The Master of Rain Part 48

"Of course." Lewis looked bewildered, as if not understanding why they could possibly wish to do this.

Braine went back through to the shop floor and returned with an a.s.sistant carrying a toolbox.

They all watched in silence as the man started to take apart the machine next to Caprisi.

Field wondered if Lewis enjoyed putting on a performance for his social inferiors.

When it lay in pieces, Lewis looked at his watch. "Have you chaps got anything else?"

"No," Caprisi said curtly.

"Good. Then, if you don't mind, I shall leave you in the capable hands of . . . my colleague here."

"Good of you to come," Macleod said.

Lewis said, "It's been my pleasure. Always happy to help the force, as you know. Richard, do you have a moment?"

Field followed Lewis out through the factory floor, into the suns.h.i.+ne. He watched a flock of seagulls circling a chimney on the opposite side of the road.

"Word of warning, Richard, as a friend."

Field looked at him. Lewis's face was serious, his eyes apparently sincere.

"Be careful of Natasha Medvedev."

Field didn't respond.

"She's a great ride and a woman of skill."

Field's anger was like a storm, instantly whipped up; the image of she and Lewis lying together crashed through his mind.

"Don't go down with a sinking s.h.i.+p, or imagine to do so is a painful romantic tragedy."

"I think I've heard enough."

"Natasha has turned deceit into an art form." Lewis's face was almost earnest now; there was no sign of the indolent playboy leer Field had grown used to. "I've been here a long time, and I'm trying, again, to help. I saw your face the other night-"

"Perhaps you've been here too long."

"Perhaps."

"And I don't need any help."

"That's up to you, but set aside romantic notions for a moment and consider the possibility that Natasha is not the victim you imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"Lu is a powerful man. Through him, she wields power. Believe me. All the more so once rivals are eliminated. She's a woman of ambition."

Field thought of the way Natasha had sat, straight-backed, close to Lu in the nightclub-a possession.

"Perhaps they deserve each other," Lewis said.

"How do you know about-"

"Fraser's is the biggest company in Shanghai, Richard." His look was hard now. "It's my job to know."

"So . . ."

"You are playing with fire, and you will be burned."

"So I keep being advised."

"Then you have friends who know the city and care about you." Lewis shook his head. "It's part of being a policeman, I know. It's not a job for a man of breeding, and I'd like to bring you on board, but I can't do that if you're not going to exercise good judgment."

"I don't want to be on board."

Lewis put his hat back on. "That's your choice, Richard. But as things stand, I don't give much for your chances of staying afloat."

"What do you mean?"

"Your uncle's a good man, Field. But there is only so much I'll do for him." He lowered his voice. "For a man in his position, old Lu shows restraint on occasions, but not for much longer, I wouldn't think."

Thirty-five.

The three of them waited in the middle car outside the factory. Macleod was beside the driver, Caprisi and Field in the back. The American had suggested they go on to see if the captain of the s.h.i.+p had returned from Blood Alley, but Macleod remained silent. It was hot, so Field wound down his window.

He knew what his colleagues were thinking.

"Does it go all the way to the top?" Caprisi asked. "Does Lewis know what is going on here?"

"It would fit," Macleod said. "Lewis in business with Lu on the s.h.i.+pments, a highly profitable arrangement. Lu gives Lewis the girls as a bit of entertainment. It gets a little rough, but Lu cleans up behind him."

Field watched a group of Chinese and Eurasian schoolgirls walking along the sidewalk. He turned back and took out his cigarettes. "Lewis must be the richest man in Shanghai. He doesn't need the money."

"Greed," Macleod said. "The rich can be greedy, too." He shook his head as Field offered him a cigarette. "But if the murders are down to Lewis, we will have to tread even more carefully."

Field saw his own puzzlement reflected in Caprisi's expression.

"He's the taipan of Fraser's, for Christ's sake," Macleod said.

"A few days ago," Field said, "Lewis took me to a club-a brothel."

"Which one?" Macleod asked.

