Somchai lit a cigarette and studied Scrimple for a moment as one of the other plainclothes policemen fixed the handcuffs. A uniformed constable handed over a sealed transparent plastic bag which contained Scrimple’s phones, wallet and keys which had been taken off him when he was arrested. Somchai took the bag, glanced at it briefly and tossed it on the backseat of the car.
“I want to know who you are working for,” the Thai Colonel said. “This is not something you have been doing by yourself.”
Scrimple let out a sigh of resignation. “I’m not working for anyone. I’ve been set up. Right from the beginning. Can you believe that?”
Somchai smiled. “Maybe, yes.” He took a long drag from the cigarette and let the smoke twist out from the corners of his mouth. “You are the victim here? Is that right?”
“My friends are the victims but it wasn’t me who killed any of them.” He was about to say more but noticing Somchai’s interest perk up he stopped himself. “Will I get a lawyer when we get back to Bangkok?”
Somchai shook his head from side to side in a gesture that was neither a yes or a no. “Criminals usually can get a lawyer. Are you a criminal and need one?”
“Don’t play games with me, Colonel. Even if I am innocent I need a lawyer to help me present my case. Does the British embassy know I’ve been arrested?”
Somchai shrugged. “I have no idea.” He crushed the butt of his cigarette out on the tarmac. “Get in the car.”
The two policemen helped get Scrimple into the back seat of an older Mercedes. Somchai slid in next to him and the four of them began the journey back to the big city. He assumed that the child-lock had been activated on his side of the door and so it would be futile to try and open it and fling himself out of the moving car. Not that he wanted to take the risk. Even if they were moving slow enough it could still be a very dangerous proposition.
Somchai eyed him with an amused expression as if reading his mind.
“If you try and escape, we will just shoot you.” He patted the side of his jacket where a small hard shape could be seen.
Scrimple’s hands were cuffed behind his back so there was not much he could do anyway except roll sideways. He stared grimly out of the window as they took the Sukhumvit Road and then followed the signs for Bangkok, passing fields, houses and a large brown building that he knew to be an international school. Traffic was light and they motored along steadily.
“We know there is a man who gets paid to kill people,” Somchai said after an hour of silent driving. “He is a type of hired assassin. We think he is a foreigner but there is not much evidence.” He looked at Scrimple speculatively. “I don’t think you are that man. You do not seem smart enough. But... Maybe he is setting you up to confuse us.”
Scrimple stared at the police colonel. He had an idea what the man was talking about but it seemed far-fetched and not part of what was happening to Scrimple. He shook his head.
“No, this is all about some Hong Kong gangsters. Have you heard of a guy called William? They are based in Pattaya I think. There is also an old Chinese woman. She might be one of the leaders of the gang.”
“You mean triads?” Somchai asked, expressing only mild interest. “Which one? We have the Chiu Chow triads in Thailand.”
“I don’t know which one. It could have been the Wo On Lok, but that was a long time ago.”
“We don’t know any Hong Kong triad activity in Pattaya,” Somchai said blandly.
“There must be some. All the sex and drugs that’s going around?”
“The drug trafficking is controlled by Russians. The bars are foreigner owned and will pay money to some Thai mafia boss. No room for Hong Kong triad to come in,” explained Somchai.
“I don’t believe it’s that simple,” Scrimple said.
Somchai shucked his shoulders to show he didn’t care much about what Scrimple believed.
“You know I didn’t kill those guys and Nari and Walter,” Scrimple appealed to the colonel.
“And the girl in Bangkok?”
“Of course not. She was just there when we came to view the apartment.”
“Very convenient. For somebody,” Somchai said tapping out a new cigarette from his pack and opening the window.
“Who was she? Have you found out yet?”
“Miss Pryapin Sulathairangsit, twenty-five, single, university graduate in Business Studies, originally from Nonthaburi, last resident in Pattaya.”
Scrimple’s eyebrows shot up at the last piece of information.
“Then what was she doing dead in an empty flat in Bangkok?” he said sharply.
Somchai flicked his steel Zippo lighter and said, “Maybe you can tell me. You are still the main suspect for her murder.”
“That’s bullshit. And you know it.”
“Know and prove are not the same thing, former Police Inspector Scrimple.” He leant forward and shot some instructions off at the driver. In the distance was a rest stop area that boasted petrol stations, Thai restaurants, McDonald's, Seven Eleven and a Starbucks. The Mercedes came off the main road and headed off towards the rest area.
“We will get a nice hamburger for you. I think you are hungry.”
And Scrimple nodded, suddenly realizing he was starving and surprised at the colonel’s strange kindness.
