When he’d finished, he returned to Kirsty’s room, checked her pulse and looked at her closely before untying the ropes. He reached to his back pocket and pulled out the knife, drawing it though the coiled ropes with a flourish. It swam along as if it was slicing through butter, not reinforced nylon. He replaced the knife carefully and opened the doors to one of the wardrobes.
The enormous rucksack had been an inspired idea, he knew, courtesy of all those shabby backpackers he saw walking around the city. He had been surprised to find one so big. He opened the bag to its full capacity and picked Kirsty up from the bed, placing her gently inside. Her positioning reminded him of that of her boyfriend in the fridge: her legs were bent at the knee, pushing against the front of the bag, with the dead weight of her arms on top. He closed the drawstring fastening and stood back, surprised. There had been no real need to even cut a hole in the top flap of the bag like he had done.
He gathered up the severed rope and bundled it in to a bin liner he’d brought from the kitchen. He did the same with the fitted sheet from the bed. He tore the pillow covers from the pillows and added them, moving Kirsty’s head to bundle them behind her. He gave the room a final check and dragged the bag outside, with the pillows under his arm. He shoved these into the bin liner. They were still warm, despite the removal of their coverings. Next, he returned to the bedroom with a bottle of bleach from the kitchen and upended it, drenching the mattress with its contents. After allowing it a few moments to soak in, he manoeuvred the mattress so that it stood perpendicular to the bed base, steadying it with his hands as he shifted to the other side of the bed to let it down softly. When he had rearranged it neatly on the base, so neither side protruded noticeably, he doused the other side with bleach and made a final check of the room before leaving and closing the door.
He closed the laptop, stuffed it in a daypack and made one final sweep of the apartment, cramming syringes and bottles into the rucksack, and throwing towels into the bin liner.
When he had finished, he walked into Grace’s room, and followed the same routine, except that he loaded her into a large hard-sided suitcase he’d paid a premium for that morning, when he had seen her ankles and panicked.
Hurry up, he chided himself. He had plenty of time, he knew, but now wasn’t the time to relax.
Throwing Grace’s ropes and bed linen into the bin liner, he returned to the bedroom with a new bleach bottle and turned the mattress. The place still stank but it didn’t matter: there was nothing to tie him to the place. The letting agent’s eyes had lit up when he presented her with three months’ rent in cash; she hadn’t even asked him for ID. He bent down and manoeuvred the rucksack carefully onto his back, put his arms through the straps of the backpack to secure it to his front, and grabbed the bin liner. The suitcase stood by his side. Did he have everything? He wasn’t planning to return to this place.
He closed the door behind him and locked it quickly, padding to the end of the hall in bare feet. He rounded the corner cautiously. 305 was visible from the lifts, but sat down a long corridor from the main corridor, which circled the interior of the building. He knew there was little chance anyone could have gotten there that quickly, but his heart still skipped a beat.
He walked quickly to the lift, dismayed to see the car wasn’t empty when it finally arrived.
“Wow, you have a lot of baggage there, my friend,” said a genial-looking Indian man who was leaning against the bar at the back of the car.
“Yeah, I’m headed back to the States,” he said in what he hoped was a convincing accent.
“Let me help you with that,” the man replied as the lift chimed its arrival on the ground floor.
“It’s fine, thanks. I’ve got a cab waiting outside,” Daniel smiled. Shit, he thought, what if I bump into him again?
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. So you live here too?” Daniel asked, standing in the doorway.
“Yes, in 410.”
Another complication, Daniel thought, as the taxi driver loaded his baggage into the back of the car. He was getting sloppy. He berated himself all the way to the airport.
Once there, he alighted and walked into Departures, and left the building again through Arrivals.
On the way back to the city, he asked the driver to stop on a bridge. Joining the man at the back of the car, he seized the bin liner and quickly threw it over the barrier. He had noticed the surfeit of rubbish on his way to the airport. The driver watched him with a curious expression, but walked back to the driver’s door when Daniel handed him four thousand baht notes.
Back on Soi Sok Cha, Daniel walked through the lobby to the lifts. The letting agent had been delighted to help him find a new apartment for his Australian friend, and had helpfully acquired a property in the building next door to Suriani Apartments. It even had a youth hostel spanning two of the floors, he had learned at the viewing – that was why he had seen so many backpackers in the area, he now knew. It was perfect: he needed to be in close proximity to the cameras in order for him to be able to pick up their signal.
He closed the door and set the rucksack on the ground. Even though it was an expensive hiking model, his shoulders still ached from the burden of carrying it from the taxi. It had been an excruciating effort to carry it so nonchalantly, as if the contents were light.
The apartment was a similar size to the other one, except this one was more bright and modern. It was whiter than it was grey, and the floors were covered with cool tiles, rather than carpet –so oppressive in the humidity. This one was open-plan too, but the kitchen was past the living room, behind a long breakfast bar unit surrounded by tall bar stools. It had three bedrooms: he was tired of sleeping on the couch, which he’d been forced to do since Grace had turned up and left him with no choice but to surrender his bedroom.
He dragged the rucksack to the bedroom, lifted Kirsty out gently and laid her on the bed. She finally looks peaceful, he thought.
