The Dying Beach (7 page)

‘We can't afford it,' Rajiv said, changing tack. ‘We are already having three clients lined up on our return to Bangkok, and there may be more inquiries awaiting our attention once I get the chance to check the email.'

Jayne pointed at him with her cigarette. ‘I knew formalising the business would cause problems. Are you saying I can't help Pla, or anyone else for that matter, unless they're a paying customer?'

‘Actually, I am in favour of directing some of our profits into pro bono casework. That is what you are proposing in this instance, isn't it?'

‘I guess so.'

Rajiv started making calculations on a paper serviette. ‘We are scheduled to return to Bangkok the day after tomorrow. Assuming I agreed to us taking on this case, how much longer do you propose we spend in Krabi?'

She shrugged. ‘I don't know. As long as it takes, I guess.'

‘In future we may agree on a formula for the allocation of time and money to pro bono cases,' Rajiv said, still scribbling. ‘But in the meantime, we have to set limits and consider not only the direct costs but also the loss of potential revenue.' He turned the serviette around to face her. ‘We can afford to spend five more days here, seven maximum.'

‘When would that take us to exactly?'

‘Start from tomorrow, Sunday, that takes us up to Saturday, April twenty-fifth.'

Jayne frowned and picked up the serviette. For a moment, Rajiv thought she was going to burn a hole in it. Instead she placed her cigarette in the ashtray and leaned forward.

‘I've been on my own a long time, Rajiv. I'm used to making decisions for myself. I don't respond well to being told what to do.'

‘Nor do I,' he said, meeting her gaze. ‘If it was up to me, Jayne, we would not even be having this conversation.'

Neither of them spoke for a moment. In the background Michael Jackson sang about keeping it in the closet.

‘Okay, okay, seven days maximum,' she said finally, retrieving her cigarette. ‘And I apologise if it sounded like I was ordering you around. I admit I need to get better at this partnership thing, especially the joint decision-making. But the nature of our work doesn't always allow time for niceties. You need to grow a thicker skin.'

Rajiv nodded, accepting her point. Had he insisted on an explanation back at Suthita's place, they'd have still been there when the police arrived.

‘I should be growing a thicker skin but maybe losing the beard?' he suggested.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I am thinking of what precautions I can take to avoid police detection.'

Jayne gave him a rueful smile and ran her fingers through her dark curly hair. ‘I don't know if I can cut my hair short. I've spent the last year growing it back. I suppose I could always dye it red.'

An image flashed into Rajiv's mind: Suthita's hair matted in the blood that pooled on the floor beneath her head. He felt the bile rise in his throat. How could he be agreeing to take a closer look?

‘Do you have any of those fake IDs we bought on Khao San Road?'

He recalled the day, weeks earlier, when Jayne had marched him down to Bangkok's backpacker precinct to have a range of false identification papers made up for him. Press credentials, student card, international youth hostel membership, each referring to him by a different name and date of birth. Tools of the trade, she called them.

He rifled through his wallet. ‘I have the student card and the press credentials.'

‘Let's use the student ones. When we check into the new guesthouse, we'll tell the receptionist we left our passports in Bangkok. Pick somewhere away from the beach where they can't afford to be as choosy.'

‘You are asking me to find accommodation for us?'

She inhaled sharply from her cigarette. ‘I figure it's better that way since you're in charge of the budget. Besides, I need to find a hairdresser.'

Such was the power of Jayne's charm, Rajiv could almost forget his fear. At least, it took his mind off it for a while.

10

‘Y
ou need a clever wife,' Othong's mother told him. ‘Trouble is the clever ones will notice there's not much inside that pretty head of yours. But if you take my advice, son, smile a lot and keep your mouth shut, you might just pull it off.'

Othong respected his mother. She'd brought him up on her own after his father was killed in a car accident. Othong knew she only teased to protect him, to confuse the jealous spirits so they wouldn't take him away.

