He shook his head. “We’ve come a long way,” he said. “We can’t go back now.”
Luvsan nodded. “We’d look stupid,” he said.
Doripalam smiled thinly. “We wouldn’t be doing our jobs,” he said.
“That too,” Luvsan nodded. “So where do we go?”
“Back to Bulgan, I reckon,” Doripalam said, referring to the regional capital. “The police there might be able to give us another lead.” The suggestion sounded thin even to Doripalam, but anything seemed preferable to admitting defeat so quickly.
They drove back across the grasslands in silence, Luvsan maintaining his characteristic high speeds, occasionally allowing the rear wheels of the truck to slide gently across the rough ground as they took a corner. Doripalam closed his eyes and tried not to grip the sides of his seat too tightly. He had long since resigned himself to the prospect of writing off the new vehicle at some point before they returned to the capital. He could probably cope with that so long as he didn’t live to face the consequences, he thought.
Bulgan itself was a small city—hardly even a town, but dignified by its status as the capital of the region or aimag. There was little to the place—just the Town Hall, the Government Building, a few functional and commercial buildings, a couple of hotels. There was a tourist ger camp to the north of the city, but otherwise surprisingly few examples of the characteristic round tents. In keeping with the surrounding woodland, the scattering of Soviet-style administrative and commercial buildings was complemented by clusters of comfortable log cabins.
Although still some way south of the Russian border, Bulgan looked like a true frontier town. The image was reinforced by the rows of horses tethered along the main streets and around the market. It was this sight, glimpsed as they had passed through the city on their journey north, that had prompted Luvsan’s jocular references to the Lone Ranger. The city would not have looked out of place, Doripalam conceded, in the Hollywood Westerns that now found their way on to their televisions in the small hours of the morning.
Far from being a frontier town, Bulgan now gained much of its income from the groups of foreign tourists who used the city as an overnight stopping point on their way to the mountains and lakes of Khövsgöl Nuur in the far north. Because of this, it was a more cosmopolitan place than most of the country’s smaller cities. People were accustomed to meeting travelers—locals and foreigners—and were relatively comfortable with the ceaseless traffic of visitors. The positive aspect of this was that the local police were very capable and responsive in dealing with any potential problems on their patch. The downside was that, whereas in most areas outside the capital newcomers would be a source of interest, gossip and possibly anxiety, here their presence would hardly be noticed. Even if Mrs. Tuya’s family had passed through here, their presence might well have gone unremarked.
Still, it was never wise to underestimate the perspicacity of the local police, Doripalam thought. Although the initial report about the nomadic newcomers had been filed by a local policeman in one of the outlying villages, it had been transmitted rapidly and efficiently by the police in Bulgan down to the capital. It was possible that in the meantime they had gathered some other intelligence that might be worth investigating.
Luvsan turned into the town and passed by the tree-filled parkland around the Achuut Gol river, crossed the river itself, and then turned left into the main street. He was driving with some care, at least by his own unexacting standards. The street itself was relatively busy in the midafternoon—largely older people dressed in traditional robes making their way through to the market or simply enjoying the sunshine. As Doripalam and Luvsan approached the hotels at the far end of the street, they saw some clusters of tourists—one Western, one apparently Japanese—walking out to view the limited array of city attractions.
At the end of the main street, Luvsan turned right and drew the truck to a halt in front of the Government Building which, at its rear, housed the local police headquarters. As he turned off the engine, Luvsan lit another cigarette and sat back casually. “Are they expecting you, sir?” he said.
Doripalam nodded. “I called yesterday to warn them that we were coming on to their patch.” This was always a wise move, in Doripalam’s experience. However supposedly innocent or uncontroversial the mission, no local officer liked to discover that HQ was trampling over his patch without permission. “I said I’d probably call in on the way back, just to update them.”
Luvsan nodded, blowing his smoke carefully through the half-opened window of the truck. “And to pick their brains.”
“As it turns out, yes. Though whether there’ll be anything worth picking is an open question.”
Doripalam jumped out of the truck and strode along the pavement past the Government Building, then turned down behind it to the reception of the police offices. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Luvsan was following. From past experience, he knew that Luvsan was smart enough to allow his boss to engage in any formal meetings alone, aware that his presence might cramp the senior officer’s style. More importantly, Luvsan was also smart enough to make good use of his own time in these situations, putting his personable charms to use to extract whatever other information he could.
Doripalam guessed that, while he was comfortably settled with the senior officer, Luvsan would have casually ingratiated himself with the juniors in the squad room, most likely through the generous donation of the cigarettes that he seemed to carry in unlimited numbers. Doripalam was beginning to recognize that Luvsan was an officer with some potential, maybe even a possible successor in his own role. Doripalam could never claim that Luvsan resembled a younger version of himself—partly because Luvsan wasn’t actually all that much younger, but mainly because his casual but streetwise sharpness was almost a diametric opposite of Doripalam’s more cautious intelligence. But Doripalam was open-minded enough to recognize ability, even when it took a distinctly different form from his own.
