‘What’s his history?’

‘He’s lived all over the place before he came here, speaks French, Spanish, as well as Thai and the Burmese dialects. We’ve known each other for years. We used to be…’ she flashed Mann a sidelong glance ‘…together. Now, we still share a house but we are not, you know, a couple.’

This information altered Mann’s perception of this man he was about to meet. Riley had been on the list given to him by Katrien at NAP. All he’d managed to find out about him was that he was a long-standing charity organiser who had lived in the area for the last fifteen years and who knew everything there was to know about the refugee camps. Mann had seen his name mentioned in several reports about volunteer workers in the field. He was a champion for the needs of the Karen refugees. He seemed to never stop lobbying on their behalf, raising a lot of money for them over the years. In his head, Mann had an image of a worthy, khaki-shorted, comb-over type running around frantic ally organising, whilst the volunteer kids sniggered behind his back. Would Sue have been involved with a guy like that? Unlikely—though you just never knew with women and father figures.

Sue turned off the road and stopped just in front of the gated entrance to the camp. Its name, Mae Klaw, was spelt out with sticks of bamboo and mounted across the top of the gate, ranch-style. Two Thai policemen were smoking cheroots and watching the comings and goings of the camp with their guns resting in their holsters. They were sitting on sheets of bamboo that had been split and cut into lengths and bound together. Sue waved at them as they turned in.

Just inside the gate was a checkpoint, a small hut and two more policemen. Sue kept the car running whilst they waited for one of the officers to come over. He sauntered over deliberately slowly whilst the other one remained where he was, leaning against the side of the door frame of the hut and scowling.

‘Papers?’ He leant in the open car window and rested one hand on his holster as he addressed Sue but stared at Mann.

She answered him in Thai and a banter began between them. Mann could see Sue wasn’t fazed by his show of testosterone. She was all smiles, hands skipping in the air as she explained what Mann was doing there. Whatever she said seemed to please the officer who beamed in at Mann, his demeanour transformed from a sullen-faced, trigger-happy thug to that of a starstruck teenager.

Sue turned to Mann, a frozen smile on her face.

‘I have just told him that you are a film maker and are looking for locations and extras.’

‘Why did you do that?’ said Mann, returning the gritted-teeth smile and nodding.

‘Because otherwise they would have pretended to cooperate and then shot you or me or maybe both of us. Either way, it’s best to lie. This way we’re all happy.’

‘You’re a little too good at the lying bit.’ Mann smiled and he leant across to shake the policeman’s hand and wave at the other officer, who was watching closely.

‘Only when dealing with Asians; it’s the loss of face thing. Better to lie than to risk making them look stupid.’ Sue drove through the camp gates and they parked up.

‘That’s what worries me. I am Asian.’

‘You don’t fool me. You’re whatever suits you at the time.’ She smiled.

One of the policemen who had been sat outside on the bamboo logs approached Mann’s side of the car. His face was stony. He was obviously not impressed by Mann’s movie-making ambitions.

‘Passport.’

Mann gave it to him and watched as his eyes flicked back and forth from Mann’s face to the photo. He called over to the policeman who was still leaning on the door frame of the hut.

‘Shit,’ muttered Sue. ‘Trouble. He wants your details checked. The other policeman thinks you are lying. If he gets on the radio, we are all screwed. They want us out of the car.’

Mann looked over to the gate. There were a lot of people around. A pregnant woman, selling a stack of dried leaves for thatching. Kids marching past for school. They’d never make it out, it was way too congested. They would have to deal with it. All four policemen were now standing by, their hands resting on their holsters. The policeman at the side of the car was more animated this time—he wanted them out of the vehicle now. His face had turned angry. He unclipped his gun.

Before Mann opened the door he slipped the set of twelve three-inch-diameter throwing stars into his left hand.

51

‘So, Deming came to visit you, how often?’

Alfie had been home from the hospital a few hours. He had just got off the phone to Ng.

‘Once a month,’ answered Magda. She was emptying the drier and had her back to him. ‘I told you all this before, Alfie. It was never an issue then.’

‘It was never an issue before because he was just the man who impregnated you when you were a teenager. Now his son goes missing and we are being threatened. Was he a violent man?’

‘Of course he wasn’t, Alfie. He was gentle and sweet and very caring.’

‘Did you love him?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he was an old man compared to you. How could you have a proper relationship with an old man?’

‘He wasn’t an old man, Alfie! For God’s sake, it happens every day. Young girl falls for older man—so what?’

Alfie was about to say something but thought better of it. He was pushing Magda. She hated criticism, she hated discussing her feelings. She hated the way her past came back to spit at her sometimes. She had built this big wall around her life. But Alfie had been allowed to scale it. By now he knew every chink in it where daylight got through and he knew where to get a foothold. But he also knew where it was crumbling.

‘All right, but we must do what we can now, Magda.’

Magda turned her back to him and he watched her head and shoulders drop as she thought about what he said. He knew she was only going through the motions of sorting towels from the drier.

‘You are right.’ She turned to face him. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to think back. Go through your things, mementoes, photos. I want to see if there is anything in there that will tell us more about him and his associates. Someone thinks we’re hiding something here, Magda. Maybe we are without knowing.’

‘Okay. You’re right.’

‘I’m right?’ He leant forward and felt her forehead. ‘I’m right? Twice? You sick?’ She smiled at him sheepishly.

‘You know I love you, Alfie.’

‘I know.’

After Alfie had left, Magda sat at the kitchen table and she let her mind drift back. It was something she hated doing, even more so now that she was dying. She had never liked to live in the past. Even thinking about the boys was just too painful. But now, she knew she had to do it and she sat and stared into space and thought about Deming. She thought first of how she had heard of his death. A solicitor had written to inform her. Magda had been breastfeeding Jake in her bed when she opened the letter. She hadn’t heard from Deming in two months. She had been beside herself with worry, without even a contact number to reach him. The letter said he’d left instructions in the event of his death and that he had died, simple as that. It wasn’t until six months later that she managed to find out the truth about his death—that he had been murdered. She was a mistress, after all. She had no rights.

Then Magda’s mind skipped back to the first day she saw him, looking at her through the glass. He had just stared. She hadn’t known what to do for a minute. He didn’t want to buy her services; he was just staring at her as if he knew her. There was a silence inside the window, its glass was thick. Even dressed only in her bikini she was hot beneath the neon lights. Deming hadn’t even looked her up and down as they usually did, imagining her naked. He had just stared at her face. She remembered that she’d smiled at him and his smile began slowly, his eyes still intently studying her face, but then it broadened and she remembered feeling embarrassed, as if they shared something beautiful. And at that moment she knew that he had fallen in love with her and she with him.