Bullet Beach (7 page)

‘This may strike you as foolish,' Channarong said, ‘but the more you understand the ways of this little world, the less you will be at the mercy of them.'

Shanahan nodded. It was true.

Channarong offered to take ‘the Americans' on a trip through the city. It began at the legendary Oriental Hotel, then on to a boat that took them along a canal to the Jim Thompson house. This was another of the ‘tourist' trips, but rewarding. Thompson was a former military intelligence officer – Shanahan knew of him – who, after his service was done, helped revive Thailand's silk industry. After he built a spectacular home, where he kept his collection of Southeast Asian art, he mysteriously disappeared.

As Channarong told the story, his eyes engaged Shanahan, more than would be usual, suggesting, maybe, that the old detective, whose own background was in military intelligence, might find the story especially meaningful. It also meant that Channarong might have learned more about Shanahan than Shanahan thought.

‘Is that a warning?'

‘I believed the story might interest you. Many people find it fascinating.'

‘It is fascinating,' Maureen said. ‘Do these disappearances happen often?'

Channarong grinned. ‘Many people come here to get lost,' he said, ‘sometimes voluntarily. It is all part of Thailand's charm.'

‘There's charm and then there's charm,' Maureen said.

The guide smiled, his face nodded in a subtle bow.

Shanahan liked Channarong. And he liked the Thai people. From what he could gauge from taxi drivers, the hotel staff, and restaurant waiters and waitresses is that unlike many of their counterparts in other countries they were neither resentful nor subservient. They weren't disengaged either. Mutual respect was the atmosphere created between the server and the served. There was a pleasant civility here – at least on the surface.

Certainly last night's trip on the river with the fairy-tale lights glistening on the water was enhanced by the magic of the evening. In the harsh, yet gray light of the day, the water in the canal, or
klong
as they call it, was a pea soup green. It was dense and impenetrable. The water was as polluted as the air.

Jim Thompson's house, or houses – it was more like a compound – was simple and elegant. Doorways acted as frames for art or something artful that reflected the beauty of nature. Maureen was taken with it and wondered what kind of man would be able to create such a beautiful and peaceful atmosphere.

The afternoon unfolded with a further exploration of the canals lined with homes ranging from the dilapidated to the ornate. There were other boats on the canals, some filled with tourists and others filled with Thais going about their daily business. The boat passed through a floating market – small flat boats loaded with melons, long beans, bananas, coconuts, lychees, strawberries and other goods.

‘Everything is available here,' Channarong said. ‘Not all of it is so publicly presented.'

Maureen bought some lychees. She remarked at how beautiful they were. Slightly larger than a walnut, the surface was delicately patterned in rose and tan as if carved by an artist. Channarong showed her how to peel them. Her eyes widened as she tasted one.

‘So sweet,' she said, ‘it's almost painful.'

There were also floating restaurants. Channarong, Maureen and Shanahan dined on crab as their boat slid through the maze of canals. Temples rose to the left with orange-robed monks going somewhere. Half-naked children played along the canal, happily taunting the tourist boats.

Shanahan thought that Thailand had only partially given in to the great Western influence.

‘Did you know,' Channarong said, seemingly picking up on Shanahan's thoughts. ‘Thailand is the only country in this part of the world that has never been colonized, never been occupied by a foreign culture?'

‘I did,' Shanahan said. ‘They're still holding the rest of the world at bay.' It was an admirable trait, he thought.

Thailand was different from his decades old memories of Japan, China and Korea. He could see how someone could be seduced by how beauty nestled up against ugliness in Thailand.

Back at the hotel, Maureen and Shanahan showered, swam a few exhilarating laps in the rooftop pool. Shanahan had two bottles of beer, green bottles with an elephant logo and he too napped until Maureen woke him up, afraid she might miss dinner.

It was at dinner – a place not far from the hotel they took a chance on – that Shanahan began to believe his message had been delivered, that he was being watched. He couldn't be sure. There might be other reasons for a skinny man to be glancing at the old detective nervously. When Shanahan looked back, the man looked away. When Shanahan's gaze steadied, the man disappeared.

