The Dying Beach

by Angela Savage

  ‘A good example.’ Professor Azim acknowledged, with another jovial smile.

  ‘Furthermore,’ the doctor added, emboldened by the compliment, ‘the company will regularly monitor water quality during both the construction and operation phases.’

  Professor Nazim nodded. ‘The treatment of wastewater in this project has been so well planned, the impact on natural water bodies is minimal. I’d stake my professional reputation on it.’

  ‘What about the transportation of fuel by barge?’ the fisherman said. ‘A major spill would kill everything.’

  ‘The issue of fuel transportation has been brought to my attention by a number of villagers,’ Professor Azim said. ‘The company is researching alternative fuel transportation routes, including a pipeline. This should allay any concerns.’

  ‘This project should not be at all controversial,’ Nukun said, folding his arms. ‘I’ve worked with communities who were asked to sacrifice their land for the greater good of the Thai people. No one is being asked to give up his land for this project. The project will bring jobs, better services, higher living standards with no significant negative environmental impacts.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Bapit said.

  ‘You can stick your new business opportunities up your arse,’ Choom muttered under his breath.

  ‘This will be the last consultation meeting for now,’ Khun Nukun said loudly, bringing the group back to order. ‘We’ll finalise the EIA and submit it to the Office of Environmental Policy and Planning. Your concerns will be included in the report, together with the mitigation measures we’ll propose to address them.’

  ‘Will we be given a copy of the report?’

  ‘Of course, if you wish it.’

  ‘We do,’ Amnat said. ‘Now let us share some tea and fruit.’

  Pla closed her notebook. She spotted Choom standing apart from the rest of the group, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Is your business really in trouble, older brother?’ she asked him.

  ‘Do you reckon anyone’s gonna want to buy diesel generators once the power plant is up and running?’ he snapped, blowing smoke at the crowd over her shoulder.

  ‘Kaw thort,’ she said, blushing. ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Appeal to the company, perhaps?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, little sister. I’m entrepreneurial. I’ve got plans. Shrimp farming, that’s where the big money is.’

  ‘Oh no, not shrimp farming?’ Pla couldn’t hide her dismay.

  ‘That’s right, little sister,’ Choom said, oblivious to her discomfort. ‘There are hundreds of kilometres of coastline in this province ripe for commercial development.’

  ‘But most of it is mangrove forest.’

  ‘Exactly, unproductive land.’

  ‘But mangrove deforestation has terrible consequences for coastal communities and—’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Choom said, pointing at her with the lit end of his cigarette.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Miss Pla, we need you here.’

  Mae Yada’s summons cut in on their conversation. Pla saw the old woman had accosted Doctor Budsaba, who was looking fragile. She nodded to indicate she would join them and turned back to finish the conversation. But Choom had disappeared, his cigarette broken and smouldering where he had stood.

  Pla thought to add a comment to her notes as she was getting into bed later that night. She used a torch under the covers so as not to disturb Suthita.

  ‘Public relations strategy is working,’ she wrote.

  Most people in Village P now in favour of the project. But need to ensure indirect impacts don’t damage environment in other areas, such as mangrove forest.

  She underlined the last two words before turning off the torch and closing her eyes.

  15

  Rajiv returned to the guesthouse to find Jayne asleep and the air conditioner on overdrive. He slipped off his daypack and turned down the fan speed. Jayne had fallen asleep holding a notebook. Rajiv eased it out of her hand.

  Her translation of Pla’s notes. Clearly she’d had a more productive morning than him. After checking their email messages at Krabi’s only internet café—a slow and expensive exercise—Rajiv had set out to track down Sigrid Homstadt from Norway. Using his fake credentials, he posed as a journalist looking to interview the Norwegian for a European wire service. He started with the only top end accommodation in Krabi town, before taking a songtheaw back to Ao Nang and visiting all its upmarket hotels and a few mid-range ones as well. He found no sign of the woman alleged to have discovered Pla’s corpse.

