The Shadow Walker (26 page)

“My name is Cholon,” the man said. “Tell me how I can help. Though I think I have an idea.”

Nergui hesitated for a moment. “We are investigating a series of murders. Including one of a police officer called Delgerbayar.”

Cholon did not appear surprised at this information. He nodded, as if absorbing Nergui's words, but made no response.

“We have reason to believe that this officer visited an encampment of illegal gold prospectors shortly before his death.”

“This camp?”

“No, not here. Further downriver. But we also understand that some of the inhabitants of that camp are now living here. Is this correct?”

Cholon thought for a moment, as though about to respond in the negative, then he nodded. “That is so,” he said. “A number of us, including myself.”

“How long is it since you moved here?”

“In my case, about six weeks. But the camp finally broke up only about three weeks ago.”

Nergui shifted on the stool, looking momentarily distracted. “Why did the camp break up?” he said, finally.

Cholon laughed. “The usual reason. Intimidation. Violence. Threats.”

“From the mining companies?”

“Certainly not from any environmentalists.” Cholon laughed. “Yes, of course from the mining companies.”

“Did the camp receive any visit from the police?”

Cholon lay back, stretching out his legs across the floor. “Not while I was there. But I understand that someone—a senior officer—came after I had moved on. Doing the companies' dirty work as always.”

“Delgerbayar?”

Cholon shrugged. “I don't imagine he was too keen to share his name with them. All I know is that it was the usual threats.” “This was an official visit?”

“You tell me,” Cholon said. “Surely you know what errands you send your officers on.”

“Suppose I were to tell you,” Nergui said, speaking slowly, “that
Delgerbayar was operating as—well, let us call him a freelance. Would that surprise you?”

Cholon smiled. “Nothing about the police would surprise me,” he said. “And nothing about the mining companies, come to that. You're both capable of anything.”

“I am sure that we—and they—are capable of many things. But I'm posing a serious question. Of course, there are corrupt police officers. The temptations are many. But you may be surprised to learn that the majority, the vast majority, are honest.”

Cholon raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips. “If you say so.”

“I say so. But some of course are systematically corrupt. I do not know if any are directly in the pay of the mining industry—”

“I thought you were all in the pay of the mining industry. In practice.”

Nergui shrugged. “We are obliged to obey orders. We are obliged to enforce the law. It may on occasions be a bad law.”

Cholon snorted. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't see where all this is leading.”

“I thought you said you had some idea why we might want to talk to you.”

“I—” Cholon stopped, then laughed. “So you do have more sophisticated approaches after all.”

“You would be surprised,” Nergui said, softly, “how sophisticated I can be. But let us go back to Delgerbayar. I will be straight with you. In visiting your camp, he was not acting in any official capacity. We do not know in what capacity he was acting. Did you have any similar previous visits from the police?”

Cholon nodded. “From time to time. Not just there, but wherever we were trying to prospect. The official visits—we had those too, but they were different. Then you'd just get a team of police turning up, with a warrant and a straightforward order for you to move on. You knew that if you didn't move within the defined time, you'd be arrested. So you moved. But the unofficial visits were different. That would be a lone police officer—usually armed. He
would turn up with threats and innuendos, pretending he was just there to give you advance warning. Trying to help—but the message was always clear.”

“Was it always the same officer?” Doripalam interjected.

Cholon shook his head. “No, I'm talking over a period of a couple of years. There were maybe two or three different officers—sometimes they turned up in pairs. The first time we thought it was a joke—that maybe they'd just failed or omitted to get the warrant for some reason and were trying to bluff their way through it.”

“And what happened when you ignored them?”

Cholon stopped, suddenly. “That first time was two years or so ago,” he said. “We were operating from a camp further downriver—a fair distance from here. Two officers turned up—no official paperwork, but warning us that if we didn't move things would become unpleasant. As I say, we thought it was a bluff. We've learned not be intimidated easily. We're not going to back down just because someone in a uniform turns up—”

“I see that,” Nergui said.

“So we just sent them on their way, and waited for them to come back with a warrant.”

“And what happened?”

“They—the officers—didn't come back. But a couple of nights later, in the early hours of the morning, the camp was attacked.”

“By who?”

“They were hooded, dressed in dark clothing. It was impossible to see their faces. They came armed with shotguns, knives, you name it. Attacked individuals—beat up some, injured others and—” He stopped.

Nergui watched him closely, saying nothing.

“—and they killed two of the group. Including my father.”

“I'm sorry,” Nergui said.

Cholon shrugged. “It is difficult to forgive them.”

“You reported this?”

Cholon smiled. “In the circumstances, it did not seem prudent.
We did not know for sure who attacked us—yes, the mining company was behind it, of course, but we did not know who had actually carried out the attack. We thought—and some of us still do think—that the police were in their pocket.”

“We are not hired thugs,” Doripalam said.

“Really? I've witnessed teams of police moving prospectors out of their camps, enforcing the law as you put it. Yes, this attack was more brutal than that, but the police can be brutal enough even on their official visits.” He spoke the last two words with bitter irony.

“And you had further—unofficial visits?” Nergui said.

Cholon nodded. “As I say, from time to time. We took them seriously. The police came armed, but that was probably not necessary. We knew what could happen to us if there was any resistance.”

Nergui reached in his pocket and pulled out the now dog-eared photograph of Delgerbayar. “Is this one of them?”

“This your Delgerbayar?” Cholon said. He peered closely at the image. “Yes, I think he could well have been one of them.”

Nergui nodded slowly, putting the photograph back in his pocket. “Yes, I feared so,” he said. He paused, adjusting his posture on the hard wooden stool. “And what happened to your brother?”

