Missing Louise

by Nicholas Frankcom

  Constable Lane left Pemberton pondering in the doorway and went to take a closer look around the room. He was careful not to disturb any possible evidence as he went about his work. The whole thing puzzled him. This was no simple break and entry. Much had been left untouched, even the downstairs laptop. Most of the interest was focused on one room only. The job had the look and feel of professionals written all over it. Whoever clicked open the front door with a steel pick had come looking for something specific, something tied in with the overseas daughter, Louise.

  Ten

  A boiling glow of orange descended over Vientiane, slowly dropping below the silken Mekong. With darkness casually pushing the deep humidity away to be replaced by the cool river breeze, crowds sought the refreshing sanctuary of the riverside cafes. Burning coils chased away unwelcome mosquitoes, larger insects circled further from the lights, wings and hair visible enough to keep locals and tourists close to the smoke. Whilst the nightly collection of bikes began the bar round that would inevitably wind its way to the Monivong Hotel, monks, backpackers and short-sleeved office workers picked through bowls of Laap, a popular dish of chicken and hot spices. The less adventurous could still wash down a burger with French perfected coffee, a legacy left lingering from the colonial days. Though locals led a largely parallel life to the visiting farang, they ate and drank in the same venues. The fledgling tourist industry had yet to conjure boundaries between the two. Most of the patrons looked to unwind and enjoy the few remaining hours before the hour of midnight beckoned early starters to bed.

  A plate of green chillies, rice and snapper fish was pushed to one side, left to be finished after a brief interval of cold Beer Laos. The refreshing liquid ignited the raw chilli coating Kae’s tongue. Satisfied, he allowed himself several long gulps, each taken slowly to savour the hot tingling deep within his throat. He mused over his gift for gaining respect and trust. Mike was surely won over. He figured that to be the case during their alcohol fuelled encounter in the Bangkok bar with polished wooden floors, their meeting anything but chance. He had carefully tailed the young westerner, easily able to keep a track across the sea of shorter Thai’s hurrying through the network of streets. When Mike had turned into the saloon style bar he waited patiently at first, selecting the optimum time to make a casual entrance. Fortune conspired to provide an empty seat alongside Mike’s corner table, given most seating was already hosting a growing number of Bangkok’s student community. Striking up a casual conversation proved easy, aided by the close proximity, fluent English skills and Kae’s seamless portrayal of a bohemian local with an abundance of charm. At first they talked of anything Mike was happy to approach. Kae allowed Mike to choose the direction of the conversation and enjoyed sparring with him over various points, always ensuring the Englishman enjoyed a final word on any contentious issue. He found himself admiring the farang’s wit and knowledge. Under different circumstances he might have found the skills useful in some of his personal business arrangements, a mirage of western acceptability. The two might even have got along, assuming socialising could be fenced within a superficial, trouble free zone of Kae’s creation. There was always use in having an articulate and free thinking Brit along in his lucrative enterprises. Mike could not be employed in anything too murky, certainly not visibly so, but there were others for that line of work. He maintained a tight front of house operation, respectable lines of starched white shirts lucratively sweeping in the coins for Kae incorporated; the respectable façade of those keener with the balance sheet than the gun. Unfortunately given the pressing nature of and importance of this task, there was certainly no room for sentiment or friendship. Kae knew to play this game whilst maintaining a level of professional detachment. His chosen career demanded it. If Mike were to meet with any accident, either as a result of his own making or through the design of others, Kae would not be allowing himself to feel personally responsible. This was business. The stakes on this one were too high to worry about personal outcomes.