"Delancey's." Field cleared his throat. "I extricated myself, but as I left I pa.s.sed his room."

"He was f.u.c.king someone."

"There was a girl. A Chinese girl. She was handcuffed to the bed. She was screaming."

"We'll need more than that." Macleod opened his door. "I'll take the last car back to the office." He slammed it shut and stalked off. Caprisi tapped the driver on the shoulder. "The wharf."

As they moved away, Field said, "Why was he being so negative?"

"It's complicated."

"I thought we were all agreed."

"Lewis isn't one of his supporters, and putting him in the frame for murder . . ." Caprisi whistled quietly. "It's not the best time for that, is it? Unless the evidence is overwhelming, which it isn't. I'm not sure the Munic.i.p.al Council is going to like one of its candidates for commissioner going after the most powerful businessman in Shanghai."

"So we wait until it happens again?"

Caprisi sighed. "Calm down, Field . . . or should I call you 'd.i.c.kie'?"

"He's nothing to do with me."

"d.i.c.kie? They call you 'd.i.c.kie'?"

"He was patronizing me."

"You've nice friends," Caprisi said. "Charming."

"He's not my friend."

"Of course he's not. He sure is an arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I'll say that. What did he want outside?"

Field sighed. "Nothing."

At the wharf the fat customs officer was not there-on the river, his a.s.sistant said-so they made their own way down to the SS Saratoga. Saratoga.

Caprisi had not dismissed their escort, and the effect was exactly as he'd intended. As they walked up the gangplank, the Indian deckhand they had seen the other day got to his feet and scrambled into the cabin. Caprisi banged on the door, and a few moments later the captain appeared, hastily tucking a filthy vest into his trousers. He was an Indian, too, much older and fatter, with a few days' growth on his chin. He'd obviously been asleep.

"Enjoy Blood Alley?" Caprisi asked.

"What do you want?"

"We have some questions."

The captain studied them for a few moments, then led them through the doorway and up to the bridge. There was a rag over one of the bra.s.s instruments and he used it to wipe his forehead.

"You're leaving this Sat.u.r.day," Caprisi said.

The captain nodded.

"What are you carrying?"

"I cannot remember without looking at the manifest."

"Sewing machines?"

"Perhaps. I don't know."

"What do you normally carry from this company?"

"Electrical goods." He yawned. "I don't know-whatever they ask us to carry."

"Why are you loading the goods at night? On Sat.u.r.day night, after dark?"

"We load them when they bring them."

"Isn't that unusual? Doesn't it make you suspicious?"

He shook his head. "Why?"

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to load s.h.i.+pments during the day?"

"Easier for me, yes, but I am not paying. If they want to load at night, we load at night. They are the customer. What are their reasons? How can I know? Maybe they have a full s.h.i.+ft on Sat.u.r.day and want to wait until the last of the machines are done before beginning to load."

Field could see Caprisi thinking. This man was not going to be caught out.

Caprisi placed one hand on the wheel and looked out toward the deck. "All right, Captain . . ."

"Sendosa."

"All right, Captain Sendosa. Thank you for your time."

They retraced their steps. As he got into the car, Caprisi said, "He's in on it. Whatever is going on, he's in on it as well."

Field watched the American for a moment before turning to look out of the window at the activity on the wharf.

Field climbed the stairs to the Immigration Department quickly, arriving just as it was closing. The woman he'd spoken to before took a lot of persuading, but eventually she led him into the back, along a corridor, and up the stairs to a room on the floor above, where the dust hung in the air, illuminated by the rays of the dying sun. A small Westerner with thick gla.s.ses sat hunched over a ledger by the door. The rest of the room was filled from floor to ceiling with steel filing cabinets. There was barely enough room to squeeze between them.

"Mr. Pendelby, this is Mr. Field."

They shook hands. The man had a nervous smile.

"Mr. Pendelby has worked through 1918 and 1919, without success. If you wish to help, you can begin with 1921, but I must insist it is only one hour. I have to close then. Mr. Pendelby, you must go home now."