Chapter Five

Getting out of Bangkok the next morning took an age. Mike, accompanied by his new straw-blond comrade, decided to see what they could uncover on Koh Chang, the Elephant Island. It was the last known place Louise planned to visit and the obvious starting point. The local police had drawn a blank in their previous enquiries, but had probably taken little time to ask many questions of the small backpacking community centred on Lonely Beach. The chances were that they deemed it a low priority, a simple case of another backpacker going AWOL without bothering to tell anyone. Mike didn’t yet have a plan B, so there was a lot riding on how good his questioning could be.

After checking that nothing was missing - an easy enough task given the few items Mike thought to bring on the trip - they had decided to get out of Bangkok on the first bus available. With his room having been turned over and a close mugging to mull over, Mike wanted to be well away. His nerves were ragged, his personal safety under threat. The only way that this could be accomplished was to get up at the crack of dawn and make their way to one of the many travel agencies in the area dealing with low-cost minibus trips to the Thai islands. Tickets were inclusive of the ageing ferry, more fishing boat than contemporary passenger-carrying vessel. Early arrival at the agency offices was essential to ensure a space on a cramped Japanese manufactured minibus. The proprietors usually offered cheap breakfasts to further boost their profits, before you embarked on the snake-like journey through the traffic-congested highways. This often took several hours as the rush hour started early and lasted well into the day. The boom-and-bust tiger economy provided an ever-growing number of citizens with their own cars, happy to trade up from battered bikes and mopeds. An enthusiastic road building programme seemingly created little other than providing acres of temporary car-parking for the queues of Toyotas.

By the time they arrived at the jetty where the ferry was set to depart from, Mike was feeling the strain. His clothes were crumpled and he felt dishevelled and weary. In his haste he had forgotten to call Kae, so made his excuses to Rusty and wandered off to find a pay phone. Communication was starting to get a little complicated. In a bout of good business sense he sourced a cheap mobile in Bangkok, but reception remained close to non-existent out here. He elected not to tell Rusty of his secretive public call, feeling that the Australian need not be made aware unless there was something that Kae could do to aid them in their search for Louise. If such a situation arose he was sure that Rusty would be admiring of his secret liaisons with the Thai. Overall the thought of this left him with the sentiment that he was being in some way deceitful in their new-found friendship, though he couldn’t help but think that Rusty would belittle the notion of him communicating with an unknown local. Unless practical help were forthcoming, Rusty would probably label it ‘meddling’. This notion more than any other kept him from putting Rusty fully in the picture. For now he would keep this on a strictly need-to-know basis. Mike thought that there was something about Kae that suggested he could prove a useful ally. His enthusiasm and concern had seemed very genuine. Local knowledge and possible contacts could prove invaluable and having a third party only a phone call away must surely add a further bonus to their fledgling search.

The tone and attitude of the voice at the other end of the line took Mike wholly by surprise.

“You should have told me - you didn’t say you were going immediately! If you’d only asked. I have a car and could have driven you. It would have been my honour to help.”

This took Mike aback, so much so that he was shaking his head while holding onto the phone. Was Kae trying to shame him? He nearly didn’t make the call and now wished he hadn’t. A subtly chastised Mike was made to promise several times over that he would keep Kae fully in the picture from now on and not hesitate to call whenever he needed strings to be pulled. He concluded the conversation by jotting down the name of a sergeant assigned to the tourist police on the island. It was at least a start of sorts. He half expected that Kae would be speaking with the sergeant before they even checked in. The concern and enthusiasm seemed genuine enough, even if a little overpowering. It caused a thin vein of wariness to emerge in his thoughts towards the Thai. He now felt that he needed to answer to Kae as well as to the aloof Pembertons. Generally he regarded himself as independent enough to be resentful of having one manager; it would now appear that he had acquired two.

He was back with Rusty just in time to jump on board the ferry, taking shelter from the sun under a canvas awning. They camped out on a hard wooden seat, facing out to the bay. The comparatively petite size of the craft allowed him to take a view from any of the bearings he chose. The overpowering smell of fresh salt calmed him as he took in the view, water lapping in each direction. Although a ferry service, the journey felt more like a cruise as the lush green peaks of Koh Chang filled the skyline. For Mike the short crossing came to an end too early and he was forced into strapping his backpack on and waiting to disembark. On his last visit he had taken the same trip in rough seas and departed the boat with very different sentiments. On that occasion the wooden boat had creaked and groaned, as the waves threatened to penetrate the old planking. Serving foot-passengers in the main, the ferry was no cross-channel roll on/off liner, more a converted fishing boat susceptible to sudden changes in weather. It was crudely kitted out to carry island visitors. Many would simply sit on the flat wooden deck with little or nothing to cling on to. Seats were little better, thinly padded benches on the whole. Safety features looked to be a low priority for the cash-strapped operators, likewise passenger comfort.

