The Shadow Walker (34 page)

Doripalam jumped up as he entered, one of the files in his hand.

Nergui smiled faintly. “I need some coffee before I can take anything in. I'm freezing.”

He filled the electric kettle that sat among the debris of used coffee mugs on the table at the end of the room and then turned back to Doripalam. “What is it?”

“A few things,” Doripalam said. “I was wondering about Delgerbayar and where he fitted into this.”

It was a good question. Cholon's description had suggested that, at the very least, Delgerbayar had been involved in some business on the side. It was, of course, one of the first questions they had asked in the light of his brutal murder, but there had been no indication of any wrongdoing on Delgerbayar's part.

“A thorough search was carried out of all Delgerbayar's files and materials after his death,” Nergui said.

“I know that. It was all scrupulously clean. Maybe suspiciously so, knowing what we know now. But I had a look through the file again this morning, and something struck me. We'd asked for a copy of Doripalam's recent bank statements to see if there was any evidence of unexplained payments.”

Nergui nodded. “As I understand it, there was no indication that he was on the take. The incomings and outgoings were pretty much what you'd expect for a man in his position.”

“They were. But I had a closer look at the statements. Most of the payments were what you'd expect, but there were a number of small transfers of cash in from another account. Always just small amounts as if he needed to tide himself over to his next salary or whatever.”

“Maybe he had another account,” Nergui said. “A savings account or something.”

“Well, yes, that's what I assumed. But I thought I'd better check.”

Take nothing for granted. One of the first rules of investigation, Nergui thought, and precisely the one they'd been guilty of neglecting all the way through this case. “Not an ideal time of the day for checking bank details,” he said.

Doripalam smiled. “No. So I called the manager at home.”

“Bet he was pleased. What time was this?”

“About six. He was up already, at least. But he knew it was a murder inquiry and, well, I mentioned your name so he was happy to help.”

Nergui nodded. “There goes my chance of an overdraft. And he gave you the information without asking for authorization in triplicate?”

“He did once I'd mentioned your name. It turned out there is another account. It was opened by Delgerbayar's father. The thing is, Delgerbayar's father died five years ago, though the bank weren't aware of that.”

“And what was in this account?”

“I didn't push the manager to give me the exact amount, because he was beginning to feel a bit awkward about talking to me. But clearly a lot. The manager was told some story about the father being in some sort of export business. So most of the payments were in dollars. In cash, apparently.”

“And the bank never thought to question this?” Nergui said. It didn't surprise him. The country had increasingly stringent regulations in place, having subscribed to international standards on money laundering. But they were frequently flouted. Nergui guessed that in this case a small proportion of the cash had also found its way into the manager's pocket. Maybe that was one small fry to deal with later, if they ever managed to deal with the big fish in this case.

“I think by the time he realized what we were talking about, he wished he hadn't been so helpful,” Doripalam said.

“So Delgerbayar was on the take, and in a fairly big way. And it obviously made him at least one serious enemy. We need to get someone over to the bank before the manager starts destroying any evidence.”

“I already thought of that,” Doripalam said. “I didn't know who we could spare from the search for Badzar. I'd have gone myself but I wanted to stay to update you. In the end, Batzorig volunteered. He's gone over to the bank and told the manager to meet him there. Batzorig's going to go through all the papers
with him and bring back anything he can find that looks remotely relevant.”

“Sounds sensible,” Nergui said, “though it may well be a waste of time. If the manager's smart, he'll have kept any written evidence of this to a minimum. And it was a clever move of Delgerbayar to use his father's account—that way the setting up of the account would have predated the introduction of the money laundering checks. It's quite possible that the manager can be faulted only in that he allowed substantial sums to be paid in without checking the source. And I bet that's true of every bank manager in the country.”

“There are a couple of other things,” Doripalam went on. “I did a bit of digging in one or two other areas as well. I thought it was worth doing a bit of checking on the mining company that Delgerbayar seems to have been involved with. Turns out it's a largely Russian owned company. Got some state investment from us. It's part of the consortium involved in the Gobi project. In fact, the two biggest investors are the Russians and a US company.”

“Strange bedfellows,” Nergui commented. He looked at his watch. “How did you manage to find out all this in the space of about an hour?”

“Not difficult, actually. Did a bit of searching on the internet—got some basic information. Also got some data from government systems—not sure whether I was supposed to be on there officially, but I got one of the IT guys to do me a favor.”

“You're making me feel old. This US company—wouldn't have any links to Collins and Maxon, would it?”

“You're not over the hill yet, clearly. Yes, part of the same group. Another operating company.”

“And what about the Russian company?”

“MN Mining. It's based in St. Petersburg. They're part of a wider group, but MN is exclusively focused on mining, primarily gold, in Mongolia. They've a major office in the city here. The Chief Exec is a Russian, Sergei Kartashkin, based here.”

“And where does the US investment come in?”

“Well, that's where it gets interesting. To start with MN was established as a subsidiary here to carry out opencast mining in the north—the kind of stuff we saw yesterday. It looks as if they got some government funding from our end so it was essentially a joint venture. But then they began to chase some of the prospects in the south where more deep mining is needed. It's a much more expensive process—even establishing where the reserves are costs a lot, so they had to look for more investment. MN eventually became part of the consortium with the US company, a company from the UK, and some South Korean interests.”

“All supposedly legitimate?”

“Difficult for me to tell. It's more your area than mine,” Doripalam said.

