“Yes.”
“You may be disappointed to discover that I haven’t looked at the Orlov prints and they’re not next in line.”
“It’s a murder case.”
“So tell me something new.”
Field took a step closer, looking over the man’s shoulder at the pages of prints in the ledger that he was using to try to find a match for the one on the piece of paper in front of him.
“I’m Field, by the way.”
He didn’t respond.
“You’re Mr. Ellis.”
“I’m Ellis.”
“Is there any chance that, when you do come to the Orlov case, you might be able to check Lu’s prints against those you took from the bedroom? It’s just it would help to—”
“Field.” The man did not look up. “Have you seen me in S.1 recently?”
“No.”
“Well, when you do, telling you how to do your job, then you can come up here and help me out with mine.”
Field retreated, shut the door quietly, and crossed the corridor to the registry, a stuffy, hot room without ventilation or light. It was run by Danny Black, a first-generation Irish immigrant from New York, who’d fled from the civil war in Ireland to the East Coast of America, only to have found his way mysteriously thereafter to Shanghai. Without ever having talked about it, Field knew that he was Granger’s man, toiling away in the undergrowth for reasons unknown. He worked alongside Maretsky, who had a glass cubicle at the far end; both fat men with glasses and curly hair, they could have been twins. They were assisted by a Russian woman of similar physique who sorted through the files, occasionally filling in at the front desk whenever Danny or Maretsky was involved in Modus Operandi briefings or research. Maretsky also had an office up on the sixth floor.
There was no one in evidence, so Field filled out one of the white forms. He wrote:
He hesitated a second before taking another sheet, writing
After a minute Danny emerged from behind one of the iron shelves at the far end of the room. “Mr. Field,” he said. Everyone liked Danny. His face exuded good-humored bonhomie. “What have you been up to?”
“A Russian woman,” Field said.
Danny looked up from the forms. He appeared worried. “Lu?”
Field waited for him to expand, and when he didn’t, said, “Yes, Lu.”
Danny looked shifty. “We’ve not got a file for Lu.”
Field frowned.
“There’s a background file,” Danny added hastily.
“Then I’ll take that.”
Danny turned around, disappearing behind the shelves and reemerging a few moments later with one bulging folder and a slim one.
“Can I get the current file on Lu?”
“There isn’t one.”
“There must be one.”
“We don’t have it.” Danny was flustered.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Field hesitated. “I thought all files have to be signed out and a memo put through to you if forwarded anywhere different.”
“Yes.”
“So you have a note of who the file’s signed out to?”
“No.”
“But—”
“I mean yes. Granger has it.”
“Well, I’ll get it from him, then.”
“Sure.” Danny looked down. He was filling in the book in front of him, writing the file numbers and subjects alongside Field’s name. He turned it around for him to sign before shutting it and retreating behind the shelves once more, without looking back.
Field took the stairs to the third floor, where Caprisi was on the phone, his jacket over the back of the chair, along with his leather holster. Watching him, Field noticed how well groomed he was, his hair neatly trimmed at the back and side. A leather wallet was open on the desk, and Field saw that there was a photograph inside of a young
