“Incident Four,” Shan continued. “A van with four scientists from the Institute stopped and had lunch at the noodle shop.” He looked up. “What scientists? What Institute?”

His deputy shrugged. “Four Beijing people.” The description had become the Tibetans’ code for any Chinese, after several insistent propaganda campaigns that declared that all Tibetans must call themselves Chinese. “Marpa served them lunch,” Choden said, referring to the owner of the noodle shop. “They told him they were passing through, studying mountains.”

Shan and Choden both knew no one just passed through Yangkar. It was at the end of a long spur off the highway. “What kind of scientists?”

Choden shrugged again. It was his defining characteristic. “Mountain scientists, I guess.”

Shan read the final item on the page, and a shiver ran down his spine. “What do you mean, Public Security in Lhasa wants me?”

“A Public Security officer called from Lhasa. She asked if Shan Tao Yun was the constable here.”

“You had to write that up as an incident?”

“It sounded important, sir. I can’t remember the last time Public Security headquarters called us. She asked, ‘Did Constable Shan speak Tibetan and wear a prayer amulet?’” Choden looked down into his folded hands. “I’m sorry. I had to tell her the truth.”

Shan replayed in his mind the gathering of witnesses at Metok’s execution. There had been the senior officer who read the findings against the engineer and the arrogant, oily younger officer who had smiled as he pulled the trigger. There had been no female officer there, at least not in uniform. But Tan had said the case had been handled by Public Security in Lhasa.

He rose and poured himself a cup of tea from the thermos in the narrow alcove that served as their makeshift kitchen, then found that it was cold. “Patrol for half an hour then go home,” he said to Choden, who greeted the orders with a grateful nod then frowned as Shan pointed to the goat droppings.

The deputy dutifully cleaned the floor then paused as he opened the door. “Is there really such a place in the passes?” he asked. “A sheep counting station, I mean.”

Shan emptied the cup in the sink. “You’ll find out if you persist in treating our station like a stable,” he replied and waved his deputy out the door.

He brewed a fresh pot of tea, poured two mugs, and carried them through the door at the back of the office. He set one on the table in front of the two cells then opened the unlocked door of the first cell and set the second on the stool by the cell wall before sitting at the table.

“I saw early flowers along the high mountain road today,” he declared after a few sips.