It took them five minutes to fight their way through the reporters and get to the car. Gradually the response from Danilov had descended from being non-committal to a much more definite ‘Get out of my way. Nothing to say.’
Back in the detectives’ room, he sat behind his desk, rearranging everything on it so it was all aligned perfectly. Somebody had moved the lamp off its forty-five-degree angle by at least seventeen degrees. Most annoying. Didn’t they realise that, in order to think, everything had to be perfect? There must be no distractions. Nothing to annoy the mind, so it could focus on the problem at hand.
The other detectives pretended not to notice what he was doing, looking away or reading their newspapers. Only Meaker refused to hide his amusement, chuckling to himself behind his moustache.
Danilov ignored him. ‘Anything back from the lab on the stones or fingerprints?’
‘Nothing yet, sir. I’ve only just sent them.’ He saw Danilov frowning. ‘I’ll chase them up.’
‘Do that. And while you’re at it, remind them no slip-ups on this one. I won’t tolerate shoddy work. “A fish is only good if it is on the hook”.’
‘I’ll avoid the Russian idiom, sir. They wouldn’t understand.’
Danilov reached for his tobacco. ‘Just get the results. Fast.’
There was a knock on the door of the detectives’ room and Miss Cavendish popped her head round. ‘I’ve found you, Inspector Danilov.’
‘And what can I do for you now you’ve found me?’
‘Chief Inspector Rock would like a word.’
‘You’re for it now, Danilov. Rock’s a stickler, he is,’ Meaker shouted from the back of the room.
Danilov ignored him again. ‘Tell him I’ll be along as soon as I can.’
‘He said right away, Inspector. In fact, he said, “Get bloody Danilov, right away.” You seem to have done something to annoy him.’
‘Told you, won’t put up with none of your shit, Danilov.’
He followed Miss Cavendish out of the room and down the hall to Rock’s office. She was right. The Chief Inspector was not in a good mood. He didn’t invite Danilov to sit.
‘Look at this. Who told them?’ He threw a newspaper on the table.
From where he was standing Danilov could see the lurid headline.’I don’t know, sir. They were waiting outside the morgue.’
The Chief Inspector cleared his throat. ‘Never mind. I’ll handle them. I had good relations with the press back in London before I left. They can be useful, if you handle them correctly.’
‘That has not been my experience, sir.’
‘No? You need to hold their hand, that’s all.’
‘I’ll leave it to you, sir.’
‘The best course of action, I think.’
‘Can I go now? The investigation…’
‘Two other things. I read the notes on the case. Well written.’
‘Thank you, sir. Detective Sergeant Strachan is usually detailed.’
‘Tell him to keep up the good work. I always like to congratulate junior officers when they have done exactly as I asked.’
‘I will, sir. You said there was something else?’
‘I did, didn’t I? We’ve had a message from Major Renard, the head of the French Police. He wants you to meet him at the War Memorial immediately.’
‘That’s all, sir. No reason why?’
‘None. But listen to me, Danilov. There are plans and protocols for any interaction with the French Concession police. You need to follow them to the letter.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘But the major was most insistent it should be you and only you this time.’
‘And no reason was given?’
‘None. He was being deliberately French on the phone.’
‘I hardly think it’s deliberate, sir. He is French, after all.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Danilov, you know what I mean. That peculiar way the French have of making a drama out of a crisis, with much waving of hands and spluttering of jaw. Anyway, he insisted it was urgent, so in the interests of international co-operation, you’d better swan off over there before his liver erupts.’
‘What about the briefing on the Country Club murder? You wanted me to let you know the results of the autopsy.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ He opened his desk diary. Danilov saw each hour of the day was drawn into neat, fifteen-minute segments, with printed appointments in pencil and ink written in each box. ‘Looks like I have an opening at five this evening. I’ll pencil you in.’ He took a freshly sharpened HB pencil and neatly printed Danilov’s name.
‘Major Renard may keep me longer, sir.’
‘Well, you’ll have to make your excuses and come back. You’re in the book now, Danilov; an appointment is an appointment.’ He closed the book, placing it precisely to the left of his blotter.
‘Yes, sir, see you at five.’
‘Don’t be late, Danilov.’ He returned to a long list of names and numbers typed on the page.
Danilov closed the door quietly behind him. It wouldn’t do to disturb a man and his numbers.