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 a.s.sociating 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 pa.s.sport and pa.s.sage 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 pa.s.sports 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."

Forty-four.

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 prost.i.tute, 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?"

"Perhaps she is not hiding."

Field frowned.

"I hope she is, d.i.c.kie, and that she turns up alive. For your sake, I hope so."

Field walked the short distance to the Majestic. He climbed the stairs and scanned the stage and the dance floor. They were almost deserted this early in the evening.

He made his way to Mrs. Orlov's office and knocked once before he heard her sharp command to enter. She was still sitting at her desk, as though she'd not moved since his last visit.

Examining her more closely, he thought she seemed older, more tired and frayed. She looked weary and cynical, her eyes hooded. Field wondered if this was just a reflection of his own disillusionment.

"I'm looking for Natasha Medvedev."

Mrs. Orlov shook her head.

"Will she be in later?"

The woman maintained her studied disinterest. "I haven't seen her-not for at least the last few nights."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"You know where she lives."

"She's not there."

"You know where she might be found."

Field felt his face reddening. He took a step back, into the doorway. "Do you know of any a.s.sociates or friends she has in the city?"

Mrs. Orlov shook her head, her manner still frosty.

"Did Natalya Simonov ever dance here?"

She shook her head again.

"Natalya Medvedev?"

Her frown deepened.

"Irina Ignatiev?"

"I do not know these girls."

Field looked at her for a moment. "Thank you." He moved to close the door.

"Would you like me to give her a message?"

"No."

"Shall I say you called?"

"No, it's . . . No."

Field ran down the steps, the old anger starting to burn within him.

At Crane Road, Penelope opened the door. "Soldier," she said as she stepped back, very slightly unsteady on her feet. "How nice."

Penelope gently coaxed him over the threshold, leading him through to the drawing room, an arm draped over his. She pushed him onto the long sofa in front of the Chinese dresser. It was uncomfortable and, like the room as a whole, felt unlived in. "Geoffrey is out at meetings, but you must relax. You look like you've been working too hard."

Field had told himself he'd come to see Geoffrey and he was therefore, he a.s.sured himself, disappointed.

The Chinese servant came in carrying a silver tray with two empty gla.s.ses. "This will do," she said. She took a full bottle of whiskey from the sideboard and poured two drinks.

Penelope was wearing a low-cut silver dress, a long string of pearls hanging around her neck. She looked as if she was about to go out.

She handed him a gla.s.s before collapsing onto the sofa next to him. "Chin up."

Penelope knocked back her drink in one and Field found himself doing the same. It burned his stomach and he groaned quietly, then leaned his head back.

"Tired soldier," Penelope said.

She moved to her knees in front of him and tugged at the laces on his shoes.

"No, I'm . . ."