Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

It was only afterward, as they were walking through the clear night air toward the embassy, that Drew realized that Nergui had not answered his initial question.

The evening was already becoming chilly, and Drew pulled his overcoat more tightly around him. Nergui had told him that, as the winter approached, nights in the city became very cold-minus fifteen or more degrees. There was little cloud cover, and above the city lights and neon signs the skies were filled with stars. The main streets were well lit, and this early in the evening there were still plenty of pedestrians. The main streets around the hotel were busy with cars and buses.

Away from the busier thoroughfares, though, the atmosphere of the city was very different. The side streets were ill lit, and in many cases disappeared into darkness only yards from the main road. As they walked briskly toward the embassy, Drew thought back to the first victim, the body dumped in one of these dark silent streets. Involuntarily, he glanced back over his shoulder. There were a few other pedestrians behind them, mostly swathed in heavy coats and hats, huddled against the deepening cold. For a moment, he had a sense of being watched, maybe even followed, though none of those behind were paying any obvious attention to himself or Nergui.

Nevertheless, he was glad when they reached the brightly lit gates to the embassy. As Nergui rang the bell, he looked back again. There was a figure standing, half in shadow, by the corner of the street opposite. It was only a silhouette so it was impossible to tell if he was looking in their direction. A moment later, he turned and disappeared into the gloom of a side street. Drew found himself shivering slightly, unsure if this was just the effect of the cold.

“Gentlemen, welcome. Do come in. It must be freezing out there.”

Drew turned and was surprised to see the ambassador himself greeting them at the door. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. During his daytime visits, there had been a receptionist and other staff dealing with visitors. In the evening, Drew had half-expected a butler.

He followed Nergui into the brightly lit hallway, and was surprised at the sense of relief he felt when the large front door was finally closed behind them.

“This way,” the ambassador said. “We’re in my private quarters. Much more intimate than any of the official rooms.”

The ambassador led them along a corridor then up a flight of stairs. The door at the top of the stairs opened to reveal a small hallway, and then beyond that a comfortably furnished sitting room. A middle-aged couple were already sitting in armchairs, sipping sherries.

“Come in, come in, gentlemen. Let me take your coats.”

Again, Drew had been unsure what to expect from the dinner. He had vaguely imagined some kind of formal arrangement-perhaps waiter-served around a polished oak table. However, the ambassador had been insistent on informal dress, so some form of intimate gathering seemed more likely.

“Let me do the introductions,” the ambassador said, bundling their heavy coats into his arms. “Professor Alan and Dr. Helena Wilson.” He gestured at the couple, who had risen as Drew and Nergui came in. “And Chief Inspector Drew McLeish and, from our host country, Mr. Nergui of the Ministry of Security. I’ll leave you to get to know one another for a few moments, if I may, while I put these down and get you both drinks. Sherry okay?”

He disappeared back into the hallway. The Wilsons stood looking at Drew and Nergui for a moment. In Drew’s experience, the mention of his police rank wasn’t generally conducive to small talk at parties. But Nergui, as ever, was fully up to the moment. “Good evening,” he said, smoothly, gently gesturing them back to their seats. “You both work in academia?”

Professor Wilson shook his head. “Helena does. I used to, but I’ve been seconded to the Civil Service for a couple of years now. Working for the Government,” he added, presumably for Nergui’s benefit.

Nergui smiled. “Ah, so we are both Government servants,” he said. “What is your field?”

“I’m a chemist by background,” Professor Wilson said.

“Ah. Very interesting.” Nergui nodded, as though giving serious contemplation to this information. “I imagine there are few chemists in the Civil Service?”

“Well, not practicing ones, no, except in the Government laboratories. I’m a little unusual, I guess. I had a background in industry after completing my doctorate, with a parallel career in academia, so I bring a little commercial expertise to the policy field, as well as technical knowledge.”

“I understand,” Nergui said. “My own position is not dissimilar.” He left the comment hanging in the air. “And you, Dr. Wilson, are you a chemist also?”

“Please call me Helena,” she said, smiling. “No, I’m afraid I’m not a scientist at all. I’m an anthropologist by background, but for the last few years I’ve been working in the field of folklore and folk traditions. It’s my fault we’re here, I’m afraid. Alan’s just tagging along.”

“It’s hardly a burden,” he said. “It’s fascinating. You have an extraordinary country here.”

“You are very kind. You are here to study our folklore?” Nergui prompted.

Dr. Wilson nodded. “The music, mainly. But yes, all of it. I’m no expert in the field-I specialize in English folklore and folk song-but I was interested to find out more. So I used my sabbatical to arrange an exchange with the university here.”

“And you have found material to interest you?”

“Very much. I was excited to hear the khoomi singing-hear it live, I mean. I’d only ever heard it on record. And you have a tremendous wealth of folk material-songs, stories.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Nergui said. “I am afraid I can claim no expertise in the field, but of course I know songs and stories from my own childhood. Are these stories different from those in England?”

“There are parallels, and it’s astonishing how often variants of the same stories recur throughout the world. But the stories here are distinctive. They reflect the geography, the history and the lifestyle here.”

“Everything here is different,” the ambassador said, entering the room with two more sherries. “This is like no other country.” “Have you been here long?” Drew asked.

“Three years now. They’re looking to move me on, but I’m close enough to retirement that I think they might just quietly forget about me for the moment. This seems a decent enough place to wind down.”

“There must surely be more comfortable postings?” Nergui said. “For all my loyalty to my country, I wouldn’t claim that it is the easiest place to live.”

“You’re right but there are plenty of less comfortable ones too. This society is stable. The people are very hospitable. There is a wealth of history and tradition here which is different from anywhere else on earth. I can manage to get hold of most of the creature comforts I need,” the ambassador held up his sherry glass in demonstration. “I’m very happy.”

“Then you’re very lucky,” Professor Wilson said. “I don’t think many could claim that about their work.”

As though accepting a cue, his wife turned to Drew. “And you, Chief Inspector-”

“Drew. Please.”

“Are you happy in your work?” She was smiling, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that Drew couldn’t quite pin down.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really thought about it. Mind you, I’ve never thought about doing anything else either.”

“The ambassador told us why you are here. It’s a dreadful case.”

Drew exchanged a glance with Nergui. He wondered quite how much the ambassador had told the Wilsons. Had he just explained about Ransom’s death-which had received some lurid coverage in the British press-or had he also discussed the wider series of killings?