ONE MUST ALWAYS NEGOTIATE FROM A POSITION OF POWER

As she pushed open the heavy wooden door to the House of Rooster Happiness, Ladarat was preoccupied with thoughts of her Beetle. There’d been no room to park anywhere nearby, so she’d found a smaller alley about three blocks away. That alley held a jumble of small storefronts that were all closing for the night, so it was probably deserted by now. And she’d left the Beetle there all alone.

She hoped it would be okay. But of course it would. It had survived this long, hadn’t it? In truth, it was older than she was. So it could take care of itself. She smiled at the thought of a car fending for itself as she laid down her bananas on the Hing Phra shrine and made a deep wai. She said a quick prayer, asking Buddha for help in what she was about to attempt.

A bunch of bananas was hardly adequate payment for such a request. If the Buddha were inclined to favor her request, surely he would do so without a pile of ripe fruit in the bargain? But that was Buddhism for you—it was all about covering your bases.

A moment later the mamasan herself emerged through the swinging doors behind the bar, carrying a small tea tray. Moving silently, she appeared like a ghost. After they greeted each other, she apologized that she would need to leave Ladarat alone.

“There is much to be done,” she said by way of explanation. “My nephew Somsak is having technical difficulties. But Khun Wiriya will be here soon.” And she was gone, as silently as she’d arrived, leaving Ladarat alone again with her thoughts.

And she devoted those thoughts to the mahout and his elephant. It didn’t seem right that he would leave his elephant and come here. It was understandable, of course, that he would want to know what happened to the American. It was even understandable—though perhaps not to a hospital inspector—that he would want to stay close all the time.

And yet… wasn’t the elephant his source of livelihood? And didn’t they work together as a team? It seemed strange indeed that the mahout would simply leave and come to Chiang Mai. Even if he put his elephant in the care of someone he trusted, it was difficult to imagine doing that for any reason that wasn’t a matter of life and death. To do that voluntarily, on a… mission? That just didn’t make sense.

But what was the alternative? That the man wasn’t really a mahout? No, the American Kate recognized him. And besides, if he weren’t the mahout, why on earth would he be here?

Ladarat continued to try to puzzle this out, but she was no closer to an answer that made sense when Wiriya came through the front door. Just as Ladarat had, he made a high wai to the Buddha inside the door and deposited a bunch of overripe bananas in front of the shrine. She thought she saw him smile as he did so. One could only hope that the Buddha was very fond of bananas.

As they greeted each other, she noticed that Wiriya had dressed with particular care for his assignment. In place of the worn gray sport coat she’d become strangely accustomed to, now he wore a deep blue suit with chalk pinstripes. The suit made him look slimmer, and about ten years younger.

As Ladarat poured him a cup of tea from the pot that Wipaporn had left behind, Wiriya noticed her interest in his suit. He smiled.

“One must always negotiate from a position of power.”

“Indeed?” That was all she could think of to say.

“Indeed. And I think this is a woman who respects power, so we are playing by her rules.”

Ladarat found that surprising. This is a woman, remember, who is making a living by stealing from men with power. Killing them, and then stealing.

“But why do you think she respects power? She has not demonstrated much respect for anything, or anyone, has she?”

“Ah, but she has. You see,” he explained, “the men she is preying on are the men she respects. Or perhaps I should say they’re the men she fears. She doesn’t like them, it’s true. And… at the risk of sounding like a forensic psychiatrist, I would venture to guess that she hates powerful men.”

“And how do you know that, Khun?”

“Well, I don’t know it. Not for certain,” he admitted. “But there are many ways to make a living, and many ways to steal. Yet our woman has found a way to make a living that would seem to involve murder. That suggests to me that this is personal. That she is targeting these men, not just because they’re rich, but because she has a powerful hatred for these men, as a group.”

“Ah, I see. But why would that be?” Actually, Ladarat could think of many reasons why that might be. The Chinese who had come to Thailand in the early twentieth century had become quite successful in business. And many—though certainly not all—were ruthless as well. It was not difficult to imagine that members of this successful group had made some enemies. And one enemy in particular.

The detective was of the same opinion. He shrugged. “Perhaps her family was bankrupted by a Chinese lender. Or perhaps a Chinese business put her father out of work. Who knows? It’s just that this seems too personal, and too… vengeful, for it to be simply a strategic crime.”

They both thought about that possibility for a moment, as Wiriya sipped his tea.

“So you think this may be… revenge?” Ladarat asked.

“Perhaps. But it is too much, don’t you think? I mean to say, one murder of the person responsible… well, that could be counted as revenge. But two? Or a dozen? At some point this stops being revenge and is more like…”

“A habit?”

