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could see the encampment now—a small scattering of the traditional round tents, the
gers,
still some distance away across the empty grassland. It did not appear to be a particularly large camp, just five or six tents. Quite probably most of the group had already moved on, seeking new pastures for their animals now that the spring was here. If so, he thought, it was not surprising that the mother had decided to stay on here. He wondered how long she might have to wait.
    As they drew parallel with the camp, Luvsan twisted the wheel with obvious enthusiasm, and pulled off the dirt road toward the cluster of tents. Doripalam relaxed, resigning himself to the bumps and bruises that would result from speeding acrossthis rough terrain. He knew from experience how much this empty landscape could distort one’s sense of distance, but even so he was surprised by how long it took them to draw close to the camp. Finally, though, they drew up by the
gers
, Luvsan hitting the brakes more abruptly than necessary so that the truck skidded slightly on the hard earth.
    â€œYou’re sure this is the right place?” Doripalam said. The camp looked deserted, though he knew that the nomads would never abandon their
gers
as they moved to new pastures.
    Luvsan twisted in his seat and gave Doripalam a look that bordered on the pitying. “Of course it’s the right place,” he said. “I was up here about ten days ago, when we first interviewed the mother.” He paused, looking back out through the windscreen. “There were more tents then, though. Some of them must have moved on.”
    â€œIt’s spring,” Doripalam said.
    â€œThey’ve not left much, though,” Luvsan said. “I don’t see any animals.”
    He was right, Doripalam thought. One would normally expect to see grazing sheep or goats, as well as the tethered horses used for transport. And it was unusual to find a camp of this kind which wasn’t jealously guarded by at least one over-sized dog, running out to greet any passing truck. But here there was nothing. No animals, no sign of life at all. Not even one of the ubiquitous motorbikes that were increasingly becoming the preferred mode of desert transport. Just the small cluster of
gers
, a tiny island of human construction in the middle of the vast natural landscape.
    â€œMaybe the rest haven’t moved far. Probably Mrs. Tuya is waiting for us, and then she will join them.” Doripalam had arranged this visit a few days previously, speaking to Mrs. Tuya on a surprisingly clear cell phone line.
    â€œAnd how’s she planning to travel?” Luvsan said.
    Doripalam shrugged. “I presume the rest will return to collect her.”
    Luvsan looked skeptically at him. Doripalam shook his head. “Okay, you tell me.”
    But Luvsan was right again. Doripalam’s suggested narrative didn’t make much sense. Mrs. Tuya traveled with her family, a tightly knit community. It was conceivable that some might travel ahead to seek out the more fertile areas, but it was unlikely that they would leave her alone to deal with the police. Especially given her state of mind, and everything she had been through over the preceding two weeks. This was supposed to be a routine meeting, but for the first time Doripalam felt a stirring of unease.
    He slowly opened his door and climbed out into the cool morning air. The summer was some way off, but it would be warm later, he thought. Apart from the whisper of the wind through the sparse grass, there was almost complete silence. Behind the
gers
, the steppe stretched out until it merged with the darker green of the snow-tipped mountains.
    â€œIt’s eerie,” Luvsan said from behind him. “The silence.”
    â€œNot something you often encounter in your own company, I imagine,” Doripalam said, but the jibe was half-hearted. “What state was Mrs. Tuya in when you interviewed her?” he asked