Behind the Night Bazaar (25 page)

‘Look, I haven’t got much time,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain it all later, I promise. What you need to know is that I’ve solved the case.’

‘What?’

‘Nou’s murder, and Didier’s,’ she said. ‘I’ve got proof, Max. A whole wad of evidence to show how the Chiang Mai cops conspired with an Australian, Doug Kelly, to kill Nou and frame Didier. They were trying to discredit him because he was going to expose a child sex racket that Kelly operates with police protection.’

There was a moment of what Jayne took to be stunned silence on the end of the line.

‘God, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ Max said finally. ‘I mean, it sounds absurd, but that’s precisely the sort of thing Didier would stumble into. So he’s innocent!’

‘I’m glad we see eye to eye on that at last.’ She sensed him squirm.

‘Of course I’m relieved,’ he said quickly, ‘but it’s almost too much to take in. I mean, where does this leave you?’

‘I’m going to send you a parcel with all the details,’ she said. ‘Mark—that’s the AFP officer—is poised to arrest Kelly tomorrow morning. He wants to bring the cops down, too, by leaking the story to the press, including the stuff about Didier.’

‘Going after the Thai police doesn’t sound like the sort of thing the AFP would condone.’

Max’s comment confirmed her suspicions.

‘I don’t know much about the official side of things,’ she said. ‘Let’s just say I have my doubts. That’s why I want to send you this parcel, Max. You’re the only person I can trust.’

‘You might think flattery will get you everywhere, my dear,’ he said tersely, ‘but I don’t like the sound of this one bit. You promised to come back once you’d spoken with David.’

She muttered a profanity about his Canadian counterpart that made Max laugh in spite of himself.

‘Look, I’m sending this parcel to you as one friend to another, but if anything should happen to me, I need you to promise you’ll pass it on to Gavan at the
Bangkok Post
. Will you do that?’

Max made no effort to conceal his alarm. ‘What do you mean, if anything should happen to you?’ he cried. ‘For heaven’s sake, Jayne! You broke your promise to return to Bangkok and now you expect me to—’

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’ She kept her tone calm. ‘But I need you to promise. Do it for Didier.’

Her words had the desired effect.

‘Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from doing whatever it is you’re planning to do?’ he said feebly.

‘Frankly, no.’

‘Jayne, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’

‘I’ll be fine. Look, I’m running out of coins. I’m at the post office now and I’ll send this parcel express. You should get it tomorrow morning. Please don’t reveal the contents to anyone unless…I’ll call again tomorrow at midday, OK?’

‘Good luck, my dear,’ he cried as the warning beeps sounded.

‘Thanks—’ The line went dead.

Ratratarn frowned into the receiver and asked the secretary to repeat what she’d just said. He’d heard correctly. A farang woman by the name of Jayne Keeney was waiting to see him. Hanging up the phone, Ratratarn reached for his pistol and placed it on the desk behind a pile of papers. Then he sat back and waited for her to enter.

Her hair colour no longer matched their official description. She wasn’t tall for a farang and apart from her green eyes, there was nothing striking in her appearance. She looked ordinary, able to pass for a tourist in the street. Ratratarn supposed that was how she’d succeeded in evading them.

She paused inside the doorway. Folding his arms, he waited for her to speak. After a lengthy silence, he cleared his throat.

‘Please, Khun—Jayne, wasn’t it?’

She bowed her head.

‘Please close the door behind you and take a seat.’ He gestured to a chair in front of his desk and forced a smile as she took her place. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘
Kor thort ka,
Sir,’ she said, ‘I thought
you
wanted to see
me
.’

Ratratarn eyed her sharply. Her Thai was near perfect. She used the courteous form of address, referring to herself as ‘little sister’, and kept her eyes downcast as she spoke. He couldn’t tell whether she was nervous or impertinent.

‘It’s true we wanted to interview you,’ he said, ‘a routine matter. We were gathering background information on the Canadian who murdered Khun Sanga Siamprakorn last weekend. But the investigation is now closed. I’m afraid your visit was unnecessary. I apologise for any inconvenience.’

‘It’s no inconvenience, Sir,’ she said.

‘Well, then…’ Ratratarn waved his hand, giving her an excuse to leave. She remained in her seat.

‘Is there something you wanted to tell me?’ he said.

‘Well, yes, Sir,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell you a story.’

