THE CASE OF THE FROWNING DURIAN

Ladarat was so pleased with that image of the fruit seller’s pleasant surprise that at first she didn’t notice the change that had overtaken her Beetle. She paused, with her fingers gripping the door handle. Looking down at the driver’s seat.

That seat should have been empty, she knew. She was not sitting in that seat, so it should be empty. But it was not.

The seat was occupied by an object that looked vaguely familiar. It was an oblong fruitlike object, about eight inches in diameter, covered with short, sharp spikes. What registered in her mind was not the object so much as its eyes. Its face, actually. Its spikes had been carefully trimmed to create the appearance of a face.

That rudimentary face had small eyes, an even smaller nose, and what might charitably be described as a frown. And each of these facial landmarks seemed to be emphasized by holes that had been carved into the object. That’s what she noticed first—that there was a frowning face staring up at her from the driver’s seat of her Beetle. Even in light of the oddness-to-date of her week, this struck her as being rather unusual. One did not generally find such things in one’s car. Even in the busy, surprising life of a detective, she imagined, such things were unusual.

Her brain did not immediately register the nature of the fruit that had been artistically enhanced. Actually, it’s safe to say that her brain did not register the fruit’s identity at all. That detective work was performed by her nose.

Even with the car door closed, and the windows rolled up, her Beetle was surrounded by a thick miasma of smell that was a mixture of putrefying garbage, raw sewage, and rotten eggs. If that scent were visible, it would perhaps look like the ripply emanations that you see blanketing a hot parking lot. Ripples and waves of a smell that could only come from one perpetrator. In that moment, her nose realized that her beloved Beetle had been vandalized by a durian.

Of course, Ladarat was not intimately familiar with the rigors of crime and detection. There were many things she did not know, and indeed would never know. And yet, in this one instance, she was quite certain of one thing: This could only be a threat.

Even with no knowledge of the criminal mind, the combination of the note earlier that afternoon, and the frowning durian, she recognized with total clarity that she was being warned away from the Peaflower case. That was her first thought.

The second thought took longer to form, but she had time. Plenty of time.

Ladarat carefully opened the driver’s-side door and picked up the offending fruit, then walked very fast about twenty meters to a trash can. The street was almost deserted and no one gave her a second glance as she deposited the fruit, its frowning face positively glaring at her as it fell backward to its doom.

Ladarat opened both of the Beetle’s windows, and also the little triangular windows on either side of the dashboard. There was very little breeze, but there was some. Her Beetle would air out in time. So she waited, leaning against the hood. She waited, and she thought.

She did not need to think much about the meaning of this threatening fruit. Its significance should be clear to even an obtuse observer. Even to someone who knew nothing about detection and the criminal mind. So she didn’t think about the fact—and indeed it was truly a fact, if ever there was one—that this was a warning.

Nor, at first, did she think about whether she should heed that warning. That is, she did not think seriously about whether she should give up on the Peaflower case.

No, as she waited for her beloved Beetle to smell a little less like it had been filled with a week’s worth of rotting garbage, she thought about who might have done this. She thought very, very hard about this question.

There was, obviously, Peaflower herself. She could have left that note on her windshield, and the durian on the driver’s seat. That would be the simplest answer.

And yet, there was a problem with that theory. If Peaflower were the durian perpetrator, then how did she know? How could Peaflower possibly know that she, Ladarat Patalung, was tracking her down? Ladarat pondered that question for several minutes, without appreciable results.

She sighed, stood up, and leaned in through the open passenger-side window. The durian’s aftereffects were still quite strong. Overpowering, really. So she had more time to think.

Her thoughts, unfortunately, were not very productive. At least, they were not productive in the sense that they provided her with answers. Yet they were highly productive in the sense that they succeeded in making her very nervous.

Because she realized that this episode of fruit-based intimidation could only have happened in one of two ways. First, and perhaps most likely, Peaflower had learned of her detective activities and was trying to warn her away. That, Ladarat knew, meant that someone had told Peaflower about those detective activities. That is to say, Peaflower had an accomplice. Several accomplices, perhaps.