  Tired and frustrated, Rajiv longed to join Jayne in a siesta. But it was so rare for her to sleep in the afternoon, he was loath to risk waking her. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the bed and sipped water while he read through her translations.

  Rajiv quickly discerned Pla’s involvement in some kind of project, the scale of which required an environmental impact assessment—the EIA Jayne had referred to at dinner the night before. References to road improvement, blasting and fuel transportation made him think of mining or major infrastructure works, but the notes did not specify what kind of project it was. There were some clues to the location: the project was to be established on the site of a previous venture where the use of dynamite had caused damage to a temple and a mosque; and Pla’s notes made frequent mentions of a khlong, or canal, which suggested proximity to the sea.

  Rajiv took out a map of the province and spread it across the floor. Even the most grasping of local authorities would know better than to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs by approving a project that posed risks to Krabi’s popular tourist destinations. So Rajiv figured he could rule out the coastal resorts, and most of the islands were protected as part of the marine national parks. He focused instead on the outlying coastal areas, where it seemed every village was built on a canal. The proximity of temple and mosque was no help either: judging from the icons on the map, Buddhists and Muslims coexisted, side by side, all throughout the province.

  He tried searching for ‘Village P’, ‘Village HS’ and ‘Village LK’ but found many with the same initials. ‘Village HS’ he couldn’t find at all, which meant either Jayne got the Thai transliteration wrong, or it was simply too small to rate a mention.

  Rajiv folded the map and picked up the English-language Krabi Post he’d bought in town. The front page touted the opening of a new luxury resort in Ao Nang, the arrival of a new telecommunications company in the province, a new bar for Railay. In between these and the classifieds were further puff pieces—soccer uniforms donated to villagers by one company, school supplies by another—and photos of the beaches and marine life. There was no mention of Pla’s death, nor Suthita’s—nothing, in fact, that could be called newsworthy at all. Rajiv tossed it aside.

  Jayne stirred in response to the rustling newspaper.

  ‘Hi there.’ Rajiv leaned over the bed and kissed her, tasting coffee and smoke.

  ‘Hi.’ She propped herself onto her elbows, nodded at the notebook on the bedside table. ‘Did you read it?’

  ‘Yes, but I am having no luck trying to identify the project or the villages.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Jayne sat up. ‘Why would Pla take such detailed notes and leave out the most crucial information?’

  ‘Maybe she is wanting to protect the identity of the villagers.’

  ‘But the consultations were public. The findings should be included in the EIA. And as Pla points out in the last entry, most of the villagers are in favour of the project anyway.’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Was there anything on the email?’

  ‘A couple of inquiries. I’ve scheduled meetings for the week after next.’

  ‘Assuming we’re back by then.’

  ‘I am assuming we’ll be back by then, yes,’ Rajiv said firmly.

  Jayne sighed. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t have any luck finding the Norwegian woman.’

  �
�Yes, I didn’t,’ Rajiv said. ‘I tried all the four- and five-star hotels in Krabi and Ao Nang. Nothing.’

  ‘She might’ve gone to one of the islands like Ko Phi Phi or Ko Lanta.’

  ‘She might have gone anywhere,’ Rajiv said. ‘Maybe you were wrong to think she’d hang around at all after an incident like that.’

  Jayne sighed. ‘We’re going to run out of time if we don’t think of something soon.’

  ‘You made good progress today.’

  ‘Not as much as I’d like. I still haven’t heard from my friend at the Bangkok Post. Did you check for faxes on your way in?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s Sunday, remember.’

  ‘Shit. Gavan won’t be back at work till tomorrow.’

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps we should be taking our minds off the case for the rest of the day,’ Rajiv said. ‘Look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow.’

  Jayne frowned. ‘I can’t just sit around doing nothing.’

  ‘Actually, I have an idea where we can go.’

  ‘Not the gastropod fossil site.’

  ‘I have already discerned that this geological miracle does not interest you, Jayne,’ Rajiv said tersely. ‘No, I have something else in mind.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  Her frowned morphed into a smile. ‘Do I have time for a shower?’

