The Dying Beach (25 page)

Rajiv sighed. When exhaustion caught up with Jayne, as it was bound to do, he'd be there to look after her. He might be no good at protecting Jayne from others, but he could protect her from herself.

‘Where did you get to?' she asked, as he returned to the gathering.

He gestured at the reclining Buddha. ‘I was giving thanks for our deliverance today.'

Jayne gave him a sideways glance, assessing whether or not to take him seriously. ‘I'm not sure divine intervention had much to do with it. But speaking of deliverance…' She nodded at Paul, who was trying unsuccessfully to resist the efforts of the village matrons to keep refilling his bowl with food. ‘Time to rescue our friend. You okay to leave now?'

Rajiv nodded and went ahead to wake their tuktuk driver while Jayne extricated Paul.

The drive back to Ao Nang was subdued, the three of them lost in their thoughts. When they reached the guesthouse, Rajiv let Paul pay the fare and subjected himself to another of the Australian man's bone-crushing handshakes.

‘Good to meet you, Raj,' Paul said. ‘I guess we'll be seeing you tomorrow.'

‘I am guessing we will,' Rajiv said.

With that he broke his own rule about public displays of affection and took Jayne's hand. The significance of the gesture was not lost on Paul, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

‘Goodnight,' Jayne waved with her free hand.

Rajiv felt Paul's eyes on them as they walked off. Jayne leaned into him and Rajiv put his arm around her. The Australian man no longer seemed to take up quite so much space.

Paul watched Jayne walk off with her arms around Rajiv. With all the talk of them being partners, it hadn't occurred to him that they were romantically involved. He'd assumed… Well, whatever he'd assumed, it wasn't that. And what did that say about him? Was it because Rajiv was Indian that Paul hadn't made the connection?

Christ, he was confused. He'd come to Krabi for Pla's funeral, to mourn her loss and atone for taking her for granted. He wanted to ask her spirit for forgiveness, for not loving her enough when he had the chance. He hadn't come to fall for someone new.

But Paul couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards Jayne. Meeting her had made him feel profoundly homesick.

He watched Jayne and Rajiv disappear into their room. To Paul's mind, it was a strange coupling. They didn't appear to have much in common: Rajiv was as taciturn as Jayne was gregarious. Nor did they look right together. Rajiv seemed too insubstantial to withstand Jayne's energy, like a tree in the path of a bushfire.

Paul glanced back at the reception area. The light was still on. With any luck he could rouse someone to get him a beer. Better still, whisky. A small bottle. He needed something to help him sleep.

The bruises looked like black pansies scattered across Rajiv's back and shoulders. Jayne brushed them with her lips, smelling the hospital on his skin. Rajiv shivered as she kissed the back of his neck while her fingers worked their way down his spine and into the gap between his legs.

‘Jayne, please,' he protested, rolling away from her touch. ‘I am feeling like my skull has been split in two with an axe and every bone in my body aches.'

‘Perhaps there's something I can do to relieve your pain,' she said, reaching for his cock.

‘Please, no.' There was no strength in the hand that pushed her away, but his tone of voice stopped Jayne in her tracks. ‘After the day we have had, are you not at all tired?' Rajiv said softly. ‘I am more than exhausted.'

‘Sorry, my love.'

Jayne watched him fall asleep, envying him. The successive waves of adrenaline that had flooded her body throughout the day had not yet subsided. She was crazy to think Rajiv would be up for having sex in his condition, but sex felt like what she needed to restore some balance.

She pulled a sarong around her and headed outside, the air still and hot. There were few sounds beyond the trilling of geckoes and the odd growl of a motorbike. Ao Nang was a town that retired early. Jayne lit a cigarette, deriving strange comfort from smoking in the dark.

She saw the light come on outside Paul's bungalow and ducked instinctively as he emerged carrying a bottle of whisky. Screened by a shrub, she watched him take a seat and put his feet up on the balcony railing. Jayne cringed—showing the soles of the feet was considered extremely poor manners in Thailand—but she supposed he was unlikely to offend anyone at this time of night. He took a swig from the bottle, grimaced, took a second, and looked directly at her.

