Shan picked up the law enforcement bulletin as Choden continued. “Public Security is on it, but they ask that the news not be given to the public.”

“The crematorium in Lhasa?” Shan asked as he read the first line.

“Yeah, someone tied the manager to one of the cremation racks and locked him in an oven. He was stuck in there all night.”

Shan stared at the bulletin, stunned at Pike’s audacity. The American had looked like a hungry predator when Shan had left him and had asked about the crematorium that had sent him a box of animal ashes. He looked up, realizing that Choden was still speaking to him. “You said something about Public Security?”

“I said if you slip out the back door and go up to your house in the hills maybe she’ll give up. She is damned persistent, that lieutenant. She started yelling at the girl herself, almost like she knew her. And there was only one unfamiliar car on the square, as if they all came together, but that wouldn’t make any sense. A knob would probably just knock a kid like that unconscious and toss her in the trunk.”

“Where is this knob officer?”

“Mrs. Lu saw her in the square and ran over and invited her into her house, no doubt to give her an earful about the sorry state of law enforcement in Yangkar. The old bitch probably called an emergency meeting of her committee and is reviewing her hundredth complaint by now. Maybe it’s that underwear you never recovered when it blew off her clothesline. Or perhaps it’s the wild yak that wouldn’t stop doing mating bellows at the edge of town last fall, waking her up every night.”

At least, Shan decided, Mrs. Lu had given him time for a quick meal before retreating to his farmhouse. Marpa was cleaning up from his midday business when Shan walked in the back door. The Tibetan handed Shan a bowl of steaming soup. “I think Shiva can give you a charm against angry wolves,” he said as Shan headed into the dining room.

He didn’t understand the words were a warning until, having set his bowl on a back table, he stepped to the counter to pour himself a cup of tea. He froze with the thermos in his hand. A woman in her forties wearing a gray uniform was speaking with Marpa’s young assistant, who had tossed a rag over his shoulder before sitting, probably to practice his Chinese. The woman glanced at Shan.

He took a step backward, upsetting his tea, and fled out the back door.

She found him sitting on a bench in the square.

“I’m sorry,” he said as she sat beside him.

“My fault,” the woman replied in a small, tentative voice. “I thought about giving your deputy my name but was worried it might scare you away.”