Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness (31 page)

How indeed? But the words were out of her mouth before she realized what she’d said. “You will apologize to the Americans.”

“But… they will be angry with me. They will be very angry.”

“They may be upset, it’s true. But they will not be angry. You must tell them what you told me about the elephant and the mahout. And the mahout being responsible. You must tell them that’s what you believe. You must tell them that this is what’s in your heart. Once they hear that, they will decide that you have a very big heart to feel such things. And they will forgive you.”

“They will?”

Who knew? Perhaps not. Still, Ladarat thought that was a good possibility. So she nodded.

“Yes, I believe they will. But you must avoid the waiting room in the meantime, do you understand?”

The man nodded.

“Good. I will try to arrange this for tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we will need to find someplace for you to stay.”

“But I can stay here, Khun.” And he waved a gnarled hand at the garden around them.

Oh no. No, he most certainly could not stay here. The only thing that would be more interesting to the Royal Inspector than a man in the waiting room would be a man bivouacking in the garden. That would not do. That would not do at all.

But fortunately this was one problem she had anticipated. She stood, and the man stood, too. The monks talking by the fountain stood and the eldest approached them.

They all made high, formal
wais
, the man’s highest of all. Overwhelmed to be talking with a nurse and two monks, he seemed unsure what to say. So he kept both hands pressed together just beneath his eyebrows, smiling nervously.

“These monks will give you a place to stay for as long as you need it, Khun. There is no need for you to sleep on a floor, or in the stairway. It is not right. The monks belong to a monastery that is just across the street.”

The man nodded and smiled, relieved. He made another deep
wai
to the monks, and then to her.

She thanked the monks and they both smiled. “We are happy to be of service,” the older one said. “You were lucky Prasert here answered my phone for me. I often ignore it. You see, there was the India-versus-Pakistan test match that just ended.”

Ladarat looked at him blankly.

“Cricket?”

Ladarat shook her head.

The monk shrugged, then smiled. “We must go.”

Then the two monks disappeared inside, still in animated conversation, the man trailing behind them. He would make himself useful in the monastery, she had no doubt. He probably had skills as a gardener and a carpenter. It was too bad that there were no elephants to care for.

She stood there for a moment, thinking about that. Elephants. Elephants need regular care, do they not? That’s what was bothering her a few moments ago. Who was caring for the man’s elephant? The one who hurt the Americans? Surely someone was caring for it? She would need to remember to ask when she saw the man tomorrow.

For now, though, there was work to be done. She’d solved one issue ahead of the impending inspection. But there were many, many more that needed to be dealt with. And if she could solve this one, she thought proudly, then she could solve anything.

ONE MUST ALWAYS NEGOTIATE FROM A POSITION OF POWER

A
s she pushed open the heavy wooden door to the House of Rooster Happiness, Ladarat was preoccupied with thoughts of her Beetle. There’d been no room to park anywhere nearby, so she’d found a smaller alley about three blocks away. That alley held a jumble of small storefronts that were all closing for the night, so it was probably deserted by now. And she’d left the Beetle there all alone.

She hoped it would be okay. But of course it would. It had survived this long, hadn’t it? In truth, it was older than she was. So it could take care of itself. She smiled at the thought of a car fending for itself as she laid down her bananas on the
Hing Phra
shrine and made a deep
wai
. She said a quick prayer, asking Buddha for help in what she was about to attempt.

A bunch of bananas was hardly adequate payment for such a request. If the Buddha were inclined to favor her request, surely he would do so without a pile of ripe fruit in the bargain? But that was Buddhism for you—it was all about covering your bases.

A moment later the mamasan herself emerged through the swinging doors behind the bar, carrying a small tea tray. Moving silently, she appeared like a ghost. After they greeted each other, she apologized that she would need to leave Ladarat alone.

“There is much to be done,” she said by way of explanation. “My nephew Somsak is having technical difficulties. But Khun Wiriya will be here soon.” And she was gone, as silently as she’d arrived, leaving Ladarat alone again with her thoughts.

And she devoted those thoughts to the mahout and his elephant. It didn’t seem right that he would leave his elephant and come here. It was understandable, of course, that he would want to know what happened to the American. It was even understandable—though perhaps not to a hospital inspector—that he would want to stay close all the time.

And yet… wasn’t the elephant his source of livelihood? And didn’t they work together as a team? It seemed strange indeed that the mahout would simply leave and come to Chiang Mai. Even if he put his elephant in the care of someone he trusted, it was difficult to imagine doing that for any reason that wasn’t a matter of life and death. To do that voluntarily, on a… mission? That just didn’t make sense.

But what was the alternative? That the man wasn’t really a mahout? No, the American Kate recognized him. And besides, if he weren’t the mahout, why on earth would he be here?

Ladarat continued to try to puzzle this out, but she was no closer to an answer that made sense when Wiriya came through the front door. Just as Ladarat had, he made a high
wai
to the Buddha inside the door and deposited a bunch of overripe bananas in front of the shrine. She thought she saw him smile as he did so. One could only hope that the Buddha was very fond of bananas.

As they greeted each other, she noticed that Wiriya had dressed with particular care for his assignment. In place of the worn gray sport coat she’d become strangely accustomed to, now he wore a deep blue suit with chalk pinstripes. The suit made him look slimmer, and about ten years younger.

As Ladarat poured him a cup of tea from the pot that Wipaporn had left behind, Wiriya noticed her interest in his suit. He smiled.

“One must always negotiate from a position of power.”