At least it felt like he was looking at her. Jayne didn't think he could see her. She shielded the glowing orange tip of her cigarette with her hand, guiding the butt into a mosquito coil holder on the ground.

She stayed hidden, watching him drown his sorrows. She toyed with the idea of joining him, craving the soporific effects of the whisky. But something stopped her. She told herself it was out of respect for his privacy, but it wasn't that. Paul was both handsome and needy. And Jayne had once been a sucker for handsome, needy men.

She sneaked back inside and paused to listen to Rajiv's deep, regular breaths. Confident he was sleeping, she let herself into the bathroom and arranged her sarong on the tiled floor. She lay down, put her hands between her legs and tried not to think about handsome, needy men.

42

Jayne spotted the empty Mekhong whisky bottle on the balcony and knew Paul would be sleeping off a mean hangover. When he hadn't surfaced by the time she and Rajiv set out to meet Sergeant Yongyuth, she left a note under his door, slipping a strip of painkillers inside the envelope.

She hired the motorbike for a second day to make the journey to the Muang Krabi police station. Rajiv intended to accompany her but made it only to the end of the street. His shoulders were too sore to grip the back of the pillion seat and he was reluctant to cling to Jayne, given the heat and the cultural taboos about touching in public. She ferried him back to the guesthouse and promised to return as soon as she could.

Sergeant Yongyuth appeared within moments of Jayne asking for him, looking drawn and rumpled like he hadn't slept. He ushered her into a small windowless room that felt no less claustrophobic for being a cheery shade of pink.

‘There is good news.' Relief enlivened his tired face. ‘Khun Bapit regained consciousness last night. The doctors say he has a strong chance of making a full recovery, apart from the extensive scarring, of course.'

Jayne nodded, suppressing images of Bapit's slashed and battered face.

‘I was able to interview him earlier this morning,' the police sergeant continued. ‘He has verified your account of the events of yesterday morning and lays full responsibility for the violence at his nephew's feet.'

Jayne held her tongue, waiting to see what else the police sergeant had for her.

‘Khun Bapit admits to hitting Othong with the whisky bottle. In fact, the forensic report says the bullet mightn't have killed him if not for his pre-existing head injuries.'

So Sergeant Yongyuth hadn't shot to kill Othong. Jayne kept her expression neutral.

‘Not only did you clearly act in self-defence, it seems nothing you or your partner did made any difference to the outcome of events,' he said. ‘Given this, and Khun Bapit's sworn statement, I see no real need to involve you any further in this case. You're free to leave Krabi at any time.'

It was a good offer. Being involved in a local murder case was messy for all of them. Police scrutiny of any kind was bad for Jayne and Rajiv's business, while Sergeant Yongyuth would no doubt welcome the chance to tie up loose ends without reference to Jayne's face-saving interventions and the complicating presence of farangs.

‘What about the murders?' she asked.

‘Khun Bapit confirmed he found evidence of the two murders in Othong's room, that of the farang, Khun Annabel, and the Thai woman Nang Suthita. With forensics and Khun Bapit's testimony, we expect to be in a position to resolve both crimes.'

‘What about the death of Pla—Miss Chanida?'

‘Khun Bapit is certain his nephew was not involved in her death. Othong was with his uncle the night Miss Chanida died.'

‘You believe him?'

The police sergeant sighed. ‘Khun Bapit has admitted his nephew was responsible for the deaths of two innocent young women. There is no face to be saved in lying about a third.'

‘Unless Khun Bapit himself was involved in arranging the murder.'

Sergeant Yongyuth rubbed his temples. ‘Khun Bapit is devastated by what has happened. He admits a thoughtless comment he made about Miss Chanida's death may have given Othong the wrong idea and set in train the chain of events that led to the tragic murders.'

‘So he admits the deaths are connected,' Jayne said.

‘Only in Othong's warped mind.'

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

‘How do you think Pla died?' Jayne asked.

‘My colleagues in Ao Nang are treating it as an accident.'

‘But what do you think?'

‘It's not about what I think,' he said. ‘It's about the evidence. And the motive.'

Yongyuth was starting to slur his words. As much as it pained her, Jayne knew there was nothing more to be gained by grilling the exhausted police sergeant.

