A Poison Tree (Time, Blood and Karma Book 3) (8 page)

10

DAVID

I rang twice before I heard any movement inside the apartment. Then the door swung open and I was greeted by a sheepish grin.

“Is this outfit too schoolgirlish, do you think?”

“Not at all. You look delightful.”

“I don’t want anyone to think I dress up in a school uniform when my brother-in-law calls round for coffee.”

“Listen, Anna, no man in his right mind is ever going to object to the way you look.”

“Aww. You are sweet.”

She kissed me on the cheek and I followed her through to the kitchen.

“You’re prompt,” she said. “Cappuccinos coming right up.”

“I’m returning your copy of
Crime and Punishment
.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a laugh a minute, but yes, I did.” I deposited the book on the kitchen table.

Anna set down the coffees in front of us. Beneath her makeup
, her eyes looked slightly puffy and red.

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, David. Why do you ask?”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

She turned her eyes away from me. “Shit,” she said.

I
put my hand on hers. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

She dropped her head.
“I almost called you to ask you not to come. Then I thought I’d look all right with the make-up.”

“You look beautiful.”

I put my hand under her chin and raised it.

“I can’t talk about it,” she
whispered.

“Yes, you can. You can talk to me about anything.”

Anna looked at me for a moment before shaking her head.

“Is it Max? Have you had a row or something?”

I held both her hands in mine. “I’m not going to stop asking until you talk to me. Have you and Max had a row?”

“No.”

I continued to look at her until she swallowed. Then she squeezed my fingers.

“Max is playing around again.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Max is a fucking idiot. If you were my wife, I’d never play around.”

Anna began to cry and I passed her my handkerchief.
“Oh, David,” she said, “you don’t want to hear all this.”

“Yes, I do. Do you know who it is?”

“No, I don’t. But I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. Max is hardly the careful type.”

“I’m sorry.”

Anna looked at me anxiously. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Claire.”

“Of course I won’t. Not if you don’t want me to.”

She wiped her eyes. “God, I’m pathetic. And now I must look a mess.”

“Not at all. Haven’t I told you
before I have a thing about runny mascara?”

She laughed.

“Would you like a hug, Anna?”

“Yes, please. That would be much better than coffee.”

“Good. You make lousy coffee anyway.”

Whatever happened to the old David Braddock?

I used to be something of a comedian; a man who didn’t take life too seriously; a man who was going to have adventures. An optimist. A dreamer.

The
person who first met Anna Holland all those years ago wouldn’t recognise the serious, middle-aged family man that currently inhabits his body.

Is that former man still around somewhere, buried beneath the layers of responsibility a
nd quotidian existence?

Life has a
n annoying habit of forcing you take stock from time to time. It makes you look around at the people you love, to see how the effluxion of time and the scars of experience have altered them. You gaze into their eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of that spark of youth and hope you once knew. You want to see the corners of their mouth turn upwards in a smile and hear the sound of childish giggling. You want them to punch you on the shoulder as you tell them a funny story.

Ha
s our love for each other consigned both Claire and me to a life of comfortable compromise and the gradual erosion of the individuality that first attracted us? Is it a release from this stifling normality that she now seeks?

I have no answers to these questions.

But as I sit at the breakfast table holding Anna, I realise that something precious has been lost in the waterfall of years. That love takes a toll on everyone.

11

JAMES

Korean food was not Jim Fosse’s favourite fare, but he was not in a position to object to the choice of venue.

The restaurant was off
Bangkok’s Sukhumvit Road, a short walk from the Metro station, and it had private dining rooms at the rear of the building. A bodyguard had frisked him before allowing entry.

The screen door was then slid back to reveal his companion for the evening
. The bodyguard closed the door behind him.

Khemkhaeng
was seated at the low table, but stood to shake hands. The Thai was dressed in a well-tailored grey suit and a blood-red shirt, open at the neck. His demeanour was relaxed but there was no missing the steely glint in the eyes. Jim felt the sweat forming under his armpits and resolved not to remove his jacket, however hot he might become. He needed to be calm and respectful. The man seated opposite had the power to make him disappear on a whim.

“You must excuse my English, Mr
. Fosse. I don’t get to use it as often as I would like.”

“Your English is fine, sir. I am afraid my Thai is only good enough for ordering food or
for asking directions.”

A serving woman appeared and began gliding around the room.

“I thought we’d start with some kimchi, if that is all right with you?”

“Fine,” replied Jim, although a side
dish of fermented vegetables was not what his stomach told him it wanted.

Khemkhaeng
sat back in his seat, as if to study the American for a moment. “I hope you understand, Mr. Fosse, I would not normally involve myself in intermediary work of this nature. However, our mutual Filipino acquaintance is an old friend of mine, so I am doing this as a favour to him.”

“I am very grateful. I know you are a busy man.”

There was a silence and Khemkhaeng continued to look at him.

“This meal is on me, by the way,” Jim added nervously.

The Thai smiled. “Yes, I think it is,” he said.

Food appeared on the table along with
bottles of cheongju.

