The Thai Dragon

by Lilburne, Guy

  Inspector Lt. Col. Narongchai arrived at the apartments with her team of scene of crime officers, or crime scene investigators as they now liked to call themselves, because of the popular CSI television series from The States. Because the two detectives were not in uniform, they wai’d the superior officer instead of making a salute.

  “Detectives.” She acknowledged them with a smile and a nod.

  “What can you tell me?” she asked.

  Tanyarat let Phong do all the talking.

  “Nothing more than you probably already know. We have been told that there is a dead body in the top floor apartment, suspected to be a white farang female who lives there. The apartment has not been searched, so, who knows, the killer or the killer’s body may still be in there too.”

  “Oh, thank you. I was not told that. We’ll check it out before we start the forensic examination. I take it you will want to see the scene for yourselves before we remove the body or bodies, when we are finished with the scene?”

  “Yes please. We’ll do some door to door enquiries with the neighbours. If you can give us a shout when you are finished, then we can come and meet you inside for a debriefing before you take the body away.”

  “Sure thing, detective.”

  Inspector Lt. Col. Narongchai was one of the highest ranking women police officers, certainly in Phuket, and she was as professional as she was charming. She had become something of a specialist in forensic science and was very experienced with crime scene management. Two of her team entered the apartment first with guns drawn, to check the apartment for any other persons. They soon re-emerged and confirmed that there was only one dead body inside. Both officers looked shocked at what they had seen, telling their boss that they had never seen anything as bad as this in all their years of police service. Inspector Narongchai went in with her second in command and made a preliminary examination. She taped her observations into a tape recorder to make notes from later. The impact of the murder scene made her gasp. She instinctively pushed her hands together in a wai, still holding the tape recorder, and raised them to her nose.

  “Oh, my Buddha!” she whispered.

  “The body is that of a white Caucasian female, is lying on the living room floor. She is aged early 20’s, long blond hair heavily bloodstained. The body is naked except for black stockings, a suspender belt and black see-through negligee. All the clothing is ripped and shredded. The victim has deep lacerations to the throat, arms, legs and stomach. The spleen, stomach and contents are spilling from the body. The right breast has been sliced from the body and is lying 20 feet away on the floor of the bedroom. There is no sign of the left breast and it looks as if her heart has been cut out rather crudely, leaving a gaping hole in her chest. Broken ribs are protruding from the cavity. It appears two weapons have been used, as there are cuts and very deep lacerations right down to the bones along her arms and legs and what looks like stab wounds with a two pronged weapon especially around the chest and shoulders. Two fingers sliced off her left hand and three sliced off her right, I can only see two of them near the body. Oh! There is another one near to the patio doors. Who deserves to die like this? The body is completely drained of blood. There is a lot around the body, but a lot splattered and smeared on the walls and furniture. There are bloody hand prints on the patio glass, in the kitchen area and on the glass table in the living area. The floor is heavily blood stained throughout the apartment. On the table there is an empty Lay family size crisp packet and another on the floor. On the table are half eaten chocolate bars and chewy mint sweets, coke cans and a bottle of cheap vodka, half empty. Yaa Baa pills are scattered on table and on the floor. There is cocaine, both bagged and spilt on the table. Ganja bagged and rolled in spiffs ready to smoke. There is a lap top computer on the floor next to a black leather settee and I can see a mobile phone on the kitchen work surface with two empty ‘Pot Noodle’ pots. There is a wall clock lying smashed on the floor. The time on it is 02:08am, which is probably about the time of death by the current state of rigor mortis of the deceased. There are footprints in the blood, both barefoot, presumably the victims and shoe prints, slight wavy pattern, bigger feet, probably male. The blood is also extensive in the bedroom. A camera tripod is set up facing the bed, but no camera or video on it. Her right breast is on the floor, her other two fingers are in the bathroom. Again blood on the walls, lots of splatter marks. Oh! Dear Buddha! She has been carved up alive, while she has been running around her apartment looking for an impossible escape. When she finally fell the offender has cut her heart out. There is no sign of obvious forced entry. What the hell happened here? Okay, let’s go back out.”

  She went back out of the apartment to brief the rest of the team.

  “Okay. I want the camera team in first. Video and photo every inch. I want everything before we start the forensic search and examination. Once you’re done we swab and bag everything. Then we search. It’s going to be a long day, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s not pretty in there.”

  None of the team had ever experienced a crime scene like this before, but they were professional and they did what had to be done. Two of the team examined the lift and the stairway.

  Phong and Tanyarat completed the door to door enquiries, but they were all negative. They took a statement from Nui, the next door neighbor. She was now in a state of shock and was, quite understandably, more concerned about appeasing the spirits and making offerings out on her balcony, so that her dead neighbour would not enter her apartment and bring her bad luck. She knew that her neighbour was friends with her dog Chi. She cut some hair from the dog and placed it on a silver dish between the candles, incense and the Buddha amulets, which was now becoming a shrine out in the blazing sunshine of the late morning.

