The Adversary (16 page)

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 indeed 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 was, 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.”

Luvsan smiled. “That's what you get for mixing with the top brass, if you don't mind me saying so, sir.”

Doripalam paused, his hand on the truck door-handle, looking at Luvsan across the hood. “You're going to tell me you got something more useful?”

Luvsan shrugged, still smiling. “It's all a matter of who you know, sir.”

“I really don't know how you can drink that stuff,” Nergui said, eyeing the foaming cappuccino as she raised it to her lips.

“I like it,” Sarangarel said simply. She took a large mouthful. It was a testament to her elegance, Nergui reflected, that she could do so without ending up with a large foam mustache. “It's a comfort drink.”

“I suppose so.” Nergui glanced down at his own intense espresso. “I suppose comfort's usually the last thing I'm looking for in a drink.”

She smiled. “I think you look for intensity in all things, Nergui.”

“I'd begun to think you weren't coming,” he said. “I could have understood why you wouldn't.”

“Could you?” she said. It was a genuine question, he thought. It was as if she really had managed to put all those days behind her. “But, no, I'm sorry I'm late. Work, you know. Just a trivial case but those are the ones that always run on. And you don't want to adjourn for the next day because it hardly seems worth it.”

He nodded. It was difficult to imagine her behind the bench. Not because she lacked the ability or the presence for such a role, but simply because he had never seen her in that kind of formal setting. It was
extraordinary to think that, if the Muunokhoi case had proceeded as planned, he would probably have attended the court as an observer and so would have encountered her, for the first time in years, in that context. If it had been a surprise when she turned up in his office, how much more astonishing would it have been to find her presiding over the trial of a man like Muunokhoi. Particularly given her background.

He had wondered, during their previous discussion, whether there was any perceived conflict of interest in her handling the Muunokhoi trial. But he supposed not. Apart from the fact that she could not be held responsible for her late husband's actions—and there was never any suggestion that she had any knowledge of what he was up to—the suspected links with Muunokhoi had never been identified, much less proved.

He contemplated again his motives for agreeing to this meeting. Of course, he liked her. He had always liked her, and there had certainly been a moment when the liking might have blossomed into something more substantive. But he was conscious that, after all these years, he found it difficult to approach any kind of relationship without at least half an eye on its potential implications, on the ways in which it might be used. Or, conversely, on the risks that it might potentially be used against him. He told himself that this was simply professional caution. As Sarangarel had said, he was used to keeping at least one step ahead.