Biers was twiddling his pen over the back of his hand, as Field had done in lessons at school, trying to spin and catch it in one movement.
“What are the Municipal Council going to think,” Granger said. “I’m not sure if they’ve signed up for a war.”
The commissioner did not answer, spinning his pen again and again, until he managed to catch it.
Field had no choice but to follow Granger after the meeting. The pair of them took the stairs while Caprisi and Macleod got into the lift.
The Special Branch office was dark. Granger did not bother to switch on a light until he got to his room. He kicked the door shut behind them with such force that the whole cubicle shook.
“You’re wondering why I lied about tonight,” Granger said, lighting Field’s cigarette and then his own. “Fuck it.”
Field didn’t answer.
“Macleod was trying to catch us out. Make us look bad in front of the commissioner.” Granger scowled and threw his cigarette in the bin. “He hasn’t got you distrusting me, has he?”
“Of course not.”
Granger looked at his watch. “Fuck. Caroline will kill me.” He followed Field out of his office and locked the door after him. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he said.
Field walked over to his desk and sat down, listening as Granger got into the lift and pulled the cage across, then slowly descended.
He leaned forward, glad to be surrounded by the darkness. The rain still thundered on the windows above him, like a stranger demanding entry. He remembered the days he’d spent inside the house in Yorkshire as a young boy, staring out at their small, waterlogged garden. The rain here unnerved him; it was relentless and angry. He ran his fingers back and forth along his temples and then rubbed his eyes, trying to relax. His head felt heavy.
There was someone behind him. He banged the light as he spun around, one hand reaching for the revolver inside his jacket.
“Caprisi.” He breathed out. “What the fuck are you—”
“Keep your voice down.”
Macleod was standing behind the American. “You told him about the factory. I thought Caprisi had told you not to give away—”
“I didn’t think it would matter. He just asked why I was in a hurry.” Field stood up, forcing them both to take a pace back. “Christ.” He rubbed his forehead. He almost told them that he’d also mentioned the factory raid to Natasha, then thought better of it. “I don’t understand . . . I mean why tonight, in response to what, specifically?”
“The cabal and Lu act as one,” Caprisi said. “This was a warning. This case is obviously sensitive to them, either because of what is going on at the factory or because of who the murderer is, or both. We cannot be bought, therefore they have to warn us off. If we pursue it, things will be taken to the next stage.”
Field sighed.
“We’ve got to be more careful, Richard. No leaks. Make sure no one is told what we are actually doing.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Try and stay close to Granger. Tell us if you see a move coming.”
“We’ll meet every morning down below,” Macleod said. “At seven sharp, before anyone else gets in.”
After they’d gone, Field switched off the light and sat there, finding the darkness briefly comforting.
He finally got up and walked down the stairs, intending to climb into a rickshaw and go to the Donaldsons’ house, where he was sure of a warm reception, but that was not the address he gave. A hundred yards short of the Happy Times block, he shouted at the man to stop and got out. He thrust a generous note into his hand.
The rain was thundering down and Field had left his trilby in the office, so the water ran in rivulets down the back of his neck. The smell of Soochow Creek hung heavily in the air and a single gas lamp hissed beside him. Field wiped his face and walked, his feet squelching water with each step, like a primitive pump.
There was a light on in her apartment. Field stopped short and ducked into the doorway of a building opposite. He opened his raincoat and fumbled in his new coat pocket for his cigarettes, but his matches were damp.
He looked up as the light in her apartment went off.
He imagined the white gown falling from her shoulders. He could see it crumpled around her ankles. Natasha was walking toward Lu, he reaching forward, smiling, to take possession of her.
A dog barked loudly and a barge honked twice on the river. Field could hear the rasp of his own breathing.
A tram rattled past.
Field stepped out, unable to stop himself. He walked through the puddles in the road and stamped out the water on the steps into the Happy Times block, leaving a trail of dirty prints across the reassuringly clean stone floor. It looked as if no one had been in tonight.
The porter was a younger man, with short hair and a lean face. He was on his feet. He nodded a greeting, not willing to challenge Field’s presence.
Field walked through the fire exit door and began to climb the darkened stairwell. The door into her hallway creaked as he opened it. He stopped to listen, but could only hear the sound of his own breathing.
Field wiped the palm of his hand across his hair to remove some of the rain.
He knocked on her door once, loudly, then stepped back.
