Komet shot a glance at Ratratarn, wondering whether the lieutenant colonel would let on that he could speak English. Ratratarn nodded for them to proceed.
Komet waited until everyone else was seated, before sitting behind Ratratarn. Not knowing what else to do, he opened a notebook and placed it on his lap. The farang spoke in a low voice to his interpreter, folded his hands on the desk in front of him, and faced the lieutenant colonel with a polite smile.
‘Khun David thanks you for your time this afternoon,’ Israporn said.
‘It’s a regrettable business,’ Ratratarn said.
‘Khun David would also like to thank you on behalf of the Canadian ambassador for your assistance with this investigation.’
‘It is my duty,’ Ratratarn said.
The farang nodded in response to Israporn’s translation.
‘Khun David says he, too, has a duty here. He’d like to add his personal thanks for your co-operation in helping him carry out his duty.’
‘Good co-operation is important.’
‘Ka, ka,’ Israporn said, ‘especially when the case is such a sensitive one—such a tragedy.’
‘A tragedy,’ Ratratarn nodded.
Komet looked down at his notebook to hide his confusion. Everyone was so polite, even the lieutenant colonel. There was no trace of the fury that had been in his voice minutes earlier.
‘The fact that this tragedy involved a Canadian national is, of course, why Khun David is here,’ Israporn said. ‘As we know, Khun Didier de Montpasse lived in Thailand for many years.’
‘So I believe.’
‘Khun David says Khun Didier was not known in embassy circles for having a violent disposition.’
Ratratarn didn’t miss a beat. ‘Then it must have been a shock to discover he had a record for violence in his own country.’
In the wake of Israporn’s translation, the two men eyed each other squarely and Komet understood the meeting had moved on to new ground.
The farang broke away first to confer with his colleague.
‘If it’s convenient, Lieutenant Colonel, we would like to clarify one or two points in relation to the report you so kindly provided. It states that when you went to Khun Didier’s house to question him about the death of Khun Sanga, he all but confessed to the murder. Did you find that unusual, Sir?’
‘Not in my experience,’ Ratratarn said.
The farang consulted Israporn again.
‘We would also like to ask whether—’ She paused as a ringing sound emanated from somewhere in the room. Ratratarn removed his mobile phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said.
The Canadian stood as he left the room, the phone still ringing. Resuming his seat, he smiled blankly at Komet for a moment, before turning to say something to Israporn.
‘Officer…Komet, wasn’t it?’ she said, as if noticing him for the first time. ‘Perhaps you could assist us.’
Komet was sure they could see the panic on his face, but he swallowed hard and nodded.
‘Khun David was about to ask your superior officer if there were any suspects other than Khun Didier in Khun Sanga’s murder?’
‘No.’
‘So as far as the police are concerned Khun Didier was responsible for the murder of Khun Sanga?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Don’t you think it was premature to close the murder investigation following Khun Didier’s accidental death?’
‘It’s all there in the report,’ he said.
Israporn conferred with the farang. ‘The report says Lieutenant Colonel Ratratarn was convinced of Khun Didier’s guilt,’ she said. ‘But we are interested in your opinion, Officer Komet. You were there on the night—you located the murder weapon, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Komet felt his cheeks burn.
‘So, do you think Khun Didier murdered Khun Sanga?’
Many aspects of the case made Komet uneasy, but it wasn’t his place to offer opinions. ‘The f-farang’s death was accidental,’ he stammered. ‘But it must’ve been his fate, because he was guilty!’
Israporn gave him a withering look before translating. David frowned and Israporn added something that made them both laugh. Komet scribbled in his notebook to hide his embarrassment.
‘We assume there will be a full coronial inquest into Khun Didier’s death?’
Komet looked up to see the translator waiting for his answer.
‘That’s a matter for the Lieutenant Colonel,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’ said Ratratarn, at the doorway.
‘The official was asking about the—’
‘The coronial inquest into Khun Didier’s death.’ Israporn cut him off, addressing Ratratarn as if Komet were no longer in the room.
