The dream Allissa and Chimini shared was to make the guesthouse a viable business, providing a place to work and live for young women like Fuli. It would teach them skills, build their confidence and help them make a success of their lives.
Allissa didn’t need to hear Fuli’s story to know what she had been through. She knew of the gangs of men who visited the remote and impoverished villages of Nepal and promised their young women exciting jobs and futures in the city. Jobs which, after the long journey of many days, became forced prostitution, with no possible return to the home they’d left behind.
It felt good to be doing something that meant something, Allissa reflected, getting out of bed with a stretch. Doing something that would help people and make the world better. That’s why she got up in the morning, that’s why she was here.
Half an hour later, Allissa and Chimini left the guesthouse. Chimini was taking them to a shop which looked as though it sold the furniture they needed. Buying anything in Kathmandu was both a social and business process. Neither sellers nor buyers rushed the negotiation, which often included chai and a long but essential conversation about every member of their family.
“It’s up here,” Chimini said as they crossed the small square the guesthouse overlooked. “Past the market, then on the right.”
Chapter 28
Fifteen minutes later, coffee in hand, Leo sat at the window of a small café. Next door a shop sold the sort of keepsakes and talismans people visiting Asia collect by the bucketload. Leo watched, sipping from his drink, as the owner of the shop lined up model Buddhas in bronze or wood, fat or thin, a face either beaming in an enlightened smile or a look of peaceful stillness.
It wasn’t until Leo saw the menu that the idea of food really crossed his mind. He hadn’t eaten properly since leaving the UK. On arrival in Kathmandu, fatigue had been his first concern. With that need now met, his stomach was rumbling.
The shopkeeper next door, having finished the arrangement of Buddhas, started to hang brightly coloured flags on the wall. Across the road, market sellers unloaded fruit and vegetables from trolleys and carts.
Leo had visited markets in Asia before but still found himself smiling in fascination at the vibrancy of it all. He watched one man arrange his tomatoes in a pyramid, each a slightly different tone on the red-green spectrum. Another opened sacks of spices, which he laid carefully around a large pestle and mortar. At the side of the market, almost opposite Leo, a man sat making brightly-coloured garlands by threading orange petals on a string with a large needle. Leo watched as a truck pulled to a stop and sounded its horn, the driver gesturing wildly. The man making the garlands gave three to a small boy who ran across and handed them up to the driver, who passed down a couple of coins. As the truck lumbered off, garlands swinging from the rear-view mirror, Leo thought about the strange chaotic beauty of it all.
His attention was drawn to a shop opposite, the metal shutter of which had just been pushed open by the shop-keeper revealing a travel agency. Posters of lakes and mountains adorned the windows, hinting to Nepalese beauty outside of the sweating city. Leo knew Allissa could have left Kathmandu. Buses to other towns and cities in the region, or the longer journey to northern India, were cheap, frequent and made no records of the passengers they took. If she had boarded one of these buses, there would be very little he could do, she would be lost to him. Without reason, Leo found the thought saddening. He wanted to find her. Not just for the money, but for the answers. Why had she left? And what was she doing in Kathmandu?
And, of course, a positive report to Stockwell would be well-received. Remembering the text message from Stockwell that arrived during the night, Leo dug his phone from his pocket and hammered out a reply.
Arrived in Kathmandu, beginning search, will keep you informed.
A young tourist couple crossed the road and started to examine the display of Buddhas and flags outside the shop next door. Leo watched them approach, the young woman stepping forwards and releasing her grip of the man’s hand. They were both tanned, blonde haired, wore baggy, loose-fitting trousers with pictures of elephants printed across and brightly coloured tops. Leo felt his hands tighten slightly around the empty coffee cup.
The shop keeper fussed around them, polishing any item they took an interest in with an oily rag until it gleamed in the morning sun.
The girl picked up a bronze statuette of the Buddha sitting peacefully and turned to look at her partner. Leo watched her expression, one of contentment, intrigue and pride.
He and Mya had been travelling like that, some years ago. Travelling just to see, to experience, to enjoy. He remembered the excitement he felt going to see the world with her – the anxiety then hadn’t bothered him, he took it in his stride.
Watching the pretty young woman closely, Leo saw the ring on her finger glint and sparkle. She wore it with an invisible pride, which suggested to Leo, though he didn’t know why, that it was new to her. Perhaps the tanned and muscular man had presented her with it just days ago.
That would be an unforgettable holiday, Leo thought, brooding over the dregs of his coffee.
Without realising it, Leo had picked up his phone and scrolled through the pictures until he found one of Mya. It didn’t take long, he had an album of them that he used for the search – or at least that’s what he told himself.
The image he pulled up was the last picture he had of her before she disappeared. From the screen she looked out towards a crystal blue ocean, her wide eyes squinted against the sun, her tanned skin and dark hair beautiful and luxuriant. Looking then, in that café in Kathmandu, Leo wished – like he had many times before – that their holiday had ended differently. If only he’d had the confidence to do it earlier, to say it, to ask it, then at least, at the very least, he would have known her answer.
