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.”

“There is clearly a pattern,” Field said. “If we can find out where these other girls lived, there may be evidence from their neighbors that would prove more conclusive.”

“Lu is challenging us,” Macleod said. “Whether he has intended it or not, this is a head-on confrontation. We all know the French police are entirely in his pocket, but the Orlov murder is a challenge to us. If he did not murder the girl himself, he is certainly protecting whoever did, and if we let him get away with it, we might as well hang up our boots and go home.”

They were silent again as they contemplated Macleod’s wisdom. To Field, it had seemed like a speech to a larger audience. Macleod was even more withdrawn today, and Field wondered if ambition, and the proximity of the decision on the new commissioner, were beginning to take their toll.

The Chinese woman brought in the mugs of tea on a battered metal tray. Field thought briefly of the fine, polished silver of the country club and the Donaldsons’ house in Crane Road. Although it was too hot to drink comfortably, the smell of the tea alone made him feel a little better.

“It is Monday,” Caprisi said. “The shipment mentioned in Lena’s notes is on Saturday.”

“And?” Macleod asked.

“We know Lena had a reason to make a note of this shipment, but after that’s gone…” He shrugged. “The lead will then be lost.”

The American looked at Field again.

“Sewing machines?” Macleod asked.

“Yes.”

“I still don’t see the bloody relevance.”

“We can’t see any, either.” Chen took Field’s cigarette, leaned over to the cubicle beside Caprisi’s, and stubbed it out, half closing his eyes as the smoke twisted up into his face. “The captain of the ship is still lost down Blood Alley. The machines are made by an electrical company. I could see nothing unusual about them. They’re just… sewing machines.” He put his hands back in his pockets.

“The manager is British?” Macleod asked.

“Scottish.”

Macleod scowled, not certain if this was a joke. “It’s a Fraser’s company?”

“Yes,” Caprisi said.

“Field can arrange an audience with Charlie Lewis.” Macleod looked at him, then smiled for the first time. “Lighten up, man. I’m pulling your leg.”

Caprisi sipped his tea. “We should talk to Lewis.”

“We should find out where these women lived,” Field interjected.

They stared at him, frowning at the truculence in his voice.

“One step at a time, Field,” Caprisi said.

“We could send some plainclothes officers down to do door-to-door.”

“Avenue Joffre is at least three miles long. And you think the French won’t get wind of a door-to-door?” He shook his head. “One step at a time.”

Chen went ahead to get the car. Field walked to the toilet and confronted his bloodshot eyes and tired face in the mirror while he washed his hands.

Caprisi was waiting in the corridor outside, holding a large white box. He handed it to him. Field took off the top and pulled out the gray suit. He put the box down. The jacket was beautifully made and many times lighter than his current one. “My God.”

“My Chinese tailor.”

“Thank you.”

“Put it on. You’ll feel better.” Caprisi bent down and took out two shirts wrapped in tissue paper. “Thought you might need these.”

Field pulled back the wrapping and felt the quality of the cotton.

Caprisi bent down once more. “And a decent silk tie.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“If we can go down to the bank, I can pay you straightaway. I’ve got money now and-”

“It’s on me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Caprisi shook his head. “It’s my pleasure.”

“I can’t allow-”

“Fortunately, you don’t know how much it cost.”

“But it’s too generous.”

“I can’t watch you melting in this heat anymore, polar bear.”

“But I have the money.”

Caprisi was shaking his head and waving his hand.

Field sighed. “Thanks, Caprisi.” He looked at him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The American smiled. “Isn’t that what you English say? Don’t mention it.”

Field smiled and looked down again at the jacket in his hand.

“Put it on, polar bear.”

Field went back into the toilet to get changed, and emerged transformed.

Caprisi whistled. “Wait till they see you down at the Majestic, kid.”

They got into the lift together. Field had begun to worry that the American would have got the wrong impression about the money. He suddenly wondered if it had been appallingly naive to imagine that any supplement could be legitimate and straightforward. “Who would put cash into my account without my knowledge? Is it-could it be an official thing?”

Caprisi shook his head. “Someone in the cabal.”

“It couldn’t be a special supplement unique to a department?”

Caprisi smiled. “Not that I’ve ever heard of.”

“What should I do about it?”

“Nothing until someone approaches you. Then it’s up to you. If you don’t want a part of it, then say so and offer to pay the money back if they ask for it, which they won’t.”

“Who will approach me?”

Caprisi shrugged. “Sorenson, Prokopieff, take your pick. It is hierarchical, as far as we can tell. Even if you joined, it would probably be years before anyone told you who was in charge, if they ever did.”

The lift jolted suddenly to a halt. They stepped out as a group of uniformed officers got in.

Inside the car, Field asked, “Who took the prints?”

“Someone in the cabal. It doesn’t matter who.”

“But Granger is the head?”

“That’s a matter of speculation, Field.”

“But-”

“I’ve told you what we think.” He smiled. “You can draw your own conclusions.”

Caprisi leaned toward the driver. “Rue Wagner, number 70.”

Through the window, Field watched a young boy aggressively trying to sell newspapers to the passing crowd while a beggar lay sprawled by his feet, apparently unconscious.

“Do you think Macleod will be the new commissioner?” he asked.

Caprisi turned and was about to say something, then thought better of it and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a difficult time for him.”

“He seemed distracted this morning.”

“Lu is already our central suspect. We’re going to see him this morning. If we upset him, then he will bend the ear of those council members who are indebted to him in some way, which probably means most of them.” Caprisi looked at Field. “Macleod will be held responsible for our actions, and therefore he must be careful. But on the other hand, he says there are council members who feel Lu is out of control, so if he could check him, or better still, bring him down, then that might stand in his favor.” Caprisi smiled again. “He wants to find a way to bring Lu down, but if he messes it up now, then he’s finished.”

Field had assumed they were going straight to see Lu, but had omitted to take into account the extent of interconcession bureaucracy. There were papers to be filled out, coffee to be drunk, and, since they were in the gendarmerie, croissants to be eaten.

The headquarters in Rue Wagner was an old colonial villa with an extension on the back only a few hundred yards from Lu’s house. It had the same relaxed atmosphere as the station in Little Russia. The inspector sat behind his desk, long boots resting on a footstool. Above his head was a photograph of a café in Paris and another, alongside it, of a house that looked as if it was somewhere in Indochina.