“Yes, I suppose. A habit. Now this is the way that she thinks of the world. You know, I heard a story once about tigers in India. That normally they don’t prey on people. People are just… part of the environment. But once a tiger kills a man, then it begins to think of people as food. That first kill changes the way that they look at us.” He paused, and they both thought about that for a moment.

“So it seems to me that this woman—and here I’m speculating—has fallen into just such a pattern. Now she sees these men as prey. They may seem powerful to others, just as they once seemed powerful to her, as they took her father’s business, or whatever it was one man did to enrage her. Maybe once she was afraid of them. But now? Now they are just her prey.”

“It seems as though you have thought about this a great deal.”

Wiriya smiled, embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose I have. You see, it would mean a great deal to me personally to be able to solve this case. With much help, of course.” He smiled.

“I have a reputation in the police, of course. But reputations don’t last forever. Already there are young men on the force who don’t know me. They’re young and ambitious and… well, unless I prove myself, soon I’ll be assigned to investigating unpaid parking tickets.”

Ladarat wanted to ask him if that were really true. Somehow she doubted it. This was a man who had been injured in the line of duty. He had a commendation from the king himself. Surely that was enough to ensure his status and his reputation?

But then again, she could easily imagine how that might not be true. It took very little, in fact, to damage one’s reputation. And, of course, time did the rest. Just as she was about to ask him whether he wanted to stay a policeman forever, the door behind the bar opened.

Ladarat gave a start of recognition. There, in front of her, was the man from the ICU waiting room. And the stairwell.

Now he was dressed more comfortably in track pants and a Ramones T-shirt. But if there had been any doubt in her mind that this was the same young man, a glance at the enormous wristwatch on his left arm was enough to convince her.

He offered a deep wai and an apologetic smile. Behind him was the mamasan, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Before Ladarat could formulate a question, the mamasan intervened.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention Somsak earlier. You see, when I first learned that you were investigating this Peaflower woman, I became worried. I thought perhaps we needed to watch you. And then, when you began to make progress, I thought we should try to… dissuade you.”

“But at our meeting…”

The mamasan nodded. “Yes, by then I’d realized that the best thing to do—the right thing to do—was to trust both of you. So…” she said. “No more durians. But Somsak has been keeping an eye on you.”

“Because…”

“Because Peaflower is dangerous. Very dangerous. She has much to lose. And Somsak had an advantage, you see. He knows what Peaflower looks like. But she wouldn’t recognize him. So by keeping him close to you, as a…”

“As a bodyguard?”

“Exactly so. As a bodyguard. He could warn you if he saw Peaflower anywhere near you.”

Ladarat wasn’t certain whether this revelation made her feel better or worse. Better, perhaps, because the mamasan had been watching out for her, at least in the end. But worse, somehow, because people had been worrying about her, and protecting her.

There would be time later, she knew, to sort those feelings out.

“Now I must get ready,” the mamasan said. And she disappeared through the door behind the bar.

Somsak had been staring fixedly at the ground the entire time, but now he looked up at Ladarat and offered another high wai, bending at the waist.

“I’m very sorry, Khun Ladarat, for frightening you. And for the durian.” He stood upright, his hands at his sides. “It’s just that your car, the Beetle, it is such a beautiful car. And a classic. I couldn’t think of a way to get your attention without damaging it in some way. So I thought…”

“A ripe smell would be a harmless threat.” Ladarat smiled. “Yes, I suppose it was. And the smell is decreasing gradually. By the time the smell is gone entirely, the car will be an antique.”

“But, Khun, it is an antique,” Somsak protested. “And very valuable. Especially to Americans.”

So the fruit seller had said. But Ladarat had assumed he was just exaggerating. And speaking of the fruit seller…

“The fruit seller, is he all right?”

Somsak looked confused for a moment, then he smiled. “Of course. I didn’t want any witnesses, so I gave the police a tip that he was selling durians out of season. The police carted him off with his durians. After I’d bought one, of course. But I promised him I’d watch his cart for him until he’d paid his fine. It didn’t take more than an hour. When he came back, he found the baht you’d left him. And I left him five hundred baht for his trouble. I think it was a very profitable day for him.”

Somsak looked at his large watch. “But now we must hurry.” He beckoned Wiriya to follow him as he scurried toward the stairs by the front door.

Wiriya rose but then stopped. “I will go and… await developments.”

He turned back to Ladarat. “That doctor. The Chinese doctor you thought you’d be able to find, did you—”

“Yes, I think so. At least, there’s a Chinese doctor in the hotel district near the mall who said he’s given many prescriptions for a Mr. Zhang Wei, but all by way of the man’s wife. He hasn’t seen the man in years.”

