Danilov stood on the road outside the hospital, smoking one of his roll-ups. The smoke drifting around his face like his own cloud of gas. Why was the woman shouting his name? Did he know her? What did ‘Let the game begin’ mean? He took another long drag, hoping the cigarette would give him a few answers.
Strachan approached him cautiously and coughed.
‘What is it, Strachan? You have all the grace of a bear in cavalry boots; I heard you coming from three miles away.’
‘I’ve completed all the interviews, sir. The local coppers have nothing to add. She was seen running along the walkway covered in blood, screaming your name. They stopped her and called an ambulance immediately. Even when it came, she carried on screaming and babbling in English.’
‘Interesting, Strachan, She didn’t say a word in Chinese?’
‘Not that they heard, sir. They tried speaking to her in Mandarin and Shanghainese, but it was as if she couldn’t hear anything.’
Danilov took another drag of his cigarette, expelling the smoke into the cloud already hanging over his head. ‘Where exactly was she found, Strachan?’
The detective sergeant smiled. ‘I knew you would ask this, sir. They stopped her on Wenchow Road, where it meets Soochow Creek.’
‘Which direction was she running in? Along the river towards the city or back towards Chapei?’
Strachan’s face fell. ‘I didn’t ask, sir.’
‘You’d better find out before they leave.’
Strachan turned to go.
‘And make sure you get a proper description of the woman from them. We need to find out who she is.’
Strachan held up his notebook. ‘Already done, sir.’
Danilov grunted and threw the end of his cigarette on the road, stomping on it with the shiny new boots bought by his daughter specially for the funeral. The tone of his voice dropped as he remembered the service that afternoon. ‘I’m going home now. When you’ve finished with the police from Sinza, you should go home too. We’ll meet at 8.30 tomorrow at the place where she was found. I want to check it out for myself.’
‘Always go back to the scene after the crime, sir?’
‘You’re learning, Strachan.’ Danilov pulled up the lapels of his overcoat to protect himself from the cold night air. ‘My daughter’s waiting up for me. I do hope she hasn’t cooked anything, I can’t face pretending to eat her food.’
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders like an old tortoise retreating into his shell. ‘Good night, Strachan. Don’t work too late.’
‘I won’t, sir. Just one thing, sir?’
‘What is it, Strachan?’
‘The doctor said she had over one hundred and fifty cuts on her body…’
‘Well?’
Strachan scratched his head. His voice when he spoke was tentative. ‘Well, sir, it’s just that it reminds…’
‘It reminds you of the death of Elsie Everett eighteen months ago? She had similar cuts to her body.’
Strachan nodded.
Danilov stroked his chin. ‘The same thought had occurred to me. But her killer is dead. I shot Allen myself on Garden Bridge.’
‘What about his accomplice, Li Min, sir?’
Danilov thought for a moment. ‘Check with the Chinese authorities what happened to him. He was tried in their court.’
‘Yes, sir.’
For a moment, Danilov stood there thinking of something to say to his young detective. Trying to think of the words to soothe the hurt and lessen the guilt. But they wouldn’t come. Not for the first time, he wished his wife was here with him. She would know what to say, and even more, she would know what to do. But it had been nearly six years since he had last seen her. Six years when he had missed her every day, and every hour of every day.
His lips moved but the words wouldn’t come.
‘Good night,’ he finally said, walking along the street towards the bright lights of the city.