Hungry Ghosts (14 page)

Anchalee reached into a pocket of her robe and pulled out an object which she placed on the table.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, “Ayang made this for you.”

It was a small origami bird folded in lime-green paper.

Mongkut
stared at it and felt an unwelcome sensation inside his chest. He stretched out his hand, but dared not touch it.

He nodded and returned
his attention to his meal.

*       *       *       *       *

Bumibol Chaldrakun was feeling frustrated. Furthermore an unaccustomed nervousness had crept over him as he sat at the red plastic table cradling a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He cleared his throat and spat, attracting disapproving glances from a couple of backpackers seated in the same bar.

He had arrived at the office of
the David Braddock Agency at nine only to find it locked. He had hung around in the shadow of the porch opposite for two and a half hours watching the door and chain-smoking. He knew time was against him and he wanted as few people as possible to see him.

Was the office going to be closed all day?

When his packet of cigarettes was empty he had gone in search of a quiet bar where a creature of his size could pass relatively unnoticed. He had gulped down some rice at a corner table and kept his head down.

He consulted his watch
. It was almost one o’clock.

If Braddock’s office was going to open at all it needed to happen soon.

His hand trembled slightly at the memory of the latest nightmare involving his brother’s ghost. His presence in Preechap’s apartment had without doubt intensified the dreaming event, and in spite of his exhaustion he had slept fitfully. The vision of his brother’s bloated and insistent corpse still floated at the back of his mind. He glanced at the backpack on the bench beside him in which the large knife was concealed beneath wraps of clothing.

Bumibol
paid the bill and made the short walk to Braddock’s Agency. This time when he pressed on the street door it opened. He took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead before proceeding up the stairs towards what he took to be the reception area.

A shock awaited him.

Seated behind the reception desk talking into a cell phone was Wiwatanee Lamphongchat.

His brother’s obsession
.

What in the name of Buddha was she doing here?

Bumibol hadn’t seen her for years, but he recognized her immediately.

The only question was: would she recognize
him
? His was just another flunkey face among so many in the Bangkok gangland. And she had always been such a snobby little princess, anxious not to soil her hands with such business, or to mix with the people involved …

She ended her call and turned her eyes towards him.

There was no glint of recognition.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Thoughts tumbled through Bumibol Chaldrakun’s mind; thoughts of conspiracy and resentment. For a few moments an image flashed before him: that of Wiwatanee Lamphongchat’s bulging eyes staring at him as his hands choked the life from her.

He shook his head quickly to clear it. He was unprepared for this
.

But the girl was not why he was here. Besides the retribution
from the Lamphongchat family, when it came, would be terrible. Even that presupposed he would be able to keep himself from the clutches of the authorities.

He scrutinized the girl’s face. It was impassive. She did not know who he was.

“I am here to see Mr. David Braddock.”

The girl replied without checking the appointment book.

“Mr. Braddock does not have any appointments today.”

“Ah, no, I did not make an appointment, but it is important that I see him. Is he in now?”

Bumibol’s eyes fixed on the two office doors.

“I am afraid he is not in now.”

He thought of checking for himself that the offices were unoccupied, but decided against it. He needed the girl’s co-operation.

“Will he be in later today?”

She shook her head, “Sorry.”

Maintaining his calm with some effort he asked, “
could you give me his address? It is a really urgent matter. I only need to see him for a few minutes.”

Wiwatanee Lamphongchat spread her palms on the desk.

“I could not give you that information even if I had it. I am new here and I don’t have Mr. Braddock’s address.”

Bumibol
bit back his rising annoyance.

“I see.”

“But perhaps if you would give me your name and a contact number I can organize an appointment for you,” she continued, reaching for a pen and paper.

For the second time he flirted with the idea of killing her or at least hurting her enough to give him the required information, but again he controlled the urge.

“I will call back,” he said, before turning and exiting down the stairs.

There were other ways of finding Braddock’s address and he would pursue them.

The clock was ticking and he needed the Englishman dead quickly.

Maybe then he would come back for the girl.

15

David Braddock’s Journal

I stand leaning against a railing watching the sluggish movement of the Chao Phraya, muscling its way through the city like a slothful blue-brown lava flow. It carries with it sediments of the alluvial plain through which it has passed on its long journey to the sea, hence the colour. Sprinkled with weed and rainbow spirits of leaked oil, the river nevertheless has a kind of grandiloquence, continuing on its way like it doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Plastic bottles and other modern-day hogwash slosh gently against the eroding posts beneath my feet. The sun glints on the wave crests created by the water traffic whose growling engines provide a jagged counterpoint to the background hum of the City.