Looking up, Leo noticed the couple had wandered off. He could see them, further down the road, sauntering in the direction of the now-bustling market. Her hand was firmly planted in his.
Leo tried to push away the thoughts of Mya, but as usual they were strong. Thoughts of the past always were.
Why is it, he asked himself, not for the first time, looking back at the phone, absorbed by the photo, that even when the memories are the best ones of your life, you look back on them with sadness?
Chapter 29
The city, as usual, was busy as Allissa and Chimini picked their way along the road towards the market. Walking anywhere in Kathmandu was not an easy task, the sides of the roads were badly maintained and the traffic swerved and swooped without regard for the plight of pedestrians.
Around them, shop keepers, tradesmen and stall holders began the daily ritual of providing for their families. Allissa knew, however simple their lives were, however apparent it might be that they would never leave the city, they were the lucky ones. They had the security of habit and a family to provide for. It wasn’t necessarily about who you needed, but about who needed you.
“Just up here,” Chimini said, walking in front of Allissa. “A couple of minutes past the market, I saw it yesterday.”
Allissa nodded in reply, only hearing every other word against the growling traffic, but understanding the meaning.
Ahead of them a couple walked hand-in-hand. A small plastic bag dangled from the man’s free hand. Allissa imagined the far-off relative who, on receipt of a laughing Buddha, would laugh along before sliding it into a drawer full of other foreign novelties.
To the right, across the road, sure enough, Allissa saw a gift stall, next to which a beaming shopkeeper counted a wad of oily notes.
Next to the stall an open café spilled the fragrance of ground coffee into the street. Coffee in Kathmandu was good, Allissa thought, shouting up to Chimini to wait. She would cross and get them both a cup.
“I’m going to get us coffee,” Allissa shouted up the road as Chimini walked towards the market. Chimini didn’t turn, not hearing her against the rumbling traffic and excitable hubbub of early morning sale
s.
“I’m going to…” Allissa shouted again, startling a passing lady who carried a bucket of onions. The sound of her voice was dwarfed by a passing truck, the thug of its diesel engine straining against the heavy load. Ahead, Chimini walked into the market. Allissa knew that if they lost sight of each other in there it could take ages to find each other again. Smiling and shaking her head, Allissa walked on – coffee would have to wait.
Chapter 30
In the restaurant two men prepare for the evening’s service. They know it will be busy, it always is. Their customers will arrive, following the directions of someone who knew someone, word passed on as part of Kathmandu legend.
The restaurant is invisible by day, without the hanging bulb showing the way. The bulb which each traveller will pass below. A bulb encircled by insects, drawn in a reverie of hunger and adventure. Each traveller hoping to try the Himalayan Lamb.
In the restaurant’s kitchen, buried deep within the building, the two men prepare the meat. Sharp knives glint as they slice skin from flesh, flesh from bone. Foreheads prickle with perspiration as the ovens are lit and the spices are added.
Each man knows that preparation is key. The cut, the spice, the heat.
The phone on the wall of the kitchen rings, a shrill sibilance in the silent concentration of the kitchen. One of the men puts down the knife and goes to answer it. His fingers are bloodstained.
The voice on the other end is far away. It’s the call they’ve been expecting. They have a special job to do in the next day or so.
Chapter 31
Leo returned to his hotel room in the early evening. He wanted to get back before the streets became swamped by darkness as he had found navigation by daylight difficult enough. He was tired and wanted an early night to refresh for the search to begin the following morning. The last few hours had been consumed watching smiling locals exchange news over colourful fruit or excitable tourists browse rows upon rows of statues and fabrics printed with elephants, mountains or the stacked-up triangles of the Nepali flag. The diesel, dust and altitude of the city had made his breathing, even from the light walk, heavy. He’d frequently stopped in bars and cafés to rest and watch the world pass.
In one of these cafés it had impressed upon Leo how possible it was that he and Allissa could just pass in the street. When he had been travelling with Mya, they’d seen a guy she knew in India. She’d not seen him for years, and yet there he was, walking down the same street, at the same time as they were. Coincidences like that are possible, he thought, his eyes wandering the passing crowds for someone matching her description.
Planning to spend the evening reviewing all the research he had on Allissa and her family, Leo had eaten heavily at lunchtime and returned to the hotel with a bag of mysterious snacks and drinks.
Starting to lay the photos out across the bed and examining each one carefully, Leo tried to think of Allissa as a friend. He didn’t know why, possibly just a streak of unusual optimism, but somehow he thought she was close. Leo knew Allissa could have left the city, got on any one of the buses that pulled out into the mountains every day, but then why would she need all that money? There would be no reason to withdraw that much money from the bank and take it out of the city.
Laying the final two photos on the bed cover, Leo stepped back, pulled a packet of crisps from the plastic bag on the floor and tore it open. All the information he had on the Stockwell family told of a hardworking, well-educated, wealthy family. Completely devoid of argument, incident or public embarrassment. Almost too devoid of it, as though their reputation was carefully stage managed.