These would presumably be accomplices who knew about Ladarat’s activities. People who knew about them, and conveyed the news of Ladarat’s investigation to Peaflower. That was troubling, because there were very few people who knew about Ladarat’s activities. Detective Mookjai, of course. And Ladarat’s cousin. Both were beyond suspicion. That left Panit Booniliang, the hardworking medical records clerk and cricket aficionado. He should also be beyond suspicion, should he not?

The very impossibility that these three individuals might have warned Peaflower led Ladarat inevitably to a second possibility, which was equally implausible. Perhaps one of these accomplices had actually done the warning. That is, one of these accomplices had placed the note on her windshield and the frowning durian in her Beetle. They might be protecting Peaflower, or if their role in her crimes was substantial, they might be protecting themselves. Yet that seemed inconceivable.

That left a third possibility—that it was the mamasan Wipaporn Chakrabonse who had discovered Ladarat’s investigation and was warning her away. And that, Ladarat knew, had to be the case. It was the only logical explanation.

But was Khun Wipaporn acting on her own to protect herself? Or was she working with Peaflower to protect both of them?

That was the most important question. If the mamasan was interested primarily in protecting herself, then perhaps she might be open to persuasion. She might even be willing to give evidence to save herself.

But if the mamasan and Peaflower were working together… well… that was very bad. If that were the case, then Ladarat suspected that her meeting tomorrow night with Khun Wipaporn would be a trap.

Ladarat poked her head through the passenger-side window once again. She noted a slight improvement. But driving, she thought, would still expose her to toxic levels of durian fumes. She resolved to wait a few more minutes.

As she settled back into position on the Beetle’s hood, she had two thoughts more or less simultaneously. The first was that she should inform Detective Mookjai of these latest… developments. He would want to know.

But it was as she was reaching for her mobile phone in her bag that she had the second thought. And this was a thought that froze her right hand in mid-reach. If someone had left a note on her car, and had left a frowning piece of fruit in that same car, on the same day, then that someone must be… following her. And in all likelihood, someone was watching her right now.

Ladarat tried to maintain a calm demeanor for the benefit of this unseen watcher. A watcher who, hopefully, could not see her hand trembling. She took out her mobile and dialed the detective’s number. As she did, Ladarat scanned her surroundings in a way that she hoped was surreptitious. That is, in the way that a detective might scan her surroundings to identify watchers. Because if ever there was a proper time to behave like a detective—even if one was not—this was such a time.

Perhaps her observations were surreptitious, but they were not productive. Her scan of the darkening street and shuttered shops revealed only two dogs poised at the end of an alley, a group of three schoolgirls heading home, and a young farang couple holding hands and looking around at the closed shops in wonder, as if this were the most exciting street they’d ever walked down.

Ladarat pushed aside a twinge of something that could only be called jealousy. She remembered when she and Somboon were like that, many years ago. Wherever they were was the best place they had ever been, because their future was glowing so brightly.

None of these individuals, however, could possibly be Peaflower’s accomplice. So if Ladarat was being watched—and she had to assume that she was—then she was being watched rather expertly. By someone, presumably, who was very talented at watching. And that sort of person was not a person to be trifled with.

The detective didn’t answer, and so Ladarat left a brief message explaining that someone had placed a note on her Beetle, warning her away. She left out the information about the durian, although she couldn’t say why she omitted it. It seemed both silly and frightening at the same time. She wasn’t sure whether to make it into a joke, or to grant it the gravity that perhaps the threat deserved. So she said nothing.

As Ladarat put her mobile away, she stuck her head in through the passenger-side window one more time, hoping that perhaps the fumes had dissipated. They were slightly reduced but were by no means gone. At this rate, she would be here all night. So, taking a deep breath, she opened the driver’s-side door and got in, hoping that if she drove fast enough, she might encourage the fumes to leave.

By reflex, as she was pulling away from the curb, she turned to wave at the fruit seller. It was only then that she realized that the good man was still not there. The whole time she had been waiting for the durian’s effects to wane, he had not been at his post. And it was now well past seven. Normally he’d be packing up about now.

So where was he? And did his extended absence have anything to do with the frowning durian? That was too much to try to figure out. Particularly on an empty stomach.

One should never try to think too hard on an empty stomach. Particularly about matters of ethics and morality.

So she would go home, driving as rapidly as safety permitted. With her head out the window if need be. And she would make herself a pomelo salad. And she would think about recent developments. And she would decide whether to continue with her activities of detection.