Rain came at night. Again. It was torrential as it was the night before. Shanahan fell asleep under nature's violent nurture.

SEVEN

If fate ruled the world, then fate had it in for him. If the world were ruled by chance, then he had been enduring a particularly malicious run of bad luck. Cross fought the self-pitying cloud that hovered over him, but he had just come through a hellish period and here it was again; unless he had another and quite evil personality he knew nothing about. Karma was ignoring fairness, he thought. He was being set up to take the fall for two murders he didn't commit. And fate or chance was piling it on.

Cross was back downtown. No doubt the cops were more than a little upset to be on duty and in the office that time of night. But things were going worse for Cross. The search that Lieutenant Collins performed at Cross's place uncovered a man's Cartier watch and an engagement ring, both belonging to Marshall Talbot, one of two victims of the shotgun murder found in the trunk of the car Cross was driving.

The two lieutenants had gone home. Cross had been brought into Collins's office to wait, guarded by a uniform. Kowalski was there, sitting in a chair beside Cross at Collins's desk. The lieutenant was purportedly on his way back to talk with Cross.

Cross was numb.

‘Why did Collins conduct the search?' Kowalski asked. ‘One of the lesser mugs could have done it.'

‘Yeah, one of the lesser mugs might have shot Shanahan's dog,' Collins said coming through the door.

‘That happen a lot?' Kowalski asked.

‘Too many times.'

The lieutenant sat on the edge of his desk. He held plastic bags containing the evidence in his hand. The expression on his face said: Explain this.

‘If they are willing to plant bodies,' Kowalski said, ‘it wouldn't stretch the imagination for them to plant some jewelry.'

‘And by “them” you mean?' Collins asked.

‘I believe you call them perps, don't you?' Kowalski said.

‘Oh Kowalski, stop watching TV.'

‘That's where the cops are the good guys,' Kowalski said.

‘Maybe you don't watch TV.'

‘I'm engaged in real life.'

‘Cross!' Collins shouted to pull Cross from wherever he was. ‘What are we going to do? Swann thinks you need to be put away. Rafferty is spinning the idea that you should be referred to as a “person of interest” or “valuable witness,” rather than a suspect. But there's only so much we can do when the evidence that keeps rolling in says it's you.'

‘I know,' Cross said. ‘We're not looking for an idiot.'

‘That supposed to disqualify you?' Collins said, smiling. ‘All right. We've been through this already, but let's look at it again. Who has a hard-on so bad they'd go to all this trouble?'

Cross shook his head in bewilderment. Then he looked up. ‘Edelman was the link between me and the trunk full of bodies. The only person who knew where I was going and when I was going, besides me, was Edelman.'

‘So Edelman had to go,' Collins said. He shook his head and made a face. Disbelief.

‘Sure. The murderer is tidying it up,' Cross said.

‘Was Edelman murdered?' Kowalski asked. ‘Do we know that?'

‘Why would he kill himself?' Collins shrugged. ‘I don't know what to tell you,' he said. ‘I'm gonna make the call. You can go home. I'll have to deal with the DA in the morning. Who knows what will happen after that? In the meantime, keep your lawyer close. Right, Kowalski?'

Cross sat up for hours, sipping on tequila. What he wanted was to sort out all of the details, make sense of them. He was – and he knew it – sabotaging the effort with each sip. It was his nature.

He went outside, sat at the table under some pine trees. Casey followed him out and plopped down beside Cross's chair.

‘Thanks,' Cross said. ‘I need a friend.'

Cross wasn't a sad, self-pitying drunk. Or an angry or mean one. He was a what-the-hell drunk. And he only got drunk alone. He'd let no one see him drunk, except for Casey. And Casey would keep his secrets.

‘It wasn't me they wanted to set up. They just wanted someone and I was handy. And really,' he spoke into the darkness, ‘I was perfect. A low-life repo guy who has a track history of being involved in dirty business. Prostitutes, crooks, questionable deaths.'

