The Tunnel Rats (25 page)

'Who's in charge?' asked Wright.

The guard smiled and worked a toothpick between his front teeth. Wright repeated his question but it was clear that the man didn't understand.

Wright looked around helplessly. The orphanage was a large concrete two-storey building, painted a pale pink colour with a red tiled roof. The laughter he'd heard came from one of the rooms on the ground floor. The windows were wide open and inside he could see children sitting at desks while a Thai nun in white habit stood in front of a blackboard. The gardens around the building were well tended with neatly trimmed bushes and a large expanse of grass where the children could play. In the far corner of the garden, close to the wall, were a slide and a set of swings. It wasn't at all how Wright had pictured a Thai orphanage: he'd expected a drab, dreary place where hollow-cheeked malnourished children held up empty bowls and begged for more.

Wright nodded at the guard and headed along a flagstoned path that led to the main entrance. Two stone lions stood guard at the front door, each coming up almost to Wright's shoulder. He walked past them and into the building.

There was no airconditioning but large fans whirled overhead in the wood-panelled hallway and it was much cooler outside. A highly polished rosewood table stood to the left, with a large visitors' book next to a vase of pink and white orchids.

'Can I help you?' asked a voice behind him.

Wright jumped. 'Jesus!' he exclaimed. He whirled around to find himself face to face with an amused European nun, a woman in her forties with striking green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles around her nose.

'Hardly,' she said. 'Though we do like to feel that we have his blessing in our work.' Her accent was Irish, a soft, feminine brogue that suggested she enjoyed teasing men.

Wright felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. 'I'm sorry, Sister,' he said. 'You caught me by surprise.'

The nun clasped her hands together. She was wearing a white habit and stray locks of red hair peeped out from the cowl as if reluctant to stay hidden. 'And what brings you to our establishment, Mr . . .?'

'Wright. Nick Wright. Are you in charge?'

'For my sins,' she said. 'Sister Marie is my name. Taking care of children, my game. And you, Mr Wright?'

'I'm a policeman,' said Wright. He took out his warrant card and showed it to her.

She studied both sides, then handed it back to him, suddenly serious. 'It's about Eric, I suppose?'

Wright nodded. 'Is there somewhere we can talk?'

'My office,' she said. 'This way.' She swept down the hall, past an ornate crucifix and a small font, and down a second tiled hallway to a wooden door. She was a tall woman, the spreading cowl emphasising her height, and she had to duck slightly as she walked through the doorway. The habit concealed her figure and Wright couldn't help but wonder what Sister Marie's body looked like. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. She was a nun, for God's sake. A bride of Christ.

Sister Marie stood to the side and ushered him to a straight backed wooden chair next to the window. She closed the door and glided over to her desk. 'Can I offer you a drink?' she said.

'It's a bit early for me,' said Wright.

'I meant water,' she said archly. 'Or iced tea.'

Yet again Wright was flustered. He was so used to Tommy Reid offering him a hair of the dog that refusals had become second nature. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Iced tea would be fine. Thank you.'

Sister Marie pressed a small button on the side of her desk and a moment later the door opened and a Thai nun opened the door. Sister Marie spoke to her in Thai and the nun nodded and closed the door. 'So tell me, Inspector Wright. Why is a transport policeman from England investigating Eric Horvitz's murder?'

A good question, thought Wright. And one that he wasn't sure how to answer. 'There was a similar murder some weeks ago. In 178 STEPHEN LEATHER London. I thought there might be a connection. The victim was also an American. His name was Max Eckhardt. I don't suppose you know if Mr Horvitz knew him, do you?'

'I don't think so,' said Sister Marie. 'It's certainly not a name I'm familiar with.' She opened one of the desk drawers and took out a Filofax. She flicked through it, then shook her head. 'No, there's no Eckhardt here. This is Eric's. Was Eric's, I mean.'

There was a timid knock on the door and the Thai nun carried in a tray containing a jug of iced tea and two glasses which she placed on the desk. Sister Marie murmured her thanks, and waited until the nun had left before picking up the jug. 'I suppose I'd better be mother,' she said.

