Michael Walters - The Shadow Walker

“Well, I wouldn’t take the press coverage too literally,” Drew wasn’t going to give anything away. “But, yes, it was a brutal killing. And it somehow seems worse when it happens to someone so far from home.”

Professor Wilson opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then stopped and looked across at his wife. “We shouldn’t pry,” he said. “I realize that there must be things you have to keep under wraps.”

Nergui smiled, his face as inscrutable as ever. “You are right,” he said. “There are aspects of the case that we need to keep confidential, even in company as illustrious as this.” There was no way of knowing whether the final comment was intended ironically.

“But you really have no idea of a motive?”

Drew shook his head. “As Nergui said, it wouldn’t be appropriate to say any more. We’re progressing with our inquiries, as they say.”

“Of course, no. We understand. It’s just a bit of shock when this sort of thing happens to a fellow Brit it makes you look over your shoulder, particularly when you’re in a place as-well, as alien as this.” Professor Wilson glanced at Nergui. “I’m sorry, but you understand what I mean?”

Drew understood what he meant, all too well. Nergui simply nodded. “Certainly. Our country is very different from the West. We are becoming more Westernized in some ways-though less so in others, as the Soviet influence has declined. I can understand why you would feel very far from home.” He sat back in his chair, as though musing on this idea. “Mr. Ransom’s death was dreadful, and a real shock to everyone. All I can say is that, despite that, this is a very safe and stable country. Our crime rate is low, generally, and we have little violent crime.”

“But you have had other murders?” Professor Wilson said. “Recently, I mean.”

Nergui gazed at him expressionlessly. “This is a city. People get drunk, get into fights. We have the occasional mugging, the occasional assault. And, yes, the occasional murder.”

“And do you think they’re connected?” Professor Wilson said. “These occasional murders?” There was a definite edge to his voice now. Drew assumed that Wilson was a variant on the type of “concerned citizen” who could always be relied upon to write personally to the Chief Constable.

“I really don’t think it would be appropriate to discuss this anymore,” Drew said. “I’m sorry, but you’re putting us in a very difficult position.” He was aware, even as he said this, that it was likely to be construed as a tacit admission that the murders were linked.

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, I had no intention of putting you in a difficult position. I was just interested to know whether it is safe for us to walk down the streets at night.”

Nergui nodded, ignoring the undertone of sarcasm. “I understand your concerns. But this city is safer than almost anywhere else you could be, believe me.”

The words were reassuring, and Nergui’s calm demeanor was even more so. But Drew wondered whether Nergui’s claim was true. And, more importantly, whether Nergui himself really believed it.

“What about you, Drew, do you believe in it?”

“No, I don’t. Well, what I mean is, I’m quite happy to accept that there might be more things in heaven and earth and all that, so I’m prepared to keep an open mind in principle. But I have to say that I’ve never seen it work in practice.”

“Have you ever used it?” Professor Wilson said. “In an investigation, I mean?”

It was nearly midnight, and they had become caught up in one of those conversations that only happen amongst strangers when too much alcohol has been consumed. Drew had noticed that the ambassador was adept at plying others with drink while minimizing his own consumption. No doubt an invaluable tool of the trade.

“Not personally, no. But I’ve been involved in cases where it’s been tried.”

“What kinds of cases?”

“Oh, well, you know, usually missing persons-particularly missing children. When there’s a child missing, after a while the parents will cling to any hope-anything that might bring them some news, even it’s bad. They’d rather know.”

“But you’ve never seen it work?”

“No, never. I’ve always had mixed feelings about it. We wouldn’t usually initiate it-though I know there are some senior officers who take it seriously-but we wouldn’t stand in the way if, say, the parents wanted to try it. But I’m always afraid they’re being taken for a ride. There are unscrupulous people out there, who’ll take advantage even in a situation like that.”

“So you think these people-mediums, whatever you choose to call them-are all charlatans?” There was something forensic in Professor Wilson’s approach, as though he were a prosecuting barrister trying to get the better of a hostile witness.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Drew said, though privately he thought he would probably say exactly that. “I mean, some of the people I’ve encountered seemed genuine enough. In the sense that they believed in what they were doing, at any rate.”

“But you never saw it work?”

“Never. There have been several occasions when we’ve all gone traipsing off, feeling slightly ridiculous, because one of these people had said we would find something in a particular location-a field or woodland or whatever. But we never did.”

“But there have been instances where the police have been guided accurately by mediums, haven’t there?” Helena Wilson said.

“I believe so,” Drew said. “I’ve read press stories about them, and I’ve met some senior experienced policemen who give some credence to it. But it’s not been my experience.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d got into this conversation. It had started with some comments-apparently humorous-from Helena Wilson about her own “second sight.” She had explained that she had grown up with a sense of being able to predict events or, on occasions, be aware of events happening elsewhere.

“It’s one of Helena’s hobby horses,” her husband said. “As a man of science, I struggle with it a little.”

“Rubbish, I’m not suggesting anything unscientific. I’m not even suggesting that it’s necessarily true. It’s not something I can turn on or turn off at will.” This was obviously an argument that they had rehearsed on many occasions, and there was no rancor in her voice. “But I have had certain experiences, which I’d struggle to explain.”

“What kinds of experiences?” Nergui said, sitting forward.

“Oh, well, you know, having a sense that something’s going to happen before it does.”

“Like predicting 9/11? There were, inevitably, people who claimed to have done that,” the ambassador said.

She shook her head hard. “No, in my experience, it’s something much more personal, much closer to home. It’s the sense of-oh, I don’t know, things like meeting someone and feeling that something bad is going to happen to them. And then it does-they have an accident or whatever.”

“And this has happened to you?” Nergui asked.

“Yes, exactly that. I’ve also, on a couple of occasions, been aware of accidents or illnesses affecting people close to me before I’ve been told about them.”

“That could just be coincidence,” her husband pointed out. “It’s the usual story. You factor out all the times you had that feeling but nothing happened.”

“I can’t argue with that. But I honestly can’t recall having that feeling without some resulting event. Which doesn’t mean that there haven’t been plenty of occasions when I’ve not had the feeling but the person’s gone ahead and had an accident anyway.” She laughed. “I’m not making any serious claims for this, you understand, just telling you what I’ve felt.”