‘Have you heard anything, Strachan?’
‘About what, sir?’
‘About the raid, what else, man?’
Strachan yawned. They were standing in front of Lester Hospital and Danilov wasn’t smoking for once.
He had stayed late at the inspector’s apartment last night. As the inspector had predicted, the food cooked by Elina was barely edible – the pancake was undercooked and the meat was overcooked – a grey, slimy stew of food. They had eaten the noodles and sent out for more. Elina didn’t seem to mind her failure.
After her father had gone to his room to fetch a book, Elina had leant over and said, ‘I’m glad you could come this evening, Detective Sergeant Strachan.’
‘So am I, Elina, but please call me David.’
‘But you call my father ‘sir’ even when we are here at home.’
‘Do I?’
She nodded.
‘Force of habit. And he is my superior. The Confucian ethic dies hard.’
‘Treating elders with respect?’
‘More than that. Respecting them for the wisdom they have gained in life and are taking the trouble to pass on to those younger than themselves.’
‘It sounds formal.’
‘It is, and it isn’t. One day, I’ll explain it all to you.’
Inspector Danilov came back with the book. The Poisoner’s Handbook. ‘You should read this, Strachan; it’ll help you recognise the symptoms and effects of a wide range of poisons.’
Strachan leant forward and whispered to Elina, ‘I think he’s trying to tell me something.’
‘Father, has this anything to do with my cooking?’
‘Not at all, Lenchik; something to help with Detective Strachan’s education.’
Strachan opened the book at one of the first pages: arsenic.
She looked at him. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Look forward to what?’ asked Danilov.
‘David wants to teach me about Confucian ethics.’
‘And who is David?’
Strachan put his hand up slowly.
‘I didn’t know you had a first name, Strachan.’
‘I don’t, sir, normally.’
‘Good, let’s keep it that way.’
Ellen leant over and whispered, ‘Could I borrow the book? I’m looking for some new recipes for my father’s breakfast.’
‘I don’t think you’ll find…’ Strachan was halfway through the sentence before he realised Elina was smiling at him. He started to laugh too.
‘What’s so funny? Has someone told a joke.’ Inspector Danilov looked at both of them and they burst out laughing again.’
‘When you’ve wiped the stupid smirk off your face, Strachan, I’ll ask you again, did you hear anything about the raid?’
Strachan shook his head, suddenly back outside the hospital. ‘Sorry, sir, nothing.’
Danilov looked at his watch. 8.30. ‘Strange. We should have heard by now. Come on, Miss Cavendish will be waiting.’
The hospital was large and built in a neo-classical style the architect had thought would inspire the patients to get better. Instead, it simply made them feel small and insignificant. Danilov and Strachan climbed the marble stairs and entered the vast white lobby.
In the circular atrium, nurses and their patients sat around on old leather Chesterfields and even more battered armchairs. Some were reading. Others were staring at the figures of Greek myth etched into the stucco of the ceiling. Still more were chatting to each other. So different from the hustle and bustle of Shanghai General.
One of the doctors was waiting for them in front of the reception desk. ‘Inspector Danilov?’
‘Dr Kao?’
‘I’ll show you to the patient’s room. It’s this way; she’s in 213.’
‘How is she?’
‘Physically, as good as can be expected given the trauma she endured, but anxious and suffering from shock; dehydrated too. With care and rest, she should be fine in a couple of weeks. The rat bites on her face were fairly superficial and are healing well. The cuts on her neck were much deeper, of course, but they will heal in time. She’ll be scarred, but a good foundation will cover the marks. Mentally, however, I’m not so sure.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
They climbed more marble stairs up to the second floor. Away from the bustle of the lobby, the hospital was quiet, more like a hotel, with red carpets and paintings on the wall. At the top, they turned left to walk along a wide corridor with doors leading off it on both sides.
‘What were the characters, Doctor?’ asked Danilov.
‘Most extraordinary; the man had carved the Chinese characters for Russia into her neck.’
Strachan looked at Danilov. ‘Are you sure, Doctor?’ he asked.
‘I can read Chinese, Detective Sergeant, probably better than you.’
They stopped outside one of the doors with the number 213 in bold letters stencilled on it.
Danilov put out his hand. ‘Thank you, Doctor, for your time. It will better if we interview Miss Cavendish alone.’
‘As you wish, Inspector. Call me if you need me.’
Danilov tapped gently on the door of the room. After a few moments, a quiet voice answered, ‘Come in.’