  The detectives’ boss, Superintendent Lt. Col. Sungkhapong, made a brief appearance at the apartments. He only had a cursory chat with his detectives and he did not enter the apartment. His real reason to be there was to speak to the press people, who were now already gathering outside. Like most higher ranks in the police, he liked to get his name in the papers and his face on television. He made the bland speech that police bosses always do when they do not actually know anything about the case.

  “We can not release any details yet, but we have a dedicated team of officers working on this case, which we are treating as a murder case. We are working on a number of leads and we are confident that we will be making an arrest in the near future. Anyone with any information should contact the police. Their call will be treated in confidence and there will be a reward for any useful information.”

  The small crowd of press people pushed around him and asked all the usual questions about the victim; the identity, the motive for the murder, did the police have a suspect, the nature of the murder. But all these were brushed off with the universal,

  “No further comment at this time, thank you.”

  It was mid-afternoon before Inspector Narongchai called the two murder squad detectives on the secure radio channel and asked then to join her in the apartment. She gave them a few minutes to take in the horrific scene and get over their obvious shock. Her team had now become desensitized to it. The Inspector smiled a comforting and understanding smile when she saw Tanyarat wai in prayer to Buddha as she entered the apartment. She, herself, had had the same reaction and she was fully aware that this was the detective’s first ever murder case.

  “Your murder case just got more interesting” she said and handed something to Phong.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s your victim’s security pass. She works for the British Embassy in Bangkok.”

  Chapter 6 London two weeks later D/Sgt. Danny O’Brien.

  Danny O’Brien and Bob Malone were born within an hour of each other in the Meath Hospital Dublin; not the new one at Tallaght, but the old place in Heytesbury Street. Their mothers were in beds next to each ot
her and, when Mrs. O’Brien could not produce any breast milk for baby Danny, Mrs. Malone shared her breasts with the two infants. And so a lifelong friendship was born. The boys did not see each other again until five years later, when they started their first day at school and sat next to each other. Neither knew the story of the shared breast milk, but there was some kind of instant bond and they instantly became best friends. They came from a deprived area of the city, but always managed to stay out of trouble or, at least, avoid getting caught. They made a promise, or a pact if you like, that they would always look after each other. They called it their ‘Golden Promise’. At 20 years of age they took the ferry over the Irish Sea and the train down to London, after being accepted by the Metropolitan Police, to start their first day as Police Constables together. Their lives and careers have since been touched by very different colours of luck and tragedy. Today, nearing the end of their 30 year careers, Danny O’Brien is a Detective Sergeant and Bob Malone is Detective Chief Superintendent, technically Danny’s boss. But rank means nothing between these two friends. It was with this history in his heart that Detective Chief Superintendent Malone took a taxi from ‘New Scotland Yard’ to Detective Sergeant O’Brien’s home.

  Danny lived in the ground floor flat in a large Victorian terrace house, which had been converted into four decent size flats in the late 1980’s. Even though Bob and Danny were currently both working out of Scotland Yard, it had been weeks since they had seen each other and Bob had something on his mind that was troubling him; ‘How to get Danny to help himself.’

  It was nearly 11:00am and it was mid April, but the winter seemed to be hanging around forever that year. The sky was dark and grey and the drizzled rain, which had constantly been coming down all morning, just added to the feeling of misery. Bob checked the four doorbells to the right of the heavy wooden door with the magnificent stained glass window. Three of the doorbells had names next to them, written on bits of paper and slid under the scratched protective Perspex. One of them did not. Bob decided that this must be Danny’s.

  A few moments later and Danny opened the door, delighted to see his old friend.

  “Ahh! How are ya, Bob?”

  “I’m grand Danny. And yerself?”

  “Oh! I’m grand. Come in won’t ya?”

  Bob followed Danny along the hallway. The floor was tiled in original black and white ceramics and there was a heavy wooden hand carved banister that made the stairs look even more splendid than they were. It must have been a magnificent house in its day, even for a terrace. They went into Danny’s flat and Bob’s heart sank even a little further for his old friend.

  In just a moment Bob could assess his friend’s life. It was what he had suspected for a long time. The flat smelt of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Ashtrays were full up and spilling over. Empty bottles of Jack Daniels and Paddy’s Irish Whisky lay on the floor. Empty tin foil cartons, from at least a week of Chinese take away meals, were piled up in the fire place. Danny needed a shave and obviously had not bothered over his last two days off work. He now sat in the chair with a drink in his hand and lit up a cigarette. It was not even 11:00am yet.

  “You’ll have a drink with me, will ya Bob?”

  “No Danny, I can’t today.” There was a long pause. “I’m sad to see you drinking already Danny.”

