But what law was that, exactly? And what “rules”? And how does a video camera help enforce those rules?
Wipaporn leaned over and put her finger on a blinking orange light beneath the video screen that displayed the couple. Ladarat tried not to look at the screen as she attempted to make sense of the blinking light.
It took her a moment, but finally she understood. “It’s a… recording?”
“Indeed it is. Many of them. For every client.” She smiled in a way that was a little eerie. “So you see, Khun, there is no danger of our clients breaking the rules. We are very clear about our expectations. And if there is any dispute… well, this is our safeguard.”
Ladarat was tempted to ask what sorts of disputes might arise, but she was reasonably certain that she really didn’t want to know. Nor, truly, did she want any more information—visual or otherwise—about the important man from the tourism ministry.
Instead she pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and checked her e-mail quickly. Still nothing. No, there it was. A very brief message from the very tired Dr. Arhit Tantasatityanon.
“That is her.”
Ladarat smiled to herself at a bit of detective work well done. Wait until she told Wiriya. He would be impressed. Speaking of whom, where was he?
She scanned the monitors again. There, one of the monitors right in the middle of the line. She hadn’t seen him at first. The monitor was only black and white, and his blue suit blended in with the dark background of the bed he was sitting on. He was sitting so still, in fact, he could have been a piece of furniture. Ladarat smiled as she thought about the detective as a piece of furniture in her own house. An armchair, perhaps. Maewfawbaahn would be pleased.
Then the mamasan pointed to the front door monitors as a woman approached. She seemed sure of herself and didn’t hesitate as she turned toward the front door and entered. Together, they watched her progress across the large downstairs room and up to the bar, where Somsak was waiting. He offered her an informal wai, which she returned perfunctorily. Then he emerged from behind the bar and followed her to the stairs.
As Peaflower reached the first step, though, Somsak seemed to have a last-minute thought. He said something that caused Peaflower to whirl around. From the second step, she towered over Somsak and he took a couple of steps backward.
What was this? Ladarat glanced at Wipaporn, who was drumming her bright red manicured nails on the desk. She had a steady but fast rhythm. Click-click-click-click-click. She didn’t take her eyes off the monitor and simply shrugged in response to Ladarat’s unspoken question.
He was warning Peaflower away. He had to be. What else could he be saying?
The camera’s position only revealed Peaflower from behind, but her gesticulating arms offered a clue to a careful observer that she was not pleased with the news that there was a policeman upstairs whose goal it was to arrest her. This news did not seem to be brightening her day. Somsak opened his mouth to speak twice, but each time was left with his jaw hanging, useless.
Finally, though, he seemed to regain the power of speech, and it was his turn to harangue their visitor. He pointed up the stairs, and then at the door, talking the whole time.
Peaflower heard a little of whatever he had to say, but apparently that was enough. She came down those two steps in a hurry, giving Somsak a quick choice to move or be pushed out of the way. He chose to move.
Peaflower headed for the door much faster than she’d come in and had almost reached the Hing Phra shrine at the edge of the camera’s field of view when she pulled up abruptly. Peaflower stood there, perhaps thinking. Or perhaps listening to Somsak—both their backs were turned so it was impossible to tell who was speaking.
Eeehhh. This was anxiety-provoking. What was he saying?
Ladarat thought for a moment, glancing at Wipaporn, whose drumming had increased speed. Still, she wouldn’t meet Ladarat’s eyes. And still she said nothing.
Was he giving up their plans? No, that couldn’t be it. If that were the case, Peaflower would be gone. She wouldn’t be standing in place, not twenty meters from where a detective wanted to arrest her for murder. And yet Somsak most certainly had said something… concerning.
And Wipaporn seemed almost as worried as Peaflower was. So whatever was going on downstairs, she wasn’t aware of it.
Whatever it was, though, seemed to have been resolved to Peaflower’s satisfaction. She turned, finally, and walked sedately—almost regally—across the main floor and up the stairs. Somsak stepped aside to let her pass and then followed meekly, like a royal retainer.
