The Dying Beach (16 page)

‘Try the headman at Pakasai village, Amnat. He's usually sitting out the front of his house waiting for people to drop by. Then there's Ban Huay Sok—I can't remember the headman's name—and Laem Kruad might also be worth a visit. They're the villages that have put up the most objections.'

‘Thanks,' the woman said.

‘I still don't understand how this is connected to Pla's death,' Paul said. ‘She was only there as an observer to monitor the consultations.'

‘We're not sure about the connection either. But we're looking into it. Perhaps we could call you again later. You might be able to help—'

‘I want to help now,' Paul blurted. ‘I can't believe Pla is dead.'

‘Please hold a moment,' the woman said.

Paul heard muffled conversation as he gulped water from the glass on his bedside table, forcing down the lump in his throat.

‘Pla's body will be cremated on Thursday at a temple here in Krabi.'

Two days' time. Paul didn't hesitate. ‘I'll be there. How can I find you?'

‘We're staying at the Sea View Guesthouse in Ao Nang.'

‘I know it.'

‘I'll text you my mobile number. Call me when you get here. Should I book you a room?'

‘Yes. Thanks…ah…what was your name again?'

‘Jayne,' she said. ‘Jayne Keeney. And my partner is Rajiv Patel.'

Paul put the phone down and gave up fighting back the tears, his grief erupting in loud sobs. He staggered to the bathroom, used the toilet, grabbed a wad of toilet paper and blew his nose.

Pla had loved him. She was loyal even to the point of disguising her notes just as he'd told her. And how had he rewarded her loyalty? By backing off in search of something less complicated.

He'd exchanged Pla's love and loyalty for Karin's indifference. Now Pla was dead. She'd been dead four days and he hadn't known.

He was a fuckwit.

25

Jayne talked Rajiv out of hiring a car and driver for the trip to Neua Khlong district. He thought they needed someone who knew the terrain. She insisted they'd be fine on a motorbike and could always stop and ask for directions. She was also aware of the difference in cost between hiring a car and a motorbike and was determined to stretch the money in Rajiv's budget as far as possible.

As it happened, the power-plant site was easy to find, located a few kilometres off the highway beyond the golf course. Jayne retraced their tracks to the last village they passed through, which turned out to be Ban Pakasai. The houses were a mix of wood and concrete and almost all had small, elevated huts made of bamboo and palm fronds in the front yards. Some huts functioned as small shops, others as places to lounge, eat and gossip.

Jayne stopped by a group of supine young men and asked for the village headman. They directed her past a temple to a pretty white house with aqua gables and window frames. They found the
chao ban
as Paul predicted, sitting cross-legged in his hut by the roadside, waiting to receive callers.

‘
Sawadee ka loong
.' Jayne greeted the headman respectfully as Uncle. ‘My name is Jayne and this is Rajiv.'

‘Welcome.' The old man stayed seated, and greeted them with a
wai
. ‘I am Uncle Amnat.'

He had the face of a man who'd spent his whole life frowning into the sun, eyes squinting beneath a deeply wrinkled brow. The lines on his forehead formed an arrow pointing south to a broad smile. He wore a yellow polo shirt, a colour associated with the Thai king, over faded jeans. His feet were bare.

‘Where do you come from?'

‘I'm from Australia and my partner's from India,' Jayne said. ‘We live in Bangkok.'

‘Bangkok, eh. Never been there myself. You speak Thai very well, Khun Jayne. Have you eaten yet?'

‘Uncle is very kind. Yes, we have eaten.'

‘Some tea then.' The old man gestured for Jayne and Rajiv to join him. ‘Bring tea, daughter,' he called to the young woman on the veranda. She looked up from her task of peeling the dense white pith from a pomelo. ‘The power's off,' Amnat said as the front door of the house slammed behind his daughter. ‘At least out here we can catch a breeze.'

They climbed up onto the raised platform alongside the headman. Jayne resisted the urge to sit cross-legged like the men and tucked her feet behind her in the more seemly mermaid pose.

They made small talk until Amnat's daughter reappeared with a pot of green tea and a plate of pomelo segments with a small mound of
prik geua
, a mix of sugar, salt and chilli. At the headman's urging, Jayne and Rajiv helped themselves to the fruit, dipping it in the spice mix. When the tea was poured and tasted, Jayne broached the subject of their visit.

