Danilov found a place against the wall. He could see all the other detectives, Japanese, Chinese and Western, looking straight ahead, ignoring the interruption. Cartwright and Meaker, however, were staring dolefully back at him. What were those two doing here?
‘As I was saying before our colleagues entered, my name is Chief Inspector Rock. And before we go any further, my nickname at school and Scotland Yard was Brighton, for obvious reasons.’
There were a few perfunctory laughs from the detectives.
‘But let me make it clear.’ He paused here, letting his gaze wander over the room. ‘To you, I will be Chief Inspector Rock. We are not friends, not pals, not best mates. We are professionals. You report to me and you work for me. If you don’t, you’re out. Do I make myself clear?’
There were a few muttered yesses.
Rock stood up straighter. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the detectives answered.
‘Good, now we understand each other, let me make a few other points. Brighton Rock was my nickname because I was a copper through and through. I carried on working even when the Met went on strike in 1919. For me, a copper doesn’t go on strike, ever. I headed the investigation into the poisoning of the Met’s Commissioner, Sir William Horwood, in 1922.
‘Was that the walnut whip poisoning?’
Rock raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘It was, Inspector Danilov. I’m surprised you know about it.’
‘An interesting case, sir.’
‘Anyway, we caught the madman who did it and put him away for life. I also ran the response to the General Strike in 1926, and the investigation into the bent sergeant in C Division, George Goddard. I am a copper’s copper. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ This time all the detectives answered smartly.
‘I will run this detective squad for the three years of my secondment from Scotland Yard as if I were still a member of the Met. We will be professional. We will be a team. We will work together. There is no place for mavericks on my squad.’ Here he looked pointedly at Danilov. ‘A professional detective force runs methodically, with planning and procedures. It’s not a fly-by-night bunch of hooligans whose one skill is the ability to arrest just enough criminals to keep their bosses happy.’ His hand slammed down on to the desk in front of him. ‘Such behaviour will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ all the detectives answered, including Danilov.
A smile spread slowly across Rock’s face. The patrician voice returned. ‘Good, I’m glad we understand each other, gentlemen. Continue with your duties.’
There was a scraping of chairs and desks as the detectives rose, stretched, and formed little groups to talk under their breath.
‘Inspector Danilov, I’d like to see you in ten minutes,’ said Rock above the noise of the departing detectives.
‘Of course, sir.’
‘We need to discuss the attempted murder of the woman yesterday. I have a few ideas how we might proceed.’
‘Ten minutes, sir?’
Rock looked at his watch. Danilov noticed it was an elegant gold Rolex. ‘At noon, precisely.’
‘Yes, sir’
Rock left the room, followed by Miss Cavendish.
A collective sigh of relief went round the detectives.
‘It looks like you’re fucked, Danilov. This one won’t put up with your shite like Boyle did.’ The speaker was Cartwright, still sitting on his chair, a roll of fat dripping over the top of his trousers.
‘What are you doing here, Cartwright?’
‘As soon as Boyle left, I was on the phone straight away. Knew Rock from the army days. We weren’t in the same unit, but I helped him out a few times. Good man.’
‘I’m happy to hear you are friends, Cartwright.’
‘No, you’re not. And you know why you should be unhappy?’
‘I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’
The man smiled, his moustache twitching over his top lip. ‘Because you’re fucked, Danilov. I give you two weeks before Rock has you out in the Badlands with a bog brush in your hand, inspectin’ toilets. You’ll never have time to find your wife when that happens. She’ll stay as lost as the day you left her in Minsk, or whatever rat-infested city you came from.’
The words cut Danilov to his core. Cartwright, despite his oafishness, was smart enough to know Danilov’s weakness.
‘It’s always amused me, the supposedly smart detective who can’t even find his own wife.’ Cartwright nudged Meaker sitting beside him. As if waiting for his cue, the other detective chuckled.
Danilov checked his watch. Time to put an end to this. ‘Talking about wives, it pains me to see that yours has left you again. Does your Japanese mistress still kiss you on the cheek every time you leave her?’
Cartwright quickly wiped his cheek, removing the smudge of red lipstick that had been there since breakfast. Meaker laughed at him.
‘And you, Inspector Meaker, still wasting your money on the greyhounds at the Canidrome, are we? I would have thought a man of your intelligence knew it was all rigged. I’m sure you’ll pay them back eventually. How much do you owe? Four hundred dollars?’
‘How did you know?’ blurted out Meaker.
‘Your collar is ragged and your left shoe has a hole in it. You obviously can’t afford new ones. And throughout Chief Inspector Rock’s speech you kept looking at the piece of paper in your hand. A betting slip, if I’m correct. Twenty dollars on some old dog at 20-1. If you win, you’ll be able to pay them off nicely.’
‘You bastard…’
‘I’m sorry to tell you, but it will come in fourth, so my sources tell me. Come on, Strachan, we have work to do and a Chief Inspector to meet.’
They both left the room, the shouts of Meaker striking their backs. ‘You think you’re so fucking smart, Danilov, but I’ll get you. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you.’
16
‘Come in and sit down, Inspector.’