Ratratarn snorted, sat back and lit a Krung Thep.

‘May I join you?’ The woman held up a packet of her own.

He pushed his ashtray, half-filled with butts, across the table. Jayne lit a cigarette and, still averting her gaze, began to speak.

‘It’s a very strange story, Sir. It’s about a man who had a dark secret. He entrusted only one friend with this secret, but then another person guessed it. The man was desperate to guard his secret, but didn’t think he could do it alone. So he asked his friend to help him and together they had the person killed. The man thought all his problems would be over. But instead of giving him peace of mind, it only made things worse as now he had both a secret and a murder to hide.’

She paused to exhale smoke.

‘Then the man had an idea. He could cover up the murder by having someone else killed and making it look as if they were responsible. He did this, again with the help of his friend, all the while thinking it would protect his secret. But, of course, it only made matters even worse as now he had a secret and two murders to hide.’

Ratratarn wondered where she was taking this.

‘With each of these incidents,’ she said, ‘the man attracted more and more attention to himself, to the point where a young police officer got wise. You may not believe what happened next, Sir, but—crazy as it sounds—the man and his friend decided to kill the police officer to protect the original secret. Needless to say, he was worse off than ever, as now he had a secret and three murders to hide. A case of
chang tai thang tua bai bua put mai mit
, wouldn’t you say?’

Ratratarn frowned. ‘A case of covering a dead elephant with a lotus leaf?’

‘Well, of course,’ Jayne said, ‘humans are a lot easier to hide than elephants—at least, until the bodies start piling up.’

She sat back in her chair and, for the first time since she’d entered the office, her gaze met Ratratarn’s own through their cigarette smoke.

‘So, how does your little story end?’ he said.

‘That depends, Sir. There are a number of possible endings. See if you like this one. After the death of the policeman, the man’s friend decides he can’t stomach any more killings. Realising the man’s secret was never worthy of his protection in the first place, the friend turns on the man, exposes his crimes and is hailed as a hero throughout the land.’ She extinguished her cigarette. ‘What do you think of that ending, Sir?’

‘Hmm,’ he said, deciding to humour her. ‘I don’t think that’s a very realistic ending, do you? I mean, wouldn’t it be in the friend’s interests to continue protecting the man by eradicating all who threatened him?’

‘I guess that depends on who’s serving whom,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘If the man with the secret is the one calling the shots, then the friend will continue to protect him. But what if the friend’s in charge?’

Ratratarn raised an eyebrow. ‘Then it would be up to the friend to take control of the situation,’ he said.

‘One might question why he hasn’t done so already,’ she said.

Ratratarn spoke as if thinking aloud. ‘Business relationships are complex,’ he said. ‘Money made by unsavoury means can be purified when put to the right uses. The reverse is also true: money provided for good purposes can do terrible harm. It’s all a question of order and distribution.’

‘That’s a very interesting theory, Lieutenant Colonel.’ She sounded genuine. ‘Tell me, what can you do with blood money to make it clean?’

‘There are village investment schemes—’ He stopped, aware of her eyes on him again. Though there was no insolence in her voice, it was clear in the look on her face.

‘Enough!’ he said, angrily butting out his cigarette. He moved the papers on his desk aside so the pistol was in view, the barrel pointing at her. ‘No more stories, Khun Jayne, no more theories. Just tell me everything you know.’

The gun terrified her. The blood seemed to drain from her face and for a moment, she looked as if she might cry. Then the ghost of a smile played across her lips.

‘Exactly what do you have in mind, Lieutenant Colonel?’ she said. ‘Another farang suspect accidentally shot dead while to trying to avoid arrest?’ Her voice trembled, but she was no longer looking at the gun. She was looking at him.

‘You’d better make sure you have a second empty bullet casing to leave at the scene,’ she added, ‘just like you did for Didier.’

Ratratarn narrowed his eyes and looked from Jayne Keeney to the pistol and back again. ‘Actually, I have plenty of options,’ he said. ‘You know, it’s not uncommon for an ignorant farang to wander into the wrong part of town and end up with a bullet in the head.’

He clucked his teeth. ‘Sad as I am to admit it, there are some bad elements in this place and attacks on foreigners can be horrific. Face blown away, all personal effects stolen. Makes it difficult, if not impossible, to make a positive ID on the victim. Terrible tragedy that. Family back home might never know.’