* * * *
This time the assassin would not be able to use the Glock. It had to be an accidental death rather than an execution. The target was a woman in her fifties, a hospital administrator who drove a top of the range Lexus and lived in a four bedroom condominium with a view over Chao Phrya river.
He dressed carefully, wearing black jeans and a black polo shirt and the shoes with the rubber soles. In case something went wrong he strapped the baby Glock 26 to his right ankle. It felt unbalanced walking but one could get used to it. There were matching holsters that went on the left ankle which held several spare magazines. He made a mental note to get one next time he visited America where they worshipped guns and all the accessories that came with them. The Italians made wonderful leather carry-wear but for discretion it was always better to buy in the United States, at some gun show usually in one of the big Southern cities where men and women gathered to play with their deadly toys.
He had been staying in a hotel for the last few nights as he got ready for the job. It was a discrete well-run boutique hotel mostly frequented by gays and if one had no major objection to passing men holding hands in the lobby it was good value for money.
He had no problem with men liking other men as long as they left him alone. He killed indiscriminately when the job was right and there had been men and women and even once a Catholic priest. That one had been gay and he had molested a boy who came back years later and paid for his revenge.
The assassin left the hotel and dropped off his keys with a smile at the pretty reception girl. It was only a few blocks to Patpong and very hard to get a taxi that would turn on their meter for a foreigner. Finally he got a pink taxi and it ducked through some side streets to avoid the worst of the evening traffic.
The hospital administrator had one vice and the assassin knew where she went to practice it. He would be waiting for her there.
* * * *
The two policemen led Scrimple to the toilet. They took turns in relieving themselves then considered what to do with him. After an exchange of Thai they came to the conclusion that taking out and holding his penis was not what they wanted to do. One of them stepped back and watched carefully with a hand on his hidden gun while the other un-cuffed Scrimple and re-cuffed his wrists together in front of him. This way he could help himself. He stood for a while waiting for the pressure to build. It was never easy peeing to command as someone watched. Finally he was done although it had taken a few attempts to get his tackle back into the pants with the limited range of movement he had.
When they got back to the car Colonel Somchai, who’d been waiting sent one of the guys to MacDonalds.
“You want Big Mac and french fries?” Somchai said with a smirk nodding at Scrimple’s belly. They were standing by the back door and he was stretching his legs when suddenly three Asian men appeared next to them pointing short-barreled revolvers at their heads.
Colonel Somchai barked at them with arrogance that surprised him. He was obviously telling them they were making a serious mistake by threatening him with a loaded weapon. One of the men growled back at the Colonel and it was obvious they were talking about Scrimple.
Now what the hell was going on? Who could dare to steal a prisoner from the custody of the police? Were they army? In Thailand the police and the army were always at loggerheads, vying for power. But what would the army want with Scrimple?
Somchai and the main guy had reached an agreement. The handcuffs were taken off and one of the men tossed the plastic bag with his belongings at Scrimple who caught it awkwardly. Then they bundled him into a large battered Mitsubishi and slammed the doors.
People had stopped to gawk at the strange spectacle of men with guns and a falang prisoner being taken away.
For a few minutes he was so shocked and confused he didn’t know what to say. The Mitsubishi shot off with wheels spinning and powered back onto the motorway. It belted along for ten minutes then was thrown into a U turn across the grassy divider and then they were heading in the direction of Pattaya again.
The two men who were not driving sat and stared at Scrimple grimly. He noted they had closely cropped hair and very dark skin as if they had spent years harvesting rice in the fields or riding elephants into battle. Finally he got a grip of himself and tried to make them speak. But they just shook their heads as if they couldn’t understand or were not interested in communicating with him.
After twenty minutes they pulled off the road and into a small collection of farm buildings. There they switched cars. They left the battered but powerful Mitsubishi and set off in a brand new Toyota Yaris. It was cramped with four grown men but that didn’t affect the power of the engine. The man in the front passenger seat made a phone call on his Samsung and appeared to be reporting in. It all seemed to have gone very smoothly. Scrimple couldn’t help being impressed, although he feared the unknown. One minute he was being held by the police for the suspected murder of eight people. The next he was being abducted by a trio of cold, silent gunmen. They couldn’t be part of William’s gang. He, surely, had finished with Scrimple when he had him knocked out at Nari’s house?
Or had William found out by now that six million Baht were missing from the bag and now wanted Scrimple back to explain what had happened to the balance?
He pondered on this one for the rest of the journey. The thinking made Scrimple’s head ache all over again. He touched the lump on the side of his head where he’d been hit. The police doctor had applied iodine and a small patch before they’d put him in the cell.