Wright grinned. He couldn't help wondering why a sexy, self-assured woman like Sister Marie had turned her back on the outside world and offered her body and soul to Christ. He went over to the desk and took the filled glass from her. 'Cheers,' he said.

She raised her own glass. 'Slainte,' she said, toasting him.

When he'd sat down again, Wright asked her what Eric Horvitz had been doing in Thailand.

'His job, you mean? He didn't actually have one. He ran the orphanage, took care of any repairs that needed doing.'

'And who paid his salary? Who did he work for?'

'Oh, didn't you know? This is his orphanage. He bought the building, he paid the running costs, sponsored the older children to go to university.'

'That must cost a fortune.'

'He never talked about money. But whenever we needed it, it was there. The Lord will provide, he used to say, but I know it was his own money.' ^

She went suddenly quiet and Wright could sense that she was uneasy talking about Horvitz, as if she was betraying his secrets.

'Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill him?' he asked. 'Anyone who would have profited from his death?'

'He left everything to the orphanage,' said Sister Marie. 'We haven't got the money yet, of course, things take time in Thailand. But his lawyer said we were the only beneficiary in his will.'

'And enemies?'

She smiled and shook her head. 'Eric had no enemies,' she said. 'He wasn't the sort to make enemies. He was quiet, even tempered, he was at peace with himself.'

'He was a religious man?'

'Oh no. He didn't believe in God, and I was never able to convince him otherwise.' She looked across at another chair, a leather armchair almost within reach of her desk, and Wright knew that that was where Horvitz used to sit whenever he visited Sister Marie in her office. He knew also that it would remain Horvitz's chair for a long time to come and that was why she'd shown him to the one by the window.

'How did you meet him?' asked Wright.

'I like to think that it was God who sent him to us, despite his lack of belief,' she said, fingering her glass of iced tea. Wright sipped his. It was sweet and sickly, but he was grateful for the ice. Like the rest of the building, Sister Marie's office had no airconditioning. 'Our order had an orphanage in Vietnam, in Saigon,' she continued. 'Or Ho Chi Minh City as they insist on calling it these days. Eric came with a group of Americans to look around. They were part of a goodwill tour arranged by some war veterans association. The idea was for the vets to come to terms with the war by meeting the people they'd once fought against. We were part of their itinerary. The orphanage had looked after hundreds of Amerasians who had been abandoned by their mothers.'

'When was this?'

'Seven years ago.' She frowned. 'No. Eight.'

'Sister Marie, Max Eckhardt wasn't on the tour, was he?'

She frowned and put a hand up to her cowl. 'No, I'm pretty sure he wasn't,' she said eventually. 'Actually, I can't be sure, because I wasn't told all their names. There was a guy called Lehman, Dan Lehman, and a man with an artificial hand called Larry.' She smiled as if recalling a fond memory. 'The reason I remember their names is because although they came as part of the goodwill tour they returned a few months later and gave the orphanage a lot of money.' She paused and sipped her tea.

'How much, if you don't mind my asking?'

She held his look for several seconds. 'A lot,' she said. 'Enough to solve all our financial problems. Dan and Larry stayed in Vietnam for a few months then returned to the United States. Eric stayed.'

'Do you know how I can contact them?' asked Wright.

She shook her head. 'I'm afraid not. We occasionally get Christmas cards from Dan, but he seems to move around a lot. Believe me, none of them would want to hurt Eric. You never saw such close friends.'

A bell began to ring and seconds later came the sound of children laughing and running down a corridor. It was a happy place and Wright felt that the atmosphere had a lot to do with the fact that Sister Marie was in charge.

'What happened to the orphanage in Vietnam?' he asked.

'Oh, it's still there, and our Order still runs it, but the Vietnamese made it harder and harder for foreigners like myself and Eric to stay there. It became increasingly difficult for us to get visas and the authorities made it clear they'd rather have the orphanage in Vietnamese hands. It's still a Communist country, you know, and the petty bureaucracy has to be seen to be believed. At first we paid off the right people, but after a while even that wasn't enough and we had to leave.'