  As an hour sped quickly along Kae was more than happy to encourage Mike to enjoy the premium Asian beers stocked in the cold fridge behind the bar. When the time came for Mike to visit the toilet a second time, Kae noticed a shift in attitude. He gradually let his guard down and became more relaxed. As Mike unwound he became less secretive, on several occasions hinting that there was something on his mind. In his own time he slowly came around, confiding in Kae that he was here at the bequest of Pemberton to track down Louise. Whilst showing genuine interest, Kae already knew much of this, though was happy to scratch out as many details as he could, without drawing suspicion to any pieces of information he was already secretly privy to. He was especially keen to know more of Louise as a person, something that he knew Mike would be well qualified to elaborate on. It was particularly important to learn how she might react in certain situations, under pressure so to speak, though Mike could not possibly know how much heat could eventually kick off. Satisfied with the outcome, Kae was sincere in offering all of the help that he could. He needed to be kept in the loop and getting Mike on-board provided an essential coup. Although likeable, Mike was certainly no private detective, therefore held no instinct or rounded training on what he should or shouldn’t do. With Mike’s departure Kae was left with scribbled details and a concrete promise that he would be called.

  The fact that Kae sat enjoying the early evening atmosphere alongside the mighty Mekong laid testament to Mike being a man of his word. A rushed phone message picked up on his machine as Kae returned to his spacious Bangkok apartment told him that Louise was known to have made her way to Laos. That made sense; Kae knew that she needed to travel to the north sooner or later. That she did it so openly suggested much, though it was good to have her departure confirmed. Within minutes he had left in the direction of the international airport, a traffic snarled route along a clogged artery squeezed between the space-like “sky-train” and ubiquitous high-rises. Despite the claustrophobia he felt contented and charged, things were starting to move in his direction much as he had expected.

  His arrival in Vientiane was far in advance of his quarry, leaving ample preparation time. He owned a restaurant near the centre, more a tasty bribe from elements within the city authorities keen for international contacts. If pushed for any answers, they might have said that it was good to keep someone like Kae in one place, somewhere they could keep a sharp eye out. The truth was that they enjoyed its silent walls when putting together some of their own business. The staff were well paid to ignore faces that came and went and to nurture very poor memories. More than one high-ranking officer especially enjoyed their cut at the end of each working month. To familiar key personnel in the labyrinth of the local authorities he could offer a VIP service for officials to conduct business transactions of every imaginable elicit variety far away from the reach of auditors and rooky law makers. The desert menu promised anything of their choosing, the cloak of secrecy assured. Everyone was happy. It was the perfect choice for Kae to visit before seeking accommodation elsewhere in the city. Not only could he attend to any essential matters arising from his ownership. The restaurant would also be the ideal staging post for opening his quest in Laos. The right kind of people chose to dine there, the type of people who had always been mutually beneficial to his business interests. If the place were a grapevine it would stand a good chance of being mistaken for a giant’s own crop.

  Kae decided on booking into a one of the more stale modern international hotels. There was no danger of accidentally brushing shoulders with Mike and his hippy friends, who were more likely to head for the budget backpacking accommodation closer to the river. He knew that they would be travelling by either train or coach, so would be deposited at the “Friendship Bridge” sometime soon after dawn, giving him nearly a day’s head start. This allowed more than enough time to scout around and check suitable places where he could take on surveillance, together with the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the ever r
esourceful Vig, a strong and loyal ally from days spent ringing expensive BMW cars. Vig was an unknown face and regrettably invaluable in keeping a close tab on the gang of three, as the Chinaman was quick to label them during their muted chat on the phone. Highly observant and efficient, Kae hoped that the ruthless edge to his character remained subliminal. To Kae, violence was one avenue of many. To save unnecessary bribes and clean-up operation, the mere threat of a painful outcome was enough to twist viewpoints his way. But this was to be played differently, a more subtle approach. The last thing he wanted was any visible guns. Especially in this delicate matter. He needed to make this very clear to Vig. In many ways Kae wished he could go it alone, but Vig was vital to this mission. It would need the two of them to bring this one in. At that point he would have to decide how much of a cut Vig truly deserved, or more importantly, expected.

