ENOUGH SLEEP FOR TWO

Ladarat did fall asleep, for a moment, hardly long enough to count, but enough to make her feel ready to face the day, at least for a little while.

Sisithorn, however, was not yet ready to face the day.

“Khun Sisithorn? Khun?”

Ladarat nudged her assistant gently at first, and then somewhat less so. The bus had pulled into the Chiang Mai station a few minutes ago, and groggy passengers had almost all filed out. They were the only passengers left except for an elderly woman who seemed to be waiting for someone to help her down the aisle and the attendant up in the front rows, who was tidying up the bus for the next trip.

“Khun?”

Sisithorn snored slightly in response to a particularly vigorous nudge, but showed no sign of rejoining the living. For a second, Ladarat remembered the farang backpackers, and of course her assistant’s boyfriend. She remembered those stories and thought of the possibility that her assistant had been drugged, but dismissed the possibility almost immediately. How had she been drugged? Ladarat had been with her for the past nine hours, and Sisithorn had swept into the station a few minutes before the bus boarded.

There was the juice, of course, but everyone on the bus was given a juice box. Knowing what she’d see, Ladarat took a quick look along the floor toward the front of the bus to find more than a dozen empty juice boxes littering the floor. There were most certainly not a dozen people still asleep. Rule out the juice as a culprit.

Ladarat thought about that for a moment, and then fished out her cell phone and sent a brief text to Wiriya, hoping that he was awake. Just as she hit “send” she looked up, startled.

“Your colleague—it seems that she got sleep enough for both of you.”

The attendant had worked her way down the aisle to their row and was looking from Ladarat to Sisithorn with an expression of puzzled amusement. “She is very sleepy, isn’t she?”

“Yes, well … she did a lot of shopping yesterday,” Ladarat explained uncertainly.

“Could you …?”

“Help her off the bus?” The attendant nodded.

They did it together, with some difficulty. Sisithorn woke up enough to follow simple instructions, and apart from a confusing moment as they eased her down the bus’s stairs, they were able to get her off the bus without injuring themselves or their patient. Ladarat parked her on a bench just inside the front doors, propping her against a wall to keep her upright. She was able to collect her handbag and Sisithorn’s but was halfway back before she remembered all of her assistant’s purchases.

So, dutifully, Ladarat doubled back, collecting the bags from the overhead rack above their seats. When she got back to Sisithorn, her assistant was waking up just a little. Indeed, in the early morning din of the bus station, sleep would be almost impossible. Now at least her eyes were open, but she was looking around her with the dreamy expression of, well, someone who was still dreaming.

What to do?

The first call would be the easiest.

“Khun Ukrit?”

“Hmmng? Sis?” Sisithorn’s nickname.

“Ah, not exactly.” Ladarat didn’t have Ukrit’s cell phone number, so she had used Sisithorn’s phone, in which her boyfriend’s number was prominently displayed. In a few words, she explained what had happened, assuring him that his girlfriend was okay. Sleepy, but okay.

“Can you come to get her?”

“Of course. I can be there in … ten minutes? But … Khun?”

“Yes?” Ladarat wasn’t looking for a prolonged conversation. There was still another call she needed to make.

“Do you think this might be another example of foul play?”

Of course that was exactly what Ladarat was thinking. She looked at Sisithorn, whose drooping eyelids half hid eyes that wandered around the increasingly busy station, without any signs of reaction or recognition. Then, for a moment, Sisithorn’s eyes focused on her with a glint of recognition.

“Hello, husband!” She smiled.

“Well, there are drugs involved, that is for certain,” Ladarat told Ukrit. “Who knows how, but they are involved.”

She ended that call and smiled as she saw she’d received a text. It was just a phone number. She made the next call, which she thought would be more difficult. And indeed it was.

“But, Khun Ladarat, you’re aware that it’s a Saturday?” The young police officer on the other end of the phone was not terribly pleased to hear from her. Ladarat strongly suspected she’d just woken him up.

“Actually, I was aware of that, Khun Somporn, as I, too, have access to a calendar.”

“And that it is only seven in the morning? On a Saturday?”

“It doesn’t become more of a Saturday if you declare it to be so multiple times,” Ladarat explained patiently. “And yes, I’m aware of what time it is. And in another fifteen minutes, it will be seven fifteen, and your victim will be going home to bed, and any suspects will have disappeared. Is that what you want?”