Scanning the pictures laid out in front of him, dozens of eyes staring back, Leo looked for any clue, anything which could hint to a different story. His first observation was, that compared to the other two children, Allissa wasn’t photographed often. Putting the crisps down, the flavour of which were still a mystery, he stepped over to the bed and picked up one of the photos. In the shot Stockwell presented a trophy to a small man in a jockey’s outfit, behind them a glossy-coated horse looked dazed. Archie and Lucy stood at their father’s feet. They were young children and grinned up at the camera, both an image of their father.
Squinting at the picture, Leo tried to guess their ages. Archie’s grin was punctuated with missing teeth. He must have been around eight, meaning Lucy would be about five, and Allissa two or three. But why was Allissa not there?
Replacing the photo, Leo’s eyes darted again across the collection. Each pictured face in some way seemed to resemble Stockwell’s crooked smile.
His eyes stopped on a family photo which included Allissa. It must have been quite recent. The five members of the family stood in a well-manicured garden, most likely their Berkshire family home. Lord and Lady Stockwell in the centre and the three children to the sides. Archie to the right, Lucy and Allissa to the left. Lucy and Archie both had clear family resemblance, the round face, reddened by the outside air, thick set in their bodies and limbs and deep, myopic eyes. But for Leo, Allissa was the focus of the photograph. She didn’t wear the contrived smiles of the others and looked off to the right of the shot. She was slender, dark-skinned, her face lit with a naturally bright and beautiful smile. Her hair was curled, loose and large, hinting at an African heritage. She did have similarities to the other two children and Stockwell himself.
The only logical explanation, Leo supposed, tapping the edge of the picture, was that she had a different mother. That would account for her similarities, differences and absences in her earlier life.
But who though? And might that have something to do with why she was in Kathmandu?
Leo had already spent an evening trying to answer these questions, but there seemed to be no public record of Allissa Stockwell at all. She just appeared in the family around twenty years ago, no talk of why or where from. He knew it could be a coincidence with a perfectly reasonable and logical explanation, but looking at the squinting, flabby face of Stockwell in the picture, Leo doubted it. There was a mystery and some instinct told Leo that Stockwell had influence over it staying that way.
Looking again at the family photo, Leo got the impression that Allissa’s appearance was not the only thing that separated her from the others. As they all looked into the lens of the camera, trained through a lifetime in the public eye, Allissa gazed off to the right. It was as though she wanted to be somewhere else. Without knowing why, Leo thought of his own family. He remembered a meal they’d shared two weeks ago. A time when he still had a job and knew nothing of Allissa, Lord Stockwell or Kathmandu.
Surrounded by the coos and squeals of his two-year-old nephew, Leo had listened to talk of his sister and her husband’s new house, how he should get a place of his own and that still looking for Mya was surely a waste of time. At that moment Leo had felt like he was the one looking out of the photograph. Physically there, but wanting to be somewhere else.
Leo didn’t know why Allissa had left, but in the picture he held up to the light in his Kathmandu hotel room, there was something he understood.
Chapter 32
Returning from London in the early evening, Marcus Green turned the things he knew through his mind. It had been a successful meeting with the newspaper’s editor. As a freelance journalist, Green was used to working alone. The fact that this editor was offering resources to help him proved the scale of the story.
For the first ten miles of the busy motorway, Green weaved his BMW between cruising cars, feet moving with agility between the pedals. As the novelty of speed wore off, and the case started to work through his mind, he slowed into the second lane.
It was an interesting case. Something was going on, something wasn’t right, and every sense Green had said that it was something big.
He knew Stockwell had made payments every month to the unknown account, but there was nothing wrong with that. It was mysterious, but not illegal. People paid for all sorts of things. But for those payments to stop the same week the bank was robbe
d, and one of the only safety deposit boxes affected to be one linked to the account, that was suspicious.
What had been in that box? Was it something Stockwell wanted, or something he wanted to keep hidden? Either way, Green knew he had to find out.
The story had him, he had to move quickly.
As traffic on the road started to slow and a sea of strobing brake lights materialised ahead of him, Green knew time was key. Stockwell was a powerful man, and powerful men could always find ways to keep their secrets hidden.
A few months ago, while investigating a businessman he suspected of laundering money through a non-league football team, Green had learned how dangerous his job could be. After a two-month investigation, the night before the story was set to be published, Green was driving home, much like today. But back then he never expected to see the figure on the backseat of his car. He never checked before setting off. Now he checked every day.
Driving out of the car park the figure had stayed hidden. Green’s mind was on other things. He remembered it clearly. It was not until he was driving down a dark lane near his home that he felt the cold metal on his throat and saw the dark shadow in the rear-view mirror.
Pulling to a stop behind a van, Green felt his neck where the knife had pierced the skin, where he had felt the slow trickle of blood into his collar as the thick-accented voice told him what he needed to do.
Green ran the story anyway, but on the day it was published went to stay with friends in Liverpool for a month. Returning home, he had not seen or heard anything from the man, but still continued to check the back seat of the car and had a remote CCTV and alarm system installed in his house.
Kathmandu Page 7