Jim sipped at the clear liquid.

“Do you approve?” The Thai raised an eyebrow.

“I do indeed.”

“Good. The most popular brand of rice wine in Korea is
Chung Ha
, but I prefer this
Beopju
which is brewed in the old city of Gyeongju. Did you know, by the way, it is designated by the Government of South Korea as an ‘Important Intangible Cultural Property’? We shouldn’t even be drinking it.”

Jim thought that was a cue for him to laugh, so he did.

“Most of our Thai wine tastes like piss, unfortunately. At least to the Western palate.”

Jim laughed at this too, before realising he shouldn’t have.
“But your beer brands are excellent,” he added.

“Anyway,” said his host, “I am afraid I don’t have much time this evening, so let us proceed to business. Lopez tells me you have a pest problem you need some help with.”

“A pest problem – yes.”

“There is a man who does some work for us in that line. He is not part of our family, more of a freelance operator, but he has performed satisfactory services for us over the years
.”

“
Is he Thai, may I ask?”

“No, he is not. He
was born in Scotland, but these days you might say he is a citizen of the world.”

“I see.”

“We have international investments and concerns where it is sometimes helpful to show a white face. Some things are best handled by outsiders. I am sure you understand.”

Jim nodded and took a bite of the kimchi. It was every bit as sour as he remembered it.
“So how do I get in contact with this man?”

“You don’t. He gets in contact with you.”

Khemkhaeng took a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “Give me your private cell phone number.” The Thai wrote it in the book. “And where exactly is this pest infestation?”

“In England.”

Khemkhaeng wiped his mouth on a tissue and rose to his feet. “Would you excuse me for a few minutes, Mr. Fosse?”

“Of course.”

After his companion left the room, Jim sat and wondered what the hell he was doing sitting in a Bangkok restaurant with a Thai gangster.
Surely there was an easier way to do this?
Jim Fosse was used to dealing with shady politicians and fixers, but perhaps this time he had wandered into a transaction whose asking price would be more than hard currency. He wiped his wet palms on his handkerchief. His shirt was sticking to him and his heart was beating fast. He forced himself to inhale deeply a few times and gulped down some more of the rice wine.

The serving woman
reappeared unbidden and placed another bottle of
Beopju
in front of him. She began cooking beef ribs on the metal plate positioned in the centre of the table. Jim wondered whether he should say something, but as the woman seemed disinclined to make eye contact he refilled his glass instead.

“My apologies.”

The American jumped as Khemkhaeng slid back the door. He sat down without ceremony and said a few words to the woman. She bowed.

“Is your phone switched on?”

“Yes,” answered Jim.

“You will shortly receive a call
from a man called Andrews.”

“Is he –?”

“Yes. You can talk freely in front of the serving girl, by the way. She speaks no English.”

Jim’s phone rang and
Khemkhaeng grinned. The American wondered if he sensed his discomfort. Jim removed the phone from his jacket pocket and pressed the answer button.

“Hello. This is Jim Fosse.”

“Mr. Fosse, good evening. My name is Andrews. I gather you have an infestation problem and require some help.” The voice was low and measured. Jim had an ear for accents and dialects, and the man was definitely Scottish. Not from Edinburgh. A Glaswegian, maybe?

“Yes, Mr
. Andrews. That is correct.”

“And the problem is situated in the UK?”

“It is.”

“Where exactly?”

“Near Leicester.”

There w
as a beat before the Scotsman continued. “My fee for eradicating the problem is one hundred thousand dollars, payment to be made in cash. In advance. If it is more convenient for you, I will accept payment in sterling.”

Jim took a deep breath.

“I will call you again in two weeks. If you are still minded to employ my services we will discuss it in more detail then.”

“Can I call you on this number?”

“No. This number will be out of service once this call is ended. I will contact
you
. Goodbye, Mr. Fosse.”

Andrews cut the line before Jim could respond.

Khemkhaeng put down his glass. “I am afraid I will have to leave you now,” said the Thai. “I have things to do. Enjoy your meal. Do you want to take this woman back to your hotel with you later?”

“
Er … no. No, thank you.”

The American looked at his phone.
“Mr. Andrews called me from a Thai number,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Is he in Bangkok?”

“That doesn’t concern you,” responded
Khemkhaeng. “But as it happens, he is not. Andrews is in the north of the country doing some work for us at present which will keep him busy for a few weeks. I have no control over his schedule after that, so you will have to sort out the arrangements with him directly.”

The Thai got up and offered his hand.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir. Do I … um … owe you anything for this introduction?” Jim asked. He hoped his moist palm didn’t betray the extent of his apprehension.

“No. Andrews will take care of that with me when the job is done.”

“Until we meet again, then.”

“I don’t think we will meet again, Mr
. Fosse. Give my regards to Lopez when you next see him. In the meantime, I wish you a pleasant stay in Bangkok. Goodbye.”

Jim pulled off his tie and jacket, loosened two shirt buttons and wiped his damp neck with a handkerchief. The woman put some
galbi on his plate.

He
wondered how much the meal was going to cost him.