The ferry customers were briefly made to wait whilst bundles of merchandise were manhandled by waiting porters. This was the island’s lifeline, a bustling trade with every new arrival that was probably unchanged since Siam was last inked on the map. The listing swell did little to slow their progress nor dent their confidence as they danced between boat and pier in canvas shoes.

Mike watched in fascination, caught up in the colour and noise. A sharp whistle signalled to the waiting passengers that their time to disembark was here; the deckhands pulled ropes taut and waved people up. He was about to jump up onto the makeshift pier when his toe caught the uneven dowel on the bow’s decking. He fell heavily. The gap between ferry and pier afforded a fleeting glance at the murky water below, seaweed and diesel slopping against the bow. With his backpack attached he would sink like a stone. As he pitched forward, arms reached out and roughly grabbed his shoulders. He went with it, momentum pulling his body hard into the pier. He quickly gained a handhold and scrambled up.

“You bloody moron - next time take your bag off first!” shouted Rusty. “You can sling it off and jump up afterwards. You could have been impersonating a deep sea diver there!”

Looking up, Mike felt that once again he was indebted to Rusty. Not only had he helped Mike out twice, but the ex-pat Aussie was once again here to save the day. Mike promised to produce more than a vote of thanks when the time came. As he slowly stood up and caught his breath, he couldn’t help but think a similar fate could so easily have befallen Louise. No matter how unusual or sinister a set of circumstances might be, any number of mishaps could push a person off the radar. Even a strong character like Louise could trip over and fall into the dark waters below. She could simply be off the radar because of a mishap. Mike hoped that this wasn’t so. You didn’t retrieve people from nasty accidents. They got shipped back to grieving relatives in body bags.

After a short discussion, it was agreed that they head straight out to Lonely Beach. If indeed Louise had made it this far, she most likely would have headed in that direction. Most guidebooks recommended it to the independent traveller as a matter of course, though recent years had experienced the usual influx of neon dance bars and rapid resort creep. Other beaches and resorts on the island catered more for the domestic or package trade. With Lonely Beach there still remained an element of rustic charm, especially if you took the effort to explore the bays further south. It was the type of resort now facing near extinction in large parts of the tropics.

Although the bay had fallen victim to a process of rapid commercial change since Mike’s last visit, the necessities of tourism encroaching on the tropical vista, it still held much of the rustic appeal that had drawn backpackers here for several decades. The sheer size and distance from the ferry piers helped in this respect. Although brick, air-conditioned chalets thrust their white facades out towards the sea, many of the wooden huts on stilts remained, dotted along the shore and up the slopes amongst the trees. Rather than blight the environment with garish visual noise, these older huts blended against the bay in natural equilibrium. Mike took heart at this and was pleased that several were available to choose from. The views along the bay would be astonishing.

Without bothering to unpack much from their bags, they both decided to get on and press home a simple investigation. If little came up by the evening, they would relax and take a barbeque at one of the beachside café bars. They began with bartenders and Thai resort staff. A downloaded picture of Louise was brandished around and hooked a hit within the first half-hour. Dab, a local fire juggler, thought the picture matched that of a girl he had seen in the company of a couple of other girls, maybe a month or so ago. Faint pink scars across his torso bore testament to his art.

“Can you be more specific with the time?” Mike enquired, excited frustration forcing an urgent tone in his voice. “We think that she was here in mid-November.”

“No, not accurately, though that sounds about right. I have been doing the fire display for two years now and many nights meld into one. I am almost certain it was the girl. Her friends might have been from New Zealand, though I am not very good with all of the accents. I remember them more than others because they invited me over to sit with them after the fire show. They were friendly, inquisitive like they wanted to talk. That does not always happen.”

It was more than a lucky dice roll; this was their dream start. Louise Pemberton had made it to Koh Chang. Another incredible piece of fortune was that they also knew that she had been in the company of a couple of Kiwis. The stars were definitely with them on this one. Perhaps after all she might have taken off into the sun, maybe even flying to New Zealand. They both upheld this view for a very short time only. A trip to the bar on the hill drew out another witness. A Canadian guy called Luke had been mixing up potent cocktails since the end of the monsoon season, mid-September.

“Sure I know her. Could hardly stand up when I looked at her. You get a few space cadet casualties, but she was topping out worse than most. Noticed she was with some creep, well not really with him, more trying to avoid him. As she left she was really staggering, holding the rail like she was afraid of tipping right over it. A minute or two later I noticed this slime-ball following down the steps. I had to finish off a round, but thought I should take a look, make sure she was all right. When I got out down the bottom there was no sign of either of them. She OK?”