Ah,
Bangkok
.

Or to give it its proper name:
Krungthep Mahanakhon Amonrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharatratchathani Buriromundomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amonphiman Awatansathit Sakkathattiya Witansu Kamprasit. It’s the longest place-name in the world. The Thais never do things by halves.

According to its title, the city was constructed by Vishnu and all the Thai kings have been incarnations of th
at god. Perhaps this goes some way to explain why society and culture here feel so pervaded by magic, so permeated with the incense of mysticism. It is not difficult to see why rootless and purposeless wanderers – like my new friend Jezz – find themselves at home in the dusty, indulgent streets of Bangkok. Here you can believe anything you like, and convince yourself it is true.

I flick the butt of my cigarette into the
torpid waters below and light up another Marlboro. I’m sweltering and I’m already beginning to feel discouraged about my prospects of finding Rosie Fletcher. I take a swig from the bottle of water I’ve just purchased from a nearby stall.

For the last half-hour my mind
has been playing games with me. I keep thinking I see Claire at the periphery of my vision, but when I turn my head she vanishes.

But then of course she would.

She is a ghost, after all.

And in spite of the little ceremony I’d performed a few weeks ago, and the clearing-out of many of her old possessions, I knew
viscerally that my dead wife would not leave me so easily. There is too much pain and poetry, too many shared feelings, triumphs, tragedies for the breaking of that psychic chain. She still dwells inside me, and I cannot shake her free. Perhaps I will never be able to shake her free.

There is a stone in my heart that sings …

I close my eyes and lower my head for a moment. Then I raise my head quickly and stare at the river. She is momentarily gone.

Momentarily.

Lacunae. Emptiness.
Öd’ und leer das Meer.

I force myself to concentrate despite the fact that the hot sun is boiling my brain.

Claire is not the only source of my mental disquiet. Someone knows I killed her. That is now obvious; no longer deniable even to a man permanently in denial. And try as I might to push the thought out of my overheated skull, I am going to have to address the issue of the anonymous notes soon. My wife is a phantom, but the letters are real.

David Braddock, I know you killed your wife
.

I have no
feeling in my gut for who is sending me these poisonous missives. The possible culprits of Kat, Charoenkul and Anna dance before me. It
must
be one of those three. But which one? And how do I find out before it drives me crazy?

I take a deep draw on my cigarette. As I do so,
Claire appears on the landing jetty to my right, but by the time I focus she has metamorphosed into someone else.

A young, well-dressed Thai man is
standing beside Claire’s double, observing me. When I make eye contact he turns away. Naturally he does. I am becoming paranoid. I need to cut down on the weed.

My stomach rumbles. This would indicate some form of lunch is required before I resume my hostel beat.

Just as I am about to start sussing out the adjacent noodle bar my phone rings. It is Jingjai.

“Ah, Miss Lamphongchat. Are you missing me already?”

“David?” Her voice sounds serious.

“What is it?”

“I – I thought I had better call you –” The words peter out.

“Take a deep breath, girl. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“A man came to the office a few minutes ago wanting to see you. He was quite insistent. When I told him you weren’t in, he asked for your address.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I didn’t give it to him, of course,” she adds hastily.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“It’s just that … well, I recognized him. It would be difficult not to. He’s rather … large. He works for my family, and not on the nice side of the business, if you understand my meaning.”

“And he was looking specifically for me?”

“Yes.”

I scratch my chin.

“Any idea why?”

“No. But if it helps I’m pretty sure his name is
Bumibol Chaldrakun.”

I feel an iron hand grip my innards
and squeeze tightly. A giddy rush of something terrifying courses through my head and I have to steady myself against a railing.

“His name is
what?
” I manage to whisper through a constricted throat and dry lips.

“Chaldrakun.”

The name leaps from the phone, bounces back from the rickety shacks around me, skims across the surface of the river and circles the intense blue sky above me. I experience a sensation of all my surroundings collapsing down onto me in slow motion.

“David? Are you still there?”

And I know, I know in an instant, and without a scintilla of doubt, that the visitor must be the brother of Preechap Chaldrakun; the policeman I helped to murder some six weeks before.

And another little irony strikes me, cutting like a machete through the jungle vines of my rising panic. The person that is telling me this is
Jingjai
, the unwitting cause of Preechap Chaldrakun’s murder spree. She didn’t know the policeman who killed because of his obsession with her, but she knew
his brother
. How deliciously twisted life is; and how insidiously interconnected.

The brother who worked for the Lamphongchats was
in all likelihood the one who had recommended his sibling on Samui as a minder for the girl.

Oh boy
.

“David?”

“I want you to close the office.”

