Maier spent the night in a small guest house in Kampot. The next day he stayed in his room, had his food delivered to his door, slept and dreamt empty dreams.
When it got dark, he got on the bike and drove to Kep.
“I need a gun. It cannot be difficult to buy a gun in Cambodia, surely?”
Maier had waited until just after midnight before he’d dropped into the Last Filling Station. Les had shown no surprise as the detective had entered his bar.
“The red snoop is back,” was all he’d said.
The old American nodded at the Vietnamese girl and seconds later a .22 caliber revolver and a box of cartridges lay on the bar counter in front of Maier.
“This little thing is not registered, buddy. And it’s small, so you won’t go through the wall behind you when you pull the trigger. I don’t want to see
