Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness (28 page)

NOT SOMEONE YOU WOULD EVER EXPECT TO COMMIT A CRIME

M
aewfawbaahn
was still sound asleep when a harsh, mechanical chirping sound filled her small bedroom. After a moment spent contemplating the likelihood of an invasion of robot birds, Ladarat reached over blindly in the dark, and succeeded only in swatting her little phone onto the floor. Undaunted by this rough treatment, her phone kept chirping relentlessly until she leaned over and found it under the bed.

As she picked up the phone, part of her mind registered the time in the upper-right-hand corner.

Five thirty-four.

Five thirty-four in the morning? On a Saturday? Who on earth would be calling her that early?

But she knew who it was. That is to say, she used her powers of deduction to determine who the caller
had
to be. Suddenly wide awake and giddy with excitement, she pressed “Answer.”

“Khun Ladarat? We found your woman,” the mamasan said without preamble.

“Ah,” Ladarat said. She felt that in this moment something more emphatic was called for. But she was surprised to find that she had no idea what she should say now. They’d progressed beyond the bounds of detection. What should they do?

“Should we… tell Khun Wiriya?”

“I already have. And I told Peaflower that her man just happens to be in Chiang Mai on business today and tomorrow. She’ll meet him at the House of Rooster Happiness at five o’clock this afternoon.”

Clearing her head, Ladarat grasped the tail of a thought she’d had as she was drifting off to sleep last night.

“Could you text me her picture that she posted on her profile?”

“Of course, Khun. But why?”

And Ladarat explained what she had in mind.

“That is very careful thinking,” Wipaporn said admiringly. “You are a real detective, for certain.”

Ladarat knew enough about this businesswoman and her “business” to suspect that such flattery came easily to her. But she also realized that didn’t really bother her. Perhaps it was even true? Perhaps she was really a detective?

A week ago that immodest ambition would have embarrassed her. But now it seemed silly not to consider it. Wasn’t she helping to track down a killer? And wasn’t that what detectives did? Her phone bleeped a message and the picture of a young woman appeared.

So this was Peaflower.

It was strange indeed to be looking at this woman’s face after such a hunt. Especially since she seemed so… plain. She was pretty, of course. She wouldn’t be successful in her… activities if she were not. With a rounded, heart-shaped face and a slightly pointed chin, she had the soft, gentle features of a girl from Isaan.

She also had bright green eyes and what seemed to be long hair pinned up in a bun. And although the resolution on Ladarat’s phone was limited, it seemed as though Peaflower had left a few wisps of hair free that tickled the back of her neck. She wore simple diamond stud earrings—just two—and a thin silver necklace.

She seemed… demure. The perfect picture of a young woman looking for a stable, solid husband to take care of, and who would take care of her in return. Not someone you would point to and say, “This woman, she is a murderess!” Not someone you would ever expect to commit a crime.

“That is amazing.” Ladarat recognized that wasn’t the most professional response, but it really was amazing. And Wipaporn didn’t seem to mind.

“I know—I’m surprised, too. It was so easy.”

But maybe too easy. “You’re sure that she’s the right woman?”

“I’ve met her before,” was all Wipaporn said. Of course, she would have seen the woman’s pictures as she arranged other meetings with other men.

“Besides,” Wipaporn said, “Who else would be so interested in Khun Wiriya?”

Ladarat thought about that question for what felt like a full minute after she’d ended the call. Who indeed?

And she was still thinking about that question twenty minutes later as she tried to go back to sleep. For a short time, she thought that a return to sleep might be possible. But now
Maewfawbaahn
was awake. And once he was up, there was no point in thinking about sleep.

He was half sitting like a sphinx on the pillow next to her head, staring at her with a strange and almost unworldly attention. She felt a little like how a mouse might feel, finding herself eye-to-eye with such a determined predator. The cat wouldn’t blink, and his attention didn’t waver.

It was just as well she was awake. She yawned and stretched. So much to do today. There was the coming inspection, of course. And the American. And the man in the ICU waiting room—she needed to find some plan for him before the inspectors arrived on Monday.

It was that problem more than anything else—even more than
Maewfawbaahn
’s unflinching stare—that convinced her she might as well get up. This was not unusual, after all. She often worked much of the weekend. Too much perhaps?

But she enjoyed her quiet time, too. Sitting in her garden, reading. Or perhaps strolling the markets by the river to hunt down the freshest mangoes and papayas and strawberries. In fact, Ladarat had thought that this might be one such weekend. Certainly she’d earned it.

And perhaps it still could be. She would go to the hospital early and do what she could. Perhaps no one would notice that she was there? Perhaps she would be able to work just half a day? Then there might be a trip to the market, and perhaps the booksellers. And perhaps a cup of tea by the Ping River.

THE POWER OF GOOD NEWS

L
adarat held that hope in her mind all the way to the hospital. And even as she walked down the still, dark basement hallway, she was imagining the market stalls piled with fresh strawberries and dragonfruit and the tiny bite-size apple bananas that were so sweet.

But that hope didn’t last long. She’d just arrived in her office and had barely put her bag in her desk drawer when the phone rang. Involuntarily she looked at her watch. Seven o’clock? Who thought she would be in her office at this hour on a Saturday?

The answer, apparently, was the ICU nurses. There’d been a “development” in the American’s case. That was all the nurse would tell her. There’d been a development and could she please come as soon as possible?

She could. Why not?

