‘Well, I’m sure she’d be better-dressed than I am,’ Irene snapped. ‘I demand to know what sort of evidence you have against me!’
Captain Venner tapped the folder. ‘This morning, ma’am, the New York Police Department received an urgent message from the Boston police. They’d received evidence that Miss Jeanette Smith had come over from England, and they confirmed she’d been in their vicinity and talking business with some of the local gangs. However, they’d also tracked her to the railway station, and they knew that she’d got a ticket to New York. I think you can probably see where I’m coming from.’
Irene folded her arms. ‘That’s all well and good, but it still doesn’t label me as this Jeanette Smith woman. If she was on the train, she probably escaped while you were wasting your time with me.’
He flipped open the folder. ‘That’s a curious thing, ma’am. Because from where I’m standing . . .’ He extracted a piece of paper and turned it so that Irene could see it. ‘She surely looks a lot like you.’
It was a pen-and-ink drawing of Irene, head and shoulders. While it showed her with her previous long hair, it was quite definitely her.
Irene mentally sorted through appropriate reactions and settled on horrified disbelief, which wasn’t that far from her current emotional state in any case. ‘That’s – how – where did you get that?’
‘By fast car from Boston this morning.’ He settled back in his chair again. ‘So, Miss Smith, perhaps you’d like to explain a few things. Or would you rather sit in the cells while you think about it? I’ll tell you flat out that I’m more interested in local individuals than foreign imports. So if you’re willing to talk, then I’m willing to listen.’
Denying everything wasn’t working. Admitting everything would be even worse.
Waiting in the cells wasn’t acceptable. And what if Hu’s plans to detain them turned into something more lethal?
‘May I get something out of my handbag?’ she said, priming the captain for a bribe. ‘And is the gentleman behind me . . . reliable?’
Captain Venner relaxed. ‘Surely you can, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And surely he is. I’m glad to see we’re on the same page now.’
Irene fished in her handbag and found a leaflet from the Boston railway station. She stepped forward and offered it to Captain Venner. As he blinked at it suspiciously, she said in the Language, ‘You perceive that this is my authorization from the FBI and my identification as an employee of Scotland Yard. Congratulations on catching me, Captain, but I’m afraid this is a sting operation.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘Let’s have a look at that,’ Captain Venner said, his voice suddenly rough and uncertain. He snatched the leaflet from Irene’s hands, holding it up to squint at it. ‘Could be forged.’
‘But you know it isn’t,’ Irene said. She shifted her stance, no longer folding her arms defensively, and stepped forward to lean on the captain’s desk. ‘Don’t you?’
The Language had told him what to perceive, and at this precise moment he could be looking at dead leaves and he’d believe he was seeing valid documentation. The only problem was that the effect wouldn’t last very long. And when the captain realized he’d been conned . . .
Irene snapped her fingers and reached out to take the leaflet back from him. ‘If you please, Captain.’
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ he snarled. ‘I didn’t receive any notification of this.’
‘Of course not,’ Irene agreed. ‘That’s because the system leaks. Unfortunate, but true. If Scotland Yard had notified your City Hall about my mission, then half the gangs in New York would know about it, too. That’s why my identity’s strictly on an eyes-only basis.’
‘Captain, what’s going on?’ the cop at the door said. Irene could hear the unspoken Should I do something about this woman? tone in his voice, and the back of her neck itched nervously. But she didn’t turn round. It wouldn’t have been in character for an undercover Scotland Yard agent.
‘Looks like it’s some sort of op the Feds are running.’ Captain Venner’s tone made it quite clear how much he disliked the Feds. ‘And Scotland Yard’s in bed with them, too.’
‘It’s a long story,’ Irene said. She tucked the leaflet back into her handbag. ‘But it works because people over here don’t know what Jeanette Smith looks like. Your FBI thought Scotland Yard could send someone over from England posing as her. Then if she liaised with your major gangs, they could trace how alcohol was coming into the States from overseas.’ She hastily searched her memory for relevant facts from yesterday’s newspapers. ‘We want to track the booze from when it leaves England, to when it arrives here. Then your FBI – sorry, your Feds – can roll up the whole network. I didn’t need to contact the police in Boston, so they won’t know the truth. Someone there must have thought I was the real thing. At least my cover’s not blown yet.’
‘You’d be dead if it was,’ Captain Venner said bluntly. ‘And any witnesses would have a bad case of what the doctors call “Chicago Amnesia” – meaning they wouldn’t remember a thing about you, least of all who gunned you down. You’ve got guts, lady, I’ll give you that.’
Irene shrugged. ‘It’s my job.’
‘Why did they get a woman to do it?’
‘It had to be a known criminal making this trip,’ Irene said. ‘A big enough name to talk with your gangs on equal terms. And the male English crime bosses are better known over here.’ She just hoped he wouldn’t ask for any of their names . . .
He nodded slowly. ‘And the guy with you, he’s in on this too?’
‘He’s one of Scotland Yard’s top men,’ Irene said. ‘Could you have him brought in here too? I’ll need to brief him without your men hearing.’ And it would lower the risk of Kai blowing their new cover.
Captain Venner grunted and waved a hand at the cop by the door. ‘Dorrins, you go fetch Miss Smith’s friend. And get this straight: nobody outside this room hears anything about this for the moment. Tell Barnes I want to check his story with something she’s said. Tell him . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Tell him I’m sweating her and I think she’s about to crack.’
‘Oh, it’d take more than ten minutes’ sweating to crack me,’ Irene said helpfully.
‘Lady, I’ve cracked better men than you in half that time.’ He pointed a pudgy finger at the door. ‘Go fetch him, Dorrins. And make it clear we’re taking this seriously.’
Dorrins shut the door behind him with a click, and Captain Venner turned back to Irene. ‘All right, lady. How do you want to play this?’