Just as Ladarat hoped she might get a good look at the woman, the two of them were lost from view. But then they reappeared at one end of a long hallway that was lined with doors on either side.
So all was well. Or was it? Wipaporn’s manicured nails had ceased their drumming, which was good. And she was even smiling slightly.
“What…”
But Wipaporn just shook her head. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
She leaned over and spoke softly into an old-fashioned microphone that was resting on the table between them. “Your friend is here. In the hallway.”
Wiriya didn’t seem surprised to hear a voice issuing from the ceiling. If Ladarat was surprised by his nonchalance in response to this disembodied voice, she was stunned when he turned toward the camera, targeting it exactly, and gave a cheerful wave.
In that moment, all of Ladarat’s pride in having tracked Peaflower to the Chinese doctor evaporated as she realized that her part in this whole endeavor was actually pitifully small. Wiriya had known about the rooms all along. And about the video cameras. Presumably he’d worked this out with the mamasan in advance? And the dance between Somsak and Peaflower, Ladarat was sure that was part of the plan, too. But what?
No matter. She had played a part, hadn’t she? Of course she had. She could say that proudly.
And this was no time to dwell on matters of credit, or pride. Wipaporn was focused intently on the video screen as Peaflower pushed the door open. The corner of the door was just visible in the lower-left part of the screen and it obscured the woman for a moment. Then the door closed with a soft click that was easily audible through the speakers on the desk.
Finally, Ladarat found herself with a close-up view of the woman who had caused all this trouble. Unmistakably the same woman in the photo, although that photo had been taken earlier. Much earlier, perhaps. It was five years old at least, and maybe more. Even from this perspective, the resolution of the video camera was quite good. The better to ensure adherence to the rules. In any case, there would be no doubt about who this woman was. The doctor would have no trouble identifying her. Nor probably would any one of several dozen hospital staff who met Peaflower, however briefly, during one of her late-night deposits of the latest dead ex-husband.
WHEN DEATH DOES NOT BRING PEACE
Wiriya stood to greet her, offering her a respectful wai, which—to her credit—she returned. The camera revealed the two of them in profile, the detective on the left and Peaflower on the right. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to speak first. Ladarat had assumed that Wiriya would take the lead. He’d tell the woman everything that he knew. He’d overwhelm her and force her to confess. But he didn’t seem to subscribe to that strategy.
In fact, it was looking as if he didn’t really subscribe to any strategy whatsoever. He was just… standing there. His hands were clasped at his waist in a pose of quiet confidence. And he was looking at Peaflower with an amused smile. It was if he was waiting for something. Not waiting for her to speak. Just waiting for… something.
If Peaflower was confused or disturbed by this behavior, she didn’t show it. Instead, she seated herself on the one chair in the room, facing the camera. She smiled, crossed her legs primly, and folded her hands in her lap. In that moment, she looked like the perfectly demure future wife. Gentle and submissive. She gestured to the bed, the only logical place for Wiriya to sit.
&nbs
p; Then Peaflower said something in Chinese that Ladarat couldn’t follow. Ahh… this is bad. This is exactly what they’d been afraid of. She will know that Wiriya is no Chinese businessman from Kunming. She will be certain in the next few seconds. And she will run.
Ladarat turned to Wipaporn, who said nothing. Indeed, there was nothing to say. They had tried but failed.
Watching Peaflower’s face closely, Ladarat saw a hint of… what, exactly? Not fear. Or even concern. It was a subtle twitch of the mouth that suggested annoyance.
A woman is in a closed room with a strange man who is behaving strangely. Other women might be concerned or afraid. But this woman is simply annoyed. She must have considerable confidence. She must be a strong woman. And perhaps also a dangerous one.
Still Wiriya said nothing. He just stood there, leaning lightly against the wall at his back, with his hands folded loosely at his waist. His expression didn’t change. No—there. He smiled. Just a little.
