rooms. “Good man, Field,” Granger said as he guided him into the hall. “You can lose your jacket. Wu!”

Granger went on through to the back while his number one boy took Field’s jacket and revolver, then sprayed his ankles awkwardly with paraffin.

“Many bites… buzz…”

Field smiled. The man had not a single tooth, so “buzz” sounded like his father breaking wind. He paused, gathering himself.

Caroline Granger rose swiftly as he came onto the veranda at the back, offering her hand. She wore a simple, short black dress with a gold and diamond necklace, her dark hair shiny and her smile warm. “We meet properly at last.” She turned. “You know Penelope Donaldson.”

“We’re related,” Penelope said without standing. “I’m his auntie.”

Penelope was also dressed in black. She looked at him as he sat down, dark eyes resting upon his face. He tried to smile back.

“Some champagne, Richard?” Granger held a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other.

Field hesitated.

“Hesitation means consent.” He poured the glass and handed it to him.

Field took out his cigarettes and offered them around, but Granger shook his head and reached for his own as he sat on the wicker sofa beside his wife.

“I’ve been getting a hard time,” Granger said, leaning back in his chair and placing both feet on the glass table in front of him. “The ladies here believe their kind are in the process of proving themselves our equals in some ways, and our superiors in most.”

“That woman who is planning to swim the Channel,” Caroline explained. Patrick doesn’t believe she’ll be able to do it and certainly does not find it a cause for celebration.”