“Good evening, Patrick,” Biers said warmly, as if greeting a favored son. Field noticed that both Macleod and Caprisi avoided Granger’s eyes.

Granger loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and stretched his long legs. He was smartly dressed in a dark three-piece suit, a gold watch at his waist.

“Perhaps you could give us your assessment, Caprisi,” Biers said, “as the senior officer.”

The American detective leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He glanced at Macleod, then Field. “Chen’s all right. We’ve taken him to the Hôpital Ste.-Marie.”

“I meant about the events tonight.”

Granger lit a cigarette. He offered the silver case to Field, but no one else, then got up and brought back an ashtray.

“They were waiting for us. The machines were still hot. They’d left in a hurry.”

“They knew you were coming?”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence; the only sound was Granger sucking in smoke, then blowing it out into the air above them.

The commissioner appeared to be in a trance.

Macleod leaned forward. He seemed calmer. “The question is, what have we done to attract such a response? Is it the murder investigation, or the notes that implicate the factory? And who knew that we were going to the factory today?” He turned to Field. “Did you tell anyone?”

Field shook his head.

“After you left us in Crime, you went straight out?”

“No, I went up briefly to see Mr. Granger, but-”

“He certainly didn’t mention the visit to me, or I’d have told him to be more careful.” Granger looked around, reprimanding them for their naiveté. Macleod and Caprisi stared at Field, as if daring him to contradict his boss.

He said nothing, his jaw clenched.

Field recalled that he had also told Natasha they were going to the factory. He tried to remember the exact words he’d used.

He found it impossible to accept the idea that she could betray his confidence.

“So from this side, no one knew of the impending visit,” the commissioner said.

“I knew of it,” Macleod said. “And Caprisi. No one else.”

There was another silence as Granger stubbed out his cigarette and pushed the ashtray toward the middle of the table. “There’s Chen,” he said.

“He would never tell anyone,” Caprisi said. “He’s smarter than that.”

“How can you be so sure?” Granger asked.

Caprisi glared at him but made no attempt to respond. Granger had kicked this subject into the one guaranteed gray area-the true loyalties of the Chinese detectives on the force-and Field could see that it had infuriated the men opposite him. Upon reflection, it enraged him, too. Chen was a good man and he was in hospital.

Biers ran a hand over his head and smoothed the few hairs that remained there. Field met Macleod’s steady gaze. It seemed, suddenly, vitally important that this man and not Granger become the next commissioner.

“The next question,” Macleod said, “is what are we going to do about it?” He looked first at the commissioner, then Granger. “This man is no more than a gangster. He’s murdered a girl in our jurisdiction, or covered up for the man who has; he’s removed a perfectly innocent doorman and had him executed; and now he’s made a brazen raid on our men as they went about their duty. And all in the space of five days.”

The commissioner nodded, unconvincingly.

“We have to teach him a lesson. We cannot let this situation continue.”

There was another long silence. Granger lit another cigarette; Biers fiddled with his pen. Field looked at his reflection in the tabletop.

“How do you propose to go about this?” Granger asked.

“We have to find evidence,” Macleod said. “We do it the old-fashioned way. We build a case, we get evidence, we lure him into this part of the city and arrest him.”

“Easy.”

“We are making progress, but I think it’s important that we acknowledge now that this is our aim.”

Field looked up. Macleod was staring at him again.

“We must make sure information is tightly controlled, so that there are no further leaks.” Macleod turned toward Granger.

Biers was twiddling his pen over the back of his hand, as Field had done in lessons at school, trying to spin and catch it in one movement.

“What are the Municipal Council going to think,” Granger said. “I’m not sure if they’ve signed up for a war.”

The commissioner did not answer, spinning his pen again and again, until he managed to catch it.

Field had no choice but to follow Granger after the meeting. The pair of them took the stairs while Caprisi and Macleod got into the lift.

The Special Branch office was dark. Granger did not bother to switch on a light until he got to his room. He kicked the door shut behind them with such force that the whole cubicle shook.

“You’re wondering why I lied about tonight,” Granger said, lighting Field’s cigarette and then his own. “Fuck it.”

Field didn’t answer.

“Macleod was trying to catch us out. Make us look bad in front of the commissioner.” Granger scowled and threw his cigarette in the bin. “He hasn’t got you distrusting me, has he?”

“Of course not.”

Granger looked at his watch. “Fuck. Caroline will kill me.” He followed Field out of his office and locked the door after him. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he said.

Field walked over to his desk and sat down, listening as Granger got into the lift and pulled the cage across, then slowly descended.

He leaned forward, glad to be surrounded by the darkness. The rain still thundered on the windows above him, like a stranger demanding entry. He remembered the days he’d spent inside the house in Yorkshire as a young boy, staring out at their small, waterlogged garden. The rain here unnerved him; it was relentless and angry. He ran his fingers back and forth along his temples and then rubbed his eyes, trying to relax. His head felt heavy.

There was someone behind him. He banged the light as he spun around, one hand reaching for the revolver inside his jacket.

“Caprisi.” He breathed out. “What the fuck are you-”

“Keep your voice down.”

Macleod was standing behind the American. “You told him about the factory. I thought Caprisi had told you not to give away-”

“I didn’t think it would matter. He just asked why I was in a hurry.” Field stood up, forcing them both to take a pace back. “Christ.” He rubbed his forehead. He almost told them that he’d also mentioned the factory raid to Natasha, then thought better of it. “I don’t understand… I mean why tonight, in response to what, specifically?”

“The cabal and Lu act as one,” Caprisi said. “This was a warning. This case is obviously sensitive to them, either because of what is going on at the factory or because of who the murderer is, or both. We cannot be bought, therefore they have to warn us off. If we pursue it, things will be taken to the next stage.”

Field sighed.

“We’ve got to be more careful, Richard. No leaks. Make sure no one is told what we are actually doing.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Try and stay close to Granger. Tell us if you see a move coming.”

“We’ll meet every morning down below,” Macleod said. “At seven sharp, before anyone else gets in.”

After they’d gone, Field switched off the light and sat there, finding the darkness briefly comforting.

He finally got up and walked down the stairs, intending to climb into a rickshaw and go to the Donaldsons’ house, where he was sure of a warm reception, but that was not the address he gave. A hundred yards short of the Happy Times block, he shouted at the man to stop and got out. He thrust a generous note into his hand.

The rain was thundering down and Field had left his trilby in the office, so the water ran in rivulets down the back of his neck. The smell of Soochow Creek hung heavily in the air and a single gas lamp hissed beside him. Field wiped his face and walked, his feet squelching water with each step, like a primitive pump.