“No, Khun, of course not. But—”

“Then you should be thanking me for finding you at such an hour. Unless you’d prefer that I simply call the station and tell them that you and your partner Khun Kamon are too tired to investigate an organized plan of drugging and robbing bus passengers, well, of course I’d be happy to do that. Do you have the number for the main police station? Or perhaps you could call for me and explain the situation, and your need for rest?”

“No, Khun.” The voice on the phone managed to sound both contrite and surly at the same time: a remarkable feat of Thai social engineering.

“Thank you, Khun Somporn. We’ll be here waiting.”

Ladarat ended the call, thinking that it had gone better than she’d feared. Somporn and his partner, Kamon, were ambitious, it was true, and hungry for a “big case.” But like most Thai men of that age, they’d probably been out very late drinking the night before.

Ladarat smiled as she thought of the next phone call taking place right now, as Somporn explained why his partner needed to be dressed in five minutes and on the back of a hired motorbike—if he could find one—just a few minutes after that. The instructions were probably delivered as Somporn himself was dressing, running a comb through unruly hair, and bolting out the door.

True to his word, Somporn arrived in fifteen minutes, stumbling in the front door on the heels of Ukrit, both of them looking as though they’d had a busy evening the night before. Ukrit at least was neatly dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, sweater, and creased trousers, whereas Somporn’s blue uniform shirt had two buttons forgotten, and any work done with a comb hadn’t left much of a mark. Still, at least the Chiang Mai police force was represented, doubly so when Somporn’s partner, Kamon, stumbled in a moment later, looking just a little green and, truth be told, not much more awake that Sisithorn.

At least now Sisithorn had roused herself enough to recognize Ukrit. Oddly, she neglected to greet him as her husband. Even if that wasn’t technically true, it would have been a little closer to the truth than her last marital proclamation had been.

Perhaps Ukrit was hungover, and no doubt he was still half asleep. But he’d had the presence of mind to bring a needle, syringe, and blood drawing apparatus.

“For a toxicology screen,” he said. “I keep an emergency medical bag at home for when I work at a smaller hospital,” Ukrit explained, wrapping the tourniquet around Sisithorn’s upper arm. She protested mildly, but seemed not to connect Ukrit’s face with the liberties he was taking with her arm. Instead, when she felt the poke of the needle, she glared at Ladarat. Ladarat hoped her assistant wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

Ladarat helped him hold Sisithorn’s arm still as Ukrit filled two tubes of blood. Then he undid the tourniquet and applied a Band-aid.

As Ukrit tried to rouse his girlfriend, Ladarat explained the events of the previous evening to the two police officers, dutifully pointing out the bus on which they’d arrived. As unobtrusively as she could, Ladarat also pointed out their attendant, who was closing up the luggage bin below the bus. Even if that nice lady had done nothing wrong, it wouldn’t do to let her think that the police were interested in her. Ladarat could think of no more certain way to ensure that she would never be found to serve as a witness to help them catch the perpetrator.

Finally, when Ladarat was certain that Sisithorn was awake enough to be helped into Ukrit’s car, and when Somporn and Kamon had fanned out to interview witnesses, she felt she could go home. A nap would be most welcome. Perhaps a long nap.

It was perhaps not as long a nap as she might have wished. But it was a very effective one, as naps go. In fact, Ladarat had descended into such a deep sleep that when she suddenly woke, past three o’clock, she couldn’t remember where she was. It took her a few moments to recall the events of the past day and the excitement of the morning. She remembered, too, pulling the blinds closed in hope of getting an hour or two of sleep. She’d slept for more than five.

What was most remarkable, perhaps, was Maewfawbaahn’s patience. True, she’d fed him and let him out when she got home. It was nevertheless amazing that he’d let her sleep this long. He wasn’t even lurking on the bed as he usually did.

That was when she heard the faint mewling through a partly open window. Oh, dear. She’d fed her trusty watchcat, and she’d let him out for a little exercise. But she’d fallen asleep before she could let him in. The watchcat, lacking opposable thumbs, had probably been mewling like this for most of the day.

If it hadn’t been for that plaintive whining, Ladarat could perhaps have gone back to sleep again without much difficulty and without any guilt. Instead, she got up and made amends to her cat, aided by another generous helping of canned cat food. She couldn’t feel guilty forever, though, and her cat seemed to agree. It was good to know one’s cat had a spirit of forgiveness.

Besides, a few minutes later, after a shower, Ladarat belatedly checked her text messages. A note from Sisithorn, thanking her. And from Wiriya, reminding her of their date at the WesternGirl.

And, oddly, a text from Sudchada. “This is Sudchada. Please call.”