Ladarat recognized that smile immediately. It was the winner’s smile. Yim cheua cheuan. It was the magnanimous smile that the winner bestows on the loser.
And Peaflower recognized it, too. Although it took her a moment to determine what that smile meant for her. Her expressions flowed from one of polite interest to concern to aggression. But never fear. At no time in that five-second shift in the weather did she ever look afraid. And even now, as she must have been realizing that she’d been caught, her fixed smile denoted hostility.
“I know you’re not a Chinese businessman from Kunming,” she said in Thai.
So there it was. Their plan was over. So simple and elegant, but they had failed.
But then Peaflower said something that surprised Ladarat. And judging from the proud smile on Wipaporn’s face, it pleasantly surprised her as well.
“I know that you’re here as part of an immigration investigation, are you not?”
Wiriya said nothing, but a faint smile and flick of his chin suggested that this information was not the surprise to him that it was to Ladarat. Wipaporn was smiling broadly.
“Somsak came up with that on his own,” she said. “Such a clever boy.”
Ah, so that was it. That’s what Somsak had been saying in the front entryway.
“He told her that there was an inspector who was doing routine passport checks at the request of the Thai immigration service,” Wipaporn suggested. “That would keep her from running away as soon as she realized your friend doesn’t speak Mandarin.”
They turned their attention back to the screen in time to see Peaflower reach into a handbag that she’d placed on the floor next to her. With a flourish, she produced her passport and handed it to the detective.
Wiriya accepted it with a nod but still without speaking. He glanced at the page with Peaflower’s picture, looking from the picture to her, as if he were checking her identity.
Apparently satisfied that this murderer was a Thai citizen, he handed the passport back to her, and it disappeared into her bag. It was only as she was thanking him for his time in a sweetly deceptive voice that Wiriya finally spoke.
“I’m not here about your passport.”
Even if Peaflower had managed to maintain her equanimity up until this point, this was more than she could tolerate. Her facial expression cycled through confusion, fear, anger, and back to confusion in the space of a second.
“But… Somsak… the man downstairs…”
Wiriya shrugged. And smiled.
Peaflower seemed to have realized that she’d walked into a trap. What kind of trap, she wasn’t sure. But she must know that the man in front of her dressed as a Chinese businessman who was supposed to be an immigration inspector wasn’t either of those things.
Yet there also seemed to be a cool calculation unfolding in her head. Sure, she seemed to be thinking. This wasn’t what she had expected. But she had gotten out of tough situations before. Much tougher than this. She would see where this led.
And indeed these thoughts seemed to have played out to their logical conclusion, and Peaflower shrugged and smiled. And focused her attention on the detective, who continued to lean against the wall.
Then she looked up contemptuously toward the camera, noting that it was there, as she expected it to be. Interesting. She waved in much the same way that Wiriya had only a few minutes earlier. But then she seemed to dismiss the camera altogether.
Despite Peaflower’s display of bravado, Wiriya was still smiling the winner’s smile in a way that was starting to be a little eerie. No doubt precisely what he intended.
Wiriya didn’t say anything, but now he seemed more relaxed. Almost friendly. But why?
Finally it was Peaflower who broke the silence.
“Okay, so I know you’re not… a client. Or an immigration inspector. But you must be very clever, to have gotten past my sister.”
At this, Wiriya arched an eyebrow. It was barely perceptible, but Peaflower saw it.
“Ah, you didn’t know the mamasan is my sister? We grew up together as children. We are family. And you are… nothing. She is on my side in this.”
Ladarat snuck a look at the mamasan. She didn’t turn away from the monitor, but only gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
Was nothing as it seemed? And now whose side was the mamasan on? Surely not on theirs. Ladarat glanced around, but they were still alone in the office.
She felt acutely out of her depth, but what was she to do? Besides, Wiriya didn’t seem to be worried. So she, Ladarat, would not be worried either. She would… await developments.
“Then who are you? Let’s start with that. Who are you to be so clever and sneak past my good sister? Then you can explain why you brought me here.”
