They were met at the door of the refuge by a middle-aged Chinese woman dressed soberly in black. Her short hair was scraped back severely from her forehead and held in place by a sharp-toothed metal comb.
‘I’ll see if Mr Johnstone is available, but he doesn’t like to be disturbed in the mornings. It’s the time he writes his sermons.’
She walked away. Danilov and Strachan were left standing in the hallway, holding their hats.
‘It’s quiet, sir.’
Strachan was right. The only sound was the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock standing against the far wall. The place had that sour smell beloved of institutions everywhere; a mixture of boiled cabbage, disinfectant and sadness, unbearable sadness.
After a few moments, the woman returned, making no noise as she walked across the bare wooden floor. ‘The chairman will see you now.’
She led them to an antechamber off the main hallway. Mr Johnstone, a tall, elegant man with his few remaining strands of blond hair combed over the crest of his bald head, came out to greet them. ‘I’m afraid we normally don’t allow men into the refuge,’ he stated firmly.
Danilov pulled out his warrant card. Mr Johnstone studied it for a long time. ‘You’d better come to my office,’ he sniffed, finally.
His office was a large, comfortably furnished room next door to the antechamber. An oak desk stood in the corner, shielded by a large aspidistra. Finely woven carpets adorned the floor between a comfortable sofa and two armchairs. A stack of old China Inland Mission magazines lay on the coffee table in front of the armchairs. Mr Johnstone gestured for them to sit on the sofa while he took an armchair.
‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’
Danilov stared up at the portrait on the wall in front of him. A pale, rather self-satisfied European man wearing a starched Victorian collar stared back at him. ‘Yesterday, our police found a woman on the embankment of the Soochow Creek not far from here.’
‘I can’t see what that has to do with us.’
‘We were wondering if the woman could have come from your…’ He searched for the right word; English was such an understated language. ‘…Institution.’
‘Nobody has left our refuge recently.’
‘You seem so certain.’
A smug smile crossed Johnstone’s face as he stroked his moustache. ‘I am.’
‘How do you know?’
Johnstone smiled as if dealing with an idiot. ‘We check our residents every morning and every evening at a roll call.’
‘Sounds more like a prison than a refuge,’ said Strachan.
The man stroked his moustache again. ‘These women have been placed here by the courts, Detective Sergeant…’
‘Strachan.’
The man smiled again as if finding something funny in the Scottish name and obviously Chinese face looking at him. He steepled his hands as if in prayer before launching into a long sermon. ‘They have been found guilty of prostitution, selling their bodies. Or they have been thrown out of their homes by their families. Or rejected by their husbands, a not uncommon occurrence in Shanghai. They have been placed here for their own safety. We ensure they work hard, reintroduce discipline into their lives and prepare them for life in the outside world by training them as domestics or cleaners. They even learn the rudiments of the English language through knowledge of the scriptures, of course.’
‘And their children?’ asked Danilov.
‘The children have been placed elsewhere.’ Johnstone sniffed, the smile replaced by a frown. ‘We don’t allow children in this institution. The women will be reunited with them once they have been rehabilitated.’
‘So you are sure the woman we found on the embankment of Soochow Creek wasn’t one of your residents?’
‘Inspector, at roll call we write their names in a log. I can assure you our numbers have remained constant for the last week.’
‘Could I see the log?’
Johnstone shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not; it’s confidential. We endeavour to protect our residents from the evils of the world outside.’ He pointed all around him. ‘To help them, we ensure they are kept busy while they are here and we know their whereabouts at all times. I’m sure you understand I can’t reveal the details of the log to you. Or anybody. I’m sorry.’ Again, he ended his speech with a smug smile.
Danilov could see Johnstone wasn’t sorry at all. Strachan moved uneasily beside him. Danilov put his hand on the young sergeant’s arm.
‘Seeing the log won’t be necessary. All your residents have been accounted for?’
‘We had seventy-eight women here yesterday evening and there were still seventy-eight women here this morning.’
Danilov stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Johnstone. I think we’ve learnt enough for now.’
Johnstone stopped Danilov and Strachan leaving with a small gesture of the hand. ‘Can I know, what’s so important about this woman, Inspector?’
Danilov smiled. ‘I’m afraid the case is confidential. I’m sure you understand we endeavour to protect the victims of crime. We can’t reveal the details of our investigation to just anybody. I’m sorry.’ Danilov ended his speech with a smile and placed the trilby back on his head.
Johnstone frowned. ‘I should warn you I have many friends in the Shanghai council, Inspector.’
Danilov smiled once more. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Johnstone. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.’