At that exact moment, Inspector Danilov had just picked up a plump, steaming piroshki. A bowl of them had been placed in front of him, along with a glass of Russian tea, only ten seconds before.
Princess Elena Ivanova Ostrepova sat opposite, her eyes waiting for his judgement. ‘He’s a new chef. Used to cook for Count Rostov in St Petersburg. The count was famous for having one of the best tables in the city.’
Danilov could smell the flavours of the piroshki; its thin skin glistened with a beautiful sheen. He bit into it and was immediately transported back in time to his home in Minsk. His wife sitting opposite him, waiting for him to eat after a long day in the police department. Letting him kill the first pangs of hunger before she asked the questions that were her nightly ritual. What had he done that day? Where had he been? What had he seen?
The skin of the piroshki melted across Danilov’s tongue to be replaced by the soft, salty earthiness of the cabbage and pork. He swallowed, but the tastes remained on his tongue like a party guest who stayed to drink the last of the wine.
‘Perfect, Princess. As good as I remember. Better than I remember,’ he corrected himself.
She sat back and folded her arms across her small chest. He always thought the Princess was like a perfectly formed tiny bird, with grey hair, powdered nose and red-rimmed beak.
‘I’m glad you like them, Inspector. Eat, and eat some more. When you have finished, you can tell me why you are here. I’m sure it’s not for my piroshki.’
‘You know me so well, Princess. I will tell you, but first let me try a few more.’ He picked up another little parcel of the exquisite snack. It tasted better than the first, the juices filling his mouth with memories of home. A sip of tea and he would begin work. Shame – he would have preferred to spend the afternoon in the Princess’s cafe, eating some snacks, playing a game or two of chess and chatting with his host.
In the far corner of the cafe, somebody had claimed mate and a heated argument ensued. The Princess indicated with a small lift of one delicate eyebrow that her waiter, Yuri, was to stop them making a racket.
The giant man strolled over to the table and stood in front of it, his large belly drooping over the waistband of his trousers. Instantly, the argument stopped. The Princess nodded twice in their direction and another game was set up.
‘So what can I do for you, Inspector?’
‘As ever, Princess, I would like to pick your brains.’
‘First the piroshkis and then my brains; you are hungry this afternoon, Inspector.’
‘Starving and starved, Princess.’
The Princess was an important source of information for him. In addition to the cafe, she had her fingers in many businesses in the city, some legal and some on the borders of illegality. She owned at least three bars in Blood Alley, the main drinking street in the French Concession, as well as a variety of opium dens, brothels, clubs and gambling establishments.
How had a princess with royal blood become involved in such trade? Danilov never asked. It would betray the relationship they had created over many years.
‘We would all like information, Inspector. Knowledge is power.’
‘And lack of knowledge is weakness?’
‘Lack of knowledge is stupidity. What would you like to know, Inspector? I’m thinking it would be something along the lines of whether there have been any other murders besides the ones at the Country Club, and those of Lieutenant Deschamps and his mistress?’
‘You are well informed, Princess.’
‘My “little ears” tell me what is happening. A shame about Rossana. A beautiful woman.’
‘One of your “little ears”, Princess?’
‘She occasionally passed me tidbits. Men can be terribly vocal during a night of passion. The lieutenant was no exception.’
‘Why was she killed?’
The Princess shrugged her small, elegant shoulders. ‘I do not know, Inspector. And I do not know who did it. If I did, he would not be alive as we speak.’
‘You’ve heard nothing?’
She shook her head. ‘I will let you know immediately if I do, expecting nothing in return.’
‘Not like you, Princess.’
The face that had been soft and welcoming seconds ago suddenly became hard and cruel. ‘I want this man dead, Inspector. Do you understand? I want his body ripped to shreds and the pieces thrown to the dogs. Rossana was one of mine. We do not let their deaths go unpunished.’
‘You must let me arrest him, Princess.’
‘I cannot promise. But I will let you know if I hear anything.’
Danilov stood up.
‘You have not finished your piroshki, Inspector.’ The Princess pointed to the bowl in front of her.
‘I’m no longer hungry, Princess. I think this man, or men, will commit more murders.’ He leant in and whispered to her. ‘Be careful, Princess, I think we’re all in danger. This man will stop at nothing.’
Her eyes stared coldly. ‘I’m not afraid of any man, Inspector. Let him do his worst.’
‘Call me at the station if you hear anything, anything at all.’
She nodded but Danilov saw the jaw tighten once more.
‘I beg you, Princess, call me, it’s…’
He was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The Princess’s eyes flicked over to the new arrival. Danilov turned too and was surprised to see his detective sergeant standing in front of the door.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there are two pieces of news I thought you should know.’ Strachan stopped talking and looked at the Princess.
‘Don’t waste time, tell me now,’ Danilov said impatiently.
‘They’ve caught Johnstone, sir, at the cruise terminal.’
‘Good, about time. What’s the other news?’
‘Li Min has been found stabbed to death in prison. Stabbed through the heart.’