scratched my arse before I do.’
Boyle walked past Danilov, heading back to the safety and security of his office.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘For what? Just solve it quickly, Danilov.’ He was about to escape from the madness in the reception area when he turned and pointed his finger at the inspector. ‘Don’t go anywhere near the Lee murders. That’s an order. Cowan can finish the paperwork when he comes back.’
‘But Chief Inspector…’
‘But me no buts, Inspector. Find Kao’s killer.’ He walked back to Danilov, speaking through clenched teeth, his anger like a black cloud above his head. ‘Do you realise how embarrassing this is for the Shanghai Police? A man, a suspect, shot dead on the steps of the station. Scandalous.’ The Chief Inspector raised his voice. ‘My bloody head is on the chopping block. And I don’t like being bloody Anne Boleyn.’
The reporters, photographers and assorted hangers-on had fallen silent, all staring at the Chief Inspector. Then the shouting and mayhem began again.
Boyle leant in and whispered harshly in Danilov’s ear. ’Just find the killer. Quickly.’
‘Good morning, Mr Thomas.’
‘I demand to be released, this is an intolerable treatment of the press. Imprisoning me in this station when I have a deadline to keep.’ The reporter’s already florid face became redder as he smashed his fist down on the table.
‘You are helping us with our inquiries, Mr Thomas. I’m sure the press are always happy to do their civic duty,’ answered Danilov as patiently as he could. Dealing with the press had become tiring, they had such an inflated sense of themselves. This was his tenth interview and he wished it were his last. So far, none of the reporters had seen anything. None of the cameramen had taken any photographs of the killer.
‘Not when there’s a deadline, we aren’t. I’ve missed the afternoon edition already, and your bloody sergeant won’t let me use the phone.’
‘Ty Russkiy?’
‘I was born in Russia, but I left long ago, Inspector, unlike yourself. And I would prefer to speak English. Such a more sophisticated language, don’t you think?’
’No, I don’t. Your family name?’
‘Turgachev. My father anglicised it to Thomas. He liked the sound.’ The smug, rather handsome face relaxed into a smile.
‘My name is Danilov, Pyotr Alexandrevich. Unlike you, I am proud of my Russian heritage. Where did your family come from?’
‘Moscow. But enough of the happy families, Inspector. Can I go now?’
Danilov wiped his face with the clean handkerchief his daughter had placed in his pocket that morning. ‘Do I have to remind you that a man was shot dead, and another lies injured in hospital?’
The reporter sat back and folded his arms across his chest.
‘Can you tell me what happened this morning?’
‘A shooting took place outside a police station and you’re asking me what happened? Typical.’
‘Just describe to me what you observed.’
The reporter sighed loudly. ‘I didn’t see much. Kao came out of the station handcuffed to the policemen. His lawyer was with him.
‘What happened next?’
‘I couldn’t see anything. There was so much jostling. All the photographers were looking for their shots, reporters were shouting. I think the lawyer tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear what it was.’
‘And then...?’
‘The police pushed us out of the way. I fell backwards and then I heard a shot.’
‘Just one shot?’
‘I don’t know, it was chaos. People running away, desperate to get out of there.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I dropped down to the floor. Safest place in a gunfight.’
‘So you didn’t see anything?’
‘No, I was more interested in saving my life. You don’t think about anything else.’
‘Did you see the shooter?’
Alexander Thomas closed his eyes, reliving the scene in his mind. ‘No, there were too many people in the way.’ He opened them again and looked down at the cup of tea sitting on the table in the interview room. ‘I had my face buried into the steps. Tried to hide from the shots. I crawled away from the noise.’
‘What happened next?’
He looked up and his voice became stronger. ‘I was on the floor, trying to get away. There was shouting and screaming. But then, above all of it, I heard two more shots and a loud click.’
‘A loud click?’
‘A gun misfiring. Inspector, did you ever fight in the war?’
‘No, I was in the Imperial Police in Minsk. We weren’t called up.’
‘Imperial Police?’
‘The Tsar’s police. Before he was shot.’
The reporter smiled. ‘Interesting. A career copper. You must find the Shanghai Police difficult to work in, being a professional.’
‘What’s the point you are trying to make, Mr Thomas?’
‘The point is, Inspector, when bullets start flying, there are no more heroes. You take care of number one. None of that knight in shining armour crap. That’s just so much bollocks. You get down and stay down till it’s all over, and the birds start singing again, glad you’re still alive.’
‘One person wasn’t alive.’
Thomas finished his tea and grimaced at the sour taste in his mouth. ‘Your prisoner. He’s probably lying on a slab at this very moment with Dr Fang hovering over him like a leech on warm flesh.’ The reporter picked up his cigarettes from the table and put them in his pocket. ‘Can I go now?’
‘If you think of anything else, please let us know.’
‘There is one thing, Inspector.’
Danilov looked up from his notebook.
‘Why was Mr Kao’s face covered in bruises? And why was he being taken to a hospital? Something smells very rotten here. I’ll get to the bottom of it, whatever I have to do. That’s a promise, Inspector.’
