LOVE IS THE EXPRESSION OF SIMPLICITY IN EMOTION

Thoroughly unwelcoming, the House of Rooster Happiness offered only an imposing steel door placed dead center. Nor was there any indication of what might be inside. Could this really be the right place?

But she knew it was. Things were starting to make sense. A blind front, with no advertising at all, is exactly what she should have been looking for all along. If this was mostly a matchmaking agency, it wouldn’t need to rely on advertising and neon and touts, would it? It would not.

Still, she was a little surprised when she pulled on the door handle and it opened to reveal a low, dark room. The space seemed to stretch back ten meters or more to a bar at the far end that spanned the width of the building. There was a narrow wooden staircase to her left, and to her right there was a collection of small, low tables with velvet-upholstered armchairs that seemed well used and frayed. That was what she noticed first.

It took her another moment to realize that the large room was empty. There was a bartender sullenly mopping the counter, but no one else in sight. No mamasan, and no girls. Where was everyone?

She made her way quickly and purposefully across the empty room toward the bar. Was she being watched? Ladarat snuck a furtive look around her. It felt as though someone had eyes on her, but how was that possible? She and the bartender were alone.

She focused on him. Just concentrate. A small, thin, pinched man, little more than a teenager. Too young to be a bartender unless… this was a family business? Perhaps he was the mamasan’s son? Or grandson?

He was halfheartedly wiping the bar counter with a gray rag as Ladarat approached. She made a polite wai, which he returned perfunctorily and almost uncertainly. It was as if it was a custom he was unfamiliar with.

“Good evening, Khun,” she said as politely as she could. “I’m wondering if you could help me?”

The man shrugged. This, Ladarat thought, is not going well.

“I’m looking for Khun Wipaporn. Is she here?”

At the sound of the mamasan’s name, the man’s eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter and one new wrinkle line appeared above each eye. But that was the only sign he offered that he understood what she was saying. Or for that matter, that he was listening at all.

Without a word, he put the rag on a shelf behind the bar, which was good. Then he turned and disappeared through a heavy swinging wooden door behind him, which wasn’t. Oh dear.

Ladarat shrugged and took a seat at the bar. This was truly strange. But then again, if you go venturing into dens of iniquity looking for a murderer, you shouldn’t be surprised when things get a little strange. That has to be one of the first rules of being a detective.

She was sitting there, curiously content, and pondering that wisdom, when her attention skated over the mirror that was set into the wall above the liquor racks behind the bar. It was too high for even an elephant to see her reflection. So it seemed to be a silly place to put a mirror, unless…

Ladarat waved in the general direction of the mirror. She smiled. Then she waited.

That should work. But it wasn’t working. Ladarat thought very hard about that.

Should she follow the taciturn bartender through the door? That seemed like a generally poor strategy, though. Who knew what was behind that door? Best to stay here. She would await developments.

Another minute went by. Then another. It had been five minutes. And no developments. And no sign of anyone resembling a customer.

That was worth thinking about. What sort of place was this, which could survive without customers?

She was pondering that, and having second thoughts about what she should doing here. In truth, she had just about given up on this whole endeavor. Maewfawbaahn would be waiting for her.

And it was… only four o’clock. She could go home early for once. Khun Duanphen would be overjoyed.

Then the door swung open to reveal not the bartender but a heavyset Chinese woman with small eyes and a broad, friendly smile. She was wearing a dark gray business suit that looked to Ladarat’s untrained fashion eye as though it had been tailored to fit her improbably sturdy frame. She looked like a prosperous businesswoman. Which, given the empty room and total absence of customers, was more than a little puzzling.

She returned Ladarat’s wai with a perfect formality and respect. Her son—if that’s who he was—could learn some manners from his mother. Before Ladarat could speak, the mamasan greeted her warmly in thinly accented Thai, and offered her tea. No sooner had she nodded—tea would be most welcome—than a beautiful young Chinese woman emerged through the swinging door. She carried a tray that held an elaborate porcelain teapot with a deep blue scroll design and matching cups. The girl poured, setting the cups in front of them, then withdrew silently.

“So,” the woman began. “My colleague Khun Siriwan tells me you are looking for… a woman?”

Ladarat noticed that subtle hesitation. How much had her cousin told the mamasan? Hopefully enough so that Ladarat wouldn’t need to go through the story again. But how much? She temporized.

