"Sometimes it's hard to ignore the obvious."

"And the others? You're never curious?" he asked.

"Curiosity, Comrade, can be very dangerous."

"How many traumatic deaths have you investigated over the past two years?"

"My job is to tell you about this body," Sung frowned. "Nothing else."

"Right. Because that's what your forms are for."

Sung threw her hands up in surrender. "Anything to shut you up. Okay. I remember three who fell off mountains. Four in an avalanche. A suffocation. Four or five in auto accidents. One bled to death. Record-keeping is not my responsibility. And that's mostly the Han population. The local minorities," she said with a meaningful glance, "do not always rely on the facilities provided by the people's government."

"Suffocation?"

"The Director of Religious Affairs died in the mountains."

"Altitude sickness?"

"He didn't get sufficient oxygen," Sung acknowledged.

"But that would be death from natural causes."

"Not necessarily. He lost consciousness from a blow to the head. Before he recovered someone stuffed his windpipe with pebbles."

"Pebbles?" Shan's head snapped up.

"Touching, really," Sung said with a morbid smile. "You know it was a traditional way to kill members of the royalty."

Shan nodded slowly. "Because no one was allowed to commit violence on them. Was there a trial?"

Sung shrugged again. It seemed to be her defining mannerism. "I don't know. I think so. Bad elements. You know, protestors."

"What protestors?"

"Not my job. I don't remember faces. If asked, I attend and read my medical reports to the tribunal. Always the same."

"You mean you always read your reports. And a Tibetan is always condemned."

Sung's only response was a sharp glare.

"Your dedication to duty is an inspiration," Shan said.

"Someday I'd like to return to Beijing, Comrade. How about you?"

Shan ignored the question. "The one who bled to death. I supposed he stabbed himself fifty times."

"Not exactly," Sung said with a dark gleam. "His heart was cut out. I have a theory on that one."

"A theory?" Shan asked with a flicker of hope.

"He didn't do it himself." On the way out she threw open the door so hard Sergeant Feng had to jump out of the way.

Twenty minutes later he was in Tan's office. He had passed Yeshe in the waiting room, ignoring his agitated whispering.

"You, Prisoner Shan," Tan declared, "must have balls the size of Chomolungma."

"Do you know for certain the cases are not related?"

"Impossible," the colonel growled. "They're closed cases. You're supposed to be filling in one hole, not digging others."

"But if they are related-"

"They are not related."

"The Lhadrung Five, the people call them. You mentioned them yesterday. I didn't understand when you said the protestors keep proving your point, that you were too easy on them after the Thumb Riots. It's because they are being arrested again. For murder."

"The minority cultists have difficulty complying with our laws. Possibly it has not escaped your attention."

"How many of the Five have been arrested for murder?"

"It only proves it was a mistake to release them the first time."

"How many?"

"Sungpo is the fourth."

"Jao prosecuted them?"

"Of course."

"The connections can't be ignored. The Ministry would not ignore such connections."

"I see no connections."

"The five were all here in Lhadrung. Convicted and imprisoned together. A connection. Then, one after another, four are charged with murder. A connection. First three prosecuted by Jao. The fourth charged with Jao's murder. A connection. I need to know about those three cases. Proving a conspiracy might finish the case."

Colonel Tan eyed Shan suspiciously. "Are you prepared to attack a conspiracy by the Buddhists?"

"I am prepared to find the truth."

"Have you heard of the purbas?" Tan asked.

"A purba is a ceremonial dagger used in Buddhist temples."

"It's also the name taken by a new resistance group. Monks mostly, though they don't seem to mind violence. A different breed. Very dangerous. Of course there's a conspiracy. By Buddhist hooligans like the purbas, to kill government officials."

"You're saying all the others were officials?"

Tan lit a cigarette and considered Shan. "I'm saying don't let your paranoia conceal the obvious."

"But what if it's something else? What if the Lhadrung Five themselves were the victims of a conspiracy?"

Tan gave an impatient wince. "To what end?"

"Covering a larger crime. I could not suggest anything specific without analyzing the other cases."

"The other murders were all solved. Don't confuse the record."

"What if there is another pattern?"

"A pattern?" When he exhaled smoke Tan had the appearance of a dragon. "Who cares?"

"Patterns can't be seen in just two deaths. Sometimes not in three. But now we have four. Something may have been invisible that could be seen now. What if it were obvious to the Ministry, which will have access to the files? Four murders within a few months. Four of the five most prominent dissidents in the county are tried for those murders, but no effort is made to link the cases. And the victims include at least two of the most prominent officials in the county. Two or three, you might explain as a coincidence. Four murders feels like a crime wave. But five, that might seem negligent."

A pattern, Shan repeated to himself as he followed Yeshe and Feng into the clutter of the market square. There was a pattern, he was certain. He knew it instinctively, the way a wolf might smell prey on the far side of a forest. But where was the scent coming from? Why did he feel so sure?

The market was a jumble of stalls and peddlers selling from blankets arranged on the packed earth. Shan's eyes opened wide as he absorbed the scene. Here before him was more life than he had seen in three years. A woman held out yak-hair yarn, another shouted prices for crocks of goat butter. He reached out and touched the top of a basket full of eggs. Shan hadn't tasted an egg since leaving Beijing. He could have stared at the basket for hours. The miracle of eggs. An old man tended an elaborate display of torma, the butter and dough effigies used as offerings. Children. His gaze settled on a group of children playing with a lamb. He fought the urge to walk over and touch one, to confirm that such youth and innocence still existed.

Sergeant Feng's hand on his shoulder brought Shan back to his senses, and he moved through the stalls. The questions flooded back, the scent of a pattern. Was it simply that he knew a man like Sungpo did not kill? No. There was something else. If it was not Sungpo then it was a conspiracy. But whose conspiracy? That of the accused? Or of the accusers? Would he show the world that the monks were guilty, for which he would punish himself forever, or that they were innocent, for which the government would punish him forever?