Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“And nobody recognized him?”

“No, but that doesn’t necessarily mean too much. We just asked a few of the staff in the restaurant and such like. They’d have been serving people meals, but they wouldn’t necessarily get to know the tourists particularly well. On the other hand, around seventy percent of our visitors are from overseas, so the staff tend to get to know the Mongolian guests better. They speak the same language, for one thing.”

Nergui nodded slowly. “So it looks as if we can assume that Delgerbayar did not stay here as a guest, but it’s quite possible that he did come here without your knowing.”

Batkhuyag shrugged. “That’s right. If he was here for a few hours, maybe meeting another guest, he could easily have come in and out without anybody particularly noticing, I think.”

Nergui rose, and began to pace slowly across the tent. “I’m afraid we probably will have to conduct some more systematic questioning with your staff. And perhaps with some guests also.”

Batkhuyag raised his head. “I am not in a position to prevent you,” he said. “But can I ask you what this is all about?”

Nergui stopped pacing, and turned to look at him. Drew leaned back on his chair, his face studiedly blank.

Batkhuyag was watching Nergui closely now. “I realize that you may well not wish to tell me. I ask because if you are going to cause some disruption in the camp, I feel I have a right to know why.”

Nergui remained silent. It was clear that he was not intending to assist Batkhuyag in taking this issue forward. At the same time, it was not at all clear to Drew how Nergui was going to handle this.

“I would ask only that you don’t treat me as a fool,” Batkhuyag said slowly. “I have lived in Ulan Baatar. I talk to people in the police. I am aware of your reputation. I am also aware that the police would not normally send someone of your… seniority to deal with an internal disciplinary matter. Or, indeed,” he added, turning to face Drew, “an officer from the United Kingdom.”

Nergui laughed suddenly. “Well, I’m very flattered that you think so much of me, Mr. Batkhuyag. And you are quite right that I should not treat you as a fool. I am sorry if my approach has seemed discourteous.” Drew was reminded of the way Nergui had spoken to him as they had traveled back from the airport on the night of his arrival. This was Nergui the diplomat. It was not difficult to imagine him dealing with the British ambassador in the same manner-polite, but giving nothing away.

“We are not trying to deceive you, simply to exercise some discretion.” He paused. Drew wondered if Nergui was trying to work out how to finesse all this, but he continued smoothly enough: “We are, as you rightly surmise, dealing with an extremely serious crime-it’s a sensitive matter, and there are good reasons why I am unable to provide you with any more information at the moment. But, believe me, it is serious enough to warrant both my involvement and-because there are some Western interests at stake too-the involvement of my colleague, Chief Inspector McLeish.” He gestured toward Drew, who noted the use of the rank with some internal amusement. Bullshit with a capital B, he thought, but it seemed to be doing the trick. “We believe there is a possibility that our colleague, Delgerbayar, has been involved in this, but we don’t know precisely what his involvement is. That is why we are so keen to understand his movements down here.”

“My information,” Batkhuyag said, softly, “is that your Mr. Delgerbayar is dead.”

Drew looked up in surprise. He had assumed from Batkhuyag’s earlier words he had no inkling of why they were here.

Nergui’s face remained blank. “And what information would that be, Mr. Batkhuyag?”

Batkhuyag shrugged. “People talk to me.”

Nergui leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs slightly off the ground. “Really? That’s very interesting. You must be a sociable sort. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“I didn’t think it was up to me. You were spinning me a line. That’s your business. But I think it’s better if we’re straight with each other. I’m more likely to be able to help you if I know what it is you want.”

Batkhuyag was clearly sharper than he appeared, Drew thought. But then you probably didn’t run a place like this without being a little streetwise.

Nergui nodded. “You are no doubt correct, Mr. Batkhuyag. You will appreciate the need for discretion. But, yes, I can confirm that Delgerbayar is dead.”

“Murdered,” Batkhuyag said. It was not a question.

Nergui put his hands behind his head, looking relaxed. “Now, you do realize that your possession of this information raises some interesting questions for me?”

Batkhuyag said nothing. He was, Drew thought, giving nothing away unless he was likely to get back something in return. Funny, he thought, how these types are the same the world over.

Nergui frowned, as though he were working through some particularly abstruse conundrum. “The situation is this,” he said, finally. “The news of our colleague’s demise is not exactly public knowledge. Even the police down here do not know-at least not officially. But somehow the information seems to have reached you. I’m curious as to how that might have happened.”

“As I say, people talk.”

“Not really good enough, I’m afraid, Mr. Batkhuyag. You see, if I were the suspicious sort, I might come to the conclusion that the only way you could know about Delgerbayar’s death would be if you were somehow involved in it.”

“So why would I tell you and put myself under suspicion?”

“You tell me,” Nergui smiled, coldly. “I would hate to have to arrest you while we try to sort that mystery out.”

Batkhuyag did not look particularly troubled by the prospect. “I don’t know what the police down here are supposed to know officially,” he said, putting an ironic emphasis on the last word. “But I listen to what they say. They know about your Mr. Delgerbayar.”

Nergui raised an eyebrow. “Do they?” he said. “And what do they know?”

“They come out here to drink, quite often,” Batkhuyag said. “There aren’t many places to choose from down here, and we get decent beer for the tourists. We don’t encourage locals, but I turn a blind eye to the police.”

“Of course.”

“There was a bunch of them here last night. We have some music on most evenings-the usual traditional stuff for the tourists. Place gets full. There were some police officers and others here most of the night, knocking back the beer and the vodka.”

“Mongolians?” Nergui said. “The others, I mean.”

Batkhuyag frowned. “I’m not sure. There was a group turned up early on-a few police people I recognized and one or two I didn’t. Others joined them over the evening. A few of the tourists, mostly Westerners-we’ve got a fair number of Brits and some Americans here at the moment.”

“Is it usual for the tourists to drink with the locals?” Drew asked.

“It’s not unusual,” Batkhuyag said. “The language can be a barrier, but it’s amazing how easily you can make yourself understood after a few vodkas. So, no, there was nothing particularly odd about that.”

“So what were they saying?” Nergui asked.

“Well, I can’t pretend I was listening closely,” Batkhuyag said. “But I kept picking up bits of the conversation as I passed by.”

“Of course,” Nergui said, stone-faced. “You were working in the bar?”

“I do when we’re busy. Anyway, I overheard them saying something about things up north, in the city. It was the usual stuff about how the Ministry doesn’t know what it’s doing, keeping people in the dark. You know.”