It was dark by the time they got back into the outskirts of Pattaya. They drove all the way down through Jomtien then into an estate where small two-story houses were lined in neat rows.
They stopped in front of one of the identical houses and the man next to him indicated for Scrimple to get out. They left him standing by the front door, holding his plastic bag, and drove off into the night.
* * * *
The place was a gambling den in the traditional use of the word. It was in a large house in the Lard Prao suburb of Bangkok and there were guards on the front door.
The hospital administrator had parked her Lexus further down the street which was quiet and dark. She was well known here, with her large hair-do and overly made-up face that spoke of the vanity of an older single woman.
The assassin watched as she entered the house, knowing that in her handbag was enough money to gamble the night away. Money she’d collected from desperate patients who needed to find any means possible to get a bed and medical attention in the state of the art cancer ward she supervised.
The assassin walked cautiously to her car and flicked the device he’d brought with him. It disabled the vehicle’s alarm and allowed him to use a key to open the driver’s door. He popped open the rear door and settled down in the back for a wait he expected to be a few hours.
His watch had just shown half past one in the morning when he heard her coming. She was muttering to herself and used her own electronic key to open the door and get into the driver’s seat. It sounded as if she’d lost and she’d drowned her sorrows with a few glasses of brandy.
Gamblers often kidded themselves that they were ahead in the battle with the odds but most of the time it was as addictive a vice as pure heroin or crystal meth. It cost money and they needed more and more money to feed the habit.
As she leant over to turn on the ignition the assassin reached forward and slipped the garrote made of cheese wire over her head and around her neck. There was a sudden muted gurgle of surprise from the woman and then he began choking her.
He frequented the gym nearly every day when he could and the strength in his hands and forearms was no match for the woman. In his head he counted down from sixty then gave it another count of sixty. She had long ago stopped squirming and twitching and the vile smell of bowel movement had filled the car.
He checked her pulse and was satisfied. The street remained dark and quiet. He reached over and heaved her sideways into the passenger seat then climbed over and started up the car.
In no great hurry he drove the car to the short-time hotel he’d scouted the previous day. It was aptly called the Peep-Inn. Every room had a car park directly in front for convenience and discretion. On purpose, there was hardly any lighting.
An attendant came out and pulled over the curtain to hide the car. All the attendant would see was the dark face of a man and what looked like a drunk woman in the other seat. Nothing uncommon. The assassin handed over a five hundred Baht note and told the attendant to keep the change.
Five minutes later the woman was lying on the bed. The man prepared the rope and slung it over the ceiling beam that was part of the room’s design. It was intended to look medieval but was a perfect support for a hanging. He tied the noose around her neck ignoring the fecal smell that came from the body. He raised her up and pulled down on the rope tying it off firmly on the leg of the king sized bed. Now she swung slowly, her feet above the floor as if she had stepped off the edge of the bed. He laid out the suicide note which was brief and to the point. She had lost too much money and the loan-sharks were after her.
He tossed her purse and keys on the bed side table and stepped back outside, moving in the shadows so the attendant wouldn’t notice him.
After ten minutes walking he stopped a cruising green and yellow taxi and headed back to Sukhumvit Soi 7 where a roof-top bar stayed open until the early hours. He drank a few vodkas and then, avoiding the advances of the ladyboys outside the Foodland, headed back to his hotel for a good rest
* * * *
Logic told Scrimple to turn and run but curiosity made him ring the door bell. He had to know what was going on and simply taking off wouldn’t solve any of his problems.
When the door opened it was Pim, the strange girl from before, standing in the hallway giving him a tentative smile and gesturing for him to come in.
He stared at her, shook his head in confusion and sighed.
“Will you come in?” she said with a hint of impatience. He did so and walked through the hallway into a cosily decorated living room. A television was on, showing the Thai news, but the sound was muted.
“Do you want something to drink?” the girl asked.
Scrimple threw himself down on the sofa. His head hurt, his body hurt and he was confused as a mouse running around a maze.
She went into the kitchen and brought out two pre-packed sandwiches and a can of Singha beer with a glass. Scrimple wolfed it all down while she watched, sitting opposite him on the other sofa.
In between bites Scrimple said, “Now I’m really up to my eyeballs in shit. An escaped fugitive. What the fuck just happened there? Who were those guys?” He eyed her speculatively. “And who are you?”
She gave him a tight smile. “I’m a journalist. I’ve been undercover infiltrating a gang of Hong Kong criminals who are taking over control of many property projects around Pattaya.”