Wright smiled at Sister Marie's admission of bribery, but he guessed that in her mind the end justified the means. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder what other transgressions there had been in the nun's life. He wanted to ask her if she'd always been a nun, or if prior to taking holy orders she'd had a normal life, of pubs and dances and boyfriends. Wright could imagine a lot of broken hearts when Sister Marie turned her back on the outside world and chose a life of chastity and%prayer.

'Eric offered to set up a new orphanage here in Bangkok.' She waved her hand, indicating the room they were in. 'He paid for everything. The building. The staff. Medical care.'

'And no ulterior motive?' Wright regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth.

She stiffened and her eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean?' she said.

Wright smiled awkwardly. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but I think THE TUNNEL RATS 181 like a policeman. I'm not used to dealing with philanthropists. Everybody I meet has a dirty secret, an axe to grind . . .' He tailed off as he realised he was rambling.

'Not Eric Horvitz. He was truly a good man.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply otherwise.'

She smiled and inclined her head, accepting his apology.

'You said his two friends went back to the States. What about here in Bangkok, does he have many friends here?'

'Some,' she said. 'He chose his friends carefully. He played jazz with a group at a bar in Lang Suan.'

'Lang Suan?'

'It's an area near the embassies. Upmarket nightclubs, expensive restaurants. Eric played at a club called Cowboy Nights. He sang and played percussion.'

'Drums?'

'No, not drums. The tambourine, and those things you shake.'

'Maracas?'

'That's right, maracas. He had a good singing voice.' She smiled at the memory.

'You went to a jazz club to hear him?' asked Wright, surprised.

Sister Marie raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not a prisoner here, Sergeant Wright. They do allow me out from time to time.'

'Could you give me the address?' he asked.

She reached for a sheet of paper and wrote on it. When she handed it to him he realised it was in Thai. 'You read and write Thai?' he said.

'And Vietnamese. I was always good at languages. I studied French and German at university.'

'Don't you miss it?' asked Wright. 'The real world?'

There was more laughter outside and running footsteps. Sister Marie smiled as if she had a secret only she knew. 'This is the real world,' she said softly. 'I'm not hiding under these robes. I chose them.'

Wright emptied his glass. She didn't offer to refill it. A sudden thought struck him. 'Oh, I've been trying to get hold of the policeman in charge of the investigation. I don't suppose you know who he is, do you?'

'Of course,' she said. There was a Rolodex on her desk and she flicked through it and pulled out a business card. 'He hasn't been in touch for a while,' she said. 'I think they haven't made any progress and he's too embarrassed to tell me. It's a question of face, you see.'

She handed him the card and Wright studied it. There was an ornate crest and writing in Thai. He turned the card over. The man's name, title, address and telephone number were reprinted in English. Police Colonel Vasan Srihanam, the officer quoted in the newspaper. He slipped it into his wallet, put his empty glass on the tray and thanked her.

'I'll show you out,' she said.

'He was found in the basement, wasn't he?' asked Wright.

Sister Marie shivered but quickly regained her composure. Wright wondered if she had been the one who'd found the body. 'Yes,' she said quietly.

'Can I take a look?' he asked.

The nun shook her head. 'It's been locked and sealed by the police,' she said. 'Colonel Vasan said the seals mustn't be broken.'

Wright felt a sudden surge of relief. He hadn't relished the prospect of going down into the basement.

'Maybe you could ask him for permission,' said Sister Marie.

She walked him out of the orphanage and to the gate. A dozen children, boys and girls, were playing on the swings and the slide, laughing and giggling. She was absolutely right, Wright realised, this was the real world, children were all that mattered. He wondered how long it had been since he had heard Sean laugh. Far too long.

Sister Marie interrupted his thoughts. 'You were asking about Eric's motives for helping us,' she said. Her face was turned towards the children and he couldn't see her expression. Wright said nothing, sensing that there was something she wanted to tell him. 'He had his own demons to deal with, that much I can tell you. He was at peace here, with the children, but I think that perhaps you're right, he was atoning for something, something in his past. He never spoke about the war, but I think that was where his demons lay. Whatever he did back then, he's more than 1 THE TUNNEL RATS 183 made up for it since.' She turned to face him and the sun glinted off her white cowl so brightly that Wright had to avert his eyes. 'He was a saintly man,' said the nun. 'Maybe not a saint, but a saintly man.'