Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness (13 page)

“Two of my best clients,” Siriwan whispered. “They work for the World Bank. I have to go. But I’ll telephone you tomorrow or the next day.” They embraced again and Ladarat stepped out into the fading afternoon sun, wondering whether the mangoes had waited for her.

Wan put

WEDNESDAY

A BRIEF BUT ILLUMINATING CONVERSATION

D
espite the fruit seller’s warning, those mangoes had, in fact, waited patiently for her return. Ladarat had bought three and had eaten them all last night for dinner, with sticky rice from Duanphen on the corner, and mild red chili paste. It was about as simple as a meal could be, the white rice smoothing over the sweetness of the mango and absorbing the heat of the chili. The quintessential Thai meal, it was all about balance.

Maewfawbaahn
had sniffed around and had even tried a piece of mango. He seemed bemused but appreciative. Who ever heard of a cat who ate fruit? But it was good that he had an open mind. Everyone should all aspire to be as open to new things as her cat was.

Didn’t Professor Dalrymple say that a nurse must grow a little every day? Then
Maewfawbaahn
had certainly grown a little last night. And she, Ladarat Patalung, would need to grow a little more today.

Indeed, now she had no time to think of cats and mangoes. Or of murder investigations. Now, she had to utilize her budding skills as a detective to do her work as a nurse ethicist. That is, she would need to be an
ethical
detective.

Because Ladarat knew she couldn’t postpone a meeting with the mysterious man outside the ICU any longer, and she was nervous. So nervous, in fact, that she hadn’t even gone to her office first to drop her handbag and put on her white lab coat, fearing that she would lose her nerve for this conversation. If she’d even stopped there, she’d seek refuge in paperwork and would put this meeting off till tomorrow. Then she’d never do what needed to be done. So Ladarat forced herself to go straight to the elevator and pushed the 6 button, with a sense of purpose mixed with foreboding.

She knew, somehow, that this would be her best chance. She would get only one good opportunity to talk with the man. She needed to make it count.

As Professor Dalrymple said, one must always make the most of every encounter with a patient or family. It can take years to recover from one wrong word that undermines trust.

As she stepped onto the empty elevator, Ladarat reflected that the man had seemed… skittish on Monday. Like a forest creature. And today he would almost certainly run away if he sensed that she were a threat. Or if she asked too many questions. Or maybe if she asked him any question at all.

Just as the doors began to close, a young man—little more than a teenager—slipped between them and moved politely to the far corner of the elevator. Ladarat thought about what questions might be safest to ask the man outside the ICU, as she rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. She thought, too, about what her strategy should be. A strategy, she knew, is a very good thing to have.

The elevator stopped on the second floor and more passengers joined them. Then again on the third floor, and the fourth. Some passengers left, but Ladarat noticed that the young man remained.

With every stop, the young man would glance at her in a way that could only be called surreptitious. The way you might look at someone whom you think you know. His eyes flicked up to Ladarat’s face in quick forays, without seeming to focus, but then would dart away just as fast.

As the elevator passed the fourth floor, she turned to the man and smiled, but he looked straight ahead. That was both odd and rude. He seemed young, though with Thai men it was often difficult to tell. In his early twenties, perhaps. And dressed neatly in trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt that still had the creases of its package. He’d apparently dressed in new clothes, but he wasn’t poor, to judge from the large gold watch that seemed to weigh down his left arm. It was of the complex sort that men seem to favor, with dials within dials, and all sorts of buttons on the side. It was truly as large as a clock but was intended—somehow—to appear sporty.

Perhaps he was here to visit a relative? That would explain his neat appearance. Yet he was carrying nothing. Surely a visit to the ICU would require some sort of gift? And he was going to the ICU. Ladarat was certain of that. That was the only elevator button that was illuminated.

Then, at the very last second, the young man lunged forward and pressed the “5” button. The poor elevator seemed confused by this sudden change of plans and lurched up, then slowed. The young man seemed embarrassed that he had discomfited the elevator in such a way, but still he said nothing. Staring at his feet, he waited until the elevators doors began to slide open, then slipped through, and out onto the fifth floor.

Ah, the obstetrics wards. Perhaps that would explain the young man’s confusion. He was a new father.

She would have known that, Ladarat realized, if she had engaged him in conversation. She pondered this fact as the doors slid shut. There were limits, perhaps, in what one could discover by observation. Perhaps one must also talk, and listen.

Perhaps she could just… have a conversation with the man outside the ICU?

That was easy to say, but much harder to do. How could she simply have a conversation? How could she walk in and start talking with the man as if they were friends?

Especially if the waiting room was empty, she thought as the doors opened onto the long, deserted hallway. What if he’s there but no one else is? She couldn’t exactly take a seat next to him, could she?

Ladarat was still mulling that problem over, getting no closer to a solution, while she walked down the hall. So when she reached the waiting room—which was almost empty—she was hardly relieved to see the man resting on his haunches, his back against the wall that separated the waiting room from the ICU. He’d been in the same position the day before, she remembered. And in much the same place.