  Rajiv looked at his watch. ‘We need to leave in half an hour.’

  ‘And what’s the dress code for this mystery date?’

  ‘Normal clothes, but good footwear.’

  She raised her eyebrows before heading into the bathroom. Beneath the sound of running water, Rajiv thought he could hear Jayne muttering to herself.

  He hoped they made progress soon. Already he knew he’d have a fight on his hands if it came to dragging Jayne Keeney away from an unsolved case.

  16

  Othong increased his speed as he wound his way back down the hill, jamming his foot on the accelerator in frustration. The farang he picked up on the road to Wat Sai Thai wasn’t the right one. Too late, he remembered squinty-eye at the tour agency saying the farang she met spoke fluent Thai. Othong was sure if the woman he’d lured to the abandoned plantation could have spoken Thai, she would have. She would’ve done anything to defend herself against his efforts to extract information from her.

  Now she was dead and he was back to square one. At least Othong didn’t have to involve his uncle. He’d found a track from the plantation to a quiet part of the khlong and dumped the farang’s body there, weighed down with stones in her backpack. He had trouble putting the backpack on her after she was dead, but managed to loop it over one of her shoulders, enough to anchor the body to the riverbed.

  He took the opportunity to wash his motorbike and get cleaned up, the body lying securely on the bottom of the canal when he left.

  Othong forced himself to slow down as he approached the main road. At the last minute he changed his mind about heading into town and turned off at Wat Sai Thai. He parked in the compound, left his shoes on the steps, and headed inside the dining hall.

  There were a few people around. A pot-bellied novice swept the floor. Village women, glistening with sweat, stirred large vats of what smelled like fish curry. A small child in a grubby singlet watched a cat molest a cockroach.

  ‘Othong, is that you?’

  The monk had stopped sweeping and was grinning at him. Without any hair, it took Othong a few minutes to recognise his friend from junior school, a skinny boy who’d grown into his nickname Uan, meaning ‘Fatty’.

  ‘Uan—or do I call you Phra?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not here for long. Just making merit for Mother. You know how it is.’

  Othong nodded. He’d done the traditional month-long stint in the temple after his father died.

  ‘What brings you here? Friend of the deceased?’ Uan nodded at the coffin against the wall.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Othong said. ‘The deceased I’m interested in is a girl who died in a drowning accident.’

  ‘Aie, what is it with the drowned girl?’ Uan rolled his eyes. ‘She’s supposed to be a charity case, but you’re the third person who’s come in here asking about her today.’

  ‘Who were the others?’

  ‘Farangs,’ he said. ‘Two of them. A white girl and a black man.’

  ‘Any idea when they’ll be back?’

  ‘Maybe Wednesday for the chanting. Maybe Thursday for the cremation.’

  Othong fought the urge to pick up the broom and smack Uan over the head with it. ‘So is it Wednesday or Thursday?’

  ‘Wednesday. That’s what the farang said. She speaks Thai very well.’

  Othong nodded. He wouldn’t forget that crucial piece of information in a hurry.

  17

  Jayne suppressed a shudder as she followed Rajiv and their guide around the grounds of the Krabi Snake Farm. The snake cages were set among a dazzling array of orchids—fuchsia pink, yellow with scarlet hearts, purple with white spots—in what Jayne saw as a feeble attempt to distract visitors from the deadliness surrounding them.

  ‘Snakes?’ she said. ‘Rajiv, I’m scared of snakes.’

  ‘But you are scared of rats. Snakes will be eating rats.’

  ‘What, a girl’s only allowed one phobia at a time?’

  They approached a cage; at its centre was a small shrub dripping with cobras. Their guide, who went by the name Mickey—‘You know, like Mickey Mouse’—opened the door of the cage and slapped some of the snakes on the back to make them puff up.

  He pointed a deformed ring finger at Jayne and Rajiv. Elongated and twisted, the fingernail was ninety degrees from where it should have been. ‘This one from a cobra bite.’

  ‘I’d bite him, too, if he slapped me like that,’ Jayne said under her breath.