Danilov strode into Chief Inspector Rock’s office. The studied informality of Boyle’s day was gone. The picture of racehorses behind the desk had been removed and replaced by a blackboard. The desk itself, formerly covered in pictures of Boyle’s wife, ashtrays, cigar and cigarette boxes, and the detritus of the day, had been cleared. A tray had been placed in each corner, one marked ‘In’ and the other ‘Out’. The in-tray was empty while the out-tray was full. And where a large onyx ashtray had once sat, there was now one of the new intercoms. Miss Cavendish was available at the touch of a button instead of the traditional loud bellow.
In the centre of the desk, a pristine blotting pad sat with three pens at its head: one blue, one red and one black. Next to it, at a ninety-degree angle, lay a black desk diary with Rock’s name engraved in gold on the cover
Danilov sat in the single bentwood chair facing the desk. He heartily approved of the Chief Inspector’s neatness. It wasn’t quite perfect, though. The pens were ten degrees off the horizontal. He wondered whether he should point it out.
Rock took out a file from the desk drawer. Danilov didn’t know he had a file. Certainly, none had existed in Boyle’s day. Miss Cavendish would have told him if it did.
‘Danilov – a Russian name, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Straight down to business. None of the small talk or offers of cigarettes that had been Boyle’s way of opening any conversation.
Rock’s eyes scanned the document. ‘Joined the force in 1925. Previously with the Russian Imperial Police?’
‘Yes, sir. Based in Minsk.’
‘But you’re not Byelorussian?’
Danilov was surprised. Not many Englishmen knew Minsk was in Byelorussia. ‘No, sir, my father was in the Imperial Civil Service. A vice-governor, seconded from Moscow. I stayed in Minsk and joined the police.’
Rock’s eyebrows flickered slightly. ‘Not a normal career for the son of a vice-governor?’
‘No, sir.’
Danilov thought back to the arguments with his father. Long, bitter arguments. His father had been disappointed in his choice. ‘The only good police force is one that employs fewer criminals than it catches,’ he had said during one of their fights. But the words had only spurred him on to join up and make a difference, however small.
‘Hmm.’ Rock stroked the end of his moustache with his right hand, pressing the immaculately groomed hairs back into a position they had never left. ‘It says here, you were seconded to Scotland Yard In 1911.’
‘Yes, sir. I spent two years in London. We never did catch the Russian anarchists we were searching for.’
Rock looked up from the file. ‘Before or after Sidney Street?’
‘During, sir. I was in the initial raiding party and stayed till the end.’
‘So you saw Svaars and Sokoloff being carried out?’
Danilov nodded. ‘I tried to negotiate with them in Russian, but they were having none of it. As Latvians, they saw it as their duty to die.’
‘Hmm. Before my time, I’m afraid. Who did you work with?’
‘Deputy Commissioner Stevenson.’
‘Again, never knew him. Didn’t join the force until 1918, straight from the Military Police.’
‘So I heard, sir.’
Rock stared at him before returning to read from the file. ‘Married with two children?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Danilov waited for the next words from Rock.
‘Separated from wife and children during the Revolution. They are presumed missing…’
‘Not true, sir.’
Again the flicker of the eyebrow. ‘Really? My sources are usually impeccable.’
The source was obviously the one person who knew everything that was happening in the station: Miss Cavendish.
‘My wife and son were last seen in Vladivostok. My daughter, Elina, is with me in Shanghai. I was reunited with her last year.’ Danilov looked at his feet. ‘I will find my wife and son, sir. They are out there waiting for me, somewhere.’ Cartwright’s sneer came back to him. ‘The supposedly great detective who can’t even find his own wife.’ He looked up and stared at his new boss. ‘I will find them one day.’
‘Hmm. I’m sure you will, Danilov. Never married myself; couldn’t find the right woman or the right time. Married to the job, I think.’
Danilov stayed silent.
Chief Inspector Rock closed the file, setting it back in the drawer in the desk. He leant forward, folding his arms on the white blotter. ‘Listen, Danilov. You have a reputation as a maverick. In my force, there is no room for those who don’t play by the rules. There are procedures to follow, forms to be filled in, plans to execute. We will be professional. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Rock leant back and smiled again. The smile of a cat who has just eaten the cream. ‘Now, tell me about this attempted murder.’
‘Not much to say at the moment. A naked woman found running through the streets of Shanghai.’
‘She was shouting your name, I believe.’
He was well informed, thought Danilov. ‘Apparently, she was, sir. She’s in Shanghai General at the moment, under sedation.
‘Why was she shouting your name? ‘
‘That’s what I have to find out, sir.’
‘Do you know the woman?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
Chief Inspector Rock raised one eyed quizzically.
Danilov felt he should explain. He hated explaining. ‘She has over one hundred and fifty cuts to her body and is wrapped in bandages. I was unable to see her face.’
Chief Inspector Rock rubbed his nose as if removing a fly that had landed there. ‘No identification?’
‘She was just wearing underwear when she was found. No ID on her.’
Rock cleared his throat. ‘Well, get on with it, man. Find out who assaulted this woman and find out quickly. Look for the patterns. Has anybody else been assaulted in a similar way recently? Has anybody just been released from prison with a record of offences against women? Has anybody been charged with a similar assault but released?’