She swallowed hard, her face paler than ever. ‘Be a shame to mess up your office,’ she said, gesturing towards the gun.

Ratratarn admired her attempt at bravado, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

‘Oh, this!’ he said, picking up the pistol and waving it from side to side. ‘This has multiple uses, you know. Quick blow to the back of the head and—oh dear!—looks like my visitor has passed out. Better hand her over to Sergeant Pornsak to drive her home. Should the corpse of a farang woman turn up the following day, Sergeant Pornsak will be adamant it couldn’t be the same woman, since he saw to it personally that she got to her hotel safely.’

‘Ah, y-yes, Lieutenant Colonel,’ she said quickly, her voice shaking. ‘I meant to talk with you about Sergeant Pornsak. I presume he was acting on your orders when he went to the Kitten Club on his own last night.’

Ratratarn did a double take. The last time he’d seen Pornsak was at the canal when he’d left him to get rid of Komet’s body. Pornsak knew better than to meet with Kelly alone. She had to be bluffing.

‘Look, I’m getting tired of all these…these allegations,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you know.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Think of everything you hope I don’t know,’ she said, ‘and believe me, I know it.’

‘No fucking way—’

‘Kelly’s role in Sanga’s death, your role in Didier’s, every piece of manufactured evidence. I know it all—apart from the details of Officer Komet’s death,’ she corrected herself. ‘But I assume you got Pornsak to take care of that. He had a certain expression on his face when I saw him last night—like a hunter fresh from a kill. Look, I’ll show you.’

She held her hands palms outward and gestured towards her bag. Ratratarn tightened his grip on the gun, but nodded for her to continue.

‘You see what I mean?’ she said, holding out the photograph.

Ratratarn stared at a picture of Pornsak poised to enter the Kitten Club, date and time recorded in one corner. The sergeant did have a look on his face that seemed more smug than usual.

‘I must admit,’ she said, placing the photograph on the desk to face him, ‘I thought it was odd. I mean, the pay-off with Kelly isn’t due till tonight, right?’

‘Damn that motherfucker Komet!’

‘Sir, if I might make a suggestion,’ she said, the polite tone returning to her voice. ‘There’s a way of solving all our problems—a solution that’s in our mutual interests and doesn’t require…ah, violence.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Do you need that,’ she gestured at the weapon, ‘to improve your hearing?’

‘No,’ Ratratarn replied with a sneer, ‘but it often improves the ability of the person I’m interviewing to articulate themselves.’

He sat back in his chair, the gun still pointed at Jayne.

‘Here’s the idea,’ she said. ‘You hold a press conference to announce new findings into last weekend’s deaths: namely, that it was Doug Kelly and not Didier de Montpasse who was responsible for the murder of Sanga Siamprakorn. You’ll need to issue a statement fully exonerating Didier and expressing the heartfelt regrets of the Chiang Mai police over his death, etcetera, etcetera.’

‘This is a joke, right!’ Ratratarn said.

‘On the contrary, Sir. I’m making a significant concession in not demanding you retract the charge that Didier was resisting arrest when he was shot, since we know that wasn’t the case.’

Ratratarn said nothing. In a strange way, he found the farang woman’s attempt to cut a deal with him amusing.

‘Secondly,’ she continued, ‘regarding Officer Komet, you say something to the effect that he was tragically killed in the line of duty, and his expectant widow will be fully provided for by the police pension fund.’

The woman wasn’t just naive, Ratratarn thought, she was delusional.

‘And tell me, Khun Jayne,’ he said with exaggerated interest, ‘what compelling grounds do the Chiang Mai police have for complying with these demands of yours? What could you possibly offer in exchange for such…such extraordinary requests?’

‘The guarantee of my silence.’

‘What?’ he snorted. ‘That’s it?’

She shrugged.

‘I’m afraid you overestimate your importance.’ The game was no longer amusing him. He stood up and moved beside her, allowing the gun barrel to rest against her temple. ‘I have myriad ways to guarantee your silence.’

He saw her swallow hard, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

‘Ah, I-I have no doubt about that, Sir,’ she said, the fear returning to her voice. ‘I underestimate neither your resourcefulness n-nor your intelligence, which is why I’ve sent all the information I have to a friend in Bangkok. He’s been instructed to release the information to the press if something happens to me.’