“How long until you’re like this all of the time?”
He turned and began to draw the new coil of rope from one of the rucksack’s side pockets. Something caught his eye. He turned just as Kirsty rolled her feet off the side of the bed and plunged one of his pre-filled syringes into his shoulder. He dropped the rope and grabbed at her wrist before she could depress the plunger.
“Nice try,” he said, pushing her back on the bed and pulling the needle from his arm. He winced with discomfort. He noticed she had pulled the catheter from her arm. “You weren’t fast enough though. And you should have aimed for a blood vessel.” He sighed. He had thought she’d given up struggling. “I went to a lot of effort to get you here and you repay me like this?”
“Let me go! Just let me go! How long are you going to keep me here like this?” she shrieked, struggling to fight him off. He loomed over the bed and knelt on her chest to hold her down as he thrust the needle into her arm. “Get off me! What do you think you’re going to achieve by doing this? You think I’m going to come round and be your little girlfriend? Is that it? Not a chance in hell!”
Once he’d slowly emptied the contents into her arm, he stood back, appraising her. “You’re acting like a child Kirsty. When are you going to stop?”
She turned away, movement slowed already. “You’re mad. Completely fucking mad.” The last word was drawn out unnaturally as she struggled to stay lucid.
When he was sure she was out cold, he picked up the rope he had abandoned on the floor. He set about coiling it around her and under the bed, over and under. It was laborious, but it was the best way. He couldn’t allow her to walk around the apartment yet, especially after that outburst. It worried him: he’d given her the same dosage as before. Was she starting to build tolerance to the effects?
Returning to the living room, he wheeled the suitcase into one of the other bedrooms.
Chapter 24
Outside, they crossed the road to where James waited: he had seen nothing.
“He’s probably long gone
,” Mike observed. “Let’s get back to the apartment. We can regroup.”
“That’s it, that’s all?” asked Simon, who had barely spoken all afternoon. “You don’t understand what he’s like, I shouldn’t have told you at all. I should have come alone.”
Aaron sniggered, quickly camouflaging with a cough.
They walked back to the car in silence. An air of impatience had descended on the group. The adrenaline had slumped from their bodies and they were now tired and irritable.
As they reached the cars, Paul spoke. “Aaron, you go on home. I’ll drop the guys back to the apartment,” he turned to Mike. “Just get in touch if you find out anything more. We’re not much use to you as things stand.” He reached in his pocket for the keys, and pressed the disarm button. The first car beeped unlocked. “Hey, what the fuck, man?”
A scarlet scooter had veered around the corner, coming within inches of his shiny black SUV. The driver, whose dreadlocks reached down to his shoulders, steadied himself against the bumper. He turned around sheepishly when he’d recovered his balance. “Sorry dude. I’ve never driven one of these things before.”
“Idiots,” Paul grumbled when he’d gone. “They’re all over this city. Think they can come here without a licence and suddenly drive. Hippy fool wasn’t even wearing a helmet.”
“I think we all need to relax,” Mike said, “I’ll order some food in and we can discuss what to do.”
“But, we’re wasting time,” Simon protested.
Neil ignored him. “Sounds good Mike.”
Daniel drove in a wide loop, giving them several minutes to leave before he re-entered Sok Cha Street. He drove smoothly into the underground car park.
Inside, he checked on Kirsty and Grace. Kirsty had come to, and was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. She had refused to speak to him since that day he had moved her. He was becoming tired of the strain – he doubted whether he’d ever be able to break her. He dosed her again, carefully measuring the amount. It was crucial that she be conscious that evening. He had a new plan for them all.
Grace was still unconscious. Perfect, he though.
He returned to the living room where he pulled one of the stools from the breakfast bar into the centre of the room. Sitting, he untensed all of his muscles and slouched to the side. It didn’t move. He tried again and again, leaning to the back and to the other side. When he slouched forward, the chair toppled over. He turned quickly, stopping himself from landing on his face. He got on the chair again and repeated the exercise. When he was satisfied, he went to Grace’s room and started to untie her – he didn’t have enough rope so couldn’t afford to destroy her current binding, even though it cost him time.
Once he had loosened the rope, he climbed on the bed and knelt on her stomach as he unfurled loop after loop. Finally, he looped the rope into a large coil and placed it on his shoulder, climbed off the bed and lifted Grace.
With great difficultly, he placed her in the chair. The first attempt saw her slump forward, almost toppling the chair. The second time, she slid forward, almost falling off. Eventually, he managed to secure her to the chair, with rope coiling from her chest to her ankles. Her head and shoulders lolled, but not enough to destabilise the chair. She was still out.
He was exhausted, and his evening had barely begun. Sighing, he shook out his arms and booted up the laptop. He crossed his fingers: he had been promised that the cameras were top quality and they’d been borderline at best. What if this didn’t work?
He opened the program he had installed earlier and waited for the internet connection to activate. The little blue light on the USB dongle flashed insistently for several seconds, then became a steady blue. It was slower, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice: this was a pay as you go connection paid for in cash. Untraceable.