Her hair still wet from the shower, barefoot with a cup of cold ginger tea in one hand, Ladarat dialed what she assumed was Sudchada’s cell phone. How Sudchada had managed to get Ladarat’s number gave her pause for a moment, but only a moment. Since she used one phone for both work and personal calls, no doubt Sudchada had gotten the number from the hospital operator, telling her that there was an ethical emergency that required the services of the hospital’s nurse ethicist.

An ethical emergency? At three thirty on a Saturday afternoon? That seemed implausible. More likely Sudchada was hoping that Ladarat could provide an update on her ongoing investigation of Dr. Taksin. As she waited for Sudchada to answer, Ladarat suppressed a momentary twinge of annoyance. Certainly it was somewhat inappropriate to be calling for such a reason, at such a time. Yet Sudchada was obviously smitten. If that was the right word. And smitten people did odd and often inexplicable things.

“Khun Ladarat? I’m so sorry to disturb you on a Saturday. It’s my day off, too. I won’t be back on the unit until tonight, so the nurses on the unit called me a few minutes ago. They said it couldn’t wait, and I thought you’d want to know, too.”

“It’s no matter. Really. I understand.”

“You do?” Sudchada sounded perplexed. “Then you know that Melissa Double is gone? But how did you know?”

“Gone?” Ladarat revised her tone quickly. “Gone. Yes. Gone. Of course.”

So suddenly. She just left? Without saying goodbye? That seemed very strange. And of course Ladarat was as surprised as Sudchada had been. Yet to sound as flustered as she felt would not inspire confidence, would it? It would not.

“Yes, she’s gone, Khun. But where?”

There was a pause and the sound of Sudchada’s phone being put down, then picked up again.

“A driver came this morning, along with an older farang woman. Apparently it was all very sudden, and there wasn’t even time to arrange the discharge paperwork and instructions. The nurses—they were very flustered, so they didn’t get all of the information they might have. But they got the name of the hotel from the driver. At least, I think it’s a hotel. Someplace called the Magic Grove Hotel.”

After she ended the call with Sudchada, another quick call to Jonah revealed that although he’d been supposed to work today, Delia had given him the day off.

Next: Wiriya. She called the detective to try to convince him of the urgency of the situation. And to convince herself, perhaps. He was at the bus station, supervising his young acolytes Somporn and Kamon, who were busily questioning everyone they could, hot on the trail of the devious criminal they’d begun to call “the night robber.” Ladarat had to admit that it had a catchy sound.

“Although not as catchy as the ‘Peaflower murderer,’ wouldn’t you agree?” Wiriya asked. Ladarat could imagine him smiling on the other end of the phone.

Ladarat did agree. That name would be hard to beat, in the annals of great criminal titles. But a crime at the Magic Grove Hotel might come in a close second. If, of course, there was a crime, which was unlikely, in Wiriya’s mind at least.

“A patient checks out of the hospital and goes to a hotel? That’s hardly the stuff of nefarious criminal activity.”

“Perhaps not,” Ladarat admitted reluctantly. “But … it’s the perfect. … what’s the term? The detective term?”

Wiriya sighed, loudly enough to be audible over the background of the busy afternoon rush of the bus station. “A cover story. We call it a cover story. But going to the hotel … to look for a patient? That’s not a believable cover story.”

But Ladarat wasn’t concerned. “No, no. It’s quite natural, you see? I knew this woman, this Melissa Double at the hospital. And no doubt the owner knows this—she saw me on the unit and no doubt Melissa told her about my visit. So it would only be natural for me to visit her at the Magic Grove Hotel, would it not?”

“No … no, it would not. Most people, they would simply call, wouldn’t they?”

Ladarat hadn’t thought of that. She supposed that would be a logical approach.

“But visiting isn’t illogical. Certainly not illogical enough to be suspicious.”

“Perhaps not, but what is there to investigate?”

Ladarat realized she hadn’t told Wiriya about Jonah’s latest revelation about the disappearance of guests and the disposal of their luggage. In the confusion of Sisithorn’s long sleep, she’d forgotten it entirely. And perhaps she hadn’t mentioned Jonah’s role as a spy? Perhaps not.

“But you see, Richard April? I know that his luggage—”

“I have to go,” he interrupted. Ladarat could hear one of the ambitious detectives clamoring for his attention in the background, about a clue, or a key witness, no doubt, who would crack the case of the night robber wide open. “Just get some rest, and I’ll see you tonight.” And he disconnected.

Well. Apparently the great detective had found a mystery that was worthy of his time and attention. Fair enough. If this was a real case, then this case would be hers and hers alone.