‘Uncle, we seek information about a young woman. We understand she spent time here in Pakasai village during the meetings about the power plant.' She took Pla's ID card from her wallet. ‘This is the girl. Chanida, nickname Pla.'

‘Of course, we all know Pla,' Amnat said. ‘She helped us to understand clearly the consequences of the project for our village. Sometimes we villagers feel too shy to ask questions of the experts. But Pla has a lot of experience working with foreigners. She says it's okay to ask questions. She says foreigners like questions. They don't lose face like Thai people when we ask them many questions.'

‘Did she ever come to the village with anyone else?'

‘Mostly she came by herself. One time she came with Mister Porn. From Australia like you. Maybe you know him?'

Jayne shook her head. ‘How does the village feel about the power plant now?'

‘We welcome progress.' Amnat nodded towards the house. ‘I'll be able to run my fans all day once the power plant opens.

‘With Pla's help, we got the company to take our concerns seriously. We were worried about the impact of traffic but now we have a commitment from the company for local road improvement. And the men here who worked at the old power plant—those still able to work—will be offered employment at the new site. It was Pla's idea to ask the consultant to make this recommendation to EGAT.'

Jayne gave him a sad smile. ‘Uncle, I have bad news. Miss Pla is dead.'

‘Dead?'

‘Drowned. Her body was found Friday morning off Princess Beach.'

The old man returned her smile, as though in an unspoken pact not to make this any more distressing. ‘I am so sorry to hear that,' he said.

‘So you didn't know?'

He shook his head.

‘Uncle, I need to ask, can you think of anyone who would want to harm Pla?'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Did she have any enemies?'

‘No, no, no,' Amnat said. ‘The people of Ban Pakasai loved Pla. They will be very sad to hear this news.'

‘What about outside the village, perhaps, a supporter of the power plant who resented Pla helping you?'

Amnat shook his head again. ‘We all loved Miss Pla.'

Jayne leafed through Pla's transcript of the consultation at what she now recognised as Pakasai village. ‘Does the name Khun Bapit mean anything to you?'

Amnat's arrow-shaped frown deepened. ‘Khun Bapit comes from Pakasai village,' he said. ‘But these days he lives in Neua Khlong town. Khun Bapit is a businessman. He welcomes progress. He did not always see eye to eye with Miss Pla, but I can't believe he would hurt her.'

‘All the same, we would like to talk with him. Can you tell us how to find Khun Bapit?'

‘His place is off the highway on the road to the Chinese temple. His company is called Charoen Sand and Gravel Supplies. Find the compound and you will find Khun Bapit. He sleeps close to his money.'

Jayne made a note of it.

‘Is there anything you or anyone else in the village can tell us about Miss Pla that might help our investigation?'

‘You should talk to her farang friend, Khun Porn.'

‘We're expecting him at Pla's cremation on Thursday at Wat Sai Thai.'

‘So the funeral ceremony will start today?'

‘The monks will begin chanting for Miss Pla tonight. They have also kindly offered to take care of the catering on the day of the cremation.'

‘That won't be necessary,' Amnat said. ‘The people from here and the other villages where Pla worked will supply food. It's the least we can do to see her soul peacefully into the afterlife.' The old man summoned his daughter again. ‘Please invite Mae Yada to join us,' he said to his daughter. ‘She will take charge of arrangements.'

Jayne recognised the name from Pla's notes.

‘Might we also speak with Mae Yada?' she said.

The headman nodded while his daughter refilled their teacups before shuffling off.

The woman who answered Amnat's summons cast a broad shadow. She wore a man's short-sleeved shirt over a simple cotton sarong and worn rubber flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was cut short, her lips stained with betel nut juice. She carried all her weight in her torso, her face and limbs those of the thinner person she once was.

‘
Sawadee ka
,' she said, flashing teeth the same burnt orange as her lips. ‘Farang,' she said under her breath to Amnat, still smiling at Jayne and Rajiv. ‘Nothing good ever comes from having farangs in the village.'

‘Mae Yada, may I introduce Khun Jayne and Khun Rajiv. Khun Jayne speaks Thai very well,' Amnat said quickly. ‘They're investigating the death of Miss Pla.'