She signed for the passports and left the station, pausing to check the bike was still in the shade, and headed for a nearby coffee shop. She ordered a coffee with condensed milk. Unsolicited, the shopkeeper also brought her
khanom
, coconut sweets wrapped in banana-leaf parcels.

Despite the caffeine and sugar rush, Jayne felt deflated. They'd come so close to uncovering the truth behind Pla's death only to fall at the last hurdle. She ruled out ambushing Bapit in his hospital bed with a cross-examination. For all she wanted to believe Othong responsible for Pla's death, Sergeant Yongyuth's words rang true. What would stop Bapit from admitting Othong's involvement in three murders as opposed to two, other than the truth?

Jayne knew what position Rajiv would take in light of these developments. He'd say they'd done their best. But it was Thursday—day five of his ‘seven maximum'—and in the absence of any kind of breakthrough, he would insist they couldn't afford to pursue the case any longer.

He'd be right. Jayne's challenge was to not hate him for it.

She had to get over the thought of having failed Pla. She had to trust, as the Thais did, that karmic retribution would get the perpetrator in the next life, if not this one. She had to find peace in the lack of resolution, to learn to live with the mystery. None of this came naturally to Jayne. But neither did working in partnership, and she was proving capable of adapting to that.

Righteous anger had served her well when she was single. But it was not the way forward at this point in her life. It made no sense to insist on pursuing justice for Pla, a virtual stranger, at the expense of her relationship with Rajiv.

It was time for Jayne to see if she could let go.

43

Paul smiled when he opened Jayne's envelope, in spite of his splitting headache. He washed down two Panadols with a bottle of Red Bull and stayed under the shower until they kicked in. At the guesthouse café he ate scrambled eggs, bacon and a double order of the singed sweet white bread that passed for toast in this part of the world. He'd just ordered a coffee when Rajiv materialised.

‘Hi,' Paul said. ‘Care to join me?'

The Indian man tilted his head from side to side. Paul was unsure until Rajiv sat down whether he meant yes or no.

‘Coffee?'

‘Please.'

Paul signalled for a second cup. ‘Tell me, mate, I'm curious. How the hell did you get into the detective business?'

Rajiv smiled for what struck Paul as the first time since they'd met.

‘One day Jayne Keeney is coming into my uncle's bookshop on Khao San Road in search of a crime novel. Next thing you know, I am playing Doctor Watson to her Sherlock Holmes.'

‘So you worked in a bookshop before this?'

‘I was merely helping out during my uncle's convalescence.' Rajiv handed Paul a business card. ‘As you will be seeing from my qualifications, my professional background is in computer programming and data analysis.'

Paul noted the string of letters after Rajiv's name, the undergraduate qualifications in computer science, the Masters degree in business management. The guy was a geek.

‘I'm guessing the detective business is more exciting than computer programming.'

That ambiguous nod again. ‘Sometimes too exciting.'

They paused to allow the waitress to pour their coffee.

‘I'm guessing life with Jayne is never going to be quiet,' Paul continued. ‘She strikes me as an adrenaline junkie. Am I right?'

Rajiv frowned and Paul wondered if he understood.

‘I would not be putting it that way,' Rajiv said after a moment. ‘Jayne is a very good detective. She's also the most unconventional person I have ever met.'

Paul smiled. ‘So what does your family think of her?'

‘They have not yet had the pleasure of becoming acquainted.' Rajiv reached for the sugar and winced as though it caused him pain.

‘You okay?' Paul said. ‘Jayne said you took a bit of a hammering yesterday.'

‘I'm fine, thank you,' Rajiv said stiffly.

‘Mate, I've sustained enough injuries on the footy field to know what pain looks like.'

Rajiv shook his head. ‘Sometimes I think Jayne Keeney will be the death of me.'

Paul raised his coffee in a mock toast. ‘But what a way to go, hey?'

Rajiv touched his cup to Paul's.

‘Where is your partner, by the way?'

‘She is having an appointment with the police,' Rajiv said.

‘Oh?'

‘A formality only.'

‘I hope she's back soon. I need to find out if there's anything special I should prepare for the funeral. A Thai colleague told me to wear a white shirt and black pants. But do I bring flowers?'