  With time and energy to spare, Kae had spent the hot afternoon cooling down at the nearest pool. The water resembled a slow moving river more so than a public baths, slime coating the steps leading down the shallow end, where a group of young children plunged in fully clothed, no doubt encouraged by parents with busy washing days. This troubled Kae little, careful not to submerge his head and risk infection from untold diseases and viruses, he pushed off on the first of many lengths. The physical task ahead gave him thinking space, allowing him to formulate the best plan of action. When the one remaining hand on the old utility clock marked the hour, he had pulled himself out from the stagnated pool, satisfied that everything was in place in anticipation of the new arrivals.

  As evening drew on, Kae settled himself for the early morning start. The coming days were an enigma; he might find himself needing to put long hours in and needed to conserve energy and rest. Resisting the temptation for hogging the small bar at his dubious restaurant, he retired, despite having Vig take care of the early shift down at the border. His dreams floated around a golden shower of coins. As they fell he was the only one able to collect the precious pieces, throwing them into a large hat.

  Although Kae was no fan of rising with the crowing dawn, there was no option other than using Vig to scout for the morning shuttle, a mini-bus ferrying the trickle of backpackers to the border and beyond. Their looks of tired anticipation were in stark contrast to the dogged determination of locals and merchants, used to constant dawn treks across the “Friendship Bridge”. Equipped with a detailed description of Mike, Vig easily located and followed the travellers for the day, texting Kae hourly updates. Vientiane was one of the few locations within Laos where this was possible. Reception was famously poor. Vig tailed them to the tired guesthouse and later spent a pleasant hour admiring the gold-leaf carvings at Wat Ho Prakeo, whilst keeping the silhouette of Mike firmly in his sights. As late afternoon beckoned the evening on, Vig was able to invite Kae out from the cover of his room, an invitation to satisfy Kae that the three were apparently in no hurry to pick up their pursuit of Louise. His initial doubts that Mike would have difficulty looking for the elusive Louise were happily quashed with the charge to Laos, though fresh blips were registering on his radar of concern now that the trail was slowing down again. He hoped they might draw energy and inspiration from their afternoon stroll around the Laotian tourist trail.

  With the cold beer refreshing his ever persistent thirst, he returned to the fresh chillies and red snapper. Chillies increased in potency the further north travelled. These were especially hot, forcing Kae into returning to his beer sooner than he planned. The moment saved him. Fifty yards away Mike stood up and looked directly over. Obscured by a half-litre glass, Kae’s features were barely concealed. Mike merely looked around at his companions and made to leave. Kae was thankful that Mike possessed little observational instinct. He allowed Vig to rise first from a corner nearer the bar, before ambling after him, ensuring that the leading figure of Vig masked much of his movement.

  The growing darkness perfectly cloaked his figure as he carefully tailed the group before him. Slowing as they slowed, he loitered in front of shops where they had passed. Whilst inspecting the crude wooden slats of a market-style grocery lock-up, he noticed a change in the group’s tempo. They had gathered before a small travel agent’s and were pointing and shaking each other, half in disbelief and half in delight. At first he suspected that the moto driver was engaging them in some enthralling story or elicit proposition, but then noted that the man departed barely noticed. He waited whilst they produced notepaper, rapidly copying down details from a source within the store itself. Allowing several minutes, he made his way to a waiting Vig at the travel agent’s window. The shadows made the low wattage bulb clipped to a bracket on the ceiling within throw out a beacon, a spotlight illuminating the window like a lone lighthouse. It didn’t take Kae long to learn the object of their delight. This would keep Vig busy. Tomorrow was a day for checking bus timetables.

  Eleven

  “Bloody hell! Why do they always have to make them so frigging ball-stomping early?”