‘End of the week,’ Ratratarn said brusquely. ‘After the forensic report is completed, the body will be released to the family.’
‘The family haven’t claimed the body…’ Israporn began, before the farang stopped her. ‘Kor thort na ka, Khun David will not be present at the inquest. But he’d be grateful if you would send a copy of the coroner’s report to the Canadian Embassy.’
‘Of course.’
The farang rose to his feet. ‘Khun David would like to thank you again for your time,’ Israporn said. ‘On behalf of the ambassador, he’d like to add that he trusts the spirit of co-operation that exists between our two countries will not be adversely affected by this tragedy.’
As the officials left, Ratratarn’s satisfied look faded. ‘The sooner we get this business behind us the better,’ he said. ‘I’ve had it with farangs.’
Komet coughed nervously. ‘Will that be all, Sir?’
‘What? Yes, Komet. Go home. You’re off surveillance tonight. I need you to accompany me on other business. Report back to me at eleven-thirty.’
He saluted and turned to leave, when Ratratarn grabbed him by the arm.
‘You did OK today,’ he said. ‘I heard what the farang said to his translator and you didn’t give anything away. It’s time you were rewarded for your efforts.’
Komet was stunned. It was unprecedented for the lieutenant colonel to pay him a compliment. And he could only imagine what reward Ratratarn had in mind. Komet knew certain policemen took kickbacks from various busi-nesses—‘direct taxes’ some called it—payments made to the service provider instead of disappearing into government vaults in Bangkok. He knew what went on, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it.
At times like these, Komet missed his father. Khanthong Plungkham had been a village leader widely consulted for his advice. Though Komet’s family was poor, his father had a reputation for fairness and wisdom. He’d studied with the monks as a boy and his understanding of the Buddhist precepts, coupled with his ability to make them relevant to people’s daily lives, gave him a status at odds with how little land the family owned.
If Komet confided in Arunee about Ratratarn’s proposal, she would rest her hand suggestively on her distended belly—the same way she did when he was choosing between the Honda Dream he’d wanted, and the cheaper Kawasaki motorbike he’d ended up with.
And he could equally well anticipate his father’s response to the prospect of deriving wealth from dishonest means. ‘Kam sanong kam,’ he would say. It was his standard response, whether Komet and his brothers were being chastised for stealing fruit from a neighbour’s tree, or praised for helping their mother with the housework. ‘What goes around, comes around.’
‘So that’s the case against him.’ Jayne sighed and closed the folder. ‘I wish I’d seen this earlier.’
David Freeman smiled at the young woman across the table. His colleague at the Australian Embassy had warned him she was a handful, but he hadn’t mentioned how attractive she was.
Of her neat, even features, Jayne’s eyes were the most striking: a piercing shade of green that reminded David of a cat. But the overall impression conveyed was one of fragility, skin so pal
e it was almost translucent. She seemed shy, almost deferential, yet she’d asked intelligent questions about the procedures involved in official inquiries and the jurisdiction of the Canadian Embassy. She’d also asked about the de Montpasse case and his interview with the police. Normally, David would refuse to discuss such information, but she appealed to him as a personal friend of the deceased, saying it would help her with ‘the grieving process’.
And so he allowed her to read Israporn’s translation of the police report. Painful as it might be, the young woman simply had to face the facts.
‘I’m sorry, Jayne,’ he said with a meaningful glance at the report. ‘But I hope this clarifies things.’
She ran her fingers through her short, blond curls. ‘So, you’re convinced of Didier’s guilt.’
‘My personal opinion is irrelevant,’ he replied. ‘The fact is, the police are certain they’ve got their man. And you must admit the case against him is what one might call watertight.’
She bowed her head and David thought she might cry. He was on the verge of reaching over to take her hand when she flashed him a look that made him glad he hadn’t.
‘The police case is a sham,’ she said.
He opened his mouth to disagree, but she held up her hand.