But now, an hour later, Ladarat wasn’t at all sure she wanted this case to be hers. Here she was, eyeing the front door of the Magic Grove Hotel from a parking spot on the wide gravel circle that couldn’t have been more conspicuous, which perhaps was not ideal for the process of detection.

What had seemed a few days ago to be a quiet but perhaps slightly mysterious establishment had become—in her imagination, at least—more than a little nefarious. Yet she mustn’t let her suspicions show. She was simply here visiting a friend. That was all. Someone visiting a friend would not sit in a car … skulking.

Ladarat got out of her little car and made her way across the gravel drive, which crunched loudly underfoot. If anyone had missed the sound of her car driving up a few moments ago, the sound of her footsteps now would no doubt alert the world to her presence.

She wasn’t surprised when the front door opened of its own accord as she stepped onto the wide front porch. That was one thing she noticed—the automatically opening door. But the other observation tugging at her attention was almost more interesting. The patio that had been so nicely swept a few days ago—and which Jonah said he had cleared just yesterday—today was littered with yellow-green leaves from the nearby Pisonia tree. Ladarat slowed for a moment, as she considered why the patio had grabbed her attention so forcefully. Certainly not all patios are perfectly swept all the time. Certainly her own patio wasn’t as pristine as a proud homeowner might hope. Still.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt voice that issued from the newly opened door.

“Ah … Khun … Ladarat?” Delia appeared in the doorway and made a formal wai, which Ladarat returned politely.

“Two visits in one week; we should feel honored that a nurse ethicist comes to visit us twice in one week.”

Ladarat was flummoxed for a moment. Had she told this woman that she was a nurse? Or a nurse ethicist? She couldn’t remember. That would probably make her a highly ineffective criminal, if she was so poorly able to recall what she’d told to whom. But, fortunately, she was not the criminal here. The possible criminal.

“Yes, Khun. I was here to see one of our patients who moved out here. But, first, tell me how Jonah is doing—is he what you needed?”

In that moment, Ladarat realized why the patio had been asking so insistently for her attention. If you didn’t have the staff to sweep the front patio, why would you give your staff the day off? Especially if it meant that the owner herself had to man the front door?

Ladarat was so wrapped up in these thoughts of suspicious behavior that she missed the first part of Delia’s answer about Jonah, but the gist was clear. Very enthusiastic, very helpful …

“And he speaks Thai very well—well enough to handle ordering of supplies, which is a big load off my mind, I can tell you. But … Khun? You mentioned a patient from Sriphat Hospital?”

Ladarat nodded. “Melissa Double? I just saw her on Thursday and the nurses tell me she came here this morning.”

“Ah, but she is not here.”

“Not here?”

“She was here, it’s true. Just this morning. But she changed her mind and wanted to travel on. She said she wanted to see … Laos.”

The owner’s eyes strayed to the trees over Ladarat’s left shoulder for just a fraction of a second. Hardly noticeable, but just enough to give the impression of deceit.

Perhaps it was true that Melissa Double was not here. Indeed, why would she say such a thing unless it were true?

But that statement about her going to Laos—that seemed false. False, and illogical. Would the Melissa Double that Ladarat knew simply travel to Laos on the spur of the moment, without a plan? What would make someone as careful and thoughtful as Melissa Double walk in the front door of this place and decide—suddenly and irrevocably—that she absolutely needed to go to Laos? Why didn’t she decide that before she left the hospital?

On the other hand, Melissa had been going to Laos when she was sidetracked by her symptoms. She’d been on her way to take a boat down the Mekon from Chiang Kong, hadn’t she? So Delia’s claim was certainly plausible. Perhaps Melissa came here, felt better, and was inspired to resume her journey. Or perhaps she knew that the hospital would have tried to stop her from going to Laos, whereas they would have supported her decision to go to a hotel nearby.

These were the conflicting thoughts that ran through Ladarat’s head as Delia stood smiling in the doorway. Either Melissa was there or she wasn’t. And either she’d left for Laos or she hadn’t. Regardless, Ladarat wasn’t going to learn any more by standing here. She said her goodbyes as politely as she could. As she made her way back to the car, she couldn’t help turning around to see that Delia was watching her.

Ladarat mused about this odd turn of events as she drove through thickening traffic back toward Chiang Mai. Even the distractions of drivers who honked angrily at her perfectly legal changes of lane didn’t deter her from thinking about the woman from Wales who had been so philosophical about her illness, and who was now so difficult to find.