‘Good morning, Miss Cavendish.’ Danilov popped his head around the door in time to catch Miss Cavendish brushing her hair. She was sitting up in bed, her faced covered in pieces of sticking plaster and her neck wrapped in a bandage.
‘Good morning, Inspector,’ she croaked, ‘and you, too, Detective Sergeant Strachan. Sorry about the voice.’
‘Good morning, Miss Cavendish,’ said Strachan brightly.
‘I look a sight…’ she said, smoothing her hair and covering up her face.
Danilov pulled up a chair, sat by the bed and took her hand. ‘Miss Cavendish, what you have endured is the stuff of nightmares, but you are safe now.’
He watched as her eyes flicked up and to the right, reliving her time at the Canidrome.
‘I’m afraid I have to ask you some questions that may bring it back for you.’
She took away her hand and refolded the top of the sheets. ‘Don’t worry, Inspector, I’m ready now. But first, how is my mother?’
‘She’s fine, Miss Cavendish; concerned for you, of course.’
Strachan darted a look at the inspector.
Danilov ignored him. ‘Chief Inspector Rock assigned a constable to look after her. She’s teaching him bridge, I believe.’
‘Just like mother.’
‘Miss Cavendish, I want you to think back to when you were kidnapped.’
She went silent and closed the eyes. ‘It all happened so quickly. One moment I was thinking how to get my mother to her bridge night; the next, arms came around me, and I was unconscious.’
You say arms came around you. There was more than one person?’
She closed her eyes again, reliving the time. ‘I think so. No, I’m sure there was more than one person.’
Strachan scribbled in his notebook.
‘And when you regained consciousness?’
‘I was buried up to my neck in the earth, with those rats and dogs in their cages…’ She shivered and raised her hand to touch the sticking plaster on her face. ‘The doctor says I won’t be scarred, Inspector. I hope I’m not scarred.’
‘The wounds look like they are healing well, Miss Cavendish. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.’
‘I’ll always remember him coming towards me with the knife, and the pain as he dug it into my neck…’ Her hand went up to the bandage.
Danilov changed the subject quickly. ‘Did you see the man?’
‘His face? No. But I know who it was. And I think you do too, Inspector.’
So she had worked it out. Miss Cavendish was far more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for.
Suddenly she reached forward and grabbed the inspector’s arm. ‘It was Mr Allen, Inspector, Mr Allen…’
Danilov put his arms gently on her shoulders and pushed her back into the comfort of the pillows. ‘Are you sure, Miss Cavendish?’
‘Absolutely. It was the smell of his breath. The smell of violets.’ She shuddered again. ‘He stood over me with the knife. He was wearing a mask, but every time he spoke I could smell his breath. It was him, I know it.’
‘I know it too, Miss Cavendish.’
‘But I thought you killed him, Inspector?’
‘It’s difficult to kill the devil.’ Danilov quickly changed the subject. ‘Anything else you remember?’
Miss Cavendish inhaled and closed her eyes once more. ‘I don’t know if this is important, but he wasn’t there after nine o’clock, said he had to be somewhere.’
‘Exactly what did he say, Miss Cavendish?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I think he said he had to go because he was meeting someone. Those were his words, Inspector. I didn’t think about it at the time.’
Strachan scribbled the words in his notebook.
Danilov used his thumb and index finger to grip his bottom lip. ‘What happened after he left?’
‘His other man, the Chinese one, spoke to me, urging me to make a choice.’
‘Make a choice?’ asked Strachan.
‘Between the rats and the dogs. They wanted me to choose how I died.’ Her hand, with the drip leading out of the vein, went to her face once more. ‘I chose the rats…’
‘A choice which probably saved your life, Miss Cavendish.’
‘I don’t know, Inspector. Why did I have to choose? Why didn’t he just kill me?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, yet. But I’m sure…’
A sharp knock on the door and Dr Kao entered immediately. ‘The patient needs to sleep, Inspector, she’s still weak.’
‘Of course, Doctor, we’re finished here.’
Miss Cavendish reached forward and took Danilov’s hand. ‘Thank you for saving me, Inspector.’
‘Thank Strachan; he’s the one who worked it out.’
She smiled weakly, ‘Thank you, Detective Sergeant.’
Strachan’s face began to go a bright red.
The doctor bustled forward, syringe in hand. ‘I’ll have to ask you to leave, gentlemen.’
As soon as they were out of the door, Danilov ran down the stairs with Strachan desperately trying to catch him up. ‘Why are we running, sir?’
‘We need to get back to Central, Strachan. We have to find out what happened on the raid this morning.’