It was then that she realized that the man had discovered the only place in the whole waiting room that gave an unobstructed view of the mountains to the north. He’d picked the only spot, in fact, from which you could see the Doi Suthep temple.

Without thinking or planning, Ladarat made her way across the empty waiting room toward where the man was sitting. She was careful not to look at him, though, as she navigated around the rows of chairs. Although she sensed that he was watching her closely.

Instead she looked out the window. She was looking so intently, in fact, that she barked her shin on the edge of one of the hard plastic seats. She said something that was not particularly polite, and only then, again without planning it, looked at the man and smiled. He looked down and away.

Not an auspicious beginning, granted. Still, it was a start.

She drew closer, until she was only two meters from him. As she approached, Ladarat was careful to look only out the window, watching the landscape of the mountains shift. Finally she could see what he saw: a view of green forest that stretched up into the low clouds. Unmarred—unless you looked very closely—by roads or buildings or power lines. And far off to the right was the Doi Suthep temple, one of the oldest and most sacred Buddhist temples in all of Thailand. Beyond that stretched Doi Suthep National Park, a vast expanse of forest just outside Chiang Mai.

She made a high
wai
toward the temple and then stood there, admiring the view for a moment. Partly she wanted to put him at ease. But also, it was a spectacular view, and one that she had not really appreciated before. To see such mountains just outside a city was remarkable. And to have that mountain capped by such a temple… well… it was at times like these that she couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.

Finally she turned and offered a
wai
to the man. He returned it more deeply than was strictly necessary. Again, it struck her that he had mistaken her for someone of importance.

But as Ladarat looked at him more closely, she had a different impression. He was, very clearly, a farmer. He had broad, calloused, leathery feet flattened from years of hard work without shoes. His loose-fitting T-shirt was soiled and worn, and his thin cotton trousers had been patched many times. And the bag next to him that she’d noticed yesterday was homemade. It had been constructed entirely of old burlap of the sort that was used to make rice sacks, stitched together with rough twine.

He had showed her such respect, she realized, not because he thought that she was important but because he thought of himself as unimportant.

She found herself in an awkward position, standing over him. In other circumstances, to stand over someone would be considered rude. One should always show respect by putting oneself at a level that is no higher than the other person is. And meeting someone in a prominent position, it was customary to duck and bow. And perhaps even to sit, putting yourself beneath them.

But in this situation, she suspected, if she were to crouch on the floor next to him, he would find it disconcerting. Perhaps he would think it was improper. Perhaps it would frighten him away?

So she compromised and sat on a bench nearby. She was still gazing out the window, careful not to make eye contact. But out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see him tense. The bag disappeared from her peripheral vision, as if he was gathering it to make an escape.

She could not let that happen. She had come so far. And here she was, sitting right next to him. All that remained was to begin a conversation. But what should she say?

She looked at the man and smiled in a way that she hoped would be disarming. But he was watching her with a wary look that you might reserve for a large, unpredictable animal that was too close for comfort.

Of course, if he was a farmer, then all of this—the whole hospital, indeed the whole city—must be foreign to him. It would be like putting her in the middle of the forest. At night. Everything would be a potential threat. He must be feeling much the same thing.

“I love this window,” she said simply.

The man glanced up but didn’t move.

“There are houses and buildings on that mountainside,” she said quickly, “but you can hardly see them. Especially during the monsoon season, when we get rains every day, the forest seems to grow and covers everything.”

She was talking too fast, she knew. She was nervous. But the man, at least, was still paying attention.

“It’s like the village I’m from. All trees, not many buildings.” She smiled. “Not like here.”

“And… where are you from, Khun?” He had a brittle, raspy voice that sounded as if it had seen too many cigarettes over the years.

But at least he’d spoken.

“From near Ban Huai Duea School,” she said quickly. “It’s on the Pai River near the border with Burma. Near Mae Hong Son.”

“I know it,” he said quietly. “It is good country.”

That was an odd phrase, and she wasn’t sure what he meant. “Good” as in good for farming? Or did he mean that the people there were good? Both, she thought, were true. But how did he know?

“And you, Khun? Are you from near there?”

For a split second he looked away from her and out the window. In that moment, she saw his face in profile and he looked… sad. Very sad. What she had thought initially was humility was also sadness.

It wasn’t just that he doubted his importance; he doubted himself.

Without speaking, he turned back to her and rose in a fluid motion, using only his calloused heels to propel himself off the floor. In a second his tattered bag was draped across his shoulder and he made a high
wai
to her, and to the temple on the mountain. Without a word, he padded across the waiting room, his bare feet flapping on the tile floor. No more than a second later, he was gone.

Ladarat watched him hustle across the waiting room and then began to follow him. She wasn’t tracking him exactly. Yet she wanted to see where he went when he wasn’t in the waiting room. Would he take the elevator at the end of the hall? Or would he keep going to the cafeteria in the next building?