“Yes, Khun. This woman, Peaflower, is a bad woman. We think that she may have murdered a man. And maybe several.”

Wipaporn nodded slowly, as if she were processing new information. But if this were truly new information, wouldn’t she show more surprise? She certainly would. So she knew something. Probably Siriwan had told her.

But—and here a very interesting thought appeared in her head—maybe Wipaporn actually knew Peaflower. And maybe she had her own suspicions? That would be very, very helpful. Because if the mamasan was suspicious, she would be more willing to help, wouldn’t she? Or perhaps she’d try to cover up? In a split second, Ladarat decided to be blunt.

“You know this woman, don’t you, Khun?”

Wipaporn hesitated, but only briefly. She nodded. But she didn’t speak.

“And perhaps you’ve had suspicions of your own?”

“How did you know?”

And Ladarat knew that she had won. “Because, Khun,” she said simply. “You are a businesswoman. A successful businesswoman,” she added. “And as such, you know better than anyone how a single person can be a threat to a well-run business. The right person, doing wrong things…”

Ladarat didn’t need to make her point any clearer. She knew that Wipaporn had been watching Peaflower. She’d probably been thinking about what to do about her. And now… And now here Ladarat was, asking the same questions that Wipaporn should have been asking.

What would Ladarat do if she were in the mamasan’s place?

She would help. Of course. She would help to catch this woman. Get rid of her. And be helpful enough during the process that no difficult questions would be asked about her complicity, or what she knew when. Ladarat decided to gamble on that possibility.

“So as a businesswoman, you would want to help us catch this woman, wouldn’t you, Khun?”

Wipaporn nodded, smiling. It seemed as though they had an agreement. But what?

The two women sat facing each other in a silence that was curiously comfortable. Ladarat was thinking of a plan. Or rather, she was trying to think of a plan. But what was the mamasan thinking?

“So, Khun,” Ladarat began. “What should we do?” She paused. “It’s one thing to say that we should catch this woman, but another thing entirely to figure out how to do it.” She looked at Wipaporn, whose attention seemed to be focused on a point somewhere over Ladarat’s left shoulder. As she was turning to look, her eye caught a movement in the mirror behind the bar. The mirror was about three meters off the floor, so from her angle it revealed only the upper stratosphere of the room. But when she turned, she saw a man. A familiar man.

Wiriya offered a respectful wai to both women, first to the mamasan, which was only proper as she was older. Then he introduced himself politely.

For a second Ladarat wondered what he was doing here. Was he the sort of person who… frequented this sort of place? But no, of course he had followed her. Or—more likely, Siriwan had told him Ladarat would be here and he was keeping an eye on her. That was it, wasn’t it?

“Of course I know of you, Khun Wiriya,” Wipaporn said. “You were injured in the line of duty not long ago, weren’t you?”

Wiriya nodded modestly and shrugged. “It was just a day’s work.”

As he turned away from them to look around the room, Wipaporn raised an eyebrow at Ladarat in way that implied a question. But what? Then Wiriya turned back to the two women.

“Khun Siriwan said you would be here, and I was curious to learn how your detecting was progressing.”

Wiriya looked at Ladarat. Ladarat looked at Wipaporn. They both looked at Wiriya.

“It is… progressing,” Ladarat said finally. “We have decided that it would be best to try to catch this woman.”

“Ah, really? You astonish me. Such a bold plan.” He paused, looking from one to the other. “And how exactly will you catch her?” He smiled.

“We thought perhaps we would find a policeman to help us,” Wipaporn said, smiling. “Do you have any suggestions for where we could find one?”

“That depends,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could explain how this”—he waved at the room—“works?”

Wipaporn looked puzzled for a moment, then she gestured to an empty chair at the bar. Wiriya sat.

“Of course. Well, you see, this is not a bar most of the time. On weekends, yes, it is a regular bar. But on weeknights, no. If it were, we wouldn’t be doing very well.” She smiled. “But in fact, we are doing well. Very well. All legal,” she hastened to add. “Perfectly legal.”

They looked at her expectantly. Perhaps Wiriya knew something of this business? But Ladarat didn’t. And she found that she was very curious. How did it work? How could a smart woman like Wipaporn become rich by running an empty bar?