“I’m not sure,” Mike replied candidly. This last response placed a stone in his heart, a heavy weight of disappointment and anxiety. It was hard not to consider the genuine fear that Louise could be in real danger after all.

Subsequent enquiries around Lonely Beach failed to produce any further leads. Most of the current influx of backpackers were new arrivals, many cruising into gap years with a spell on the island to start their trip. Others might be simply taking a few weeks away from the office, happy to pick up a flight-only deal and mingle with the backpackers, either to recharge low batteries or escape the flow of everyday life for a respite. Few of the bay’s guesthouse proprietors expressed any keen desire to divulge any information. Generic silences and shrugs proved to be the norm. The turnover in peak season probably ran well into the hundreds, enough to blur details of travellers, even the pretty ones. A few of the more forthcoming ones allowed Mike to pin hastily photocopied pictures of Louise on their communal boards, grainy images of her laughing poolside on a Spanish holiday. He imagined her beachwear attire to be similar to her casual island costumes she might have been wearing around the time of her disappearance.

With the day falling into late afternoon, a joint decision was made to make an impromptu visit to the island’s tourist police. Approaching authority seemed the only sensible action to take now. Though offering little help when Pemberton had first made the call to them concerning his daughter’s whereabouts, there was the chance that further evidence could have come to light. At least now there were two witnesses to Louise visiting Koh Chang. Without doubt Louise Pemberton was on the island just before she disappeared. Through visiting the police in person, they might well react more proactively, sympathetically even. Mike hoped that pictures and stories might soften their hearts and trigger their mouths.

The station was a modest affair, situated in the resort of White Sands a few kilometres away. A jeep shuttle service, with tarpaulin flung over the bears to keep the worst of the dust at bay, brought them to the reinforced double doors within the hour. As they approached the counter, a lone police officer offered a non-committal smile to welcome their arrival. Large green potted plants lent colour to an otherwise clinical atmosphere. Although non-threatening, the plain utilitarian interior offered little comfort to the passing visitor. This was not the place to spend any time voluntarily, which was the intention. Few public buildings on the island offered the luxury of air-conditioning. Due to its modernity and functionality, the station boasted the best in modern air-con technology. Before they had toned down the appeal of the reception area, it was not uncommon for a dozen people or more to loiter around on the hotter days. Whilst noisy and to some degree unsightly for official premises, this was also dangerous, for if a perpetrator was pulled in who struck a chord of recognition with the loitering crowd, it was not unknown for them to intervene during the arrest process. Rather than tempting a riot situation, the officers preferred a cold and sterile environment. In approaching the empty front desk, Mike had already decided to play his trump card provided by Kae. Should Rusty choose to delve into his acquired contact, he knew that he would play it down, so creating a smokescreen. This was wrong given Rusty’s sterling assistance so far, but somehow it seemed a necessity. Mike was unable to tell if this was through embarrassment for not telling Rusty about Kae or something more. With luck Rusty would automatically presume that Pemberton had given him the name prior to his departure. A bigger piece of luck would be in Rusty not picking up on it at all.

“Is Sergeant Virote here, please?”

The officer spoke fluent English, presumably a mandatory requirement in his job, due to his role in dealing with a daily dose of distressed tourists.

“Certainly. Can I first take your name and nature of business, please?”

“Sure,” Mike replied, “it’s about a missing girl - Louise Pemberton. I’m Mike Harwell. Her father sent me over to see if I could trace her. I came to Koh Chang, as we knew that she intended to visit after Bangkok. I’ve already spoken to some people who saw her at Lonely Beach. It seems that she then simply disappeared.”

“Please wait here a minute.”

The police officer seemed to react quickly to this information, and with a curt formal nod was gone. There was almost a sense of urgency in his hasty departure. Mike fought back a growing sense of anxiety and started to look for a seat. He felt the need to sit down. He was stopped short in the process by a door being opened and a plump, middle-aged Thai walking briskly towards him, hand outstretched in a formal gesture of welcome.

“Good afternoon. My name’s Sergeant Virote. I understand that you were asking for me?”

“Um, yes,” Mike hesitantly replied, already taken aback by the pace of events and a growing sense of foreboding.

“Please, perhaps you and your friend should take a seat.” The sergeant indicated a table surrounded by several hard plastic chairs. Mike and Rusty took a seat without another word, waiting in anticipation of what news the sergeant was obviously about to deliver.

“I was thinking of calling this Mr Pemberton, but as you are here looking for the missing girl it will be best if I tell you first. I’m afraid that the news that I have heard from my colleagues in Trat is not good.” He took a pause before continuing. “A body was found in the river last night, a western female in her mid-twenties.”