“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.”
Forty-six
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?”
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.”