With her advice echoing in his ears, he flashed his winning smile at the girl behind the counter at Barracuda Tours. She had
dtah lai
—eye squint—and didn't look very clever. He figured he could risk talking to her.

He introduced himself as Pla's cousin, smiled sadly when they talked about her death, made small talk, flirted a little. He could tell by the way the girl giggled that his charms were working.

He leaned over the counter and whispered, daring the girl to share his secret. ‘Tell me, little sister, did my cousin Miss Pla have many farang friends?'

The girl edged closer and glanced around the empty office. ‘A farang woman was in here only this morning asking about her. Miss Pla was very popular with the tourists.'

‘What farang?' Othong resisted the urge to seize the girl by the collar of her pink polo shirt and shake the information from her. ‘What did she look like?'

‘Lovely white skin,' the girl said. ‘Long black hair.'

‘As nice as your black hair?' Othong ventured.

The girl blushed and brushed one hand over her ear. ‘Not straight like mine. Curly.'

‘Sounds nice,' Othong said.

‘But a bit chubby,' the girl added.

‘Old, young?'

‘In between.'

‘Short, tall?'

‘In between,' the girl said again. ‘Taller than me. Not as tall as you.'

‘And what did this farang want from Miss Pla?'

‘She wanted to book another tour with her. Like I said, your cousin was popular with tourists.'

Othong's confidence started to waver. ‘So this farang was just a tourist?'

‘I don't think so,' the girl said. ‘She could speak Thai very well, though she spoke in English with her boyfriend.'

‘What boyfriend? Another farang?'

‘No.' The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘Black skin, like
chao
leh
.'

‘She's dating a sea gypsy?'

The girl giggled and shook her head. She was starting to get on Othong's nerves.

‘I don't know what is his country,' she shrugged. ‘Where do black people come from?'

Othong ignored the question. It would be easy to track down a couple like that in a place as small as Krabi. The thought made him slap the counter with delight. The girl jumped.

‘Little sister, you've been a great help.'

He hesitated as an unasked question struggled to the surface.

‘What did the farang say when she found out Miss Pla was dead?'

‘She asked about where the funeral would be held. I didn't know so I sent her to talk to Miss Pla's roommate.'

‘Khun Suthita?'

‘
Chai
,' the girl nodded. ‘Yes, Khun Suthita. You know her?'

Othong felt the rage boil up inside him. This stupid girl was the reason he hadn't found what his uncle was looking for. The farang had beaten him to it.

Jai yen yen
, he told himself.
Keep your cool and nobody
will get hurt
.

‘I know her,' he muttered.

He gave the girl a perfunctory
wai
and almost made it out the door when she piped up with, ‘Older brother, why do you ask all these questions?'

In a flash he was back at the counter. He placed one hand over the girl's mouth and grabbed the smallest finger of her right hand with the other, jerking it back until tears welled in the girl's lopsided eyes.

‘My business is not your concern,' he snarled. He grabbed the next finger along and saw with satisfaction the terror in her eyes. ‘You won't mention our little conversation to anyone will you?'

She shook her head.

He bent the second finger back far enough to hurt, before releasing his grip. The girl fell to the floor behind the counter in a faint.

Stupid bitch, he thought. Why did she have to make him lose his temper when all she had to do was leave the questions to him?

He fired up his motorbike, plotting his next move. He needed to find out where Miss Pla's funeral would be held and stake out the place until he could ambush the farang.

11

The open-air restaurant was at the end of a narrow path that curved around the east end of Ao Nang beach, a collection of huts decorated with driftwood and shells, tables clustered around trees on the sand. Not the sort of place Jayne would usually choose—the food was better at the local night market—but ideal for blending in among the backpackers on a Saturday night.

The sun was setting by the time she arrived, lights coming on over the bar and kitchen. Lanterns hung from the trees, and candles sheltered in glasses on the tables. Jayne was surprised to discover that despite the hour it had taken to colour her hair, she'd arrived at their rendezvous before Rajiv.

She found a table overlooking the sea and ordered two beers from a Thai waiter in frayed jeans, a red bandana around his neck.

