“That’s the trouble,” Tunjin said. “I tell you, nobody knew what I was up to. One or two would have had inklings, and I had some professional help with the forgeries, but there was no individual I confided in. And all the evidence was held confidentially, even within the team, because of its sensitivity. If they got to the bottom of that, well—anybody could be involved.”
“Even Doripalam?” Nergui said.
Tunjin shrugged. “You can judge that better than me,” he said. “But he was one of the few people with a real overview of all the evidence. If anyone was going to spot flaws or inconsistencies—well, he wasn’t the only one, but there weren’t many.”
“I still don’t think so,” Nergui said. “I still think he’s straight.”
Tunjin made no response. After a pause, he said: “So maybe I’m in a better position to do something now than I was before. At least now there’s nobody going to expose me. So maybe I can finish it off.”
Nergui turned and stared at the gray silhouette of the large man beside him. “Finish it off?” he said. “What have you got in mind, exactly?”
“I don’t know. But as long as he’s there, he’s going to want my blood.”
“It’s insane,” Nergui said. “You know who we’re talking about. We’ve never gotten close to him.”
“No,” Tunjin said, slowly. “But before we’ve all—even me, for the most part—have had to do it by the book. I don’t have that constraint anymore.”
“You’re still a police officer,” Nergui said.
“So you tell me. It doesn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like it this afternoon.” He paused. “Look, Nergui, all I know is I can’t just sit here waiting for him to come to me. So I’ve got to go after him. If I decide to adopt methods that are—well, the kinds of things that might be unacceptable to you, I wouldn’t dream of troubling your conscience by sharing them.”
“I could arrest you now if I thought you were going to commit an illegal act,” Nergui said.
“Yes, but you don’t. And neither do I. But I do know that I haven’t got much to lose. In fact, given what might happen to me if they catch up with me, I’m better off with the prospect of something quick and clean.”
“It sounds like a fantasy to me,” Nergui said.
“I’m in need of fantasies right now,” Tunjin said. “I don’t have much else.”
Nergui looked around them. He was beginning to feel exposed, sitting motionless in this dark parkland. It was not a rational anxiety—if anyone was watching them, then they would just wait until Nergui was gone before tackling Tunjin. But there was something about the vast silence of this place that made him uneasy.
“We need to find a way out of this,” he said finally.
“From where I’m sitting, I don’t see too many options,” Tunjin said. “You carry on with your investigations, but how much progress do you really expect to make?”
“I don’t know,” Nergui said. “Some. There are some I know are bent, some I know are on his payroll. I’ll get them eventually. But whether I’ll get them all—”
“There’ll be no way of knowing, unless we take him down.”
Nergui knew that he was right. There had been a time, even when he had started his inquiry, when he had thought that now finally he was in a position to deal with this properly. He had thought that Tunjin’s actions and their fallout might have given him the opportunity and the ammunition he had been seeking for all those years. But he should have realized that Tunjin would not have messed up so easily. He should have realized quite how deeply ingrained the problem would be. He could catch a few bent officers—maybe even most of them—but unless he was confident he had identified them all, the problem would never be resolved.
Tunjin climbed slowly to his feet, hoisting the canvas bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for the food,” he said. “I’ll keep in touch. I don’t want to use the cell any more than I can avoid because I don’t know how traceable it might be. And I want to save the battery for as long as possible. But if I want to make contact, I’ll just send you a text—just ‘Meet’ and that’ll mean—let’s stick with the same time—that’ll mean 11:30p.m. here.”
“I’ll bring some better food next time,” Nergui said. “If I’ve got a bit of notice.”
“Glad to hear it. This selection’s not very impressive.”
“Tunjin,” Nergui said, “I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but whatever it is, good luck.”
Tunjin shrugged. “I don’t know either,” he said, “but thanks anyway.”