‘David, please hear me out. Number one,’ she counted on her fingers, ‘according to the report, Didier told the officer in charge that Nou—I mean, Sanga—deserved to die like a dog. That exchange has got to be a fabrication. Didier would never speak like that—he loved Nou.’
David shifted in his seat, but Jayne pressed on.
‘Two,’ she said, ‘and Max can vouch for this: there’s no way Didier would’ve had amphetamines on the premises. He used to give me a hard time for smoking. The drugs had to be planted.’
‘Max did mention something about that,’ David said carefully.
‘Well, did you ask the cops about it?’
‘No, Jayne, I didn’t ask the police about it,’ he said, sounding more pompous than he intended. ‘You see, Max also told me that Monsieur de Montpasse’s…ah…companion was a known prostitute. It’s therefore conceivable the young man had a history of drug abuse and brought the amphetamines into the house, albeit without the knowledge of Monsieur de Montpasse.’
‘But Nou wasn’t into drugs!’ she said. ‘Don’t you see? It’s all part of a plot to discredit Didier—’
She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. This time David thought she really was crying.
‘Jayne,’ he said softly, ‘I know this is hard for you. But your allegiance to your friend—admirable as it is—isn’t enough to exonerate him. The police have a motive, a de facto confession and the murder weapon. All you’ve got is hearsay and loyalty.’
Her shoulders sagged, and for a moment David imagined her in his arms, allowing him to comfort her.
She mumbled something into her hands.
‘What’s that?’ he said gently.
‘I said you’re right!’ She raised her head. Her eyes were dry. ‘I appreciate your time,’ she added, reaching for her bag, ‘and I won’t keep you any longer. Shall we get the bill?’
Moments earlier she’d seemed crushed but now she was acting as if nothing had happened.
‘Don’t worry about the bill,’ he said impatiently. ‘Listen, Max suggested I might accompany you back to Bangkok.’
‘Oh?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘No, I won’t be going back yet. Don’t worry, I’ll call Max and explain.’
‘But…’ He fumbled for something to say. ‘Are you going to be OK?’
‘I’ll be fine. Really.’ She leaned over and patted his hand. ‘What you said tonight has been inspirational.’
David felt himself redden. ‘W-well, is there anything else I can do to help?’
‘Perhaps you’d order me a taxi.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That would be most kind of you.’
He walked into the hotel lobby and asked one of the bellboys to arrange a car, but when he returned to the table there was no sign of Jayne.
‘Did you see where that woman went?’ he asked a passing waitress.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The woman who was sitting here, the one who was sharing my table. Did you see where she went?’
The waitress smiled.
David sighed. ‘Just bring me the cheque, will you please.’
Jayne cursed herself for having placed any faith in an official inquiry. As if a bureaucrat like David Freeman would give a damn about Didier! Still, she’d pilfered a copy of the police report so the meeting wasn’t a complete waste of time.
Freeman maintained the case against Didier was watertight. His only doubts—and she presumed he was speaking on behalf of the Canadian Embassy—concerned the absence of other murder suspects and the speed with which the investigation had been closed. This gave Jayne an added incentive to build a case against Kelly.
She had a precedent, too. A year earlier, the Thai wife of an Australian expat in Bangkok was arrested for allegedly attempting to murder him. The man, drugged at the time of the assault, had been unable to finger his assailant. Adamant his wife couldn’t have done it, he employed Jayne to come up with an alternative suspect.
‘That should be enough to get Phet off,’ he’d said. ‘You know, reasonable doubt and all that.’
It had worked. Jayne managed to identify the woman responsible—the man’s estranged German mistress—and Phet was acquitted.
Reasonable doubt. Such a loaded term. She’d had doubts about the case against Didier from the start, but these weren’t ‘reasonable’ to Freeman. What was it he’d said—something about her needing more than hearsay and loyalty?
So be it! She’d find grounds for doubt so bloody reasonable even David Freeman would be swayed. And she’d do it by capitalising on his own uneasiness about the lack of alternative suspects in Nou’s murder.
