by R. J. Jagger
The concept was edgy.
Sexy.
Raw.
The choreography would be worked up in the studio but the footage would be shot in the edgier sections of Bangkok, mostly at night, to promote Jamaica as an alternative, on the edge street person rather than another plastic studio windup doll.
“Most of this is going to come down to you,” Wing told her, “your expressions, your attitude, your moves.” Before he could say anything else, his phone rang and Jack Vutipakdee's voice came through.
“You got time to meet?”
Wing looked at his watch, shocked at how late it was.
“Sure.”
THEY MET NORTH OF THE CITY on a narrow dirt road flanked by rice fields. Vutipakdee wore faded jeans and a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked rougher and stronger than Wing remembered. He expected the man to look broken and remorse, but what he saw was bitterness and determination.
“I’m sorry to pull you so far out of the city,” he said.
Wing looked around.
“This is a ways out,” he said.
Vutipakdee exhaled, looked around then said, “Let me get right to the point. I want to find the person who killed Tookta and I want to do it before the trail gets cold.”
“What’s wrong with the police?”
Vutipakdee wrinkled his forehead.
“Maybe they’ll find him and if so, fine,” he said. “But right now, this minute, I need eyes and ears on the street. I need a presence where the police don’t got. I need to get the stories from people who would never talk to the police. I want you to head it up for me.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re someone in Bangkok I know.”
Wing picked up a stone and threw it into the rice field. “I’d love to,” he said, “but that’s not what I do.”
Vutipakdee pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket and stuffed it in Wing’s hand.
“Seed money,” he said, “to hire investigators. I want you to do this for me. In return, you’re going to get perks.”
Wing raised an eyebrow.
“What kind of perks?”
“Do you remember at the party, when you told me how you wanted to break into the film business?”
Wing had forgotten.
But now remembered.
“Well, if you’re really serious about it, I’ll unlock doors for you,” Vutipakdee said.
Wing pictured it.
“Done.”
They shook hands.
“Don’t tell a single living soul that you’re working for me,” Vutipakdee said. “That includes anyone you hire.”
“I understand.”
They parted.
THREE STEPS LATER Vutipakdee turned and said, “Your videos are getting better and better, my friend. I’m starting to get jealous.”
Wing grinned.
“Wait until you see the next one.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Someone you never heard of.”
“Like who?”
“Someone named Jamaica Tam,” Wing said.
“You going to make her a star?”
Wing chuckled.
“More like the other way around.”
23
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Afternoon
KANJANA’S OFFICE was on a busy side street in the heart of Bangkok, in a gray, 75-year-old building that was still standing but not by much. It was a second-floor walkup, above a massage parlor that specialized in happy endings, and across the street from Cowboy Ron’s Ramen, a dubious noodle shop that made up in convenience what it lacked in sanitation. An eclectic mix of shoulder-to-shoulder pedestrians, from businessmen to kids selling watches, scampered up and down the narrow sidewalks.
Kanjana liked the place because it was alive.
Inside, the floor was squeaky wood and the walls smelled like a forest fire. The furniture had been abandoned in place by the previous tenant.
It wasn’t all dive, though.
Also inside was a state-of-the-art computer with a large, flat-panel monitor, a fast reliable printer, a large metal lockable file cabinet with a 2-hour fire rating, and three separate solid locks on the door.
Kanjana opened a window and propped it up with a stick.
The noise of Bangkok filtered in.
Hurried.
Jagged.
Disheveled.
THEY STUCK PRARIE’S FLASH DRIVE in the computer and pulled up the photographs of the journal, just to be sure the files worked.
They did.
Actually, they were pretty clear.
Very readable.
“It was really a stroke of luck that you made this so fast,” Kanjana said. “Don’t lose it, whatever you do.”
“We need to back it up,” Prarie said.
Right.
Absolutely.
They copied it three times onto CDs, then double checked to make sure the copies were clean and non-corrupted. One went into the file cabinet, hidden in the back of a manila folder labeled WUNTAWONG, one went into Kanjana’s purse and one went into Prarie’s purse.
“Feel better?” Kanjana asked.
“A hundred percent.”
“When you get a chance, email a copy to yourself too. You may as well play it safe.”
“SO DO YOU HAVE ANY OF YOUR FILES here on that detective guy who might be after you?” Prarie asked. “What’s his name again—?”
“Petchpon.”
“Right, him.”
Kanjana retreated in thought and said, “Just some of the preliminary stuff, mostly about the investigations he was working on that never got solved. All my surveillance notes were in the safe. You want to see what the victims looked like?”
“Sure.”
Kanjana pulled a thick, expandable file out of the second drawer of the cabinet. It was labeled PETCHPON prominently in black magic marker on the front. Inside were seven manila folders, stuffed with newspaper clippings, notes and other papers.
