“Fred is still dead. I sent the e-mails to you. I am truly sorry.”
Tim was the first to react, jumping off the low temple wall and looking despondently across the Bagmati River at two buzzards cruising above a cremation ground.
“You faked the e-mails to bring us here, Thierry? And all that stuff about a long-lost daughter was s**t? You’ve got a f*****g nerve.”
He looked the Frenchman squarely in the eye.
“There’s no Fred? There was going to be money, but it’s been stolen by a guy called Marlowe who owns a dodgy NGO? You owe this man money? You were going to use your share to pay him off? Correct?”
His voice carried a hard edge, his heavy face flushed with anger.
Dan added softly, “I think at this point you need to tell, Thierry. Before we all get paranoid and think everyone’s pulling