“And the last prescription was…”

“Just last week.”

“Could he identify a photograph of her?”

“I sent it to him after I spoke with him this morning and…” She opened her phone quickly, checking her e-mail. Nothing. She shrugged. The doctor’s office manager was out sick, so he had warned her that he might not be able to reply to her until late afternoon.

“Maybe he will reply soon?” she said hopefully.

“Maybe.” Wiriya smiled at her. “No matter. But if he does, give me… a sign.” Then they were both gone.

A sign? What sort of sign would that be?

A very pretty Chinese girl, not the one she’d met on her first visit, appeared a moment later to gather up the tea things, and then motioned for Ladarat to follow her through the door behind the bar. At first she thought she was being ushered out of the way, and that she’d be stashed in a back room somewhere. But the girl led her through the door and then into the mamasan’s office just to the right. The office was plain and businesslike, with an oversize desk plunked down right in the middle, and piled with neat stacks of paper that looked like bills and invoices.

What caught Ladarat’s attention wasn’t the desk but the wall of video monitors against the far wall. There had to be… she counted them. Sixteen in total, in two horizontal rows. And Wipaporn was seated in front of them. She turned just long enough to offer a polite wai and to gesture to the chair next to her. Ladarat took a seat and looked at the monitors more closely.

There were two that seemed to cover the front entrance, and several more that showed the main room from various angles. So the whole time she’d been out there, someone had been watching her?

Well, probably not. Her eye caught a flicker of movement in one monitor far to her right. She leaned behind the mamasan to get a better look, and realized that anyone looking at these monitors most definitely would not have been watching her drink her tea. There were far more interesting options on offer.

“Oh my. Is that…” She tried to sound composed. As if videos of naked couples were something that she experienced every day. (But for the record, they most certainly were not.)

“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” the mamasan said. “Besides, the man is well known in the tourism ministry. Very well known. It wouldn’t do to have people mention they saw him here.”

Ladarat wasn’t sure how to tell her host that from this angle, it was difficult indeed to see any part of this man that would lead her to recognize him later, if they were to meet on the street. He was safe from her, at least. But if privacy was such a concern, then…

“You seem to have many video screens, Khun.” As always, Ladarat was a master at stating the incredibly obvious.

Wipaporn smiled for the first time. “Tell me something, Khun Ladarat. In your work, you are responsible for the ethics of an entire hospital, are you not?”

Ladarat nodded, not sure where this was leading.

“So in order to ensure ethical behavior—that is, behavior by the rules—you need a series of safeguards, do you not?”

Again Ladarat nodded. It was true, they had their chart reviews and consent forms, and ethics consultations…

“So when men come here, we expect that they will play by the rules. That they will follow the rules agreed upon. And if they don’t, well, this is our system of safeguards.”

“So… you will know if a man… breaks the rules?”

“We will know, but it’s more than that. We will be able to explain to the man exactly what it was that he did wrong. In terms of safety and compliance with the rules, it is essential to be specific, don’t you agree?”

Ladarat did agree, and indeed she couldn’t have put it better herself. It was certainly essential to be specific about what the rules were, and what a transgression involved. Especially in a country like Thailand, where rules could be bent and changed and shaped to fit the moment. She had to respect someone who was so committed to the letter of the law.

But what law was that, exactly? And what “rules”? And how does a video camera help enforce those rules?

Wipaporn leaned over and put her finger on a blinking orange light beneath the video screen that displayed the couple. Ladarat tried not to look at the screen as she attempted to make sense of the blinking light.

It took her a moment, but finally she understood. “It’s a… recording?”

“Indeed it is. Many of them. For every client.” She smiled in a way that was a little eerie. “So you see, Khun, there is no danger of our clients breaking the rules. We are very clear about our expectations. And if there is any dispute… well, this is our safeguard.”

Ladarat was tempted to ask what sorts of disputes might arise, but she was reasonably certain that she really didn’t want to know. Nor, truly, did she want any more information—visual or otherwise—about the important man from the tourism ministry.

Instead she pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and checked her e-mail quickly. Still nothing. No, there it was. A very brief message from the very tired Dr. Arhit Tantasatityanon.

“That is her.”

Ladarat smiled to herself at a bit of detective work well done. Wait until she told Wiriya. He would be impressed. Speaking of whom, where was he?

She scanned the monitors again. There, one of the monitors right in the middle of the line. She hadn’t seen him at first. The monitor was only black and white, and his blue suit blended in with the dark background of the bed he was sitting on. He was sitting so still, in fact, he could have been a piece of furniture. Ladarat smiled as she thought about the detective as a piece of furniture in her own house. An armchair, perhaps. Maewfawbaahn would be pleased.