He turned and began to trudge slowly back in the direction of the lake. Nergui sat, unmoving, watching Tunjin’s bulk disappear into the enveloping blackness, ready to draw his gun if there was any sign of trouble. But the sound of Tunjin’s soft footsteps faded, lost in the faint rustle of the breeze, and there was no indication of any disturbance.
Nergui sat for a few moments, listening hard, wondering whether Tunjin had made his way out of the park safely. For a moment, he considered trying to follow him but he knew that this would be madness. There was little he could do to protect Tunjin, who could look after his own interests as well as anyone.
Finally, Nergui rose and made his way slowly back across the park, past the square block of the State Youth Theater. He lifted himself back over the fence and out into the street. It was nearly half past midnight. The road was deserted, and even the Bayangol Hotel looked as if it was closed for the night. There were dim lights in the foyer, and the occasional bedroom light, but otherwise little sign of life.
Nergui’s car was as he had left it. He unlocked it and climbed inside, mulling over his conversation with Tunjin. What about Doripalam? Could he be trusted? Nergui was as confident as he could be that Doripalam, of all people, was straight. But someone had betrayed Tunjin. Someone had realized what was going on, and had fingered Tunjin as the individual responsible. And there was no question that, as one of the most sensitive cases they had handled for years, the details of the Muunokhoi would have been available only to a selected few—certainly to none of those whom Nergui had so far identified as potentially corrupt.
So who was it?
Nergui jammed his car into reverse and pulled slowly back out of the parking space, and then drove forward out of the hotel parking lot. As he passed the entrance, his eye was caught by two figures, both wearing long rain coats and hats, standing in the shadows outside the lobby of the hotel.
Something about the figures struck him as incongruous, out of place in the scene. They didn’t look like hotel staff. He pulled out into the street and up toward the junction with Peace Avenue, hoping that Tunjin had managed to get away safely.
CHAPTER 14
It was already growing light by the time they reached the outskirts of the city. Doripalam was glad to complete the journey, after hours of the beating cold and noise from the open windscreen. Conversation, other than the occasional shouted exchange, had been virtually impossible. In the end, Doripalam had simply closed his eyes, though far from any possibility of sleep, and listened to the endless roar of the engine and the wind.
“Where to?” Luvsan shouted. “Back to HQ?”
“I think we have to,” Doripalam said. “Get this thing in for repair, for one thing.”
They came into town, driving with the river on their right and then, above them, the majestic Chinese-style temple of Gesar Süm, turned left past Liberty Square and the taxi stand, and then right down toward Sukh Bataar Square. The rain had long passed and it looked set to be a fine day, just a few wisps of cloud in the translucent sky.
They parked the truck behind Headquarters and Luvsan went in to organize the repair of the windscreen. Doripalam stood for a moment by the front entrance, looking out across the Square, empty and silent in the early morning sunlight. He felt momentarily overwhelmed, struggling to come to grips with the responsibilities that were facing him. He understood his job as a police officer, as a detective. He knew what that was all about. Carrying out inv
estigations, trying to get to the truth. That was—not exactly straightforward, but at least comprehensible. But now, in this job, he was never sure of his priorities. It was the political stuff that confused him—the constantly shifting balance of interests and demands. The kind of thing that Nergui had managed with his eyes closed.
And at the moment it was just one problem after another. The whole Muunokhoi debacle. All the publicity around Gavaa’s disappearance. The horrific murder of his mother—so far, ironically, accorded less attention than the apparently much more mundane absence of her son. The possibility that she was being threatened—but by whom and why? And now, on top of everything, Tunjin going missing. It was as if a whole year’s worth of serious cases had descended on him at once, with no clear rhyme or reason.
And then there was Nergui and his supposed inquiry. What was that all about? An attempt to use the Muunokhoi mess as an opportunity to root out whatever corruption there was in this squad? Doripalam knew that, if he had any dignity, he should have offered his resignation already in the face of Nergui’s interference. But he also knew—because he knew Nergui—that there was likely to be more to this than was immediately apparent.
“Where now?”
