The Master Of Rain

“What do you mean?”

Caprisi sighed and looked out of the window. “It’s not exactly a democracy, is it? A small group of men who own the big businesses run the council, with your uncle at their head . . . No wonder the air is poisonous. It’s poisoned by money, money, and more money.”

“Isn’t New York polluted? Or Chicago?”

“No. Anyways, not like this.”

Caprisi crossed his legs, placing his notebook on his knee and flicking back through it. “What did you think?”

“About what?”

“About her. Natasha.”

“I think she’s frightened.”

“I’d say so.” He looked down at his notes again. “What’s Lu’s interest in these girls? Why is he paying for them?”

“The obvious interest.”

“Natasha maybe, but there are hundreds of girls like Lena, and boys, of all ages.” Field blanched again at this thought, but Caprisi didn’t appear to notice. “Lena was nothing special, was she? He could have screwed her if he’d wanted. He didn’t have to go installing her in a penthouse apartment. Natasha—now, there’s a different story. That I can see. She’s got class. She’s special, a trophy, but not Lena.”

“Perhaps Lena was a useful gift.”

“Perhaps that was it.”

“Or had useful information.”

“On what?”

“On the communists.”

Caprisi turned toward him.

“I don’t think,” Field went on, “that there is any doubt Lena Orlov was attending meetings at the New Shanghai Life and at the Soviet consulate. So was Natasha.”

“So they’re Lu’s agents?”

“It’s possible.”

“But it can hardly be a secret that they live in his apartments. So what use are they?”

“Go-betweens.”

Caprisi nodded.

“The communists are gaining power in the south,” Field said. “Quite soon they’re expected to advance north. Lu likes to have as many fingers in the pie as he can get. He’s not going to be attending meetings himself, and these girls could provide information on what is discussed and planned amongst the Bolshevik underground here. Or perhaps the ownership of these apartments is not as commonly known as you suppose. We are only aware of it because of Chen, and he seems to know everything.”

Caprisi nodded slowly again, staring out of the window. “Natasha Medvedev is frightened, but she’s making no attempt to help herself.”

“She doesn’t trust us.”

“She’s lying about those notes.”

Field nodded.

“How much do you think she knows about the shipments?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It must be opium.”

Field shrugged.

“Lu controls the supply line into the city from central China. He gets together with others to export the drugs to Europe. It’s a whole new market. That’s a departure for the Green Gang, but it would be incredibly profitable, wouldn’t it?”

“I imagine so.”

“Lu has a brilliant mind and total control of the underworld here, but he’s going to need expat help to build a European operation. So . . . somebody else is involved. A syndicate, perhaps. Lena gets to hear of this, perhaps from Lu. She sees that it’s explosive and begins to make secret notes. Dates, shipments.” Caprisi looked down, deep in thought. “Lena and Natasha are friends. Does Lena talk to her, do you think? Are they close?”

Field thought about the pictures of the two women’s families at home in Russia.

“Do you believe Natasha’s account of how she found the body?” Caprisi went on.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, if she heard or witnessed or was party to the murder, why would she wait so long before calling the police?”