Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“But equally it may not be a coincidence that the victim was a police officer?”

“As you say. In which case, perhaps the previous victims were also not selected randomly.”

It was like gazing into a pool of clouded water, Drew thought. Occasionally some object swam into view, and you began to feel that you could recognize the shape of it. But then the water clouded again, and there was nothing but grayness and uncertainty.

There was no doubt that even Nergui, calm professional though he appeared, had been shaken by the day’s events. Nevertheless, he remained insistent that Drew should join him for dinner. “It is my duty as your host,” he said. “But, more importantly, I would welcome the opportunity to spend the evening with someone. It is not a day to be alone, I think.”

Drew was often grateful his domestic circumstances meant there was always someone to come home to. Sometimes he would share his experiences, but more often he would simply try to put them behind him. It made his working existence more bearable.

Ten years on from his marriage, he couldn’t really envisage life any other way, and he wondered what it must be like for Nergui, coming home every day to this comfortable but sterile apartment. He also wondered why it was that having faced a trauma like today’s, he could call on nobody other than his deputy and a total stranger.

As it turned out, Doripalam chose to excuse himself from the dinner invitation. Drew could not work out whether this was a tactful judgment on Doripalam’s part or, more likely, it was simply that Doripalam had access to those domestic comforts which were so notably absent in Nergui’s existence.

Still, Nergui was an excellent host. He had arranged an official car to bring Drew over to his apartment, and greeted him warmly at the door. He was dressed in what, to Drew’s eyes, appeared to be a leisure version of the herdsman’s robes, a brightly colored flowing gown wrapped with a gold sash, his feet enclosed in finely embroidered leather slippers. Drew wondered if this was the typical dress of the average Mongolian at home, or perhaps simply a more overt expression of the dandyism which, in his professional life, Nergui appeared to confine largely to his choice of ties.

As he entered the apartment, Drew had been surprised to find that Nergui was cooking the meal himself. He had hardly struck Drew as the domesticated type, so it was incongruous to see him standing before a cooker, stirring and tasting the contents of the array of pans.

“There. It is fine. It is all under control,” Nergui said, leading him into the lounge area. “Fifteen, twenty minutes, it should all be ready.”

Nergui offered him a beer, and also produced two bottles of red wine for the meal. “It’s not bad,” he said, apologetically. “Bulgarian. It’s difficult to get any better out here.”

Nergui was a relaxed host, and Drew felt no discomfort even though they initially sat in an amiable silence. It was clear that Nergui had much on his mind, and he said little until he had served the first course-a spicy soup containing chicken and prawns. Drew expressed his compliments on the quality of the food.

“I’m afraid it is far from authentic local cuisine,” Nergui said. “But then you should probably be thankful that it is not authentic local cuisine.”

“I wish I could produce food like this.”

“You don’t cook at home?”

Drew shook his head. “Not really. I mean, basic stuff but nothing like this. My wife’s the chef.”

Nergui nodded. “You have children?”

“Two,” Drew said. “Boys. Eight and ten.”

“That must be exhausting.”

“It can be. Especially for my wife, when I’m working long hours, which seems to be most of the time. So she tells me, at least.”

Nergui smiled. “Does she work also?”

“She’s a teacher. Primary school. Young children.”

“Hard work, then. I imagine you don’t have an easy time, if you are both working in these kinds of jobs?”

Drew thought about it. The question might have felt intrusive coming from someone else, but Nergui just seemed genuinely interested.

“It can be,” Drew said. “We both end up working long hours at times. Sue has preparation to do. And I think the work is very tiring for her. But we seem to get through all right, most of the time.”

“That is good,” Nergui said, sincerely. “I enjoy living alone, but there are times when I envy people like you.”

“Well, likewise,” Drew laughed. “Sometimes a bit of solitude would be welcome.”

“I’m sure,” Nergui nodded. “I’ve never really known anything else.”

“You’ve never-?” Drew stopped, embarrassed, unsure how he had been intending to finish the sentence. Been married? Been in a relationship? Anything sounded crass.

But Nergui seemed untroubled. “I was married once,” he said. “Briefly. A long time ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. As I say, a long time ago. It was the reason I first went to the West.”

“Really?”

“A long story. I met a young woman-a journalist from the US. This was what, fifteen years ago? I was working for the government here. My task was to show her around, look after her.”

Something about the way Nergui spoke the last words made Drew look up. Again, it occurred to him to wonder about Nergui’s background. What had been his role in the government, in the days when this country was still a satellite of the Soviet Union? And how precisely had Nergui been charged to “look after” the journalist? For that matter, had he similarly been charged to “look after” Drew? It seemed unlikely-Nergui was clearly the officer in charge of the murder case-but it also appeared that Nergui’s current relationship with the police force was not necessarily straightforward.

“Anyway, you can no doubt guess how things turned out. We had a relationship. When she finished her assignment here, she left for the US and I decided to try to follow her. I didn’t think it would be possible. Foreign travel was highly restricted in those days, and traveling to the US was almost unheard of. If I had been refused permission, I don’t know how things would have turned out, whether I would have tried to leave somehow illegally. Probably not. I’m a very law-abiding individual, as befits my current role.”

“But you were allowed to go?” Drew said, with some incredulity.

“I was very fortunate,” Nergui said. “Things were just beginning to change here and in the USSR. This was the days of Gorbachev. There was a lot of optimism in the air, but also a lot of anxiety. We were already encountering pressures from commercial forces looking to exploit the resources we have in this country.”

Drew wasn’t entirely sure where this was leading. “You mean minerals?”

“We are a potentially wealthy country. There were already people visiting our country who we suspected were engaged in-well, industrial espionage, I suppose. The interest was in discovering what resources we had, and how capable we were of exploiting them ourselves.”

“You’re talking about commercial companies-multinationals?”

“Some of them. There was also support from various Governments, of course-the US, China-preparing to get their fingers in the pie. The USSR as well, I think, saw the writing on the wall for its own future, and so was looking at commercial alliances as a means of protecting its own position here.”

“So how did this affect your being able to leave the country?”

Nergui laughed. “Very simply, as it turned out. I had been involved in some work here in the field of-well, I imagine you would call it industrial development. It was primitive stuff, looking back, but we were concerned that, when he finally opened our borders properly, we should not be exploited by our more powerful and experienced competitors. When I decided I wanted to leave, I proposed the idea that I should go to study business studies at Harvard. I would be able to learn what our Western rivals did and bring the knowledge back.”