“I am not investigating what happened on your train ride. I am investigating the execution of a Tibetan named Metok Rentzig.”

Pike’s eyes narrowed. “He’s dead?” The American’s knuckles wrapped around his teacup and began to turn white. “I had the impression that investigations are commonly done before an execution, not after.”

“This is Tibet. We are never constrained by the patterns observed elsewhere in the world.”

“I don’t know anything about a civil engineer named Metok.”

“Professor Gangfen knew Metok. And I didn’t tell you he was an engineer.” He returned Pike’s unblinking stare. “Metok was a friend of your daughter’s?” Shan realized that although Tink had carried away the dishes, she wasn’t washing them, she was at the window, watching the street. “The dead man on the train had a card for the bar where Tink works, with a clue to this address handwritten on it. He was coming here. Accompanying that crate was a convenient cover for him. Or maybe the crate being there was just a coincidence. Why did you want to speak with him? Was this the professor’s apartment?”

Pike did not reply.

“Your daughter died three weeks ago,” Shan observed. “I would have thought there would be arrangements needed at home. Usually takes two or three weeks to have remains shipped back across the Pacific.”

“Let’s just say I wanted to understand how she died. She was my only daughter.”

“You mean going to her place of death would bring closure.”

“Something like that.”

“Then why stalk someone from the Institute? Why hide in this apartment? And why,” he added in afterthought, “did the distinguished professor have an apartment among the brothels of Jamalinka?”

“It’s all those millions of cameras,” Pike said. “This is Tibet’s Vegas Strip.”

“Sorry?”

“All the bright neon. In other cities like Kashgar where Public Security worries about unrest they can spot any individual they seek in about ten minutes because the cameras are everywhere, and everyone has been required to submit to facial recognition scans. But in Lhasa there is an oasis, a black hole if you will. They watch the streets in and out of Jamalinka but inside the district the cameras are blinded by the brilliant lights. And it wasn’t his apartment, just an operating base, you might say, an oasis. Tink keeps a lot of interesting friends.”

Shan weighed the words. “You make it sound as if Professor Gangfen had something to hide.”

“Of course he did. His independence. What freedom-loving man wouldn’t want to evade the big brothers constantly watching on their cameras? In another few years, half of China’s population will be watching the other half.”

“He was just an archaeologist.”