“You are police.”

Caprisi left his notebook on his lap but didn’t open it. “Lena Orlov was not, then… You knew her, but she did not… You had no arrangement with her?”

“Arrangement?”

“She was not a concubine?”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the idea of having such a formal relationship with a Russian woman.

“There was no relationship?”

“What do you mean relationship?”

Caprisi sighed, leaning forward in his chair. “Mr. Huang, we have no wish to be difficult, but you will appreciate that Lena Orlov was murdered with extraordinary brutality, even by the standards of Shanghai.”

“You don’t like Shanghai?”

Caprisi bent his head.

“We both find it an exciting city,” Field said.

Lu shifted his eyes slowly, looking at Field for the first time. “Exciting, yes.”

“Perhaps the greatest city on earth.”

“Greater than London? Paris? New York?”

“Their equal. An example of harnessing the benefits and strengths of two cultures.”

“Or their faults.” Lu’s face was impassive.

“And their faults.”

“Lena was one of your girls,” Caprisi said more bluntly.

“My girls?” Lu had raised his hand, an ivory bracelet on his wrist trailing down half the length of his forearm. “We spoke a couple of times. I did not know she was living in a flat we owned.”

“You had no idea she lived in the Happy Times block?”

“Why should I know? I cannot know everything.” He smiled at Field, as if now considering him an ally.

“Lena was paying rent?”

He shrugged again, as if this was becoming absurd. “How can I know?”

“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?”

Caprisi waited for Chen to turn around and answer. “Not yet,” the Chinese detective said. “But the girls are a problem.”

“In what way?”

“Now he is aware that we know more than one girl has been murdered. The stakes are raised. He will wait to see what we do, and then we must see how he reacts.”

“Why is he guarded by Russians?”

“He doesn’t trust Chinese. The Russians are stupid. They know nothing, but their loyalty is absolute. Any threat, they shoot. He remembers how he destroyed the Red Gang and does not trust Chinese.” Chen shook his head. “Lu is arrogant now. He has big head. He believes no one can touch him.”

As they drove along the wide boulevards of the French Concession, Field watched the passersby hurrying to get out of the rain. The houses were all large here, most hidden behind ivy-clad walls. On the corner, as they turned right, a woman with a thin, pretty face held her raincoat around herself with one hand and a little boy in uniform with the other. As they passed, Field thought she looked forlorn and lost, her damp hair flattened across her forehead, her boy resting his head against her side as they waited to cross the road.

Field thought of Natasha.

And then he saw her. She was standing on the sidewalk, and he had to look up and down the street to ascertain that they were on the Nanking Road. The car had stopped and there was a crowd ahead, blocking the way, people shouting, some clapping, a firecracker going off in the air, dropped from the roof above. Field looked up to see a group leaning over the wall around the roof garden at the top of the Sun Sun store, dropping leaflets to the crowd below.

Natasha was now alongside him, half hidden by a group of protestors, raincoat pulled tight, her hair whipped by the wind. She had a pile of leaflets and was giving them out to passers-by.