It was refreshing in a way because, despite the tequila, he was looking at himself clearly, at least in the way the cops would, as a jury would, as the general public would depending on media spin. He looked good for all three murders. It wasn't a stretch.

He had his work cut out for him.

Shanahan woke earlier than Maureen. He pulled the drapery aside. Outside was an eerie gray; but the light was coming. She was enjoying her sleep. He was restless. He left a note in the unlikely event she would be awake before he returned. He went in search of a cup of coffee and an English-language newspaper. Outside the air was a vast steam room. The streets were flooded ankle-high in some places from the night rain. Soon the sun would bring it to a boil. He dodged the water that would soak his socks, zigzagged on sidewalks and streets eventually making it to a news-stand and then with a little luck to a diner. The streets were bustling. He watched as well-dressed women boarded dilapidated and very crowded buses. In the short, narrow alleys vendors were bringing wares out to the street. Motorbikes weaved around waiting automobiles to get pole position at the stop light. When the light changed they swarmed off in a deafening buzz.

He ordered a cup of coffee at a table in a drab, colorless restaurant and spread out the colorful
Bangkok Post
. A few moments later a young Thai man in a baseball cap, olive tee shirt and jeans came in. Shanahan wouldn't have noticed except that the kid seemed to make a special point of not looking around. He was trying very hard not to be noticed. When the waiter came, Shanahan saw the young man steal a glimpse before his gaze too quickly retreated.

Shanahan looked down at his paper and paid no attention to the kid. He asked the waiter for two cups ‘to go' and walked past the kid and out the door. He thought about trying to lose him, but he didn't want to. If he was right about the tail, this was the only connection he had made so far. He'd have to figure out what to do about it.

Maureen was awake and up when he got back to the hotel.

‘Channarong called. Wants to know if you have plans for him.'

‘I do.' Shanahan went to the phone and punched in the numbers.

‘What's on our agenda?' she asked, while Shanahan waited for Channarong to answer.

‘Breakfast and a long walk,' Shanahan said just as Channarong answered. ‘Can you meet us at ten here at the hotel?'

‘Yes.'

‘Come on up to the room.'

Shanahan didn't want to discuss things in the lobby.

Maureen stood out on the balcony and sipped her coffee.

‘Are we going to have breakfast out?' she asked.

‘Can you wait until ten thirty?'

‘No.'

‘We'll go downstairs. It is part of our rate, I guess,' Shanahan said.

She was a little disappointed. The breakfast buffet was OK – for what it was – a breakfast buffet. And it was a food adventure she had already experienced.

Channarong stepped out on to the balcony. Shanahan followed.

Looking down, Channarong said, ‘All that used to be a Chinese cemetery. On a morning like this morning the tombstones would look like sunken bathtubs in muddy water as if someone forgot and left the faucet running.'

‘I'm reminding you,' Shanahan said to Maureen who stood in the doorway. ‘I want to be cremated and my ashes thrown on a mountain.'

She said nothing.

‘What happened to the cemetery?' Shanahan asked.

‘They've taken it all away,' Channarong said. ‘Progress. I suspect no one liked the idea of soggy corpses.'

‘Are you up for a little intelligence work?'

Channarong nodded.

‘We need three people for this,' Shanahan said, counting each one of them. ‘I will go for a long walk, perhaps to a park somewhere,' Shanahan said. ‘You and Maureen will follow at a distance in order to see if we're being followed.'

Channarong nodded.

Shanahan described the young man who was at the restaurant.

‘It could be someone else now. Anyway I'll go sit at a park bench somewhere. If I am followed, Maureen will come sit beside me. We will chat for a while. I'll see her to a cab and she will go back to the hotel.'

Maureen raised one eyebrow.

‘Then I'll begin walking again and I will lose him.'

‘You don't want to confront him? You want to lose him?' Channarong said.

‘But I don't want you to lose him.'

‘I see. You want to know where he goes.'