Colin Cotterill - Grandad, Thereэ's head on the beach

"You don't need to tell us how to extract information," Grandad Jah snapped.

Right. All those illegal parking interrogations fine-tuned a policeman for situations like this.

"You're right, Grandad. Sorry. I'll find out what I can from the police and take another stab at the Burmese. I think the more I can get them to trust me, the more they'll open up."

Before concluding the proceedings, I decided to tell the two old fellows everything I'd learned about the Noys. I thought all their years of experience might help solve that mystery too. They seemed far more interested in that story than in keeping a few Burmese alive. But they agreed we needed to go ahead with caution so as not to frighten off the two women. The old men grabbed their umbrellas and walked off in the direction of the truck. I gathered my wet-weather gear with a view to taking the motorcycle into Pak Nam. Grandad had reminded me that I was young and could withstand a soaking far better than they could. Pneumonia, you know. I was closing my door when, through a curtain of rain, I spotted Arny in front of his cabin. He was sitting on a deck chair flanked by the dogs.

"Hello, little bro," I said.

"You're up to something," he said.

"I'm always up to something," I reminded him.

"You and Grandad and the old policeman. You're doing something. I want to know what it is."

"Why?"

"Why?"

I jogged across to his cabin, shook my hair dry, and sat on the balcony railing. As always, Gogo turned her rump to me. I don't know what I ever did to that dog.

"Yeah, why?" I said. "Why do you want to know? If I tell you it's nothing, you'll get upset because you'll assume we're lying. If it's something, you'll get upset because…well, because it's something."

"You make me sound like some emotional disaster."

I thought it best not to respond to that.

"Is it about the grenade?" he asked.

"Indirectly."

"The head on the beach? The Burmese slaves?"

"Possibly."

"Why won't you tell me?"

I didn't know how to break it to him. Honesty had its good points, but in the wrong hands it could be cruel. I really didn't want fragile Arny involved in all this. Just by looking the way he did, he was likely to get knifed down there by the docks. I went the honesty route.

"Arny, you're a wimp."

To my horror, he burst into tears. It was awful. Even the dogs backed away in embarrassment. Surely I'd insulted him worse than that in all our sibling years together. This was about something else. I knelt down and put my arm around his thick neck.

"Arny?"

"I think…I think she's going to leave me," he said through the tears.

"Gaew?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be ridiculous. You two are great together. You're engaged, aren't you?"

I brushed away his tears with the back of my hand, sorry I didn't have a tissue for his runny nose. He'd waited thirty-two years for this first love. It was a bit late in life for a first dumping to go with it.

"It was…was so right at first," he said. "I loved her. We almost had sex so many times."

"I know you…You what? I thought you said…?"

"We did all the foreplay. She wanted to…you know…but I said no. It has to be just right. You know?"

"Of course."

"But I think…I feel she needs more from me. She wants me to be more of.. ."

"A man."

"Yes."

"She said that?"

"No, but…"

"You feel it."

"Right. She's a big Jackie Chan fan." That threw me.

"You do know he's only thirty-seven centimeters tall?" I said.

"But he's so macho."

"So you feel you need to make a statement."

"Right."

"By getting involved in our battle with the slavers."

"Is that all right?" I wasn't sure.

"You might have to-I don't know-hit people. Dodge bullets. Face danger." He paled.

"I can do that," he said with no conviction. Against my better judgment, I yielded. "All right," I said. "You're on the task force. Don't let me down."

He started to cry again. This time with happiness.

Before I could get to the motorcycle, I got a call from Sissi. "Hey, Sis."

"I'm out of the condominium."

"Well done."

"I'm in a taxi."

"I knew you could do it."

"It smells."

"That's the scent of reality."

"I just wanted to remind you that you won't be able to avail yourself of my services for a week."

"I shall survive."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Barely. How are you feeling?"

"I'm surprisingly excited. And you can keep your eyes on the road, you pervert."

I assumed that wasn't directed at me.

"There's something you need to remember before you leave the country," I said.

"What's that?"

"You never stopped being beautiful."

There was another long pause, and I knew she was smiling.

"I'll call you from Seoul," she said.

"Bon voyage."

I sometimes wondered why they hadn't come up with a new bon. Nobody voyaged anymore. At last I made it to the motorcycle and was about to head off when Mair ran out of the shop holding some kind of deflated pink football bladder.

"Monique," she said, "where are you going?"

"Pak Nam."

"I need you to go via Lang Suan."

"Hmm, a mere thirty kilometers out of the way in the pouring rain. Why not?"

"It's an emergency," she said. "I want you to stop by Dr. Somboon's place and ask him to take a look at her."

She held her handful aloft and there it was. Something.

"What is it?"

"A puppy."

"Not again. Is it alive?"

"Do you think I'd ask you to take a cadaver to the vet?"

"Mair. We have too many dogs already."

"Child, every rule book has a final page. But the kindness bus has no terminal."

She dropped it into my poncho's detachable hood, which I'd just been about to attach. The animal was hairless and riddled with disease.

"Where on earth did you get it?"

"She came to me, darling. Like all the creatures do. Like Mohammed, she floated down the river on the bulrushes. I pulled her from the water and gave her resuscitation."

I cringed at the thought of Mair applying mouth-to-mouth to an almost-dead dog.

"And look," Mair went on, "she survived. All the sick and dying creatures of the earth will find their way to me."

I had no choice. I folded the creature into the poncho pocket, still wrapped in the hood, and left Mrs. Noah standing in the rain waiting for the giraffes to arrive. I stopped at the bridge, surprised at how quickly the humble stream had swollen to a gushing torrent. I wished then that I'd bought an iPhone when I still had an income back in Chiang Mai.

Discovery Channel paid well for home videos of natural disasters and I sensed the Gulf Bay Lovely Resort was about to become one.

"What's that moving in your pocket?" Aung asked.

"Dog," I said.

"Beer" was feisty for a dying pup. She was mad at all the shots Dr. Somboon had speared her with and the pills he'd forced down her throat. I couldn't blame her. I'd named her Beer because the vet was drinking a can of Singha when I arrived. I think he'd had a few. It was just a stop-gap name. I couldn't imagine her surviving the night. Not in this weather. To his credit, Aung didn't ask me why I had a dog in my pocket. He wasn't shirtless today, but he was soaked to the skin and his T-shirt stuck to his muscles like paint. I fought back my urge to rip it off him with my teeth.

"Aung," I said. "I know you don't trust me."

Throw that line at a Thai and he'd be on his knees denying it. Aung's expression said, "Yeah. You got me."

"But here's what I think," I continued. "I think Burmese are being kidnapped and ferried out to deep-sea vessels, where they're enslaved, ill treated, and killed if they make too much trouble. I think the head that arrived on our beach was just one example. I think you and your community know about this, but you feel helpless because you aren't able to do anything about it. I think you all live in fear that one day it'll be you or your wife whisked away."