had been broken. Four machine guns and a couple of steel helmets had been stacked on top of the iron lockers in the corner.
The place smelled and felt like the changing rooms at the spartan boarding school Field had attended in Yorkshire.
Chen beckoned them both into the toilet, shutting the door behind them and checking that each cubicle was vacant before retreating to the sinks at the far end. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the side of Chen’s face.
Field thought that most people would probably consider the Chinese detective handsome. He had a square jaw, short dark hair, and steady eyes. He exuded a quiet strength.
Chen touched his ears to indicate why they had come in here. “One of the neighbors,” he said quietly. “A building opposite. An old Chinese, lives on his own. Says he never sleeps. He saw a black car, probably Chevrolet, come up about four A.M. Bodyguards get out street side, but he can’t see who goes in—it’s dark and the car blocks his view. One hour, then whoever it is leaves, car goes off. He sees the girl Natasha come in before this—about three.”
“As she said,” Caprisi added.
“But not Lena. She is inside all night.”
“No other visitors?”
“He cannot say. He’s not always watching. When he is bored, he watches the street. Especially Happy Times. He knows the girls are Lu’s.”
“He didn’t see anyone else?”
“He didn’t say he saw anyone.”
Caprisi frowned and shook his head. “But
“Maybe Krauss is wrong.”
Caprisi slammed his fist down on one of the washbasins.
“Prokopieff tailed me there,” Chen said. “How fucking stupid does he think I am?”
Caprisi’s frown deepened. “He tailed you?”
“From here. I went on foot, down Foochow, and he was there . . . sticking out . . .”
“Did he want you to see him?”
Chen shrugged.
“All right,” Caprisi said. “This feels to me like we’re going down the same road that led us into trouble before with the opium dens. Wherever possible, we have to work together. If we leave this building to do anything, we should try always to be together, and armed.”
The door opened and a uniformed Chinese officer walked in. He was young—just a constable—and he nodded at Chen respectfully.
Caprisi took Field down to the car but wouldn’t tell him where they were going. They drove through the French Concession and out toward the edge of the old Chinese town before going on foot. The day had lost its heat, but not yet its light. Dust kicked up by the human traffic hung beneath the curved rooftops of the buildings that lined the narrow lane along which they walked.
They turned into a still-narrower alley, passing tiny shops with carved, inlaid wooden shutters, beneath paper lanterns that had not yet been lit. They could hear the sound of a flute, and ahead of them a group of small boys was playing in the dirt. The smell of human excrement made Field gag.
They turned into a tailor’s shop. Every inch of space had been used to the full. A dummy stood in the middle of a square cutting table. There was a mirror on the far wall and only just enough room to stand. Caprisi was smiling. “The best tailor in Shanghai. We’re going to get you out of that suit.”
“I . . .”
“You can pay me back.”
The old man smiled and held up his tape measure. A young boy stood beside him, his face expectant, and Field felt it was churlish to complain. He allowed himself to be measured while Caprisi talked to the man in rapid Shanghainese. As he watched and listened, he realized how little experience he had with the local people, beyond his day-to-day police work or his living quarters at Carter Road. He admired the ease with which Caprisi slipped into conversation with them.
“He asks if all my friends are this tall,” Caprisi said.
“I got that bit.”
“He’s asking about Lu.”
“I heard his name mentioned.”
“Says Lu’s men boast they control all of the police in Shanghai.”
Field didn’t respond.
“I told him Lu’s men were in for a surprise.”
The old man thrust the tape measure roughly into Field’s groin and pushed him irritably when he did not turn quickly enough. Then he pulled out a book of cloth samples and flicked through it before pointing at the one he thought most suitable.
“I explained that it was for summer use.”
“That’s fine.”