“We are,” the mamasan said dramatically, “primarily a matchmaking agency. For Chinese men and Thai girls.” Wiriya nodded, but Ladarat was perplexed. The mamasan must have seen the expression on Ladarat’s face because she paused to explain.

“After China’s one-child policy went into effect in 1979, the Chinese started having more boy children.” Ladarat didn’t have to ask why that was, or how that happened. She’d heard the rumors. But thankfully nothing like that happened in Thailand. Women didn’t have the same status as men, but daughters were as highly valued as sons. It was the daughters of Thailand who took care of you when you were old. And less favorably, it was the daughters who went to work as prostitutes in Bangkok, sending money home. If anything, she guessed, if Thais could select the children they had, they would choose to have girls.

“So,” Wipaporn continued, “there is a shortage of marriageable women. And the women who are single have become more choosy. Some do not even marry at all. So you see, Chinese men find themselves in a quandary. Especially middle-aged men, of about our age. They’ve worked very hard, and have become doctors or lawyers or businessmen. They have the means to support a wife, but they can’t find one. And besides, they don’t want a woman their own age. They want a young woman, one who will bear children. Those who are very rich or very handsome may make a good match. As for the others…”

Ladarat could imagine. As for the others, they would look elsewhere. To Thailand, of course. But also to Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. And increasingly, to Myanmar. All countries with a relatively low standard of living and no shortage of beautiful women.

“So we try to arrange matches to meet that demand,” Wipaporn said simply.

“But how?” Ladarat asked.

“Ah, that is our business,” the mamasan said proudly. “That is the business I created. Look—you have to find men and women and you have to match them, right?”

Ladarat and Wiriya nodded. That logic seemed unassailable. Sure that was exactly what you needed to do. But how?

“Well, first we get a request from an eligible man in China. Anywhere, in theory. But mostly nearby. Just across the border in Honghe or Wenshan. But mostly in Kunming. He sends a picture and some information about himself.” She smiles. “He also sends us an electronic payment.”

“How much?” Wiriya asked. “Approximately.”

“Four hundred thousand baht,” she said. “Approximately.”

Ladarat couldn’t prevent a sharp intake of breath. And Wiriya didn’t try to conceal his surprise, which he revealed with a long, low whistle. Four hundred thousand baht was about thirteen thousand dollars. Almost half of her annual salary.

“And that’s for…?” she asked.

“Ah, for that amount, we promise to find a suitable match. Sometimes the first girl we find is acceptable, but sometimes there is more work to do.” She shrugged. For 400,000 baht, one could do a lot of “work” and still make a profit.

“But the girls,” Ladarat said. “Where do you find them? You must have a very large list of eligible girls?”

“That is the most important part of our business,” Wipaporn said proudly. “And the hardest to arrange. These girls who are looking for husbands often find them, you see. Sometimes they find husbands with us, but often they find them elsewhere. So instead of a list, we use a message board. An electronic message board,” she clarified.

“How does it work?” Ladarat was still confused, but she was beginning to see. And how it might be very, very profitable.

“Like a real message board, but on the Internet. It’s a series of postings that girls can view with a mobile phone. Look, I’ll show you.”

And she took her phone from her suit pocket. A few clicks later, she handed it to Ladarat, and Wiriya looked over her shoulder. She looked down and saw a man’s face. That face sported a broad grin, indicating copious amounts of happiness. Presumably his happiness was caused by the large yellow speedboat the size of a city bus in the background. It was included, of course, to show how rich and powerful he was. That, she supposed, was a good reason to be smiling. Of course, if that boat wasn’t really his, some girl was going to be very disappointed.

She took the phone and scrolled down to show them the man’s name: Cheng Chi Weng, age forty-four, and occupation “entrepreneur.”

“So you see, it’s a buyer’s market. The girls can pick and choose.”

“Do you have a record of the… matches you’ve arranged?” Wiriya asked.

Wipaporn shook her head. “No, Somsak, my nephew, deletes them as soon as a meeting takes place. No point in taking up storage space, he tells me.”

Wiriya looked as though he was going to ask another question, and in fact, he began to open his mouth. Instead he just nodded.

“So what does a girl do if she sees a man she’s interested in?” Ladarat asked.