“Indeed?” That was all she could think of to say.

“Indeed. And I think this is a woman who respects power, so we are playing by her rules.”

Ladarat found that surprising. This is a woman, remember, who is making a living by stealing from men with power. Killing them, and then stealing.

“But why do you think she respects power? She has not demonstrated much respect for anything, or anyone, has she?”

“Ah, but she has. You see,” he explained, “the men she is preying on are the men she respects. Or perhaps I should say they’re the men she fears. She doesn’t like them, it’s true. And… at the risk of sounding like a forensic psychiatrist, I would venture to guess that she hates powerful men.”

“And how do you know that, Khun?”

“Well, I don’t know it. Not for certain,” he admitted. “But there are many ways to make a living, and many ways to steal. Yet our woman has found a way to make a living that would seem to involve murder. That suggests to me that this is personal. That she is targeting these men, not just because they’re rich, but because she has a powerful hatred for these men, as a group.”

“Ah, I see. But why would that be?” Actually, Ladarat could think of many reasons why that might be. The Chinese who had come to Thailand in the early twentieth century had become quite successful in business. And many—though certainly not all—were ruthless as well. It was not difficult to imagine that members of this successful group had made some enemies. And one enemy in particular.

The detective was of the same opinion. He shrugged. “Perhaps her family was bankrupted by a Chinese lender. Or perhaps a Chinese business put her father out of work. Who knows? It’s just that this seems too personal, and too… vengeful, for it to be simply a strategic crime.”

They both thought about that possibility for a moment, as Wiriya sipped his tea.

“So you think this may be… revenge?” Ladarat asked.

“Perhaps. But it is too much, don’t you think? I mean to say, one murder of the person responsible… well, that could be counted as revenge. But two? Or a dozen? At some point this stops being revenge and is more like…”

“A habit?”

“Yes, I suppose. A habit. Now this is the way that she thinks of the world. You know, I heard a story once about tigers in India. That normally they don’t prey on people. People are just… part of the environment. But once a tiger kills a man, then it begins to think of people as food. That first kill changes the way that they look at us.” He paused, and they both thought about that for a moment.

“So it seems to me that this woman—and here I’m speculating—has fallen into just such a pattern. Now she sees these men as prey. They may seem powerful to others, just as they once seemed powerful to her, as they took her father’s business, or whatever it was one man did to enrage her. Maybe once she was afraid of them. But now? Now they are just her prey.”

“It seems as though you have thought about this a great deal.”

Wiriya smiled, embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose I have. You see, it would mean a great deal to me personally to be able to solve this case. With much help, of course.” He smiled.

“I have a reputation in the police, of course. But reputations don’t last forever. Already there are young men on the force who don’t know me. They’re young and ambitious and… well, unless I prove myself, soon I’ll be assigned to investigating unpaid parking tickets.”

Ladarat wanted to ask him if that were really true. Somehow she doubted it. This was a man who had been injured in the line of duty. He had a commendation from the king himself. Surely that was enough to ensure his status and his reputation?

But then again, she could easily imagine how that might not be true. It took very little, in fact, to damage one’s reputation. And, of course, time did the rest. Just as she was about to ask him whether he wanted to stay a policeman forever, the door behind the bar opened.

Ladarat gave a start of recognition. There, in front of her, was the man from the ICU waiting room. And the stairwell.

Now he was dressed more comfortably in track pants and a Ramones T-shirt. But if there had been any doubt in her mind that this was the same young man, a glance at the enormous wristwatch on his left arm was enough to convince her.

He offered a deep
wai
and an apologetic smile. Behind him was the mamasan, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Before Ladarat could formulate a question, the mamasan intervened.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention Somsak earlier. You see, when I first learned that you were investigating this Peaflower woman, I became worried. I thought perhaps we needed to watch you. And then, when you began to make progress, I thought we should try to… dissuade you.”

“But at our meeting…”

The mamasan nodded. “Yes, by then I’d realized that the best thing to do—the right thing to do—was to trust both of you. So…” she said. “No more durians. But Somsak has been keeping an eye on you.”

“Because…”

“Because Peaflower is dangerous. Very dangerous. She has much to lose. And Somsak had an advantage, you see. He knows what Peaflower looks like. But she wouldn’t recognize him. So by keeping him close to you, as a…”

“As a bodyguard?”

“Exactly so. As a bodyguard. He could warn you if he saw Peaflower anywhere near you.”

Ladarat wasn’t certain whether this revelation made her feel better or worse. Better, perhaps, because the mamasan had been watching out for her, at least in the end. But worse, somehow, because people had been worrying about her, and protecting her.

There would be time later, she knew, to sort those feelings out.

“Now I must get ready,” the mamasan said. And she disappeared through the door behind the bar.

Somsak had been staring fixedly at the ground the entire time, but now he looked up at Ladarat and offered another high
wai
, bending at the waist.

“I’m very sorry, Khun Ladarat, for frightening you. And for the durian.” He stood upright, his hands at his sides. “It’s just that your car, the Beetle, it is such a beautiful car. And a classic. I couldn’t think of a way to get your attention without damaging it in some way. So I thought…”

“A ripe smell would be a harmless threat.” Ladarat smiled. “Yes, I suppose it was. And the smell is decreasing gradually. By the time the smell is gone entirely, the car will be an antique.”

“But, Khun, it is an antique,” Somsak protested. “And very valuable. Especially to Americans.”

So the fruit seller had said. But Ladarat had assumed he was just exaggerating. And speaking of the fruit seller…