Hungry Ghosts (19 page)

“How many of them wake up?”

“Most. But it depends on the severity of the injury.”

“How bad is Wayan’s injury?”

“Well the good news is that she is breathing unaided. If she had significantly raised intercranial pressure we would have had to use forced mechanical ventilation. There is no hypotention. Hypoglycemia is not going to be an issue either.” He had stopped and wiped his glasses. “Sorry, I’m using jargon again. There are some hopeful signs and some not so good ones.”

“What are the bad ones?”

“The neurological examination showed significant unresponsiveness.”

“What’s that?”

“We check the pupil response to light and we test pain reflexes, among other things.”

“So what happens now?”

“Now all we can do is to wait. In the meantime we maintain her ventilation, circulation and temperature. We’re also having some blood work done.”

“How long do we wait?”

There had been no answer.

David Braddock is dead
. The words rushed into Da’s head, dragging her back to the present. Something registered in her mind.

Jingjai had phoned her yesterday saying the
Agency was to be closed for a while on Braddock’s instructions and was rather vague about the reason. Da had been busy with Pratcha at the time and couldn’t discuss it further. Now she wished she had: perhaps there was a connection to last night’s events.

Da took out her phone and called Jingjai. There was no response. That of itself was not unusual as Jingjai usually slept late after a gig – although it irked Da that the office tended to get opened late as a result. She left a message for Jingjai to call her, saying it was urgent while trying not to sound panicked.

“Da Pintaraporn?”

The voice startled her and she turned in her chair to see a large policeman blocking the doorway to Wayan’s room.

“Yes?”

“My name is Buajan,” he announced with a curt nod. His eyes swept over the room and settled on the injured woman. “I just spoke with the doctors. I gather there is no change.”

“No,” replied Da quietly.

“I should be grateful if you would answer some questions for me,” he said. “The hospital has kindly allowed me the use of one of their offices. It’s just down the corridor.”

“Now? I assume this is about my friend here and – last night?” she hesitated over the words.

The policeman nodded.

With a final look at Wayan, Da picked up her bag and followed him into the cramped office which contained some filing cabinets, a desk piled with papers and two scuffed chairs. They sat.

“How did Mr
. Braddock die?” she asked, her throat dry.

The policeman raised a querulous eyebrow but made no answer. Instead he flipped open a notebook.

“You are the office manager at the David Braddock Agency, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“Almost four years.”

“Do you know Wayan Lastri well?”

“Yes, she is my friend.”

Buajan started writing in his book.

“And how well do you know your employer?”

“Very well.”

“Would you say he had a good relationship with his maid?”

“Wayan is his
housekeeper
, not his maid,” she corrected. “And yes, they are very fond of each other.” Da wondered whether she should be using the past tense or the present tense: the present tense made her feel more comfortable.

“And they live in the house together. Just the two of them?”

“Mr. Braddock is a widower. Wayan takes care of him.”

Buajan sniffed. “Does she?” he said.

He leaned back in his chair.

“Is there any romantic involvement between them?”

“What?”

“Do they sleep together?”

“No they do not!” said Da, outraged.

“Would you know if they did?”

“Yes, I would,” she replied firmly.

“Hmmn.” Buajan tapped his notebook with his pen.
There was silence while he looked at Da closely.

“
What do you know of a man named Kenneth Sinclair?”

“He’s a client of the
Agency.”

“How would you describe his relations with Mr
. Braddock?”

Da leaned forward quickly, “You don’t think Kenneth Sinclair is responsible for –”

“For what?”

“For Mr
. Braddock’s death and for Wayan’s … condition. That is ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Is Mr. Sinclair a suspect?”

“Why is it ridiculous?”

“Well, the two men had something of an up-and-down relationship because of how Mr. Sinclair went about things with Wayan but –”

“What exactly was it that Mr
. Sinclair ‘went about’ with Miss Lastri?”

“He was smitten with her, that’s all.”

“And Mr. Braddock didn’t like it?”

“Not really, no. But that’s hardly reason for Mr
. Sinclair to kill Mr. Braddock.”

“But perhaps reason enough for Braddock to kill Sinclair? In
a jealous rage, perhaps?”

Da’s head was spinning.

“Wait, what is it you are saying?” she asked, confused.

“Mr
. Braddock is not dead, Mrs. Pintaraporn. Mr. Sinclair is.”

“He’s not dead? But Mijit told me he was dead.”

“No, he is mistaken. The body we found was Mr. Sinclair’s. Mr. Braddock is missing.”

Anger flared in Da, outraged that the policeman had taken advantage of her
erroneous assumption.

“You cannot seriously think Mr
. Braddock would have assaulted Miss Lastri. He loves her dearly.”

“Does he?” Buajan made another entry in his notebook, which only served to infuriate
Da more.

“And the other equally ludicrous explanation is that
Mr. Braddock found Mr. Sinclair assaulting Wayan and killed him. Then I suppose he disappeared leaving Wayan unconscious in a pool of blood without calling an ambulance? That’s –”

“That’s out of the question because he loves her dearly, correct?”

“Mr. Braddock wasn’t even here,” Da yelled. “He’s in Bangkok.”