“She would send a text to Somsak, mentioning the man’s name. He handles all the technical aspects of the business. He is a very smart young man. Not like my son.” Wipaporn gestured at the man who had been behind the bar but who was now sweeping the stairs. “Hopeless.” She shook her head.

“Somsak was the one who created the message board. Then he’ll send her some more information about the man. His income, where he lives, whether he’s ever been married. And then if she still likes what she sees, she’ll upload her information to the man’s profile on the message board. So he can log in to see who has responded. If there is interest, we arrange a meeting here.”

“And these meetings,” Wiriya asked, “are they always for marriage?”

“Well, one can never predict the course that romance will take. Didn’t Confucius say that love is the expression of simplicity in emotion?”

Perhaps he did. Ladarat wasn’t sure. But wasn’t 400,000 baht rather expensive for finding simplicity? Especially if a man could fly to Chiang Mai and wander down this street himself?

“And if marriage does not ensue?” Wiriya asked.

“Then we sometimes will give a partial refund.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Rarely,” she said. And she smiled a very thin smile that was not really a smile at all. “Even if there is not a successful marriage, most of our clients don’t ask for their money back.”

Ladarat thought that was odd, although there was no accounting for how men behaved. But Wiriya seemed to be suspicious as well—he was watching Wipaporn closely.

Ladarat thought of the boat in the background as she handed the phone back. “But what if a man were to be less than honest about his… characteristics?”

The mamasan gave her a stern look. “These men should be very careful about lying. That would not be good for them to attempt.”

“So, Khun.” Now Wiriya had adopted an exaggerated politeness. Which meant that he was suspicious. “I’m curious. You say that these men pay… three hundred thousand baht?”

“Four hundred thousand.”

“Ah, my mistake. So you said. Four hundred thousand baht. That’s a lot of money, even for a very wealthy man, isn’t it?”

“It is a bargain, though, to find your soul mate. Don’t you think?”

Wiriya shrugged but continued to watch her carefully.

“Are you married, Khun?” the mamasan asked.

Wiriya shook his head warily, perhaps wondering how this clever woman had turned the tables on him so effortlessly.

“Ah, well, for many men, marriage is easily worth that much or more. Perhaps not for you, but men place a different price on that which they desire, no?”

“But to pay that much and not to find your soul mate,” he said. “Well, that would be a source of dissatisfaction, would it not?”

“Perhaps that is true,” Wipaporn admitted. “But there are certain… compensations.”

“Compensations?”

“Well, when the man arrives, we typically arrange a meeting with the girl.”

“And where would that meeting take place?”

“Why, here, of course.”

“Here, as in here?”

“Here, and… upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“Well, these men travel some distance to get here. They need a place to… freshen up. And sometimes they may meet the girl upstairs as well.”

Now this was interesting. Wipaporn was looking very uncomfortable as she was telling them this. Strange. This was a successful businesswoman who was describing a successful business. Yet she seemed nervous. Granted she was also talking about what seemed to amount to prostitution. And Wiriya was a detective. But prostitution was hardly unusual in Thailand, as they all knew perfectly well. Typically it was offsite, not upstairs. But Ladarat’s cousin had run precisely such an upstairs arrangement for years. So why was Wipaporn so distinctly uncomfortable?

“But what about the girl?” Wiriya asked, changing direction. “She comes in, looking for a marriage proposal. And when the man decides he’s not interested… Or he decides he’s interested, but not that interested, what happens then?”

“Well, we do have ways of compensating girls when romance does not go well. Heartbreak can be very painful,” she said virtuously. “We do what we can to help the girls get back on their feet after rejection.”

Fair enough. And this was interesting, but it wasn’t helping them catch a murderer, was it? No, it was not.

“So,” Ladarat said. And she suddenly realized that this was the first time she had spoken in a while. “So how would we catch this woman? How would we get the evidence that we needed?”

Wipaporn and Wiriya exchanged a look that Ladarat couldn’t for the life of her figure out. It was almost as if they had a secret that they weren’t sharing. But that was silly. Wasn’t it?

“We would lay a trap,” Wiriya said simply.

“That’s right,” Wipaporn said. “We find a potential husband that this woman would find attractive, and then we arrange a meeting.”

“But how do we find her?” Ladarat asked. “How do we create a profile that will be sure to find this…” Wiriya was looking at her and smiling. “Ah. We include his name.”