Kanjana opened the thickest one, labeled NAKPRADIT, and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Being in Thai, it made no sense to Prarie, but Kanjana tapped her finger on the photograph of a pretty, young Asian woman with short black hair and a wide white smile. “This is my client’s sister, Songlee, who got murdered.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How’d she die?”
Kanjana wrinkled her forehead.
“Not pretty,” Kanjana said. “Someone found her head in a dumpster. Her body’s never turned up, so there might have been a lot of trauma that no one knows about.”
“Was her head cut off while she was alive or afterwards?”
Kanjana shrugged.
“I’m sure the coroner figured it out, but I’ve never gotten access to that information.” A beat, then, “Either way, it’s pretty sick.”
The other files were equally sick.
Six of the victims were Asian.
One was from Liverpool, England.
No two murders were the same.
But the violence was always palpable.
And the victims were all young, pretty females.
“You can see it’s the work of one person,” Prarie said.
“Not one person, one man,” Kanjana said. “A woman could never do this.”
THEN SHE OPENED ONE MORE FOLDER, pulled out a news clipping and tapped a finger on the photograph of a young, foreign woman.
Very attractive.
“This woman here is an American. She disappeared Thursday night. My gut feeling is that she’s the next victim.”
Prarie studied the photo.
“What’s her name?”
“Aspen Leigh,” Kanjana said. “She’s a radio personality from San Francisco.”
24
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Afternoon
THE THAI FOON GROUP’S corporate offices consumed half the thirty-ninth floor of an ultra-chic office building on Asok Road. The
space was impressive but smaller than Teffinger anticipated given that they owned and operated half the radio stations in Bangkok. Teffinger and Jinka ended up meeting with the President/CEO, Pawana Chow, a stylish energetic woman in her early fifties who looked at Kanjana when appropriate but otherwise kept he eyes on Teffinger.
She was helpful, concerned and cooperative.
“We flew Aspen to Bangkok at our expense,” she said. “She arrived late Thursday afternoon. We had a driver pick her up at the airport. He dropped her off at the Millennium Hilton. Nothing was planned for that evening. We were scheduled to meet with her here at nine the following morning, Friday. She never showed up.”
Teffinger stood up and walked to the windows.
Below, Bangkok sprawled endlessly in all directions.
“So nothing was planned for Thursday,” he said.
No.
Nothing.
“Did anyone from the company talk to her that evening?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Pawana said. “I didn’t, I can verify that.”
“Do you have any idea what she was going to do that evening?”
No.
Not a clue.
“Did the driver say anything to her? You know, suggest there was a restaurant she should go to or something she should go and see?”
The woman wrinkled her brow.
Then she made a quick phone call, talked rapidly in Thai and hung up. “No,” she said. “In fact, he doesn’t even speak English.” A beat, then, “Maybe someone from the hotel knows where she went.”
Good point.
BUT KANJANA HAD ALREADY RUN that angle down. She had interviewed the people who were working the desk that night, plus the bellboy who took Aspen’s bags up. Nobody knew anything. The security cameras showed her leaving at 9:15 p.m. wearing sandals, khaki pants and a short sleeve blouse, with a medium sized black purse slung over her shoulder. Everything about her appeared normal. She was just one more hotel guest strolling through the lobby and heading out the front door.
Teffinger pushed hair out of his face.
“How’d you come across her, in the first place?”
“There’s not much to tell, really. One of our marketing consultants suggested that we do a trendy morning show in English,” she said. “We had a board meeting, liked the concept and asked her to scout around and find a few potential candidates. She came up with three names, one of them being Aspen. We listened to her tapes, liked her style and decided to bring her out for a chat. We were very excited about her, to tell you the truth.”
“Do you know if this consultant talked to Aspen that night or had plans to meet her?”
Pawana raised an eyebrow.
“Good question,” she said. Then she made a phone call, hung up and said, “Negative.”
Teffinger heard the word but hardly registered it, already focused on something more important.
Much more important.
“Tell me about the other candidates,” he said.
She answered.
TEFFINGER HEARD HER SPEAKING, but the specter of Tookta’s dead face suddenly appeared, choking his concentration and stealing his breath. He felt something on his arm and looked down to find Jinka shaking it.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He stared at her.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
He headed for the door.
“I need air,” he said.
25
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Afternoon
A SLIGHT DRIZZLE SET IN as Wing drove back to Bangkok. He had no illusions as to Vutipakdee’s motives. Clearly the man wanted to find Tookta’s killer to dish out a deadly dose of private justice in some dark corner of the world where no one would hear the freak screaming. By going through Wing, Vutipakdee avoided direct contact with an investigator, thereby creating a gap of protection. Wing needed to be careful. Being in that gap could be hazardous to his health in a hundred ways that he couldn’t even think of. The best course of action would be to put someone else in the gap, use a third party to hire the investigator, the same way Vutipakdee was using Wing.