Danilov was impressed. These were exactly the questions he had been asking himself, searching for the patterns in this crime. ‘I agree completely, sir, Detective Sergeant Strachan is checking as we speak.’
‘Good, make sure he doesn’t slacken off. I heard his mother was recently murdered,’ Rock said bluntly
He was well briefed. ‘Correct, sir.’ Danilov looked for a trace of empathy in the face of the man sitting in front of him but found none.
‘Make sure he works hard. Nothing like work to help a man get over grief. Give him no time to brood, Danilov.’ Rock returned to the papers in front of him, picking up the red pen to write something in the margin.
Danilov realised the interview was over. ‘I look forward to working with you, sir.’
Rock coughed again. Without looking up, he said, ‘Likewise, Inspector Danilov. Catch the man and catch him quick. I want this solved.’
‘I think this could be more difficult and dangerous than we think, sir.’
‘What’s that?’ Rock’s eyes darted up from his memo. ‘Difficult and dangerous? Utter tosh. He’s just another criminal who deserves to be caught.’
There was a single rap on the door. Danilov could see two shapes through the frosted glass.
‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.’
The door opened anyway. A flustered Miss Cavendish and a cool Strachan were framed in the doorway.
‘I’m sorry for intruding, Chief Inspector, but Detective Sergeant Strachan needs to see the inspector urgently.’
Rock sighed. ‘What is it, man?’
‘A body has been found at the Shanghai Club, sir. A murder…’
Danilov nodded once and stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Chief Inspector.’
‘Of course, Danilov. Report back to me as soon as you’ve finished with the crime scene. I want to know everything.’
Danilov hurried out of the door, hearing Chief Inspector Rock’s words repeated as he left the office. ‘I want to know everything.’
He didn’t bother to answer.
17
It was one of those beautiful November days in Shanghai when the fine, egg-shell-blue sky had driven away the iron-grey clouds. After a short drive through light traffic, Strachan turned left off Bubbling Well Road into the circular drive of the Shanghai Country Club.
The main building, covered in white stucco, had a quiet elegance, reminding Danilov of a smaller version of the buildings of St Petersburg.
A quiet elegance shouting money and power.
Inside, the lawns were shaved and manicured to perfection, with mown stripes of green creating an elegant living chess board.
‘Another world.’
‘Sorry, sir?’
Danilov shrugged his shoulders. ‘Have you ever been here, Strachan?’
‘What, me, sir?’
Danilov glanced round the back of the car. ‘Who else? I can’t see anybody else sitting in the car with us.’
‘This club is not for the likes of me, sir. Never been here before.’
‘Neither have I. It’s a first for both of us, it seems.’
The Shanghai Country Club was one of those places few people had seen and even fewer had been allowed to enter. Outside its walls, the population of Shanghai fought and struggled, kicked and screamed, loved and hated. But here, in its eleven immaculately groomed acres of lawns, shrubs, trees and fountains, all was at peace. A peace enjoyed by a privileged elite as if by right. There was no official race bar, but no Russians or Chinese ever became members. Membership was by invitation only and, by some odd chance, none of them had ever been invited.
They were met at the entrance portico by a small man in a dark suit, rubbing his hands vigorously. Two Western police constables were standing outside waiting.
Danilov pushed his way out of the car. ‘Why are my men not guarding the body?’
The small man
stopped rubbing his hands and stood up straighter. ‘Nobody is allowed into the club unless they are a member or in the company of a member.’
‘This is a crime scene. Your rules no longer apply.’ He gestured for his men to follow him into the club.
The small man stood in his way.
‘The body is at the back, in the gardens.’ He indicated with his arm a path leading around the building.
Danilov nodded. ‘You two stay here. Nobody is to go in or out. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the elder of the two answered.
‘I must protest… our members…’
Danilov ignored him, turning to the policeman instead. ‘It’s Matthews, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. We worked together on the dress shop murder.’
‘I remember it well, Matthews.’ He glanced across at the manager of the club. ‘Nobody is to go in or out, Matthews. If anybody gets in your way, arrest them. Is that clear?’
Matthews smiled. ‘As a vodka martini, sir.’
He turned back to face the manager. ‘Where is the body?’
The manager was about to protest once more, but took one look at Danilov’s face and decided against it. ‘I’ll show you.’
He walked off down the gravel path leading around the building.
‘Who discovered the body?’
‘One of our gardeners. He was sweeping the area, making sure everything was as it should be.’
They turned a corner. Even in late November, the flower beds were still bright with colour. Off to the left, a large ornate fountain splashed its song. More lawns stretched into the distance, the long stripes mown into the grass creating an illusion of perspective.
Shanghai was far away. A world and a wall away.
‘What time was the body found?’
‘Around an hour ago.’
‘What time exactly?’ Danilov persisted.
‘Well, as soon as it was discovered, the gardener spoke to the head gardener, who then spoke to me. I walked over from my office, checked the body was deceased.’ Here the man sniffed, as if anybody would have the temerity to die on his property. ‘I talked to the senior member present who advised ringing the police.’
The Murder Game Page 5