“Property projects,” Scrimple repeated. He shoved the last piece of tuna sandwich into his mouth. “You’re not a journalist. What kind of journalist risks her life by going undercover with triad gangsters? Bullshit!”
Pim stared at him angrily. “I have special connections. I am a journalist .”
“And who were those wide boys who pointed guns at a senior policeman and got me free? They must be mad.”
“They are Cambodians. They are a little bit mad.” She smiled again. “But I paid money to make your release easier.”
“What do you mean? Who did you pay?”
“Who do you think? I paid money to Colonel Somchai to let you go.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you think it was so easy? Did the policemen fight back?”
“No,” Scrimple admitted reluctantly. He thought about it for a while then asked, “How much did you have to pay them.”
“Enough,” she said with a small note of triumph in her voice.
“I can’t believe that a man like Colonel Somchai would—”
“Believe it. This is Thailand.”
“He’ll get into a lot of trouble for losing me.”
“I told him we were taking you away to be punished for another crime. He thinks you will be executed so he does not care. It closes the book on all the open murders.”
“But he knows I’m innocent of those crimes.”
“Who cares,” she said with a supercilious look, “about a dead falang who was accused of crimes? Even your embassy will be pleased it did not get any more embarrassing.”
“So is that the real truth? You want to kill me?” Scrimple said bitterly.
“Of course not. I want to help you and need your help.”
“In writing your article for some imaginary newspaper?” Scrimple said with sarcasm.
“I saved you from prison. You should be more thankful,” the girl said.
“You destroyed my chances of talking my way out of this. Now I look as guilty as if I’d been caught with a smoking gun in my hand.” He thought for a second then realized that that was pretty much how it had played out when he was caught. William had set him up perfectly. But for the moment he was free and at least had some control over his situation again. “Can you get me across the border into Cambodia?” he asked.
“Maybe we could but that is not the plan. I need your help to expose the Wo On Lok triad working in Pattaya.”
“That’s William’s triad?”
She nodded.
“No way,” Scrimple said, “I’ve had enough of tangling with those guys. Everyone ends up dead. Now I just want to get as far away from them as possible.”
“You are a coward,” she said.
“I am practical. I tried to fight them and they always got the better of me.”
“Now you have me helping you.”
“And how exactly will a mad pretend journalist girl help me from getting my head shot off by those crazy bunch of killers?”
She folded her arms in defiance. “I know where they are. I know what their plans are. They trust me.”
Scrimple shook his head in disgust. “I need something stronger than this.” He stood up and reached for a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label that sat on the sideboard. He poured three fingers of the amber liquid and took a hit from the glass which set his throat on fire. “That’s better. Now go on and explain what all this means. Why am I involved? What do I have to do with all this?”
* * * *
It was a good day for killing, the assassin decided as he lay on the deck of his motor boat. The breeze gently rocked the hull and he watched with mild interest as the brown girl removed her bikini top and began rubbing sun tan lotion into her breasts.
They were ample breasts but not big enough to be floppy. To be fair he was more of an arse and legs man but there was nothing at all wrong with the classical S shape of the well-proportioned female. He bared his teeth at her and made a tiger noise.
She rolled her eyes at him and turned slightly away so he got a profile of her chest. Even better. He enjoyed the way she kneaded the flesh around her nipples. A certain hardness began creeping up into his loins.
She had been with him six months now and he enjoyed the banter they had together as well as the chemistry. There were millions of beautiful women to be had in Thailand and he had been with hundreds but finding something that could last was never easy.
He didn’t look his age. The hours running in the stifling heat, and lifting weights, helped to keep him young. But he was no longer in his thirties and sometimes when he pushed himself just a bit too hard he could feel the years. They hadn’t been easy, idle years. They were years spliced with danger and lubricated with adrenaline.
He reached for the girl and she ducked from his grasp. It took a while because it was part of their ritual and then when she had made him really hot and he was cooling down afterwards, watching the perspiration dry in the valley between her breasts, he began thinking about his work again.
The boat still rocked in the shelter of the cove. No other boats had come out this far, so it felt as if it was more remote than it really was.
The next target was a man who made drugs. A minor player who ran a small ya-baa factory on the outskirts of Korat, a city three hours from Bangkok. It would be hard to approach this one, the assassin considered, as he idly played with the ample hair at the top of her thighs.
There would be people around. There would be guards and guns. He pondered for a while and thought this might be one for a rifle. There was a good .223 he could get his hands on and it had never been used for any killing before. The target had to go places and when he went he would be outside of his protective zone. Then, at two or three hundred yards—paff, paff—two bullets to the head.
