“I can see it in your face.” She stared at the floor again. “And you saw something.” Field took a step closer. “You knew what to look for.”
Natasha did not respond.
Field frowned. “You have seen them before? Whatever it was that Lena knew, you know, too. She told you. She was like a sister to you.”
Her face was hostile, a brittle anger in her eyes, her mouth tight. She held her arms protectively across her chest. “You have brought me fear again.”
“I have brought you nothing you haven’t brought upon yourself.” He was inches away from her now. “Lena was like a sister to you, Natasha. How does that feel? She lived the life your sister lived, and she died the death your sister died.” He reached out and put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Natalya Simonov was your sister, Natasha. I’ve seen her grave. And your father’s.”
Her eyes filled with pain, but the anger burned within him. “All the time I’ve been chasing around trying to find the truth,” he said, “you have just been playing me along.” Field’s teeth clenched and he tightened his grip. “If your father died in Russia, Natasha, or on the ship from Vladivostok, how is it that he’s buried here?”
“What is it to you?”
“That’s why the photograph of Natalya is no longer on your bookshelf, isn’t it? You thought I’d recognize her.” He let her go. “Do you know what I felt when I saw the picture of her body? For Christ’s sake, I thought it was you.” Field walked to the window, then turned. “What purpose have I served?”
Her eyes had followed him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what purpose have I really served? Tell me where I fit in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, it can’t be love, can it?” He spread his hands. “Or even sex. Did you feel anything? Or are you so practiced in the art of deception that—”
“Stop it, Richard.”
“Stop it?” He took a pace toward her again. “Stop it?”
“Why are you being—”
“She was your
“Please stop, Richard.”
“Is this causing you pain, Natasha? Is this hurting you?”
“Stop it.”
“She was your sister.”
“Please.”
“She was your fucking sister.”
“I knew that you would find out.”
“Did you really?” Field breathed in heavily in an attempt to try to control himself. “I’m a policeman, for God’s sake. Of course I would find out. It happens, even in Shanghai, occasionally. So where did she live? Which number on Avenue Joffre?”
“I could not tell you.”
“Which number?”
“Number 73. On the ground floor.”
“Who was she seeing?”
“I don’t know.”
“She was your sister.”
“We did not talk of it.”
“What about Lena?”
“I don’t know.” Natasha shook her head. “I just do not know. It was sensitive for both of us, for all of us, so we did not talk of it. It is dangerous to know these things.”
“But Lena told you about the shipments?”
Natasha didn’t answer.
“So what about me, Natasha? Where do I fit in? Can you tell me that, at least?”
“I could not tell you.”
“This man either killed your sister or was involved in her murder, and still you go down there and take off your clothes and let him—”
“Stop it!” Her eyes were wild.
“Did you see Natalya’s body, Natasha? Did you see what he did to her? The photograph is in my desk. Do you want me to get—”