Nergui nodded. All kinds of money was flooding into the country, some honest, some much more dubious. There was a lot of incentive for organized crime to use this isolated republic as a route for money laundering, particularly if they could realize a return on their investment in the process. This didn't mean that the investment in this case was necessarily crooked, but a number of the Russian based companies were known to have criminal links. Nergui was also aware that there were growing links—as well as significant tensions—between organized crime in Russia and its counterpart in the States. It would not be a surprise to find some unsavory elements involved in this particular deal.

“Well, at least we now know that they've got interests in the south, which might begin to explain Delgerbayar's mysterious trip to the Gobi, given that he was on their payroll. And, given the background, even putting aside what we know about Collins and Maxon, I guess I'd be very surprised if they were entirely above board. I've no idea what all this is telling us, but we've started pulling at some interesting threads so maybe this thing might start to unravel. Though what it looks like underneath is anyone's guess.”

Nergui looked at his watch. Eight forty. The promised telephone call was due in twenty minutes, assuming that the first call hadn't simply been a hoax. “Okay,” he said, “we need to get everything set up for this call, if it comes. I want us to start trying to trace the call as soon as it comes in on the switchboard. Tape every word of it. I don't imagine he'll be careless if he's true to form, but we can't afford to miss a trick. You go and get things set up. I'll stick down here with Cholon for the moment.”

Doripalam turned, on his way upstairs, but Nergui called after him. “Doripalam, you've done well. Very well. I think we're finally starting to get somewhere. Once we've seen whether our phantom caller returns, what do you think about a visit to Mr. Kartashkin? I feel in the mood for a business meeting.”

At first they thought that the call wasn't going to come. Nergui had positioned himself at a desk which was secluded but within sight of the switchboard operator, so that they could signal to each other if necessary. Doripalam had set up the tape machine and was in contact with the telephone engineer who was going to try to trace the call. The attempt would probably prove futile. The call would almost certainly come from a cell. Although it was theoretically possible at least to identify the area from which the call was being made, this would only be achieved if the caller was considerably more garrulous than on the previous occasion.

Nine o'clock approached and the small team tensed, waiting for a call on one of the external lines. If any other calls came through at the same time, the operator would put them on hold without warning to avoid distraction from the job at hand.

Nine o'clock came and went. At four minutes past, a call came in but it was only someone trying to report a stolen wallet. The operator, true to the plan, put the caller on hold and waited. “Hope he's still there when I get back to him,” he commented.

“We don't know how long that might be,” Doripalam said. “How long do we keep waiting?”

His question was answered almost immediately. They recognized the voice instantly from the night before. The tape was already running, and Doripalam had triggered the call trace.

“Nergui,” the voice said. The operator signaled to Nergui, and then transferred the call.

“This is Nergui. Who is this?”

“I'm here to offer you help,” the voice said. “I have something valuable which I think would interest you. I'm seeking only your attention in return.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I say, I have something of value. I am seeking no reward except that you listen to me.”

“This is nonsense,” Nergui said. “I'm too old to be playing games. Tell me what you want or get off the line.”

There was a long pause and for a brief moment Nergui thought that the caller really had hung up. Then he heard the faint sound of breathing down the line. Nergui held the silence, willing the caller to speak first.

“I have McLeish,” the voice said at last. “The policeman. I want to meet you. Only you. I'll call again.”

“How do I know you're—?” Nergui began, but the line had already been cut. Nergui slammed the handset down hard, frustrated at the lack of information. This could all still be a hoax, a stupid waste of time. He looked up at Doripalam who began to walk over, shaking his head.

“No chance of tracing it. Far too short. I think they'd got it pinned down to the south of the city, but that was about it.”

“That would put him close to where we were last night,” Nergui said.

Doripalam nodded. “It would, but it's not much to go on.”

“He must have known we were trying to trace him. That's why he hung up so quickly,” Nergui said. “He's a smart one.”

“You don't think it's a hoax, then?”

Nergui shrugged. “Well, it could be. But he knew McLeish's name, and that's not been in the press so far. So if he's a fake, he's a fake with good connections.”

“So what now?”

“We're no further forward. In fact, it feels like a step back because we don't know when or if he'll contact us again.”

“He said he would.”

Nergui nodded. “Well, if it's not a hoax, then I think we can assume he will. The question is how soon, and what happens in the meantime. We've got to keep the momentum here. Make sure that everyone available is on the search for Badzar. We want every building in that area scoured.” He turned to the switchboard operator. “If our friend calls again, put him through to my cell. We're going out—probably an hour or so.”

Nergui stalked toward the door, grabbing his coat from the chair in passing. “Come on,” he said to Doripalam, “we're going to pay a visit to Comrade Kartashkin.”

After the sound of the opening door, there was silence. He tensed, straining his ears for what might follow, listening for the sound of movement, of footsteps. But there was nothing. At first, he thought he could hear the faint distant sound of breathing, but it was impossible to be sure.

Panic and despair overwhelmed him. He had been terrified of what might be about to happen, but at least there had been the prospect of some sort of resolution. This was worse. It was as if he was still held in suspension, endlessly paused, waiting for some change that would never come.

That, presumably, was the idea. This was a form of torture. He tried his hardest to suppress his rising panic and to concentrate. Someone had opened the door. Someone was out there. Someone was waiting.

He listened again, trying to distinguish some external sound from the beating of his own heart and the rasp of his own breath.

And then he heard the footsteps again, not close, still outside this room, the same unevenness, the same accompanying scraping. And something else.

The sound of a voice. Little more than a whisper, soft and sibilant. It was impossible to distinguish any words. It was impossible to tell if this was someone talking to himself or to a third party, though only one voice could be heard. It was as if someone was pacing up and down, waiting, counting out time.