* * * *
Pim brought Scrimple a packet of cigarettes and a Bic lighter. He lit up the Mild Seven and enjoyed the acrid hit on his lungs.
“How well did you know Cliff Bottle in Hong Kong?” she asked.
“He was my boss in the police for some time.”
“What was he like?” She leant forward as if wanting to be sure of what he was going to say.
“Hard, demanding, tough to please,” he said. “He was one of the old school coppers. Everyone respected him. And he went as far as you can up the ranks. Not all the way to the top but close enough.”
“Was he a good policeman?” she wanted to know.
Scrimple shrugged. “He was one of the best. Otherwise he wouldn’t have made it as far as he did. He had good connections and knew the right things to say and do.”
“Do you think he was honest?”
That was a difficult one. He stared at the muted screen and cast his mind back. In those days the lines between honesty and efficiency were somewhat blurred. He thought Bottle had been too close to some triads but had never really been a hundred percent sure. You didn’t get to the rank of Assistant Commissioner without some compromise.
“I don’t know if he was honest. He wouldn’t have taken a bribe like your Colonel Somchai for sure.” He sat up, impatient suddenly. “Why are you asking about Bottle? Do you know where he is? How to get hold of him? He got me into this bloody mess. I need to talk with him.”
She ignored his question, waving it away with her right hand. “Bottle is important,” she explained. “He became involved with the Wo On Lok triad in Pattaya and was their front person in at least three big property deals. The most important is a new development in Sathahip, on the way to the naval base. It is a luxury development with five towers and every apartment will have seaview. Bottle controls the company that owns all the land and he has all the deeds.”
Scrimple looked at her with puzzlement on his face. “Then why would he come to Bangkok and give me money to buy a condo there?”
“Bottle found out William and the triad were going to cheat him and so he decided to disappear with all the title deeds to the land,” she said. “William and the triad are going crazy. They can’t start building and take money from investors until they have full control of the land.”
She stared hard at him, “Did Bottle only give you money?”
“He gave me a briefcase and told me not lose it because it was expensive and had sentimental value.”
“Where is the money now?” she said.
“William got it back from me before the police arrested me.”
She appeared unhappy about this.
“The money and the briefcase?”
“Just the money. And not even all of it. Some…sort of got lost on the way.” He gave her a crooked smile.
She shook her head in confusion. “Where is the briefcase now?”
“It’s back at my office. I locked it in a cupboard and forgot about it.”
For a few moments Pim was quiet, presumably pursuing the same line of thought that was occupying him.
“Do you think there was anything else in the briefcase? Maybe hidden in a secret compartment?”
Scrimple shook his head. “There was only the money in the briefcase. I can’t imagine a secret compartment...”
“He must have left the title deeds and other documents somewhere,” said Pim. She seemed to be looking at Scrimple as if she was evaluating whether he was telling the truth or not.
He lit another cigarette, then shrugged into the silence between them. He said pointedly, “I suppose there could have been a secret compartment. It’s a bit far-fetched.”
“Do you think that William would have been chasing after you all this time just for a few million Baht?”
“Ten million Baht isn’t pocket change but I thought it was strange.”
“We have to go back and check the briefcase to see if there is anything else in it,” the girl said.
“Bottle could have hid the paper in a hundred other places. He could have bank deposit boxes under false names. He could have buried them in a garden or a forest. Why bring them to me?”
“He had a reason to involve you.”
“Well, I wish he hadn’t and will tell him that when I see him next. If I see him next. If he’s pissed off the Wo On Lok he’s probably long gone and hiding in Spain or Brazil by now. That’s what I’d do.”
Pim gave him a strangely angry look. “He is still around and you need to check and find those papers in the briefcase.”
Scrimple had made up his mind by now. “No, I don’t need to check anything for you.” He stood up, pocketing the packet of Mild Sevens. “Thanks for the help getting me away from the police but I’m off. I’ll try and help myself now.”
“You can’t leave,” she said, a sudden panic in her eyes.
“I’m leaving now.”
Pim tried to physically restrain him but she could not hold on to him. She was furious. She yelled and battered at him but he pushed her back into the house and closed the front door in her face. He’d taken a set of car keys from her and grabbed his plastic bag with his belongings. He felt mean doing it but the fact was he didn’t really trust her. He had a strong feeling that she was working with William and this was just a ruse to get the title deeds that they hadn’t found. It was best to get away and rely on help only from people he knew and trusted.
He jumped into her car, a small locally-made Honda and crunching the unfamiliar gears pulled out of the housing estate as fast as he could in the direction of Bangkok.