Luvsan was standing behind him, holding two plastic cups of steaming coffee. For the first time, it occurred to Doripalam that he’d been up all night. And a pretty stressful night at that. The sense of tiredness swept over him like a wave, and he felt suddenly removed from everything around him.
He took the coffee from Luvsan. “Thanks. You must be exhausted. I know I am, and you did all the driving.”
Luvsan took a sip of his own drink. “Can always manage without much sleep. One of my few talents.”
Doripalam yawned. “Wish it was one I shared,” he said. “I guess we should go and have a look at Tunjin’s apartment. I take it there’s no more news.”
“Doesn’t seem to be. I checked quickly with the duty officer. We’ve got the apartment all cordoned off. Spoken to the neighbors and to those who witnessed the original disturbance, but it’s not much clearer. We can get the full story once we’re there, I guess.”
Luvsan had procured them an alternative police vehicle, a marked car. Inevitably, he turned on the siren as they made their way through the center of the city, even though it was still early morning and the streets were largely deserted. Doripalam regarded him with amused disapproval but said nothing.
Tunjin’s apartment was only a few minutes away and they were able to park without difficulty outside the apartment block. Even if Doripalam hadn’t known the address, it would not have been difficult to identify the building. The glass fronted doors to the lobby had both been shattered, the doors now covered with temporary boarding.
“They told me on the phone that there’d been some shooting,” Doripalam said. “It looks as if they were shooting their way in.”
There was a uniformed officer stationed at the door, who recognized Doripalam without having to be shown any ID. “There’s one of your people upstairs, sir,” he said.
Doripalam gestured to the doors. “This was where the shots were fired?”
“Yes, sir. It looks as if the doors were locked or jammed in some way, and the intruders shot at the glass to make their entry.”
Doripalam glanced at Luvsan. “The doors were locked or jammed? This was in the middle of the day?”
“Yes, sir. Late morning.”
“That wouldn’t have been normal, then? The doors being locked, I mean.”
“No, sir. I mean, security here is normally pretty lax, apparently. Nothing to stop anybody entering the building during daylight hours.”
Doripalam nodded. “Thanks. Who are you letting in at the moment?”
“Residents only, that’s my orders. Not making ourselves very popular because we’re not even allowing in residents’ guests for the moment.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t want the press in here just yet. And I wouldn’t put it past some of them to try to do a deal with some of the residents to talk their way in.”
“That’s what I thought, sir. We’ve been very rigorous.”
“Glad to hear it. Keep it up.” As always, Doripalam was uncomfortably aware that this commanding officer stuff was far from natural to him. The young officer didn’t appear to notice anything, though, even if Luvsan looked mildly amused.
“Come on,” Doripalam said. “Let’s go and see the apartment. First floor.”
They made their way up the open, faux marble stairs to the first floor. It was far from a smart address. The lobby area had been full of junk, all of which, other than the scatterings of broken glass, presumably pre-dated the disturbance. The whole place could do with a new coat of paint, he thought, looking around at the scuffed walls, the worn floor tiles, the chipped woodwork.
It was, again, not difficult to spot Tunjin’s apartment. A bored looking uniformed officer was sitting on a hard wooden chair outside, a folded newspaper in his hand. He looked up quizzically as the two men approached.
“Doripalam.” He flicked open his ID and waved it in front of the seated officer. “Serious Crimes Team. I understand one of my people’s inside.”
It took the uniformed officer a moment to take all this in. Then he jumped to his feet, scattering the newspaper untidily to the floor. “Yes, sir. Please go in.”
Doripalam smiled and pushed open the door. His smile faded almost immediately. Partly it was the smell. Not an overwhelmingly unpleasant smell—Doripalam had had all too frequent cause to enter rooms containing corpses, and this was nothing like that. But it was there, nonetheless. A scent of decay, of organic matter left too long in the spring warm, a smell of sour milk and rotting vegetation, underpinned with a strong smell of alcohol.