She needed to find out more about Doug Kelly and what had happened when Nalissa saw him with Nou. She’d start by checking out the Kitten Club. She wouldn’t stand a chance of getting inside the place, but some surveillance might prove useful. At the very least, she could try for a photo of Kelly to get a positive ID on him from Nalissa.
But the Kitten Club was in Loh Kroh, and with her new-look blond hair and green eyes—courtesy of coloured contact lenses—she’d stand out like a beacon. A man in her situation might get away with posing as a sex tourist, but it wasn’t going to work for her. There were only two reasons why a white Western woman might be seen wandering the streets of Loh Kroh: she’d have to be either a working girl or a nun.
There were stories in the papers about women from former Soviet Union countries coming to Thailand on tourist visas and working in the sex industry. ‘Economic refugees’ the press called them. Blonds in particular could command high prices in Bangkok’s exclusive gentlemen’s clubs, but Jayne wasn’t sure any of these women had found their way as far north as Chiang Mai. Besides, masquerading as a sex worker was risky. What would she do if someone approached her? Then again, how would she feel if no one did?
She sighed then changed into the most conservative outfit she’d bought that afternoon: a white blouse buttoned to the neck, black skirt and flat sandals. She toyed with the idea of wearing socks under the sandals—a fashion statement she associated exclusively with evangelical Christians—but couldn’t bring herself to look that awful. She removed all but the barest traces of make-up and hung a large crucifix she’d bought at a street stall on a leather thong around her neck, making sure it sat over her blouse. As a final touch, she took the Gideon Bible from her bedside table.
‘Jesus loves you,’ she said to her reflection in the mirror.
Two tuk-tuk drivers refused to take Jayne to Loh Kroh no matter how much money she offered. A third agreed, drove in silence and deposited her at the end of a narrow, unsealed street. One side was lined with garment factories—sweatshops with names like
Beauty Queen and Blissful Smile. On the other side, wooden shacks slumped against each other as if exhausted. It was a humid night and the street itself appeared to sweat, oily pools of water reflecting the glow of fairylights from the shacks. There were few people around apart from the brothel touts and bouncers who hovered in the doorways. Even food vendors steered clear of Loh Kroh after dark.
The factories were closed for the night, and Jayne headed down the street, picking her way around puddles and garbage, holding the Bible like a shield against her chest. A small, pink neon sign identified the Kitten Club as the only concrete building on the strip. The ground-floor windows were blacked out and the entrance partly concealed by an awning. There didn’t appear to be anyone on the door, and as Jayne moved closer, she heard music and voices from inside.
A tuk-tuk rounded the corner and headed towards her. Jayne retraced her steps and ducked inside a low-walled shack opposite the club. She peered through slats in the wood, watching as two farang men paid the driver and entered the two-storey building. When the tuk-tuk pulled away, she saw she’d taken refuge inside an old police box, a wooden booth with a thatched roof once used as an information and sentry point. Most of the paintwork had peeled away, there was rubbish on the floor, and a thick layer of spiderwebs appeared to keep the ceiling from caving in.
The booth gave Jayne an excellent vantage point for watching the club and the irony of using a police box for surveillance was not lost on her. Putting the Bible aside, she took out her camera and rested it on a narrow bench that ran the length of one wall. She loosened the slats to poke the lens through, then checked the focus. She’d be able to watch the action through another hole in the wall while recording it on film. She took out a notebook and pen, allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom and began taking notes.
Tues. 7 May 1996, 22.30. Two Caucasian men arrive by tuk-tuk. Both mid/late-50s. 1) Bald; long face, pronounced lines in cheeks, flabby neck; black-rimmed glasses, square frames. Approx. 1.8 m. Medium build. Red & white gingham shirt, white trousers, clean sneakers. 2) Silver-grey hair, thinning on top; stocky build, approx. 1.85 m. Didn’t see face. Neat appearance, pale green shirt, possibly silk; grey trousers, shiny material—synthetic(?); grey canvas loafers, clean. Slight limp in right leg.
Behind the Night Bazaar Page 11