Then the mamasan pointed to the front door monitors as a woman approached. She seemed sure of herself and didn’t hesitate as she turned toward the front door and entered. Together, they watched her progress across the large downstairs room and up to the bar, where Somsak was waiting. He offered her an informal wai, which she returned perfunctorily. Then he emerged from behind the bar and followed her to the stairs.

As Peaflower reached the first step, though, Somsak seemed to have a last-minute thought. He said something that caused Peaflower to whirl around. From the second step, she towered over Somsak and he took a couple of steps backward.

What was this? Ladarat glanced at Wipaporn, who was drumming her bright red manicured nails on the desk. She had a steady but fast rhythm. Click-click-click-click-click. She didn’t take her eyes off the monitor and simply shrugged in response to Ladarat’s unspoken question.

He was warning Peaflower away. He had to be. What else could he be saying?

The camera’s position only revealed Peaflower from behind, but her gesticulating arms offered a clue to a careful observer that she was not pleased with the news that there was a policeman upstairs whose goal it was to arrest her. This news did not seem to be brightening her day. Somsak opened his mouth to speak twice, but each time was left with his jaw hanging, useless.

Finally, though, he seemed to regain the power of speech, and it was his turn to harangue their visitor. He pointed up the stairs, and then at the door, talking the whole time.

Peaflower heard a little of whatever he had to say, but apparently that was enough. She came down those two steps in a hurry, giving Somsak a quick choice to move or be pushed out of the way. He chose to move.

Peaflower headed for the door much faster than she’d come in and had almost reached the Hing Phra shrine at the edge of the camera’s field of view when she pulled up abruptly. Peaflower stood there, perhaps thinking. Or perhaps listening to Somsak—both their backs were turned so it was impossible to tell who was speaking.

Eeehhh. This was anxiety-provoking. What was he saying?

Ladarat thought for a moment, glancing at Wipaporn, whose drumming had increased speed. Still, she wouldn’t meet Ladarat’s eyes. And still she said nothing.

Was he giving up their plans? No, that couldn’t be it. If that were the case, Peaflower would be gone. She wouldn’t be standing in place, not twenty meters from where a detective wanted to arrest her for murder. And yet Somsak most certainly had said something… concerning.

And Wipaporn seemed almost as worried as Peaflower was. So whatever was going on downstairs, she wasn’t aware of it.

Whatever it was, though, seemed to have been resolved to Peaflower’s satisfaction. She turned, finally, and walked sedately—almost regally—across the main floor and up the stairs. Somsak stepped aside to let her pass and then followed meekly, like a royal retainer.

Just as Ladarat hoped she might get a good look at the woman, the two of them were lost from view. But then they reappeared at one end of a long hallway that was lined with doors on either side.

So all was well. Or was it? Wipaporn’s manicured nails had ceased their drumming, which was good. And she was even smiling slightly.

“What…”

But Wipaporn just shook her head. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

She leaned over and spoke softly into an old-fashioned microphone that was resting on the table between them. “Your friend is here. In the hallway.”

Wiriya didn’t seem surprised to hear a voice issuing from the ceiling. If Ladarat was surprised by his nonchalance in response to this disembodied voice, she was stunned when he turned toward the camera, targeting it exactly, and gave a cheerful wave.

In that moment, all of Ladarat’s pride in having tracked Peaflower to the Chinese doctor evaporated as she realized that her part in this whole endeavor was actually pitifully small. Wiriya had known about the rooms all along. And about the video cameras. Presumably he’d worked this out with the mamasan in advance? And the dance between Somsak and Peaflower, Ladarat was sure that was part of the plan, too. But what?

No matter. She had played a part, hadn’t she? Of course she had. She could say that proudly.

And this was no time to dwell on matters of credit, or pride. Wipaporn was focused intently on the video screen as Peaflower pushed the door open. The corner of the door was just visible in the lower-left part of the screen and it obscured the woman for a moment. Then the door closed with a soft click that was easily audible through the speakers on the desk.

Finally, Ladarat found herself with a close-up view of the woman who had caused all this trouble. Unmistakably the same woman in the photo, although that photo had been taken earlier. Much earlier, perhaps. It was five years old at least, and maybe more. Even from this perspective, the resolution of the video camera was quite good. The better to ensure adherence to the rules. In any case, there would be no doubt about who this woman was. The doctor would have no trouble identifying her. Nor probably would any one of several dozen hospital staff who met Peaflower, however briefly, during one of her late-night deposits of the latest dead ex-husband.