The last of the longtail boats drifted into shore across the face of the setting sun. Jayne usually found twilight a relaxing time, but the vista that evening seemed angry, the sun like a bloody wound against a swollen pink sky. She was more disturbed by what they'd witnessed that day than she let on. But she couldn't let Rajiv sense her uneasiness, not when she was trying to talk him into taking on the case.

She supposed it was only fair they compromise on the budget. What she'd do if they hadn't reached a solution in a week's time was a bridge to cross later. She hoped Rajiv understood that while she bristled when challenged, she didn't hold it against him. Quite the contrary. When she said she was used to being on her own, it was without nostalgia.

The waiter reappeared with her order. Jayne wondered if she should start worrying about Rajiv. She glanced over at the entrance to the restaurant and caught the eye of a man at an adjacent table. He gave her a grin that might have looked sleazy on a less boyish face and she quickly looked away. She took a swig from her beer and looked back at the ogling boy.

‘Rajiv?'

‘I am wondering how long it will be taking for you to recognise me.' He joined her at the table. ‘Is this a beer for me?'

Jayne nodded, speechless.

‘I am liking your new look,' he continued, taking a seat. ‘Red hair suits you.'

‘You,' she said. ‘You look so…so…'

‘Handsome?'

‘Young.'

‘Well, the idea is to be impersonating a student, isn't it?'

He had a point. But clean-shaven with short back and sides, Rajiv looked at least ten years her junior. Anyone who didn't know them would think Jayne was one of those desperate, middle-aged white women who'd picked up a Third World toy boy on her holidays.
Kai keh kup kai orn
, as the Thais say. The old hen with her green rooster.

Such fears were only confirmed when the waiter reappeared and, without a glance at Rajiv, asked Jayne if she was ready to order.

‘What do you think we should have?' she asked Rajiv.

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I am happy for you to always be ordering the food for us. You know more about Thai food than me.'

How had it escaped her notice that she always did the ordering?

‘You should choose.'

Rajiv gave her what she thought of as his shrug-nod, conferred with the waiter, and placed the order in his best Thai. Jayne resisted the urge to correct his pronunciation and lit a cigarette, determined to be more vigilant in future about sharing the decision-making between them.

‘Given we've only got a week, we'd better get down to business,' she said, once the waiter left them. ‘We need to figure out our strategy for looking into the deaths of these two women.'

‘Are you thinking the two deaths are related?'

‘We can't know for sure. But I've been mulling over the state of Suthita's room.' She suppressed a shudder, hoped Rajiv didn't notice. ‘It was neat as a pin when we visited this morning, and a complete mess this afternoon. Every cupboard door opened, every drawer emptied, including those on Pla's side of the room. Even if Suthita wanted to trash her room before killing herself, why would she go through drawers and cupboards she knew to be empty?'

‘A good point,' Rajiv said. ‘But we don't believe she killed herself, isn't it?'

‘Correct. I think whoever killed Suthita was looking for something belonging to Pla.'

‘But we have all of Miss Pla's possessions and there's nothing—' Rajiv hesitated. ‘The notebook?'

Jayne took it from her bag and put it on the table. ‘It's the only thing I can think of.'

She leafed through the pages. ‘The notes are in Thai but Pla frequently uses an English acronym, EIA.'

‘EIA? It stands for Environmental Impact Assessment. I learned about them in business studies.'

‘I might've known you'd know.' Jayne patted the orange and yellow hearts on the cover. ‘I'd like to have a go at a detailed translation to see what's in these notes.'

‘How long will that take?'

‘I won't really know until I get going. A few hours, maybe.' She took a drag on her cigarette. ‘I'll also contact my mate Gavan at the
Bangkok Post
and ask him about environmental issues in this part of the country.'

‘It's a shame you couldn't get more information out of the police this morning,' Rajiv said. ‘We could try interviewing officers on a different shift, but I am thinking we should avoid them for now. Just in case.'