  “Sure, it’s my day off. What else am I supposed to be doing?”

  Bob smiled while he thought how to talk to Danny about his problem.

  “Danny, can I talk to you as a friend?”

  “You know you can Bob. You always have.”

  “No Danny, I haven’t. I think I should have said a lot of things a long time ago. A true friend would have and I didn’t.”

  “Bob, you can say whatever you want to say. You’ve got me out of a few scrapes these last few years. I know I owe you my job. What’s on your mind?”

  “Danny, you used to be a great detective. Not just great, the best.”

  “I still am. The feckers just won’t let me work any decent cases anymore.”

  “Because you haven’t been sober for ten years.”

  “I’m sober every morning when I go to work.”

  “Yes, but you have a smell about you; the whisky from the previous night. And everyone knows you feck off at lunch time to the pub and that’s your day.”

  “If nobody wants me to work a case, what else am I supposed to do? Nobody gives a feck where I am, or what I’m doing.”

  “Danny, there is a whole new generation of police officers who never knew the old Danny O’Brien, who don’t know the things you’ve done. They don’t even know that you were decorated by the Queen. They just know an old drunk who gets into fights with police officers and they wonder why you have managed to keep your job.”

  “I’m not a drunk Bob.”

  “Danny, I don’t think a day has gone past in the last ten years that you haven’t had a drink. Not since the day Angie and the kids…….”

  “Were murdered?”

  “Yes Danny. I didn’t want to say it again, but yes. And that’s the time you really needed a friend. That’s the time I should have helped you, when you couldn’t see how to help yourself. You’re not the only one who misses them Danny. I was best man at the wedding. I’m the kids God father. I loved them too and I still think about them every day. I’m as much to blame as you, but I didn’t turn to the bottle. Danny, you’re an alcoholic and you know it.”

  “No Bob! You couldn’t be more wrong. I drink for many reasons. I drink because I’m sad. I drink because I’m lonely, because I blame myself for their deaths. It helps me sleep and it eases the pain and helps me to forget. It’s like medicine to me. I drink for many reasons, but not one of them is because I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Danny, you said that you owe me, but you don’t. It is me who owes you and we both know that. ‘Mad’ Micky Harrison is dead in his grave and I’m alive because of you Danny. There hasn’t been a day gone by in the last ten years when I haven’t thought about it and prayed to God to save your soul. But now you have to help yourself Danny. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “I told you there is a whole new generation. We are only 6 months away from retirement. We’re old school, Danny.”

  “So, what’s the problem Bob?”

  “Danny, you have assaulted three policemen in the last 12 months.”

  “I was off duty.”

  “They weren’t, and you were fighting in pubs. They are supposed to arrest you. That’s their job.”

  “I didn’t think that they made complaints?”

  “They didn’t. Some newly promoted Chief Inspector has got to hear the stories. He has prepared a file and sent it to the professional standards department. He wants them to resurrect it and charge you with the assaults. He has made no secret of the fact that he thinks you should have been sacked years ago.”

  “So, he’s not the first fecker to take a dislike to me.”

  “But he’s more determined than the others. And there is more.”

  “What more?”

  “Danny, you reported one of the CID cars you were driving as stolen, after it was found smashed into that wall a few months ago.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Danny, everyone knows you crashed it when you were pissed. Now this Chief Inspector has found some CCTV, which shows you in the car after the time you reported it stolen. He’s sent it to the professional standards people.”

  “What now?”

  “Do you remember Daz Rawlins?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he remembers you. He was a young detective attached to you in Special Branch nearly 20 years ago.”

  “So?”

  “Now he is Superintendent in charge of Professional Standards and he rang me to tell me th
at you have been targeted by this Chief Inspector.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Danny, he thinks the same as me. You are only six months away from getting your lump sum and your pension for life. If you get arrested and charged, you will lose the lot and more than likely get a jail term. You know how the courts like to make examples of police. He says that he can lose the file in the system and mark it up ‘not in the public interest to proceed with it,’ as long as we can lose you for the next six months until your retirement date.”

  “And how are we going to do that Bob?” He lit up another cigarette.

  “You’re going to Thailand tomorrow.”

  “You’re fecking mad, are yer?”

  “Look, I’m not bothered if you spend the next six months lying on a tropical beach sunning yourself, or find yourself a high chair and prop up a bar. But you’re going.”

  “What the feck am I going to do in Thailand?”

  “Probably the same as you are doing here, drinking yourself to death. But, there is a case and we have to send someone.”

  “A case for Danny O’Brien?” Danny laughed out loud.

  “Danny, it is a case. A real one. It’s a murder case, but I don’t think it’s going to get solved.”

  Suddenly Danny was interested. He was a good detective. He’d been on all the squads; Vice, Murder, Drugs, Special Branch, CID, Scotland Yard. But he had been isolated and left behind in the 1990’s, because of his drink problem.