Dave put his phone down and stared out his hotel window at the Mekong River, that vibrant vein of the region’s life force. Yet today he felt no joy in seeing the bustling river traffic, only the despair that another young life had been taken. Kunny had been distraught on the phone and Dave knew very well how impotent she must feel at this minute. It was easy enough to say that they had to be patient, to wait for a break in the case or some information to appear from somewhere, but that didn’t reduce the feelings of utter helplessness during that wait.
He’d filed his first report back to London the night before, detailing the catalogue of murders to date and condemning the police’s refusal to see the case as being something far more sinister than a serial killer on the loose. He’d avoided
