The Commissar took the list of four names. As he read it his face flushed and his entire body began shaking. “I have two men who take care of problems for me,” he said in a venomous whisper. “But they are away just now.” He pointed with a trembling finger at a wooden box on a sideboard, which the woman brought him with a despairing expression. He reached inside it and withdrew several objects, which he kept clasped in his hand. Two of the nurses appeared with a wheelchair. As they reached out to help him into it, he shook them off and extended his hand to Tan, who took its contents without a word.

As the nurses pushed the Commissar away, the woman lifted the list of names Shan had written, read it, and gave a long sigh before dropping it on the table. “He was with the Commissar for two years. A wicked boy. He was a bad influence on the Commissar. I finally convinced the master to send him away.”

“Who?” Shan asked.

“The Commissar finally agreed, but only if he could find him a good position. He was sent to run that campaign at Larung Gar,” she said as she pointed to the last name on the list. “Jiao Wonzhou.”

The woman spun about and disappeared in the direction of the wheelchair, leaving Shan and the colonel alone. Shan realized Tan was staring into his cupped hand at whatever the Commissar had placed there. After a long moment he turned his palm and the objects rolled out onto the table. The Commissar had given Tan four bullets.

The long sleek train was just pulling into the station as Shan met Pike at the entrance. Shan positioned Pike at a table of the tea shop where he had first seen the American, then, borrowing his phone, waited for the last passengers to clear the platform before approaching the knot of staff assembled by the dining car. The conductor sagged as he spotted Shan, then finished his instructions to the staff and motioned them toward the cartons of food being loaded at the other end of the car.

“I’m fairly certain no one died today, Inspector,” he said as Shan reached him. “No passengers who failed to rise up out of their seats, no corpse in the cargo car.”

“Congratulations, comrade,” Shan said. “But I’m interested in an old corpse, not a new one.”

The conductor frowned. “That was an accidental death, the doctor confirmed it.”

“There’s many kinds of accidents.” Shan held up the phone with the image of Madame Jiang. “Do you recognize her?”

The conductor stared at the photo, too long, before looking up. “I see hundreds of people a week, sometimes thousands. How would I remember one face?”

“Try harder. She was on your train. She’s quite attractive, the kind of woman who stands out.”

“Inspector, please. I can’t say.”