But who?
Yingfan?
No, she was too close, not to mention that he owed it to her to not get her involved.
Maybe he could do it himself, but do it anonymously.
Yes.
That was it.
That was the way to go.
Just be a voice on the phone.
HE DIALED SARAPONG FOR A NAME. The attorney didn’t have one but said he’d check around the office and call back. Five minutes later, Wing’s phone rang. “The firm has used an investigator named Kanjana on a couple of occasions. The word is that she’s extremely good and knows how to keep her mouth shut. You want her number?”
Wing did.
He did indeed.
He hung up and almost called the investigator, but then thought twice against leaving an electronic trail. Instead, he pulled over to the first public phone he came to and dialed. She answered on the third ring.
“I’m looking for somebody who can help me find a killer,” Wing said. “Is that the kind of thing you do?”
A pause.
“Who am I talking to?”
“You’re talking to someone who’s going to pay you cash in advance.”
“You’re not going to tell me your name?”
“My name’s not important,” Wing said. “What’s important is whether you can start right away. Is that something you can do?”
A pause.
“Who got killed?” Kanjana said.
“A woman named Tookta Vutipakdee.”
Tookta.
Tookta.
“That doesn’t ring a bell,” Kanjana said. “Was it reported in the papers?”
Negative.
“It just happened last night,” Wing said. “It will be in tomorrow’s paper.”
“How’d she die?”
Wing told her.
He expected her to react.
She didn’t.
Instead there was a long silence.
“If I take the case, there are no guarantees other than I’ll do my best. What kind of level of effort are you looking for?”
“Scorch the earth,” Wing said. “Find the guy and find him now. Spare no expense. Cut no corners.”
She gave him her rate.
He had no problem with it.
“Be at your office at 8:00 tonight,” Wing said. “Someone will swing by with an envelope.”
26
Day 2—August 14
Tuesday Afternoon
IN KANJANA’S OFFICE, Prarie wanted to hear more from the journal. Kanjana skipped through it, not reading verbatim, but paraphrasing sections. According to Shi Xianggu’s story, she married the infamous pirate, Zheng Yi, shortly after their tumultuous meeting. Working and fighting side by side, they very quickly built the Red Flag Feet to over two hundred ships.
Using a cunning combination of force and promises, they lured the pirates of the Cantonese Pirate Coalition to join their flag, increasing their presence up and down the South China Seat to six hundred vessels.
But they weren’t done yet.
Far from it.
By 1807 they had built their empire to 1,300 vessels and 60,000 pirates.
They dominated the waters, sailing feely and without fear, always attacking in a group that no prey could escape. No government in the region had the ships or men to challenge them. As merchant vessels became increasingly less willing to take to the waters for fear of almost certain attack, the Red Flag Fleet began to shift their game from looting vessels to providing them safe passage, for a protection fee.
They then extended their activities up river in shallow-hulled ships, and into villages, extorting money from salt merchants and businesses that either paid what was demanded or suffered the consequences.
Like any large organization, structure and rules were essential.
The loot and riches f
rom both the sea and land were brought to Shi Xianggu and her husband, who kept their portion and redistributed the balance in accordance with various formulas and factors, generally to the faction that brought it in.
Ugly women, when captured, were generally released.
The more desirable ones were sold among the pirate ranks, generally to the highest bidder, although other factors could be considered. Any woman who was purchased became the pirate’s wife and thereby acquired the privileges, protections and responsibilities of the flag. Many of the wives actively worked and fought side by side with their husbands. Female pirates were not uncommon.
Infidelity was not tolerated.
Pirates were duty bound to be faithful to their wives.
Any pirate found cheating was beheaded.
That was also the punishment for rape, unless the squadron leader gave permission. Similarly, any pirate who secretly kept loot for himself, or failed to report a full taking, was beheaded.
Deserters, when caught, got their ears cut off.
SHI AND HER HUSBAND kidnapped a fisherman’s son, then 15, named Zhang Bao, and adopted him. Shi took him as a lover and in 1807, when her husband got swept to sea during a violent gale, she took Zhang as her husband, then 21.
He was fierce and spirited and ruled by her side, but under her command, given his youth.
By 1809 the fleet had reached unprecedented levels of power and organization, with 1,500 vessels and 70,000 members. That actually proved it’s undoing, as it began to fall under it’s own weight.
Famine and disease took their toll.
Government resistance increased.
Internal infighting among the ranks and divisions, present from the start, grew to deadly proportions. Envisioning the end, Shi negotiated a peaceful surrender to the Chinese government whereby almost everyone under her command got a full pardon, although a few hundred were beheaded. Most went on to join the Chinese military.
In exchange for negotiating the surrender, Shi was granted a full pardon and was allowed to keep all of the wealth she had acquired, which she used to open a brothel and gambling house.