The appearance of the apartment matched the smell. It was clear that, however much the apartment might have been ransacked by the intruders, it had hardly been a model of organized living beforehand. There were plates of half-eaten food scattered on every surface, buzzing with flies. There were several empty or nearly empty vodka bottles. Clothes—presumably dirty—were scattered about the floor.
But, on top of all that, the room had been systematically turned over. Drawers from the cabinets lay emptied across the floor and sofa. Pictures had been pulled from the walls. A cupboard stood with its doors agape and its contents tossed, apparently casually, to the ground.
In the middle of all this, a young officer stood, a clipboard in his hand, apparently making an inventory. He looked up as Doripalam and Luvsan entered. “Good morning,” he said. “Sorry it’s not more homely.”
Doripalam carefully made his way through the scattered debris toward the young officer. “Good morning, Batzorig. You pulled this one, then?”
“Looks like it,” Batzorig said. “Not quite sure what I did to deserve it.”
“Something pretty bad, clearly,” Doripalam said. “So this is how Tunjin lived, then?”
“Well, not entirely, to be fair,” Batzorig said. “He can take responsibility for the food and the booze, but probably not for the emptying of the drawers and cupboards.”
“No.” Doripalam looked around carefully. “It’s been ransacked pretty thoroughly. So they were after something. Do we have any idea what?”
Batzorig shook his head. “It’s difficult to know what Tunjin might have had that they would have been interested in,” he said.
“Unless it was something he’d taken from HQ,” Luvsan said, from behind.
Doripalam turned. “Like what?”
Luvsan shrugged. “No idea. Files, paperwork? Who knows?”
“The last time I saw Tunjin,” Doripalam said, “he didn’t give me the impression he was intending to follow up assiduously on his paperwork.” He turned back to Batzorig. “And we’ve no idea what might have happened to Tunjin?”
“None at all,” Batzorig said. “He’s just vanished.”
“With the intruders?”
“We don’t think so.”
“
So what’s the story?” Doripalam said. “Walk me through it.”
“It’s an odd one,” Batzorig said. “From what we’ve been able to piece together from talking to neighbors and passers-by, there was some sort of disturbance yesterday. One of the residents of this block—coming back from the market, I think—discovered she couldn’t get in the front entrance. It’s normally left unlocked during the day. She tried to unlock it with her own key, but the door was jammed. She asked a passer-by for some assistance, but he couldn’t do anything. It looked as if, as well as locking the doors, someone had jammed a broomstick into the handles.”
“To stop it being opened from outside?”
“Exactly. Anyway, a bit of a crowd started to gather. The general consensus was that it was kids—you know, youth of today, all that stuff. Then, in the middle of all that, with this small group milling about outside the doorway, two men came up, dressed in dark glasses, baseball caps, leather jackets, you know the kind of uniform—?”
Doripalam looked up at him. He knew the uniform. The hard men, the hired help, all over the seamier side of the city.
“These two guys came up, gestured for the crowd to move aside, and then pulled out a handgun each and shot out the glass in the doors. I think the crowd dispersed pretty quickly.”
“And no one thought to call us?” Luvsan said from behind.
“Well, yes, they did eventually. But I think they were all a bit shocked. Anyway, from what we can tell, the two men cleared and opened the doors, made their way up here, kicked down Tunjin’s door and got in here. We don’t know quite what happened after that because no one was getting too close to find out. But we assumed they didn’t find Tunjin and they went through the apartment pretty quickly—probably only a few minutes. We’ve got some witnesses who then saw the two men exit the front of the block, probably five minutes or so later. There was no one with them so we presume they didn’t find Tunjin. The two men then ran down to the far end of the block. There was the sound of more gunfire, and somebody reported the sound of a motorbike speeding away. Nothing more after that. It looks as if the two men had a car parked somewhere, but nobody seems to have seen them leave. We’ve got one witness down in the end block who thinks he may have seen something.”
The Adversary Page 19