  Mike took his time to study Rusty. It was too early-on for any returning quick fire humour, his brain simply didn’t like the hour of the day. Eight wasn’t such a big deal if you tucked yourself down for the night at a reasonable hour with a salad and orange juice. Unfortunately for Mike the early rise followed on after the long trip from Bangkok the previous day coupled with a late night sizing up nocturnal Vientiane through a beer glass. A little early for celebrations perhaps, but the lure of some good venues proved suitable enough to raise a premature toast for missing friends. Getting out of bed was never going to be easy. To all intents and purposes as far as Mike was concerned it might as well be dawn. There had been the occasional dawn rising where he felt better than he did now. Even when scrubbed and refreshed, he was far from a morning person. His brain rarely kicked in until lunchtime but could happily run all night. To his regret the cockerel shift was the only time a coach would be departing that day which had destination for Vang Vieng hanging on its window. Vang Vieng was the fabled old American airbase that had since become a fun-park destination for backpackers in mind for an adventure outside of the Walt Disney kind. Travellers bussing out of Vientiane usually headed north to Luang Prubang if in mind for a spot of culture or to Vang Vieng if in mind of pretty much everything else. Recent years had seen the old airbase develop into a micro resort, feeding off the latest influx of dollars carried by the new wave of western farang. Used to adaptability, every other home offered guesthouse accommodation for the swarms of backpackers seeking thrills on the fast flowing Mekong in a rubber tyre tube, or trekking out to the great cliffs to plunge into the clear subterranean lakes. Many of the guesthouses doubled up as opium dens, offering the temptation of Edwardian vices that plenty of backpackers chose to simply visit and watch from the side-lines a darkened world of nocturnal intemperance. A collusion of interactive natural wonders and night-time enticement, Mike was not surprised that Louise chose this as her next backpacking destination. She always did enjoy the challenges of outdoor pursuits and would party happily beyond the early hours within the labyrinth of bars. Vang Vieng would be her honey pot. It still puzzled him as to why she omitted to keep her folks back home posted, but he was sure she had her reasons. He felt close now and was sure that he could soon surprise the pants out of her before settling down to a Beer Laos whilst she explained the whole secrecy deal. Seeing her picture reassured him that she was doing OK no matter what might have gone down on Koh Chang. This whole thing was perhaps some kind of revolt against a stern middle-class upbringing. His biggest problem might be explaining why the hell he was following her. He still needed to think of his opening line should they meet. He pictured her standing; somehow always in safari shorts, then taking a step back in disbelief before venomous eyes implored him for an answer, a good one. She would likely need more than a pacifying smile and glass of beer to understand him on this one.

  “Please! Vang Vieng board now. Hurry please!”

  The shouted translat
ion in English surprised Mike. He turned to watch the bustling vendor flapping his arms to gain attention. He expected barked boarding instructions in Laos. Likewise he pictured a throng of backpackers patiently queuing up to board, but noticed that they were the only westerners present. A series of untranslatable Laotian commands soon followed leading to the mixed collection of locals grabbing their assortment of bags before pushing forward en-mass. Caught in the crush, Mike grabbed Jean’s arm and pulled her up onto the bus. He could already see Rusty making his way towards the rear seat, hopping over baskets of fruit and canvas knapsacks. Far from being the luxury service advertised in the travel agents the previous evening - air-con with reclining seats and smiling angels posing as stewardesses - the reality resembled the last available bus leaving a stricken war-torn city. The sagging suspension laboured to support forty seated with thirty more standing. He was not so used to this. The norm was a minibus or under-filled coach, ferrying backpacking farang to varying destinations of choice. They might not be pristine and glowing, but they were never packed in like evacuees either. Rusty seemed to read his bewilderment.

  “It’s probably a local service, chartered to fill in the cross country route. The municipal bus is most likely in pieces, cannibalised back at the yard whilst eager juveniles bang it back together. The roads here are rough and eat all but dogged jeeps up. Cheap Chinese spares don’t help much. Often the authorities charter anything still moving, just to keep the route open. Most of the passengers are probably only going part of the way, jumping off when they need to. I bet that there are other privately run mini-buses running the same route that we didn’t get to hear about! The agency we got the tickets from won’t be so keen to advertise other services. Elsewhere backpackers are probably sitting in some bus wondering how come it’s so empty. Still, at least this way we get to sample a bit of life Laos style. Sometimes you can allow yourself to get cocooned within the travelling and ex-pat community.”