Cholon stopped and stared at Nergui. “My brother?”

“Your brother. Badzar. What happened to him?”

“How—?” Cholon leaned forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. “I can see I have underestimated you.”

Nergui smiled. “You are not the first. But tell me about your brother.”

“I assume you don't need me to tell you, given your apparent omniscience.”

“Humor me, Mr. Cholon.”

“The way you've been humoring me?”

“Not at all. You have told me much that I did not know. Some that I did not wish to hear. But your brother. What happened?”

Cholon hesitated for what seemed a long time, as if he had determined not to proceed. “Okay,” he said at last, “I'll humor you. I presume you know the background?”

“I know some of the background. Let me tell you the little I recall, and then you can fill in the gaps. I first came across you, Mr. Cholon, or at least your name, in the late 1980s. You were something of a revolutionary, as I recall.”

“Hardly,” Cholon said. “Although perhaps, yes, in your terms I was a revolutionary. I considered myself a democrat.”

Nergui nodded. “Campaigning against the government, against the dominance of the USSR. Some might have called you a freedom fighter. Or a terrorist.”

Cholon snorted. “On a pitiful scale.”

“There was sabotage. And a bomb.”

“None of which worked. We were amateurs. Students playing at it. Copying what we had seen happening in China, in Eastern Europe.”

“Nonetheless, you—and your brother—gained a certain notoriety at the time.”

“My brother more than me. He was the one with the grand ambitions.”

“So I recall. He was arrested?”

“Shortly before everything changed. The great tidal waves of democracy. The fall of the USSR. I'm still not sure what would have happened to him if that hadn't happened. He would still be in prison, I imagine.”

“And what did happen to him? For that matter, what happened to you?” Nergui smiled. “You were a spokesman for your generation. Now you are an illegal gold prospector.”

“Maybe not so different,” Cholon said. “Doing my bit for freedom and the real redistribution of wealth.”

“No doubt. But it's quite a shift.”

Cholon shrugged. “So you say. Not much changed, to be honest. My father had been a herdsman, a nomad. He had worked hard and moved back to the city, getting a job in one of
the state manufacturing businesses. We were fortunate in getting a good education, going to university.”

“The benefits of the old state against which you rebelled?”

“Possibly, but education is possible even in democracies, I understand? Anyway, things were going well until the economy collapsed.”

“Brought down by the end of the Soviet Union.”

“The irony didn't escape me. Though, as you well know, that is only part of the story.”

“So what happened?”

“My father lost his job, and tried to return to herding, but those were harsh winters and nothing worked. My brother and I had to leave university, and we both decided that the best thing would be to follow our father back out here. Since then we have done our best to scrape a living.”

“Until your father was killed?”

“As you say.”

“Your brother is still out here as well?”

Cholon looked at him closely. “You are not so omniscient after all, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought that was why you were here. I thought you were looking for Badzar.”

Nergui noticed that Doripalam had drawn closer to them and was listening intently.

“Why should we be looking for Badzar?” Nergui said.

Cholon shook his head. “I said that I should not incriminate myself. Should I incriminate my brother?”

“That depends,” Nergui said slowly, “on what your brother has done.”

Cholon looked from Nergui to Doripalam, and then back again. “That is really not why you are here?” he said. “You are not looking for Badzar?”

“We were not here to seek Badzar. We weren't even here looking for you.”

“But you knew I was here?”

“No. As you say, I am not so omniscient. I did not recognize you until you told me your name. But then I do have a good memory for the cases I've been involved with.” Nergui stopped, as though he had finished. Then he said: “But you must tell us about your brother. What has he done?”

Cholon opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. There was a genuine anxiety in his eyes now. “I do not know,” he said. “I do not know for sure.”

A chill was beginning to creep down Nergui's spine. Once again he had a sense of something moving, circling, coming closer toward resolution. Behind Cholon he could see Doripalam shifting in his seat. There was an expression in Doripalam's eyes which Nergui could not read.

“What is it,” Nergui said, “that you do not know for sure?”

Cholon stood up, slowly, as though his limbs were aching. He began to pace across the floor of the
ger.
“I thought that was why you had come,” he said, again. “I—I dreaded you coming, but I also hoped that you would. So that at least I could know.”

Nergui sat in silence, hoping that Doripalam would not break in with a question. Cholon needed space to speak, to articulate whatever thoughts were twisting inside his brain. Nergui knew this moment well from his interrogations. An inappropriate question would provide Cholon with an escape route, allow him to defer whatever it was he needed to say. Silence would allow him no exit.

“I need to know,” he said at last. “I need to know what my brother is capable of. I need to know if—if he can really be the one.”

“Behind the murders?” Nergui said, his voice quiet.

Cholon looked up at him. “You are playing with me? That is it. You do know.”

Nergui shook his head. “We know nothing, Cholon. But you need to tell us what you think.”

“My father's death was a terrible thing,” Cholon said. “It was not simply that he was killed. It was how he was killed. He was—
butchered. The only blessing was that he must have died very quickly. But it was a horrible death—” “Your brother witnessed it?”

“I think so. He would never say. But, yes, I am sure he saw it all.”

“And what happened?”

“The death—the whole incident, but especially our father's death—affected us all very badly. I was thrown into—well, depression is what you would call it, I suppose. I found it hard to rebuild things, to carry on. I did not want to work. Everything seemed pointless.”

“That is not so very surprising. In the circumstances.”

“No. But it took me a long time, months, before I was able to move on. And even then it was not like before. But it affected Badzar far worse.”

“Worse?”

“Very differently. I found myself unable to work, unable to move on. Badzar became angry. Furious. At the injustice. At the inhumanity of it. He wanted revenge.”