The Master Of Rain

you look, please?”

Field waited until Danny had disappeared behind one of the iron cabinets, then stepped past the counter and followed him.

Danny was startled. Field could see that he knew exactly where the file was. He handed it over reluctantly.

Field returned to the front desk. He pulled over a form and filled it out. He signed his name at the bottom. Danny did not catch his eye.

This time Field walked into the stairwell before opening the file. He turned so that a thin stream of light from one of the windows fell directly upon it. There were two sheets tied together in the corner by a piece of string. The file had been written up by D.S. Prokopieff and was dated December 12, 1923:

Routine like clockwork. Business conducted primarily from house at Rue Wagner. No bodyguards visible from street, but three to four always in hall, plus others in servants’ quarters at back. Fifteen to twenty bodyguards in total, operating in shifts.

Each day, leaves the house at one exactly. Just before one, car pulls up. Driver remains inside. Door of house opens and four bodyguards come swiftly down steps. Armed with Thompsons. Surround car and complete visual surveillance of street. Chief bodyguard, Ivan Grigoriev, always closest to door. When Grigoriev satisfied, he returns inside and one minute later escorts Lu down to car. Lu walks slowly. Drive off in direction of Nantao.

Go to Willow tearooms in Yaofeng Road, where Lu worked as kitchen hand when first came to Shanghai. Further business conducted, visitors searched by two bodyguards at door. A further two at end of corridor by entrance to room. Grigoriev stays inside, but emerges about forty minutes later to complete visual surveillance of street once more. At two exactly, Lu leaves tearooms. Car door no more than ten feet from entrance.

Return to house is between five minutes and ten minutes past two. Lu goes in and stays until evening, when he leaves the house three to four times a week. He goes to the Majestic or another nightclub. Or one of his private clubs or residences. He usually returns between three and four in the morning.

Field folded the report and slipped it into his pocket.

“It’s the social butterfly,” Caprisi said easily as Field went into the Crime Branch. “You’ve been spotted leaving the race club with the wife of the municipal secretary.”

“She’s my aunt.”

“Of course she is.”

Macleod smiled indulgently, fiddling with the chain around his neck. Field heard a rustle behind him and turned. Chen stood there, his hands in his raincoat pockets, wearing an expression that could have indicated anything from warmth to outright hostility.

“The prints are missing,” Field said.

Caprisi’s brow furrowed.

“I told you that the results were up, and when I returned here after the game, they were still on my desk, but I went to the toilet and when I came back—”

“They were gone,” Caprisi finished.

All three men stared at Field.

“The originals have disappeared from the lab, and Ellis has gone on holiday to San Francisco until the autumn.”

“You couldn’t have mislaid them?” Macleod asked.

“No.”

“No one left a note saying they’d taken them?”

“No.”

Caprisi and Macleod stared at the floor. Their silence was, Field thought, imbued with suspicion. A new wave of resentment prevented him from offering any further explanation.

An old woman came in, bent low, an apron around her waist. She stopped in front of Chen and asked him, in English, whether anyone wanted tea. Field and Caprisi nodded. The other two shook their heads.

“What did you find out yesterday?” Caprisi asked.

Field took out his cigarettes, lit one, and offered them around. They all refused. Field recalled Caprisi telling him that all physical evidence should be given to him and kept outside the precinct and felt stupid again for not having acted upon this advice.

“There are two other similar cases,” Field said. “Natalya Simonov on May 1 and Irina Ignatiev at the end of March. Both women lived on Avenue Joffre, but I cannot find a house number for either. Irina was definitely one of Lu’s girls, and Natalya may also have been. I looked for the report card on Natalya Simonov, but it was missing. I know one was filed, because the numbers skipped. So I checked the incident book and found it there. I worked backwards, until I found the Ignatiev case, but the book didn’t go any further back than March.”

There was a long silence.

“If we apply to the French, is there any chance they will share information on the latest murder, at least?”

Caprisi shook his head. “They’ll say it was a domestic. And if we apply formally, we show our hand.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’ve arranged to see Lu this morning and the manager of the Fraser’s factory this afternoon.”