“And,” Wiriya said, “we make him as unappealing as possible.”

“Why unattractive?”

“To make sure that no other girls would be interested. We want only one girl to respond, and we want to be sure that girl is the right one.”

“So you make him boring,” Wipaporn said.

“And an undesirable partner.” Wiriya grinned.

“And make him ugly,” Ladarat suggested.

Wiriya and Wipaporn laughed, a bit too heartily. It really wasn’t that funny. Ladarat smiled. Then her two conspirators exchanged glances.

“Khun Ladarat…” Wipaporn said carefully. “This trap?”

“Yes?”

“It needs bait.”

“It does?”

“It does. It needs a person. A real person.”

Why was she looking at Ladarat like that?

“Do we have such a person?” Ladarat asked.

“We do,” Wiriya announced with a smile. “And perhaps he is ugly, but he would prefer not to be described as such.”

Oh dear.

“But how would we know if we’d found the right woman? We don’t know what this woman looks like. And she might not be using her real name.”

“She would use her real name if she were interested in marriage,” Wiriya pointed out. “And we’re pretty sure that she is. In fact, that’s exactly what she’s looking for.”

“But how would that trap her?” Ladarat asked. “If we find her, that’s one thing. But just finding her won’t help us to prove that she killed these men, would it?”

Wipaporn looked from one to the other. “I think I can help with that,” she said. Ladarat sat quietly, waiting for details. But the mamasan didn’t seem to want to say more.

Eventually it was settled. They would post Wiriya’s picture, giving him the not-very-original name “Zhang Wei.” And they made up an unappealing profile for him. He was forty-two—too old to be considered a good catch even by the lax standards of this place. And they captured the most unflattering mobile phone picture they could. They had to go outside and halfway down the block to find a nondescript brick wall to take the photo in front of. It wouldn’t do to have Peaflower recognize the bar in the picture’s background.

Then they all came back inside, and Wipaporn took out a laptop and began typing out a profile. And it was in the description that they did their real work. He was widowed. Three times, they decided. That would be enough to ward off all but the most determined pursuit.

But it was Ladarat who created the crowning touch. Make him a writer, she suggested. A successful businessman who now spends his time writing self-help books for aspiring entrepreneurs. Mention how much he loves to work at home. Both Ladarat and Wipaporn made faces. The last thing any self-respecting girl would want, they knew, was to have a husband who was at home all the time.

“But…” Ladarat saw what seemed to be a big hole in their careful plan.

Wiriya and Wipaporn looked at her expectantly.

“When they meet…” She paused. “If they meet. Well… Peaflower will be expecting a Chinese businessman, will she not?”

Her two accomplices nodded. “Of course,” Wipaporn said.

“And I’ll dress the part,” Wiriya added. “Perhaps with a big fake Rolex.” He smiled.

That was well and good, but there was one thing Wiriya couldn’t fake. “You don’t speak Mandarin, do you?” she asked. “Surely with this… history of interactions with Chinese men, Peaflower will speak Mandarin. Perhaps Cantonese as well. And almost certainly she’ll speak in Chinese to put her new potential husband at ease. And when she does…”

She didn’t need to finish that thought. The baffled expressions of her accomplices made it very apparent that they hadn’t thought of this detail.

They looked at Ladarat with a combination of puzzlement and appreciation.

“It was lucky of you to have thought of that,” Wipaporn said.

“But not luck at all,” Wiriya added. “You have this ability to put yourself in other people’s shoes. To think about what they would do, and what they would want.” He smiled. “No, it is more of a skill.”

Ladarat was flattered that these two people—who certainly had many talents when it came to people—thought that she, too, had such abilities. But that pride faded rapidly as she realized they didn’t have a solution. As soon as Peaflower and Wiriya met, the game would be over.

None of them could think of a solution as Wipaporn uploaded the profile to the message board. “Well,” she said. “That’s all we can do for now.”

“And the problem of our Chinese businessman who only speaks Thai?” Wiriya looked glum.

Wipaporn shrugged. “Let’s hope we think of a solution before she arrives. If she arrives.”

“How long will we have to wait?” Ladarat asked.

“It depends,” Wipaporn admitted. “A day? A week? Maybe Peaflower is lying low for a while. Or maybe she became so rich she isn’t looking at all? But if she is, we’ll know soon.”