The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook (32 page)

‘This one sounds the best,’ said Suchada. ‘Khoon stars in it, but Warin gets a mention in the review. “Warin’s emotional performance as a power-crazy cop is electrifying. He well-deserved his best support actor nomination.”’ She flipped another disk over. ‘This one’s good—I’ve seen it. Warin plays the pilot of an aircraft with a hijacker on it. The plane crashes and he —’

‘Aiyeeah,’ Wong complained. ‘Can you go read video box someplace else?’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Joyce. ‘Keep yer hair on.’ She stood up, ready to move away.

But the
feng shui
master’s eyebrows suddenly rose. ‘Aiyeeah!’ he said again. ‘
Gung-hai-la!

’ Joyce was pleased for a chance to show off that she actually understood a Chinese phrase. ‘What do you mean, “Of course”?’ she asked. ‘Of course what?’

The
feng shui
master urgently needed to go back to the theatre as quickly as he could. Traffic was gridlocked, so Suchada led them to a jetty where they could get a river ferry.

On the geomancer’s instructions, Joyce had phoned Sergeant Chatchai, summoning him for an important meeting. The slim officer appeared ten minutes later on his motorcycle at the jetty.

‘
Sa-wat dee,
’ he said with a little bow.

‘Good thing you were close,’ said Joyce. ‘Traffic’s awful.’

‘I not close,’ Chatchai replied. ‘But on this wery fas’.’ He gestured at the bike. ‘But mus’ be quick-quick. Wery busy today.’

With a spray of water, the ferry arrived beside them.

‘Come,’ said Wong. ‘We talk on boat.’

They clambered unsteadily onto the rocking vessel. After the
feng shui
master had found his feet and wobbled to a seat, the four of them sat in a row at the back.

Wong pulled out Joyce’s video cover showing Warin Krung-wong. From his other pocket, he produced a thick marker pen. ‘Here is one movie star. Now watch please.’

He started scribbling on the photo with the marker.

‘Hey, that’s mine,’ Joyce objected. ‘You’re spoiling it.’

Wong continued to draw until he had added a peaked cap to Warin’s head. Then he drew glasses on him and blackened his cheeks. He added a moustache. After surveying his handiwork for a moment, he added epaulettes to the shirt and drew a collar and tie. He turned to the police officer. ‘Is this the driver you interview?’

Sergeant Chatchai studied the photograph for a long time before replying. ‘May be drywer,’ he said, slowly. ‘Yes, may be drywer.’

The
feng shui
man looked the officer in the eye. ‘Please think carefully. You said you thought driver was telling truth. But maybe actor was playing role of driver. Maybe quite good actor was playing role of driver.’

Wong pulled out a fuzzy mugshot of a thin-faced individual with buck teeth. It looked like an employee’s identity card photo blown up with a computer. ‘Or was this the man you interview?’

‘No,’ said Sergeant Chatchai. ‘No see this guy before.’

Suchada put her fingernails to her teeth in nervous excitement. ‘So you think maybe the driver he interviewed was
Warin
? Warin with a load of make-up? How did you know?’

‘I did not know,’ said Wong. ‘But I suspect something is not right. Sergeant Chatchai here said driver does not know what kind of car bashes him. This very strange. For drivers, cars are whole life. Usually they know
every
type of car. That makes me think driver’s story not true. Also, driver said Warin was in back seat. But servants say he was in front. Then I know that the man police talk to is liar.’

Silence descended as the four of them dealt with the implications of this revelation. If the main premise on which the entire case was based was false, all assumptions changed. The boat chugged briskly down the Chao Phraya River, its engine throbbing a powerful rhythm.

‘That’s why the police couldn’t find any witnesses to the kidnap,’ Suchada said. ‘Because it didn’t happen.’

‘There was no assailan’,’ Chatchai said.

‘There was no kidnappers’ car,’ Suchada added. ‘That’s why police couldn’t even find skidmarks on the road.’ She yanked her phone out of her bag: ‘I need to tell Mr Plod-prasad this right away.’

A little over ten minutes later, the four of them were on the
stage of the second auditorium at Star City Ventures. There were more than a dozen people walking around with costumes and parts of theatrical sets. A woman wearing a huge papier mâché mask, supported by a man on either side, was carefully walking along a white line chalked in the middle of the stage. Preparations were in hand for a production of
West Side Story
in
khon
masked-dance style.

Suchada had given a rundown of Wong’s thinking to her
superior.

‘So you think the driver police interviewed was Warin? But
what happened to the real driver? Who did what to whom?’ Plodprasad asked. ‘I’m confused.’ The old man wearily sat down in a front-row seat.

Wong, whose legs were also hurting from his over-active
day, sat down next to him. He explained: ‘Warin sat in front passenger seat and switch on some gas thing. Silent, quiet, dangerous. I think maybe he roll it under his seat and point it backward so gas go on back-seat passengers first.’

‘Khoon Boontawee and Ing Suswadee.’

‘Yes. Mr Khoon and Ms Ing get dizzy, go sleep quickly. Warin very clever. He close off chauffeur dividing panel, privacy panel, to keep gas in back-seat area.’

Suchada agreed. ‘That makes sense. So Khoon and Suswadee are out cold before they know what’s going on.’

Wong nodded. ‘As soon as victims asleep, Warin get rid of gas canister. He get driver to take him to hideout near Samut Prakarn.’

‘So the driver is in cahoots with Warin? Is that what you’re saying?’ Plodprasad’s fuzzy white eyebrows rose against his dark brow.

‘Don’t know exactly,’ the
feng shui
master replied. ‘Maybe actor is paying driver lots of money. Anyway, they hide unconscious bodies. Driver he disappears, runs away. Warin he dress up, pretend he is driver, he goes and gently crashes car into tree and then give statement to first officer who comes along.’