A map appeared on the screen, annotated with flourishes of script he couldn’t understand, with their English transliterations below in fainter type. A red dot denoted the location of the transmitter he had secured to the SUV earlier. It wasn’t moving. But that didn’t mean anything. He opened the menu and scrolled down to the ‘past’ option. The red dot turned into a thin red line, and the map became a larger view of Bangkok. He followed it, seeking the starting point. He zoomed in and followed it back to its current location, noting that there had been no stops along the way.
His laptop beeped, and the red dot began to move. He checked to see how long the vehicle had stopped for. They must be at the apartment. He praised himself for arriving outside when he had – any later and he wouldn’t have heard the American tell the others he’d drop them off. Who knew how long it would have taken him to get to Simon in that case? He scribbled down the coordinates and ran a search in Google maps. It didn’t reveal much; it was just another corporate apartment block, like his and countless others in Bangkok, filled with transient foreigners and wealthy locals. It was close, he noticed, hardly a mile away.
He smiled. It was his game again now.
Neil crossed the room and sprawled out on one of the white leather couches before Mike had even closed the door. Simon had shuffled in between them, and now hovered between the seating area and the front door. Mike walked straight to the kitchen and withdrew three beers from the fridge.
“Here you go, have one,” he walked over, holding out two bottles. “It’s Singha, the local stuff. It’s a bit acrid, but it’ll do under the circumstances.”
Neil took his gratefully and drank thirstily.
Simon looked askance. “Surely we should be doing something instead of going on the lash?”
“It’s a beer, man,” Mike replied, looking at Neil and screwing up his face.
Neil stood up, seemingly reenergised. “Let’s go out for a bit. I’m sick of standing around in stuffy apartments.”
This one was frigid: the air-conditioning was set to the minimum it seemed. It stood in contrast to Daniel’s apartment, which was as humid as a sauna.
Simon grew enraged, his knuckles whitening around the brown bottle neck. “Seriously?”
“You can stay here if you want?” Neil looked at Mike for confirmation. The other man nodded.
“Fine,” Simon agreed incredulously. “How do I get online? I’ll do some digging while you two are out trawling for whores.”
“Don’t worry, mate,” Neil smiled. “I can bring you back one if you like?”
Simon seethed as they left.
“Don’t wait up,” Neil called as he closed the door.
Daniel replaced the dreadlock wig on his head and walked to the bathroom to fix it. Had Simon recognised him? He couldn’t be sure.
He patted his stomach unconsciously; the gun was still there. He’d taped it on earlier: Kirsty and Grant had been easy, but he might need it now.
Maybe Simon had grown a pair, he thought, smiling. “Yeah right,” he snorted.
He tweaked the wig some more before looking back in the mirror, satisfied.
In the car park, he jumped on the little scooter. He’d had one as a child; only for roaming around his parents’ rambling estate. It had been extremely difficult for him to feign ignorance of the thing, but necessary. Those men weren’t stupid.
He held his phone in one hand, steadying the steering with the other. He didn’t need the map: he had practically memorised the route. Right, left, straight, sharp left and he’d be there.
Even though it was early evening, the air was still muggy. He longed for the cool crisp air of home. He watched the steady stream of tourists and expats with distain; their chests puffed out like peacocks as they strutted along with pubescent Thai girls at their sides. He abhorred the false bravado.
He was almost there now, just another block to go. Then it would all be over. He’d feel lonesome without Simon, who had been his companion for half his lifetime. He shook his head. It’s not healthy, he thought. He had tried to rationalise his feelings – paying a professional to do so seemed dangerous in his case – but his explanations had always bee
n lacking.
He scolded himself for navel-gazing as he pulled into a side street across from his destination. He looked up at the building opposite. He was sure it was this one: there only was an abandoned warehouse across the road. White-yellow rectangles peppered the facade in seemingly random order. He had no way of knowing which ones he should be looking up at. In any case, it didn’t matter. He fished his phone from his pocket. He had bought a bill-free phone as well – he was anonymous now. He held it to his ear. It was ringing.
“Hello,” a voice responded at the other end of the line. Simon. Unmistakable. There was no noise in the background.
“Where are you?” Daniel asked.
A pause.
“I’m in an apartment. What have you done with her?” Simon asked, sounding calm.
Daniel wondered at this. Had his friend changed?
“Come on Simon, you know I don’t like questions. Where’s the apartment?”
“In Bangkok somewhere. I don’t know.”
“Who’s with you?”
Simon hesitated. “No one.”
“You sure? It doesn’t matter. I want you to meet me alone. I don’t care what you tell them. You know what I’ll do to Kirsty if you bring anyone else along.”
“I’m on my own, I told you,” Simon snapped.
“Calm down, Simon. Who are those friends of yours? Big lads.”
Simon sighed.
“There’s an alley beside the Bulldog Bar. Meet me there in five minutes,” Daniel instructed.
“Five minutes, but I–”
“You’ll find it Simon. It’s not far.”
“But –”
Daniel hung up and waited, watching the building’s entrance. Two minutes later, he watched as the door opened and Simon exited the building, looked around and turned left. He watched him until he reached the junction with Sukumvit Road and turned right. Daniel waited, excitement shooting through him.
Captured Page 14