As he turned into the gloomy concrete foyer of the police offices, he paused to gaze down the street. There were two or three more administrative and commercial buildings, then the street opened up to a line of smaller timber-built buildings—a few shops and then houses. Beyond that, there was the green parkland and then the gathering darkness of the trees, brilliant green in the descending afternoon sun. They still had several hours drive back to the capital, Doripalam thought. They would need to conclude their business soon if they were to have any chance even of starting the journey before nightfall.
He turned and made his way into the reception. The layout was familiar, a relic of the old days, with its heavily-built reception desk, the official flags and emblems, the palpably unfriendly atmosphere. Designed to intimidate, rather than to encourage honest citizens to seek official help.
There was a young officer sitting behind a desk, apparently completing some form of official report, though Doripalam noticed, as he leaned over the desk, that there was a pile of sports magazines tucked underneath. He had probably heard the door opening and adjusted his reading accordingly.
Doripalam held out his identity card. “I’m here to see your commanding officer,” he said. “I spoke to him yesterday and said I’d call in this afternoon.”
The young man took quick account of Doripalam’s role and rank, and immediately sat up straighter. “I’ll call him for you, sir.” He picked up the phone and pressed an extension, spoke briefly in a whisper, then looked back up at Doripalam. “He’s just finishing a meeting, sir. Five minutes at most.”
Doripalam nodded. “Thanks. Is there somewhere I can wait?” He had already noticed an unprepossessing waiting room by the main entrance, presumably designed for potential wrongdoers and other members of the general public.
“You can sit upstairs,” the young man said. “There’s a small waiting area just outside the Chief’s office.”
Doripalam smiled and made his way slowly up the staircase that stretched from the center of the lobby. There was ind
eed a much more comfortable waiting area, clearly designed for any official visitors, with a couple of armchairs, a low table and even—Doripalam noted with interest—a Western-style water-cooler. This was something they hadn’t yet managed to acquire in headquarters, though he noticed that the Ministry now had them in apparent abundance.
He lowered himself into one of the armchairs and sat back to wait. The chair gave a partial view of the lobby below, glimpsed through the stair rails. After a few moments, Doripalam saw Luvsan stride jauntily into the lobby and make his way over to the reception. There would, Doripalam presumed, very shortly be a proffering of both identity card and cigarettes.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice said from behind him. “I hope you’ve not been here long.”
The local police chief was a short, squat man, though Doripalam guessed that his bulk was largely muscle rather than fat. His hair was cut sharp and his bright eyes darted up and down, appraising Doripalam’s slim figure, clearly surprised by the senior officer’s youth but equally clearly trying hard not to let this show.
“Not at all,” Doripalam said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know more precisely when I was likely to arrive.”
The Chief smiled. “I am Tsend.”
“Doripalam. Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“It is a rare honor to meet the head of the Serious Crimes Team.”
Doripalam shrugged. “Rare, I hope. Honor, I’m not so sure. People don’t tend to welcome the implications of our presence,” he said.
“But, fortunately, as I understand it, we are not this time dealing with a serious crime on our territory,” Tsend said. “Which is a blessing for us, if not for you.” He gestured Doripalam into his office, inviting him to take a seat at a small meeting table.
The office, on the other hand, was relatively palatial, and Tsend’s heavy mahogany desk commanded an impressive view of the main street and the parkland beyond.
“A pleasant place to work,” Doripalam commented.
“Well, we have little need to call on the services of your team,” Tsend said. “Most of what we face here is trivial stuff. The odd theft, drunkenness. Some trouble with tourists, now and again. But nothing serious. Not like your Tuya case.”
“You’re aware of the case?” Doripalam said. They had discussed it only briefly during their telephone conversation the previous day.
“A little. I read the newspapers. A dreadful murder, I understand?”
“Dreadful and, to be honest, fairly baffling. From the little we know of Mrs. Tuya, there was little obvious motive for her killing.”
“There is a missing son, I understand?”
“It appears so,” Doripalam said. “Again, we’ve no idea why he might be missing. Or if he really is. We know he hadn’t contacted his mother for some time before her death, but that’s hardly an unusual characteristic of young men.”
“But he’d have made contact once he learned of her death, surely?”
“You would assume so,” Doripalam said. “Though it’s difficult to be sure. Their relationship wasn’t a strong one in recent years, I understand. And it’s possible he’s not even aware of her death, I suppose.”
“Though it’s been well covered in the media,” Tsend said. “And you’ve made appeals for him to come forward?”
“Of course. But who knows where he is? There are still parts of this country where it’s possible to escape the media.” Doripalam’s tone implied that this was an attractive characteristic.
“And you’re trying to track down her remaining family, I understand?”
Doripalam nodded. “That’s why we’re here. As I told you, we had a report from one of your outstationed officers about some nonlocal nomads who had arrived in the area. From the description, it sounded like it might have been the group we’re looking for.”
“And was it?”
“I don’t know. By the time we got there, they’d moved on and there was no obvious clue as to where they might have moved to. I was hoping you might be able to give me some more ideas.”
