THE PROTECTION OF JAI DEE

An hour later, after the police had come to take Peaflower away, cataloging the videotape as evidence, Wiriya tried to explain their suspect’s bizarre confession as he walked Ladarat to her car.

“We see this. It’s not uncommon, really. Imagine that you’ve done something very, very clever. Something that not one person in a thousand would be able to dream up. But then imagine that you couldn’t tell anyone what you did. No one would know. And no one would appreciate how smart you are. Think how awful that must be.”

But as she walked beside him, she could see from his profile that the detective was smiling.

“That doesn’t seem so awful,” she said.

The detective laughed. A deep, hearty chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose it would be for me either. But if you really thought you were more clever than anyone else, and if you felt that no one appreciated you… well… I could see how the urge to brag would get the best of you.”

“But not for someone who is jai dee.”

Wiriya laughed again. “Yes, it’s true. Not for someone who is jai dee. In jai dee there is protection from many dangers, is there not?”

Ladarat agreed that this was true. One could avoid many misfortunes simply by being virtuous.

“But honestly,” he continued, “we don’t see many murders committed by people who have a good heart.”

There was one other aspect of the case that was bothering her. And that aspect had to do with someone else who wasn’t jai dee.

“So… the mamasan?”

“Yes?”

“She will…” What was the phrase? “Get off free?”

Wiriya smiled a sad smile that didn’t have any Thai name.

“She will.” He shrugged. “There is not much we can do—she is gone. Far away by now, and probably back across the border in China, if she’s smart.”

Ladarat thought about that for a few moments as they walked in silence. That ending seemed… wrong somehow. But perhaps not everyone pays for all crimes.

They stopped at Loi Kroh Road, a busy street that ran right through the heart of the tourist district. Old taxis and battered private cars barreled ahead, and schools of mopeds swirled around them like small, predatory fish. All seemed oblivious to two polite pedestrians waiting patiently to cross.

When she’d come this way just a few hours ago, she’d forded this street from within the relative safety of a crosswalk a block away. But Wiriya took her elbow gently and led her out into the swirling traffic. The stream of traffic parted for them as if by magic, and cars and mopeds flowed around them.

“You must be firm,” Wiriya explained as they reached the safety of the opposite sidewalk. “You must signal your intention, and drivers will react accordingly.”

Ladarat thought about that as they turned the corner to the soi where she’d left the Beetle. Certainly one must be clear about one’s intentions. That stood to reason. But she had great difficulty imagining how the presence in a street of someone of her diminutive dimensions might cause any driver to react.

She stopped on the sidewalk and Wiriya stopped beside her, looking around for her Beetle.

“Your car is not on this street?”

“Apparently not.”

There was a pause as Wiriya thought about this information.

“But you left it on this street?” he asked finally.

“I did.”

“Ah. I see.”

But Ladarat, who was not a detective, did not see. Who on earth would want to steal a forty-year-old Volkswagen? Of course, she thought loyally, there was nothing wrong with it, per se. But as a target of theft, well, wouldn’t a thief be better off stealing a horse and cart?

“I suppose I’ll need to file a police report,” she said. And, she thought, now I’ll get a new car after all. She was sad to see the Beetle go, of course. It had sentimental value. But really, it wasn’t a sensible car.

“I can give you a ride,” Wiriya offered. “Besides, you’ll never get a taxi in this neighborhood. You’d need to walk over to the night market, and in that time I could take you home. I can fill out the report, too. Do you have insurance information and a car title at home?”

Ladarat nodded, still a little too shell-shocked to think clearly.