“What? Listen, I’ve only just opened up. I was a bit hung over from last night’s gig and so
I was late –”

“Never mind about that now
,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “Leave a message on the office voicemail for people to call the office cell number. Take the Agency cell phone and the appointment book home with you and work from your apartment for the next few days until I’m back. Lock the office up and leave now.”

“But – why?”

A beat.

“Did Chaldrakun recognize you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yes.”

“But you recognized him?”

“Where is this going, David?”

“I can’t explain now. Just do as I say, Jingjai, OK? Lock up the office and go home. And while you’re at it, call Da and tell her to stay out of the office too.”

“What reason do I give to Da?”

“Make something up.”

There is a brief silence at the other end of the phone.

Jingjai says in a quiet voice, “This is something bad, David, isn’t it?”

“Very possibly.”

“Was I right to call you?”

“Yes. You were right to call me. Now get out of the office.”

“I wish you would tell me why.”

Oh, yes, I’ll tell you why. Chaldrakun is looking for me because I killed his brother. And now he’s seen you in my office. If he has recognized you, he won’t know what the hell is going on or why you’re there. But he must know about Preechap’s obsession with you. And now you’re connected to me. You may be in danger. Go home.

Instead I say, “It’s complicated. But it’s best if you stay out of Chaldrakun’s way. It’s me he has a problem with.”

“How do you know him?”

“We have a mutual friend.”

“Are you in trouble, David?” She sounds genuinely concerned.

“I’m always in trouble,” I retort as lightly as I can.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“OK.”

She rings off.

Nemesis follows hubris, just as a cigarette follows a stressful revelation. I light a Marlboro.

There is only one motivation I can think of that would drive Bumibol Chaldrakun to my doorstep: revenge. The puzzle, however, is how he could have found out. But it’s not really much of a puzzle.

Tathip
.

I still have the little shit’s number on my cell phone so I dial it. No answer. I dial it again. Still no answer.

He’s either run away or he’s dead. If Chaldrakun is anything like his brother – and I’m betting he is – Tathip is already toast.

Wait.

Wait just a minute.

Perhaps I’m getting all this out of proportion.

Maybe Jingjai is wrong, and maybe I’m panicking unnecessarily.

I blow out some smoke.

Yeah, and maybe the moon is made of green cheese
.

I need to buy some time
to think. For the moment I’m safe enough in Bangkok, but … Wayan is at home … and she’s alone.

Three options: I fly back to Samui and maybe get killed; or I fly Wayan to Bangkok and scare her witless; or I get someone to look after her. The first two options don’t sound great. So far as option three is concerned, I could call Da but then I’ll just get endless questions and a stream of defamatory slurs on my character. There is, however, someone who can make sure no harm comes to Wayan
, and after a short mental tussle in which concern triumphs over jealousy I press the relevant buttons on my phone.

“Hello, Kenneth Sinclair here.”

“Hi, Geordie, it’s David Braddock.”

“Ah.”

“Geordie, I need you to do me a big favour. What is more I need you not to ask me too many questions about it.”

He thinks for a moment then says, “What’s the favour?”

“I need you to keep an eye on Wayan for me for a few days, starting this afternoon. I’m in Bangkok and I don’t want her left alone while I’m away. Especially at night.”

I really should have rehearsed this speech first. I sound like a pimp.

“You mean you want her to stay with me while you’re in Bangkok?” Sinclair sounds way too happy with this prospect for my liking, and I find some rather unpleasant sexual images popping into my head.

“I just don’t want her sleeping alone in the house.”

That sounds even worse
. I add quickly, “I’d rather she stayed at a hotel, but anyway –”

“Actually, I’ve already arranged to take Wayan out to dinner this evening.”

Smug bastard
.

“That’s … good,” I respond as enthusiastically as I can.

“She can stay at my house. At least until you’re back. I have plenty of room,” he adds to reassure me. Which it doesn’t.

“Right.”

“What’s happening, David?”

I sigh. “Let’s just say I’m having a problem with a Thai guy who can turn nasty and he might
pitch up at my place and look to do some mischief.”

“I see.”

“But I don’t want to frighten Wayan about it. It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather play safe on this.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to Wayan yet and you’re calling me first?”

“You assume correctly.”

“She’s welcome to stay at my place for as long as she likes.”

“Thank you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll call her now and tell her to pack a bag.”

So I call Wayan and explain as best I can that there is a problem and she will be staying at Sinclair’s house for a few nights. I can hear the bewilderment in her voice like I’m selling her, or giving her away
, and I can imagine the hurt in those beautiful brown eyes. She sounds sad.

It feels like I’ve lost her.