“How do you know he’s in Bangkok?”

“Don’t take my word for it. His car will be at the airport and the airline will have the record of his flight.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t come back,” Buajan asserted coolly. “There are other ways to get to Samui than by air.”

Da bit her tongue. She decided there was no point in arguing further and the policeman was likely to twist anything she said in any case. His mind was obviously already made up. She wasn’t going to supply him with any more ammunition and she certainly wasn’t about to tell Buajan Braddock had ordered the office closed. She needed to speak to Jingjai before the police did.

“Anyway,” she announced calmly, “
all this will be made clear when Wayan wakes up. Then you’ll realise how foolish you’ve been with this line of inquiry.”

“
If
she wakes up,” said Buajan.

As soon as the policeman had left, Da made her way back to Wayan’s room and called Braddock’s cell phone three times. There was no answer. She looked at Wayan’s still form and tried to make sense of it all.

“Where are you, David Braddock?” she whispered to herself.

Da took a deep breath and rang Jingjai.

*       *       *       *       *

Charoenkul looked up from his desk and shouted to his secretary. He had just received the news that Kenneth Sinclair’s car had been found abandoned at Na Thon port. The incident team – headed by the Iceman – had been dispatched. This in turn meant Ho’s forensic report on Tathip would be further delayed.

The secretary’s head peered nervously around the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is Buajan back from the hospital yet?”

“Not yet.”

“As soon as he gets in, tell him I want to see him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And get me a green tea.”

What to make of it all?

The Chief stood up and went to the window. In the courtyard below two policemen were joking and laughing. He toyed with the idea of opening the window and yelling at them but decided against it. He ran his hand reflectively over his beard and gazed at the national flag fluttering
unenthusiastically above the security hut. The movement soothed him.

The more he thought about Tathip
’s murder, the less he liked the situation. He was not fond of coincidences – he mistrusted them – and there appeared to be a big, nasty serendipitous connection that set his nostrils twitching. Papa Doc’s mind ran up and down the alleyways and cul de sacs of possibility.

It
had been only a few weeks ago that Tathip’s partner, Preechap Chaldrakun, had died in what some might say was a suspicious accident. And Tathip had been on the phone to him when that accident happened.

Both policemen had recently been assisting Braddock in his unofficial investigation into the
‘burning murders’. And now another burned farang
corpse had turned up.

On Braddock’s lawn.

Charoenkul picked up his cell phone and dialled the Englishman’s number for the fourth time that morning. There was no answer.

He sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. Then he punched some more buttons on his phone.

“Buajan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you?”

“Just leaving the hospital.”

“What’s the news?”

“The maid is in a coma, but stable.”

“She’s not going to die then?”

“Apparently not. Although the doctor doesn’t know whether there’s any brain damage, or even whether she’ll ever wake up.”

“That’s inconvenient. Did you talk to the Pintaraporn woman?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She was very cagey and defensive, but I’m pretty sure there was some sexual relationship going on between Braddock and his maid.”

“What about Sinclair?”

“He was
sweet on the maid, and it seems he had rowed with Braddock over her. I’m thinking it’s a jealousy killing. Braddock came home, found the maid and Sinclair together and attacked them both.”

“Come and see me as soon as you get here. I want a detailed report.”

He cut the line and started tapping on the desk with a pencil.

Suppose Tathip’s and Sinclair’s murders are connected
, he mused.
What might connect them?

Then Papa Doc had an epiphany.

Braddock is responsible for the ‘burning murders’
.

Charoenkul scribbled on his
notepad.

Braddock
has been killing any Westerner who tried to pick up his maid. Chaldrakun and Tathip found out about this somehow when they were assisting him and Braddock arranged Chaldrakun’s death. He frightened Tathip into making the call to his partner at the time of his death, thereby making him an accessory. Maybe he promised to spare Tathip if he co-operated. Then later, after a decent interval to allay suspicion, he murdered Tathip too.

Yesterday Braddock came home and found the maid and Sinclair together.
He killed Sinclair in a fit of rage and raped and assaulted the maid. Then he fled.

The Chief looked at what he had written.

It was not elegant, but that was not his concern. Of course it didn’t explain why Tathip had been tortured and the brutality of the relevant acts did not tally with what he knew of the Englishman. But then again what might a man possessed of jealousy be capable of? He thought about what
he
might do if he ever came across hard evidence that Kat was being unfaithful to him. Something monstrous, for sure. Passion was a very powerful animator.

Papa Doc needed a workable theory. He needed a solution, one that his superiors could buy into.

He needed his promotion.

Charoenkul thought about Ho and his forensic analysis
, and he began tapping on the desk again. The Iceman’s reports may not support Papa Doc’s version of events. That would be highly undesirable.

He stopped tapping the pencil.

Reports could be suppressed if necessary and expedient. Officer Ho could be sent back to Bangkok. All would be well.

The Chief would go through the story with Buajan
when he arrived and test it for holes; although he was somewhat chary of the idea of admitting that the ‘burning murders’ may not have been solved after all. The next step after that would be to name Braddock as a wanted suspect.