Tsend shrugged. “I doubt it. Out there, they do tend to notice newcomers, if only because they’re all competing for the best pastures. But it would only be reported to us if there was anything that required formal action.”
“What about this particular group? I understand that one of your officers visited them?”
Tsend flipped open a manila file on the desk in front of him. There was a small pile of similar files next to it. “This is the report,” he said. “It was just a routine visit. There’d been a spate of petty thefts and there were suggestions that this group of incomers might be responsible. People are always keen to blame strangers, though in my experience it’s usually the local youngsters who are responsible. But I guess we thought we should check them out.”
“But you found nothing?”
“According to the report, no. The officer just made a casual call, supposedly checking that they were all right. We have a social responsibility toward people as well, of course.” He managed to imply that such considerations would be alien to the Serious Crimes Team.
“But there was no sign of anything wrong?”
“Not really. Though the report does suggest that they were behaving a little oddly. Most herdsmen are really just interested in finding the best pasture for their animals. They don’t like to travel too far if they can help it, though of course they can’t always control nature. But—judging from the report—this group just seemed to be traveling. They had some animals—some goats, horses—but not a great herd. And they seemed reluctant to talk about where they’d come from or where they were heading.”
“They wouldn’t say?” Doripalam leaned forward, growing more interested.
Tsend shrugged. “The officer didn’t feel able to push them too hard, given that he was supposedly there on a friendly visit. But he asked a few casual questions and got deflected every time. As if they weren’t keen to talk about it.”
“He didn’t ask for any ID?”
“Again, he didn’t think it was appropriate. He had no grounds for suspicion. He had a nose around to see if there was anything to link them to the thefts, but there wasn’t. And his overall impression was that they were more interested in moving on than in committing any kind of crime here.”
Doripalam nodded, taking all this in. “If it’s true that Mrs. Tuya’s family did flee for some reason—and we’re not at all sure about that—then it sounds as if this group could be them. And that they’re still fleeing.”
“You think they were responsible for her death?”
“It’s possible,” Doripalam said. “But it could also be that they’re fleeing from whoever did kill her.”
“But that’s—” Tsend had clearly been about to say “ridiculous” or something similar, but then bit this back as an inappropriate response to a suggestion from a senior officer. “I mean, is that likely?”
“Anything’s possible. That’s the one thing I’ve learned in this role.” Doripalam’s mind went back to the extraordinary spate of killings the previous year, the convoluted web of motives that had underpinned the murders. “But, no, it does seem far fetched.” He paused. “We really do need to track down this group, though. Do you have any inkling where they might have moved to?”
Tsend shook his head. “I’ve been through all the reports from the last few days, just in case there was anything that might be relevant to you. I wasn’t specifically looking for information on this group, but I didn’t see anything in there that was likely to be of interest. And from where they were—well, they could have gone anywhere. Further north toward the mountains, maybe. If they were looking to hide, that might be the best bet. But other than that, all I can do is ask my people to keep their eyes and ears open and hope we pick up something. I presume you’ll ask the same of the other neighboring aimags?”
“Of course,” Doripalam said mildly, biting back his irritation at being told how to do his job. Tsend w
as, he told himself, simply trying to be helpful. “And there’s nothing else you can tell me?”
“I don’t think so. As I say, I’ve looked through the files pretty carefully.” He gestured to the pile on the desk. “But feel free to have a look for yourself if you want to.” He said it as if challenging Doripalam, who briefly felt inclined to accept.
“No, I’m sure you’ve been through them thoroughly. But if anything comes up—anything you think might be remotely relevant—you’ll contact us straight away?” He could at least try to match Tsend in the egg-sucking tuition, he thought.
Tsend smiled. “Immediately.”
He rose, clearly indicating that the interview was at an end, and led Doripalam toward the office door. “Thanks for your time,” Doripalam said, as they stepped back out into the corridor. “I realize how busy you must be.” In the silent building, it was difficult not to make the words sound ironic, but Tsend appeared to notice nothing.
“I am sorry we could not be more helpful,” Tsend said. He gestured toward the stairs. “Forgive me, but I have another meeting I need to prepare for. You can find your own way out?”
“No problem.” Doripalam gave no real credence either to this meeting or to the one that had supposedly delayed the start of their discussion, but he was happy to get out of Tsend’s presence.
He made his way slowly down the stairs and smiled faintly at the sight of Luvsan, perched on the reception desk, chatting amiably to the officer behind it. Clearly, the intimidatory design had little impact on Luvsan.
As Doripalam reached the bottom of the stairs, Luvsan jumped to his feet, waving a cheery farewell to the reception officer. Doripalam noticed that a half-empty packet of cigarettes had been left casually on the desk.
Doripalam made his way back out into the bright sunshine. Luvsan trotted along a few feet behind him, whistling tunelessly.
As they reached the truck, Luvsan said: “Any luck, sir?”
Doripalam shook his head. “No. Willing to do anything to help us, apart from actually providing any useful information or support.”
The Adversary Page 12
