Tan’s assistant, showing no sign of her argument with someone in Lhasa, sat Shan in front of a computer screen and showed him how to view the video sent by the Lhasa railway security office. When he fumbled with the controls she pulled a chair beside him and asked what they were looking for. Shan had her freeze a frame and pointed to the Westerner sitting at the tea shop. “Where did he come from and where did he go?” Shan answered.

She played the images in reverse, until the lean Westerner with the smear of blood on his forehead rose and walked backward from the platform. “He came off the train,” she said. “The same train, though he carries only one small knapsack for luggage.” She played the image forward at triple speed, putting her fingertip below the man sitting with his tea, taking photographs. Shan could see his own shadowy image at the edge of the screen. Amah Jiejie traced the man as he rose and blended into the crowd of tourists being ushered outside and onto waiting buses. The stranger boarded a city bus, not one of those chartered to tour groups.

“What can you do about getting the names and nationalities of the passengers on that train?” he asked.

“The travel service will always have the—” she began, then looked over Shan’s shoulder. Behind Shan, Tan was standing with an obviously frightened Tibetan man in tattered denim clothing. The colonel’s face was even more gaunt than usual. “Jampa has information,” Tan tersely declared, then motioned the Tibetan into the chamber.

“Tell Inspector Shan exactly what you told me,” Tan ordered the gray-haired man as soon as he sat at the table. Jampa had difficulty speaking. His hands were shaking. He was sitting, defenseless, before the dreaded warlord of Lhadrung. He opened his mouth once, then again, but no words came out.

“He’s shy,” Tan said, and ignored Shan’s confused glance. Tan seemed to know the old Tibetan.

Amah Jiejie brought in a thermos of tea with a tray of biscuits and spoke comforting words as she poured the tea. When Jampa just stared at his cup, Tan rose, appearing more embarrassed than impatient, and disappeared into his inner office. He returned moments later with three bottles of beer, which only added to Shan’s puzzlement. Then he glimpsed Amah Jiejie standing in the shadow just outside the door, gazing at the man with a sad smile. Suddenly he recalled how she had confided to him months earlier that Tan had befriended the Tibetan janitor who cleaned his office.

Jampa took a long swallow from the bottle Tan pushed in front of him, then spoke in a whisper. “He was a good man, I could tell.” He looked up at Shan. “You’re the constable who used to be in prison.” Shan nodded. “You were there. I saw you in the front row.”