Wiriya seemed to be thinking carefully about whether now was the time to speak. He waited five seconds. Then ten, as if he were considering the merits of an enormous decision. Finally, he spoke. But when he did, it was in a voice that Ladarat had never heard from the detective. Warm and soothing, he spoke as a radio announcer would, very late at night. He spoke as if he were trying to reassure the woman in front of him.
“Ah, Khun Anchan. Forgive me for my silence. I was simply waiting for the right moment. But let me explain.” That tone induced another flicker of annoyance to flash across Peaflower’s face. But it disappeared almost as quickly, leaving a demure expression that was as calm as it was unreadable.
Peaflower seemed to relax a little. Now, at least, they were in territory that she could understand. This man in front of her—she didn’t know why he was here, but presumably he wanted something. And if he wanted something, then they could negotiate. Peaflower glanced down, and let her shoulders slump. In an instant, she became a poor, simple country girl. Simple and trusting.
“As you wish,” she said, looking up briefly.
But in that quick glance up at Wiriya, Ladarat saw that she was scheming. Calculating. Reviewing her options. Oh, she was clever.
Wipaporn saw it, too. “She is playing the simple Isaan country girl. She will use all of her wiles on your friend.”
Just as you have, Ladarat thought. You and your nephew. At the same time, she found herself wondering what that list of wiles included.
“First,” Wiriya said softly, “I didn’t bring you here. You brought yourself, did you not? Everything you’ve done over the past—how long has it been? A year? Two years? Five years?” The detective waved a hand dismissively.
“No matter, we’ll get to that. However long it’s been, everything in your past has led you here. You see”—he smiled—“you and I have to be here now. It is fate.”
Now Peaflower looked confused. As if she was starting to sense that things were not going well. As if perhaps this was a situation she wasn’t going to be able to evade so easily.
“I don’t believe in fate,” was all she said. Then she sat there quietly, waiting for the detective to make the next move. Which he did.
“We know all about you,” he said. “We know everything.” Then h
e was silent as Peaflower thought very carefully about what “everything” might consist of.
Apparently she didn’t think it would include much of importance. “Then you have the advantage on me, Khun.” She smiled in a way that might be construed as charming, but Ladarat wasn’t worried. She was reasonably certain that the detective would be immune to these particular charms. Particularly since he knew perfectly well where those charms had gotten other men before him. That knowledge, she thought, would be a pretty effective anti-aphrodisiac.
“But I am impolite. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Detective Wiriya Mookjai, of the Chiang Mai Police.” And he reached into his left breast pocket and produced his identification, flipping it open with a practiced flick of his wrist.
Peaflower froze in place, her face becoming an ugly and bitter mask. In an instant, she’d aged ten years or more, her features becoming sharp and her mouth pinched like a witch’s. She looked mean, and evil. But not defeated. Not yet.
Almost as soon as her face had changed, it melted back again, and her features softened into those of a young girl. A young, innocent girl. And her profile shifted, too. Where her gaze a second ago had been direct, chin up and glaring, now she was demure and almost scared.
It was an act. Ladarat knew that perfectly well. As did the detective. But it was a brilliant performance, she had to admit. Even Wipaporn was impressed.
“She’s always been able to do that,” she said a little sadly, as if this ability were an illness. “She can be a little girl, or a comforting wife or—if need be—a ruthless adversary. All in the space of a second.” She shook her head.
“It’s remarkable, but it’s what led to all of her troubles.” She paused. “It’s what led her to this moment, I suppose.”
And Wiriya seemed impressed, too. He was silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words. But he didn’t soften. In fact, it was almost as if these quick changes galvanized him into being more direct than he would otherwise have been.
“We know, for instance, that you’ve used this establishment’s services to find ‘husbands,’ haven’t you? And, no”—anticipating her retort—“that isn’t a crime. Fortunately for many lonely men, it’s perfectly legal. What is not legal, though, is killing them.”
Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness Page 23
