“But you had met her?”
“Met her? Yes, I’m sure.” He gestured at the photographs. “There are many beautiful women in Shanghai, Officer. I meet many.”
“It is not possible that you—or one of your men—owned her and gave her to someone else? Lent her.”
Lu was still frowning. “My men . . .” He shrugged.
Field could see this was pointless. He edged forward in his seat and looked across at Caprisi, but the American didn’t move, his face fixed on Lu’s. Field wondered if Caprisi would produce the notes Lena had made but now considered that to do so would be a mistake.
“The doorman of that building . . . the block owned by your company. He was removed, taken to the Chinese city, and then beheaded.”
“I had not heard it.”
“It does not concern you?”
“Concern me, perhaps. He was a communist?”
“No.”
“Some are too enthusiastic. Many are accused. These are dangerous times.”
“But you had not heard that a doorman of your building was taken away and summarily—”
“I have explained, Officer.” Lu sat up straighter, his tone and manner more menacing. “There are many interests. I believe you will find a company on Bubbling Well Road . . . the owner of this Happy Times block. I will instruct my men there to cooperate with you.”
Caprisi hesitated, sipping his tea. Field sensed a new, stubborn determination in his colleague.
“So you barely knew Lena?” Caprisi asked.
“I have said. I will instruct my men to help you.”
“I wasn’t asking about your men.”
Field cleared his throat. “Did you know Irina Ignatiev?”
Lu turned to him, his head tilted to one side, as if turning the name over in his mind. He shook his head, once.
“She was murdered two months ago. She was also one of your girls.”
There was silence for a second, then Lu hit the bell twice and there was the sound of footsteps as his bodyguards arrived, two from downstairs, one through the door at the end, all with machine guns.
Field had stood, as had Caprisi. Lu pushed himself to his feet. The game was over. “You challenge me?” He took a pace toward them, his head pushed forward. “You come to my house and challenge me?” He was looking at Chen. His right hand was suspended in midair, and as he cut down with one swift motion, the bald-headed bodyguard stepped forward and swung his machine gun into Chen’s stomach.
“Jesus.” Caprisi stepped toward his colleague.
“Stay.” It was Chen. He was bent double, kneeling, the instruction barked out through the pain.
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Silence,” Chen said, his voice commanding. He slowly stood, straightening with difficulty. No one moved until the Chinese detective had recovered his composure. Once he had done so, he stared at his tormentor.
“Do not come to this house again,” Lu said quietly. “I have tolerated your rudeness long enough.”
Lu waved at his bodyguards to lower their weapons.
The weather had changed while they were inside. The wind had got up, bringing with it a thick bank of cloud, which was advancing on the city like a foreign army. A distant crack of lightning was followed by a loud rumble of thunder. “Typhoon coming,” Chen said once they were back in the car and the first spots of rain were bursting on the windshield.
Caprisi had tried to assist Chen on the steps but had been waved away. Either the blow had not been as painful as it looked, or it was a matter of face that Chen leave the house unassisted.
Field looked out of the window at the clouds. He’d seen storms before, of course, but none that had looked quite as malevolent as they approached. It was the temperature, too, he thought, the heat that came with it, that made it feel different.
“The Master of Rain chooses his moment,” Caprisi said.
Field turned to face him, frowning.
“According to legend,” Caprisi explained, “affairs in the other world are governed by gods—”
“Officials,” Chen corrected, from the front of the car.
“Officials, of whom the Master of Rain is probably the most powerful. He sits up there, controlling the city, its destiny.”
Field nodded. “Have you ever had any dealings with Lu, Chen?”
The Chinese detective did not turn around.
“Chen grew up in Pudong,” Caprisi said quietly. “They grew up together. Lu hates him,” he added with a finality that did not invite further discussion.
“Will that meeting create difficulties for Macleod?”
