The Shadow Walker (6 page)

Drew could see the problem. The worst possibility, from the police perspective, was that they were dealing with a psychopath with no rational motive but a high level of lethal professionalism. There would be no way of knowing where the killer might strike next, and the likelihood was that the killer would be adept at minimizing any potential leads or evidence. The only hope would be to wait until the killer made an error. And with the earlier victims still unidentified, at present the only possible lead lay with Ransom.

“You're not likely to identify the earlier victims?” Drew asked.

Nergui glanced at Doripalam, who shook his head. “Who knows? We have gathered the forensic information. Perhaps there are more sophisticated tools in the West, but I do not know that they would tell us much more. We know as much as we can about the bodies, but we have no identities to link them to.”

“But you've had coverage in the media? Surely someone must know who these people are?”

Nergui smiled. “This is not like your country. A quarter of our population is nomadic. Of course, there are close family ties in many cases, and these days most people are formally registered with the state for voting and social security purposes. It's easier than it used to be. But with all the troubles we've had over the last decade, there has been a lot of movement. In both directions. Nomadic people coming to the cities seeking work. And unemployed city dwellers moving out to try their hands at
herding or farming—usually without much success. Some of those have lost touch with their families or friends. Some have drifted into crime or more marginal ways of surviving.” He finished the prawns and placed his knife and fork, with some precision, across the plate. “It is most likely that the victims here were not from our stable middle classes. They will probably be from our growing underclass—criminals or those on the edge of criminality. We are trying to match them up with our missing person records and we may hit lucky, but I'm not too optimistic. If someone was missing these people, we'd have heard from them by now.”

It was a desolate but logical conclusion. “And you're sure the four deaths are related?”

“Again, who knows? It's reasonable to assume that the first and third are related—the characteristics of the killings were identical. And the characteristics of the Ransom killing are sufficiently similar for us to assume a link. But the second killing was different—really, the only common factor was the timing and the anonymity of the victim. If you're asking whether we have only a single killer—well, I hope so. I don't like the idea of one murderer stalking the city, let alone two. But, yes, it's quite possible that the second killing was simply a coincidence, and we have to keep that in mind.”

“There's no possibility that the later murders were copycat killings?”

“Copycat killings?” Nergui frowned, puzzled at the terminology. “That is one of your tabloid phrases, no?” He translated the phrase briefly for Doripalam's benefit.

Drew laughed. “I suppose so. I just meant, well, that a second killer might have copied the characteristics of the first killing. It's not unknown.”

“No, I imagine not,” Nergui said. “But it sounds unlikely in this case, unless we have two psychopaths on the loose.”

“Or someone who wants you to think that the subsequent killings were random,” Drew said. But even as he spoke he was
aware that this was becoming fanciful, the terrain of crime fiction rather than real life. “No, forget it. It's nonsense.”

Nergui shook his head. “No, we need to remain open to every possibility, no matter how unlikely. As your Sherlock Holmes so rightly says.” He laughed. “Although I think this is verging on the impossible, in fact. We have not published the full details of the earlier killings—the decapitation and so on. No doubt rumors have leaked out, but no one could have the full details except from the police. Though, of course,” he added, as an afterthought, “the police themselves do not always demonstrate the highest levels of integrity. Another legacy of our recent history, I'm afraid.”

“What about some sort of gangland feud? Is that a possibility?”

“Of course. That may be the most likely explanation. Crime here has not tended to be that organized, but we cannot discount the influence of our friends across our two borders. Real organized crime is, sadly, becoming more prevalent. And it brings us back to Mr. Ransom. If this is the fallout from some sort of feud, how did an apparently unimportant geologist get caught up in it?”

“There've been no further murders or similar assaults since Ransom's death?” Drew asked.

“Nothing. We have four brutal killings in less than two weeks, and then nothing. I'm glad to say,” Nergui added, in a tone that suggested this was perhaps only half true. Another killing or assault would be dreadful, of course, but might at least help to provide some further leads. “No, I'm glad there have been no more, but it makes me uneasy. I'm waiting for—” he paused.

“For the second shoe to drop?”

“A graphic expression. Yes, precisely that. A sense of something incomplete.” He shook himself, and began to attack the mutton dish which had just been placed before him. “We should stop talking shop and find something more pleasant to discuss. You enjoy soccer? Manchester United?”

“Manchester City, I'm afraid,” Drew said. “The bitter rivals.”

“Ah, but not so successful, I believe?”

“You could say that. But we've had our moments. Do you play soccer here?”

Nergui nodded. “Yes, we play. It's becoming more and more popular. And rugby. People still like the traditional sports—horses, archery, wrestling. The three manly sports, as we call them. But every day we become more part of the global community.”

“Do you want that?”

Nergui shrugged. “What I want is neither here nor there. Compared with the vast majority of people in this country, I am a global citizen. I've lived in Europe and the US. I've traveled regularly across Asia, the Middle East, Australia. I can see all the benefits of the changes that are taking place here. But I also see many losses.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Well, the losses are obvious. We're losing our traditional ways of living, of thinking. We're losing traditional family ties. This country has been through many changes over the last century. Things are improving now, but these are still difficult times. We have the potential to be a wealthy, successful economy, but we live in poverty and we are surrounded by predators. Not just Russia and China, but the West, too.”

“Predators?”

“Maybe I exaggerate. But I think not. I'm a patriot at heart, probably all the more so since I have traveled so widely. Most of my fellow countrymen take this country for granted. They have seen nothing else. They complain about the government. They complain about the police. They complain about the economy. All very understandable. They have been through difficult times. But I think they do not realize how much they could still lose.” He laughed suddenly. “I am sorry. We start to talk about soccer, and immediately I plunge you into despair.”