‘Nang Pla?' Mae Yada's smile fell and she teetered as if caught off-balance.

Another of Uncle Amnat's female relatives materialised with a small stool, which Mae Yada used as a step to haul herself up into the hut.

‘D-dead?' she huffed. ‘Oh, that poor, sweet girl. What happened?'

‘That's what we're trying to find out,
Mae
,' Jayne said. ‘You might be able to help us. Do you know if Miss Pla had any enemies, anyone who might wish her harm?'

Mae Yada considered the question while catching her breath. ‘Khun Nukun and the experts from EGAT found Miss Pla inconvenient,' she said. ‘
Teh wa mai khii chaang
jap tak-ka-tehn
.'

‘You don't ride an elephant to catch a grasshopper.' Jayne smiled at the idiom, the Thai equivalent of not using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Mae Yada was right: murdering Pla would be overkill.

‘Anyway, they needed her.'

‘What do you mean?'

The old woman spat a rust-coloured wad into the dust. ‘Pla and her farang friend helped them to get the job done. The company is obliged to show they consulted local villagers and took their opinions into account. So they ask us many questions. With Pla's help, we give them our opinions and tell them about our concerns. They come back later with changes to their plans and say, “Here, we have listened to you and given you what you wanted.”'

Mae Yada sighed. ‘It's not Pla's fault. She did her best. But there was never any question the power plant would be built in Pakasai. We were offered every choice except the one that matters most: “Do you want this power plant?”'

Jayne gazed up at the woman, whose girth now blocked the breeze that had kept them cool. If the company wanted to rid itself of troublemakers, surely they would target someone like Mae Yada and not Pla.

‘So not EGAT, nor the consultants,' Jayne said. ‘Anyone else? Was there any gossip?'

‘Rumour is she and the farang from Bangkok
mii arai
kan
.'

‘
Mii arai kan
,' Jayne repeated. ‘They had something going on?'

Mae Yada nodded.

‘Mister Porn,' Uncle Amnat weighed in.

Mae Yada screwed up her nose. ‘Guesthouse owner in Ao Nang says Pla spent nights with him during his visits. Silly girl, everyone was bound to find out.'

‘Do you know the name of the guesthouse?' Jayne asked.

‘Brother Singh's place,' Mae Yada said. ‘The Sea View.'

Rajiv raised his eyebrows. ‘That's where we are staying, isn't it?'

Jayne nodded, turned back to Mae Yada. ‘Was there anyone else? A local boyfriend, perhaps, someone jealous?'

Mae Yada shook her head. ‘It wasn't like that. Pla was a good girl—too good for that farang, if you ask me.'

Thai good, farang bad. It would really mess with the old woman's worldview if a local turned out to be responsible for Pla's death.

Rajiv suggested they ask the headman if he ever contacted the consultants directly. Uncle Amnat eased himself to the ground, his legs not quite straightening as he crossed the yard into the house. He re-emerged with a small plastic tray and placed it in front of Jayne and Rajiv like an offering. The tray contained at least one deck, possibly two, of worn playing cards, several loose cigarettes, a packet of matches, a laminated photograph of a young monk—too recent to be Amnat, possibly a son or grandson—oddments of string, wire and fishing line, a pencil, some baht coins and several business cards.

‘I have name cards from all the consultants, Thai and farang, who have visited the village,' Amnat said as he fished them out. ‘They give them to me knowing I will never use them.'

‘You sure, Uncle?'

He nodded and shuffled the tray as if to restore order. They thanked him and climbed down from the hut.

Mae Yada gave them a half-hearted
wai
, and the village headman would not let them leave until his daughter had pressed two whole pomelos on them.

26

Bapit glanced at his watch. Typical of Othong to be late for work the morning there was a large order to load. Three trucks were assembled inside the compound, with six young guys already at work shovelling gravel into the trays. If it wasn't for Othong's brute strength, Bapit would have sacked him long ago, regardless of their blood ties. But the fact was that Othong could work at twice the rate of most men his age. If he only had the brains to match, Bapit might have considered grooming him to take over. But Othong was like a cow that needed to be tethered by the nose to stop it from wandering into traffic.