‘Who just happens to be Police Sergeant Chatchai Suttanu,’ said Plodprasad.

Sergeant Chatchai proudly pointed to himself. ‘
Pom.
’

‘Then he goes back to kidnap house and waits.’

Suchada asked: ‘Waits for what?’

‘For us,’ says Wong. ‘Waits for investigators and media to start working. All going to plan perfectly. Suddenly, small, not very good, action movie is front-page news on every newspaper. Story of mystery disappearance is on TV, even probably on international news in oversea countries. Everybody talking about three stars. Everybody know their names.’

‘Is that what he wanted? Just publicity? It’s a great stunt, but you can hire PR companies to get publicity for you.’

‘No, he wants more than that,’ says Wong. ‘Look at VCDs of Joyce. Warin always number two, number three. Always support actor. Khoon Boontawee always number one, always star. But in this real-life movie drama, Warin want to be number one.’

‘So how is going to do that?’

‘Because he is playing special role. Role which will make him very famous. He is going to be hero who escapes from kidnappers and rescues colleagues. Rescues Khoon and Ing. Who are in support roles only. Warin going to be number one star in this story.’

Plodprasad looked from Wong to Suchada and back again. ‘It all sounds rather fanciful to me. But who knows? Whatever you say, I guess there is nothing to do but sit and wait.’

Sergeant Chatchai left to recover his motorbike and get back on patrol, but his seat in the front row of the theatre was almost immediately taken up by another officer. Major-General Thienthong’s third (and favourite) daughter had a minor role in the dance-drama being rehearsed and he was delighted to spend the day at Star City using the kidnapping incident as an excuse.

The lights dimmed. The overcrowded stage was suddenly empty. A run-through of a
khon
scene started to unfold on stage.

The noble God-King, Phra Ram, danced across the stage. His face was an intricate mask of finely-painted red-lined features on a white background, topped with a glittering gold crown.

Suchada whispered to Joyce: ‘The masks are made with up to twenty layers of paper. We use a special paper made from tree bark called
khoi.
It takes years to learn how to do it.’

‘They’re gorgeous.’

‘All the teeth on Hanuman—that’s the monkey-general over there—are made from real ivory, and the jewels in his crown are made from glass and semi-precious stones.’

They watched scenes from the
Ramakian
for almost two hours.

Then they heard the doors at the back of the auditorium creak open. Someone had entered the theatre. Wong turned his head to see a young woman wave urgently from the back. It turned out to be Plodprasad’s secretary. She skipped nimbly down the stairs, her face flushed with excitement.

‘Call for you, sir, very urgent.’

‘Who is it?’ Plodprasad asked.

‘One of the kidnapped actors, sir.’

The group sitting in the front row rose to its feet as one man. Everyone stared at the secretary.

‘It’s Warin Krungwong, sir,’ she said. ‘Shall I transfer the call down here?’

‘Let me speak to him,’ said Major-General Thienthong.

Wong raised his hand. ‘No. Let Mr Plodprasad speak to him. But Mr Plodprasad: Tell him that media is here. Media wants to take picture of him. He will like that, I think.’

The secretary returned to her desk at a sprint to transfer the call to the telephone in the star dressing room that Wong and McQuinnie had
feng shui-
ed the previous day.

Minutes later, a light flashed on the green handset on the dressing table, and Plodprasad picked it up, at the same time pressing a button to activate a built-in speaker.

‘Krungwong, is that you? Can you speak English—the international media are here.’

‘Sardsud. Thank God! Call the police, we’ve been kidnapped.’

‘I know. The police are here too. We’ve been looking for you for the past twenty-four hours. Where are you, man? Are you safe? Are the others with you?’

‘We’re in some sort of old barn in Samut Prakarn. I saw a sign on a factory out of the window. But we’re safe.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t remember very well. We were being driven along when some car comes up and fires a gas thing into our car. We all black out. Next thing I know, I wake up to find I’m all tied up in a locked room with no windows. I woke up about two hours ago. Ing and Khoon are with me, but they’re still unconscious.’

‘How did you get away?’

‘I managed to wriggle out of the ropes that were holding me. Then I kicked down the door. Then I dragged poor old Khoon and Ing out of the building. Ing is coming round a bit, although she is still very dizzy and delirious. She can walk a bit. Khoon is still out cold. I had to carry him to safety. So much for the Street Fighter Dragon. Ha! He must have a pretty weak metabolism.’

The police officer took the handset from the theatre director. ‘Mr Warin. This is Major-General Thienthong Sukata speaking. I’m going to send some men over to get you. Are you in any immediate danger?’

‘Depends on when and if the kidnappers come back,’ said Warin. ‘And if they decide to search the area for us.’

‘Stay low and hidden. We have cars in the area that can reach you within minutes. Can you give us more precise directions as to where to find you?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Warin. ‘I know this area a bit. Go to the main roundabout on the way in to Samut Prakarn from Bangkok and take the third left by the old farm. I think if you go straight for a couple of kilometres, you’ll see an old brick barn on the left-hand side. That’s where we’re hiding.’

‘We’re on our way.’

‘Be quick.’ Warin rang off.

Plodprasad held up one finger for the police officer’s attention. ‘Get your men to take them to hospital first, give them a good check-up. If Mr Wong’s theory is right, and it is looking good so far, my guess is that Khoon and Suswadee will be full of gas fumes, and Warin Krungwong will be mysteriously clear of them.’

Major-General Thienthong Sukata marched out of the green and red dressing room, leaving a stunned and inert group behind him. The frozen tableau was broken when the theatre general manager came back to life with a chuckle.