“You get used to that,” Drew said, “supporting Manchester City.”

Nergui laughed appreciatively. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I am being selfish. You must be tired and I just sit here rambling on about the state of our nation.”

“It's very interesting,” Drew said, honestly. He found himself wondering again about this man's role and rank, and also, for the first time, wondering about his background. Mongolia had been, in effect, a satellite of the USSR until the beginning of the 1990s. It was unlikely that Nergui had risen to a senior role in the police without being part of the previous regime, particularly since the Communist Party, with its newfound enthusiasm for democracy, had remained in power here for much of the past decade. Drew's understanding was that the police, in its current civilian form, was a product only of the mid-1990s, so it was likely that Nergui's career had been formed in the government militia.

“Well, we will have more time to discuss such things this week, no doubt. I am at your service as your host. But, equally, please tell me if you desire time to yourself. I know how oppressive such trips can be.”

“Thank you,” Drew said. “So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Well—” Nergui waited while coffees were placed before them. “You have your meeting with the ambassador at ten?” Drew nodded. “You saw the embassy as we passed—just a few minutes' walk away. There's probably not much point in your coming to police headquarters till after your meeting, so we can arrange a car to collect you from there once you're finished.”

“I don't know how long the meeting's likely to take, I'm afraid. Probably just half an hour's courtesy chat, but you never know.”

Nergui smiled. “The ambassador will assume you know things he doesn't. Which is no doubt true, but not about this case—he's been kept fully informed. He'll also want to make sure you know which side you're on.”

“I'm not aware I'm on anybody's side,” Drew said.

“We don't even know what the sides are,” Nergui agreed. “But
he will remind you, very discreetly, that the British Government is your paymaster, just in case there should be any—conflict of interest.”

“Is there likely to be?”

Nergui shrugged. “Not from me. But we are involved in politics here. Politicians think differently from the rest of us. They perceive conflicts where we do not.”

Drew nodded, not sure if he was really following this. He recalled Nergui's earlier words: “I'm a patriot at heart.”

“You seem to know the ambassador well?” he said.

“I come across him from time to time. In the course of duty. He's a likable enough person.” Nergui left the comment hanging in the air, as if there were more he could say. “Well,” he said, at last, “tomorrow, then—I'll give you my office and cell numbers, and then you can call me when you've finished and I'll send a car over.”

Drew found himself absurdly surprised that the country had cell phone coverage. But, of course, in a remote country like this a cell infrastructure made more sense than fixed lines.

“I think the best use we can make of tomorrow is for us to give you a short tour of the city, and show you where the four bodies were found. Doripalam can also talk you through the various crime reports and witness statements. They're not in English, of course, but we can give you the gist easily enough.” Nergui paused. “There is nothing we can do, really, but press on and hope something turns up. And maybe we can throw a few stones into the pond and see what ripples we cause.”

Drew wasn't entirely sure what he meant but nodded anyway. He noticed that Doripalam was watching the older man closely.

Nergui rose slowly to his feet. “But, as I say, you've had a long day. We will let you get some sleep. Give me call as soon as you're free in the morning.”

Drew watched Nergui and Doripalam walk slowly across the restaurant, Nergui pausing to speak briefly with the head waiter. Suddenly, sitting alone, Drew thought about Ian Ransom, who had
presumably eaten alone in this very room the evening before he was killed. Drew would shortly have to make his way through the silent hotel corridors to a room identical to that where Ransom met his brutal death. The thought was far from comforting.

It was stupid, he knew, and he'd spent the first three or four months trying to resist it. He knew what they thought, and told himself that he didn't care. After all, why should he have any respect for them? He recognized what they were, most of them, and given half a chance he'd have had them out of the place. But it was impossible; there were no alternatives. That, of course, was precisely why he had been given the job in the first place. Because, everywhere you looked, this place was desperately short of alternatives.

So he should have just ignored them. That was the advice that Nergui had given him, and it was the advice he would have given anyone else in the same position. But it was much easier to say than to do. He knew how much they despised him—almost, he supposed, as much as he despised them. He knew that they were watching, waiting for him to make his first slip. And he was determined not to give them the satisfaction.

So, against his better judgment, he found himself arriving earlier and earlier each morning, getting in before any of the others arrived, making sure he was fully on top of everything. And of course Solongo, who had initially seen his promotion as finally proving him to be a husband potentially worthy of her social aspirations, now began to complain bitterly about the amount of time he was spending in the office. There was, he thought, no way of pleasing everyone, but at the moment he felt he was pleasing no one, least of all himself.

And now, on top of all that, Nergui's return had made everything ten times worse. He didn't entirely blame Nergui himself, though he knew full well that Nergui would have been unable to resist the prospect of returning to the scenes of his former glory. But that didn't help his own position. To the rest of the team, Nergui's arrival had simply confirmed their view that Doripalam had never been up to the job in the first place. Solongo had tried hard to conceal her disappointment when he had informed her, but he was clear that she too now assumed that his promotion was only a stopgap and that Nergui would be kept in the role until a more suitable candidate was found. She had never really believed that her husband was senior management material.

In the face of all that, he should have told them what to do with their job. Or at least he should have ceased putting in all the extra effort that had become the norm over the past few months. And yet here he was again, stumbling into the building at six thirty in the morning, the day not even light, preparing for another day of minimal achievement.