And, too, she was worried. Very worried. Any development in the American’s case was unlikely to be a good one. She ran through a list of possibilities as she made her way down the still-deserted basement hallway and pressed the elevator button. Too distracted even to wrestle over whether she should take the elevator or the stairs. So the elevator won by default. It was a relief, frankly, not to think about something for a change.

Unfortunately, choosing the quick way up six floors gave her less time to think about what might be waiting for her. Still, she knew it wasn’t that the American had died. The nurse would simply have said so. Perhaps his family was creating a disturbance? But again, she would have said that. What would be so strange—or so uncomfortable—that she wouldn’t have wanted to try to explain over the phone?

There really was only one explanation, and Ladarat had just reached that conclusion by the time she walked quickly through the waiting room. On the way, she noticed with some relief that the strange man was not there, but that was the only mental detour she had time for. A minute later, at the nurses’ station, she found the head nurse and three other nurses, clustered together with Suphit Jainukul.

They all looked up expectantly as she crossed the floor. It seemed as though they were waiting… for her. Why?

But she was pretty certain that she knew.

“The American is… awake?”

Their expressions convinced her that she was not wrong. Only the director nodded, though. The others seemed too confused to say anything. In their confusion they deferred to the director, who just smiled.

“Ah,” he said simply. “You heard.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was simple deduction. As Professor Dalrymple said, if you remove every explanation that is impossible, what remains—however unlikely—has to be the true explanation. Or words to that effect.

Then Khun Suphit beckoned to her and the two of them crossed the room to stand outside the glass door of the American’s room. His face was still very puffy, and his head was swathed in bandages, but…

“He woke up so suddenly early this morning that he pulled the breathing tube out of his trachea before anyone could react. We thought of replacing it, but he seemed to be awake and breathing on his own. We sedated him just a little so he wouldn’t struggle, but he’s starting to wake up now.” Indeed, they could see his eyes were open.

What was even more surprising was the presence of the hospital’s assistant nurse ethicist by his bedside. As they watched, Sisithorn laid a compress on his forehead and seemed to be talking to him. One could only imagine what she was saying. Whatever it was, though, seemed to calm the young American. His eyes closed and he fell asleep as they stood there. Sisithorn beckoned to another nurse who had materialized next to her and they traded places. Then she squirted some hand sanitizer from a dispenser by the door and offered a
wai
to both of them before rubbing the alcohol mixture into her skin.

“Ah, Khun, you have heard?”

Ladarat nodded, wondering with a small part of her brain how Sisithorn had learned about this before she did. It was not appropriate for her assistant to be called in first. Not appropriate at all.

She turned to the director, but before she could frame a question, he said that Sisithorn had been there already. She had been there, he said, just as the American began to show signs of waking up.

“So diligent,” he said, smiling. “You are fortunate indeed to have such an assistant.”

“Indeed,” was all she said.

The director smiled and nodded. “Your assistant has taken a very strong interest in this case, it seems.”

Well, there would be time to sort this out later. For now, there was only one question that needed to be asked.

“Have you told the family?”

Now the director looked sheepish. “Not yet… it’s still early. But of course we need to. It’s just that…”

“They will be surprised?”

“That, and they will think that we were stupid to be so… pessimistic just yesterday.” The director grinned in embarrassment. “Just yesterday, I said that he wouldn’t survive. And now here he is—awake.” He shook his head. “It makes us look foolish.”

What he didn’t say was potentially even worse—that he would look foolish in front of any inspectors who reviewed this case. The inspector would see what they told the family. And he would see that the doomed patient was alive now… That would be bad. That would be very bad.

But there was nothing to be done. And besides, what was important was that the American seemed like he might recover. So that was what she told the director.

“His family will be very pleased,” she suggested. “So pleased, that they will forget everything they’d been told.”

The good physician didn’t look convinced. Nor did Sisithorn. So Ladarat turned to her assistant. “Do you remember when you got this job?”

Sisithorn nodded respectfully, her eyes fixed on the linoleum tile beneath their feet. “Of course, Khun.”

“You said everyone had told you that you would never be hired. That there were hundreds of very strong applicants. That you wouldn’t stand a chance. Am I right?”

Sisithorn nodded. “You are right, Khun.”

“So when you found out you got the job, were you angry at the people who told you those things?”

Sisithorn shook her head.

“No, of course you weren’t. You were simply happy to have the job. That is the power of good news—it allows us to forget everything that came before.” She turned back to the director. “And that is what this family will feel. They will be so happy—and so grateful—that they will not dwell on what you’ve said in the past.”

The director smiled a genuine smile. “Well,” he said, “you know Americans. And how they think.”

The inspectors, of course, were another matter entirely. But they would cross that bridge when they came to it. In the meantime, they would need to tell the family. Ladarat was just thinking about how to do that when Sisithorn volunteered. She would go with Dr. Wattana, she said. They were here when the American woke up, so it was only right.

Dr. Wattana? It took Ladarat a moment. Ah, the ICU fellow who looked like a bespectacled stork.

Then one of the nurses was waving frantically at the director and pointing to the phone in her hand. He shrugged and thanked Sisithorn.

When they were alone, Ladarat asked Sisithorn what she would say to the Americans. “What are you going to tell them? You must make certain not to cast aspersions on his doctors, you understand? You must be very careful…”

She trailed off. She sounded, she knew, like an overprotective parent. Sisithorn was smart and capable. And she had a relationship with the American’s wife and his parents. That would count for a great deal. And… well… she shouldn’t worry so much.