  Mickey opened the door to a cage packed with pythons. He kicked at the nearest bodies, triggering a spiralling riot that made the floor of the cage appear to move. Try as she might, Jayne would never understand how a people who believed in reincarnation could treat animals so poorly.

  ‘Please don’t disturb the snakes on our account,’ she said in Thai. ‘I prefer it when they’re sleeping.’

  Mickey shrugged and looked longingly at the entrance, where a minibus was disgorging a load of tourists.

  ‘We’re fine on our own if you have other guests to attend to,’ she added.

  Mickey didn’t wait to be asked twice, leaving Jayne with Rajiv as her guide.

  ‘Ah, the mangrove snake.’ Rajiv waved at a serpentine knot of black and yellow. ‘This snake is distinguished by its ability to flatten itself, concertina its body and spring through the air.’

  ‘A flying snake,’ Jayne said. ‘That’s all I need.’

  ‘Oh, the mangrove snake will not be deadly. The bite causes only fever and headache.’

  ‘Well, that’s a great comfort.’ She felt something brush against her shoulder and threw herself at Rajiv. ‘What was that?’

  He reached over and touched a frond of pendulous red and yellow flowers. ‘Heliconias,’ he said. ‘Definitely not deadly.’

  They passed signposted cages writhing with orange and black banded kraits, pink-headed coral snakes, pit vipers the colour of new rice, colours Jayne thought of as nature’s way of saying ‘back off’.

  Beyond the last of the cages a couple of scruffy monkeys sat chained to posts in a dusty clearing.

  ‘They look sad,’ Rajiv said.

  ‘They look terrified,’ Jayne countered.

  Rajiv shot her a look, his expression as forlorn as one of the shackled monkeys. His surprise date was veering towards disaster. Jayne couldn’t let it happen. She took his arm. ‘Come on, let’s get a good seat before the show starts.’

  A sign at the entrance advertised the Krabi Snake Farm as home of the ‘King Cobra Show’ and Rajiv had timed their arrival for the five o’clock session. The arena was a shallow pit carpeted in pink and en
circled by bench seats in steep tiers. To one side was a wall painted with a forest mural, a bank of electrical sockets halfway up a tree. These powered a CD player, microphone and two large amplifiers. In a plastic chair beneath a painted banana palm sat a young man with a beatific smile, who punctuated his invitation to be seated with snatches of loud Thai pop. His microphone was switched to reverb, evidently the default setting for every microphone in Thailand. To the man’s right was a glass cabinet displaying snakeskin wallets and King Cobra T-shirts. To his left was what looked like a child’s play area, complete with portable cot, which on closer inspection proved to contain snakes. A bed of vipers.

  As Mickey herded in the crowd from the minibus, the man with the microphone introduced himself as Tom and made small talk with Jayne and Rajiv. He was delighted when they told him where they were from.

  ‘Ooh, the largest venomous snake in the world is in India. But the most deadly’—he winked at Jayne—‘comes from Australia.’

  It was a taste of the cheesiness to come.

  The show opened with Tom introducing snake wrangler ‘Mister Charlie’, making Jayne wonder if all snake-farm employees were obliged to adopt English names. Such idle thoughts vanished as Charlie proceeded to hook three black cobras from a box beside the ring and fling them onto the carpet. He taunted them one at a time until they raised their heads, puffed up their necks and looked poised to strike.

  ‘The black cobra is native to Thailand.’ Tom’s voice echoed through the speakers. ‘Every snake has unique markings. They are found in villages, sometimes in houses.’ He laughed as if this was a great joke. ‘People call us at Krabi Snake Farm to come and remove the snakes from their home. They are very poisonous, but black cobras try to avoid people.’

  ‘We call these monocled cobras in India,’ Rajiv said, leaning close to Jayne. ‘See how the handler keeps his distance and avoids sudden movements? Snakes have very poor hearing. If the man does not move, the snake does not know he is there. It is like the snake charmers in my country. The cobra can only strike to a distance of about one-third of its body length and—’