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

"He never announces where he's going or for how long. He could walk in any minute."

"Then I'll distract him."

"Just how would you go about that?"

"Sissi?"

"This is she."

"Are you still in the country?"

"Yes. But I'm considering applying for political asylum in Korea."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Do you remember telling me there wouldn't be any middle-aged ladies with expensive perms marching out to the airport to throw themselves down in front of my jumbo?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't recommend fortune-telling as your next career move."

"No way."

"I'm at Suvarnabhumi. They're everywhere: retired pilots, middle-aged women in bulging sweatpants, tropical-fish-shop owners. It would appear your yellow-shirted yuppies are in the process of laying claim to our national airport. Bangkok's middle classes are on the rampage. A fearsome mob. There's a backgammon game going on as I speak."

"Are they stopping any flights?"

"Not yet. Seoul is still up there on the departure board. But my faith is dwindling. I'm having a karma attack."

"They wouldn't. I mean, they aren't going to. Don't worry. How did they get in?"

"Same way they got into Government House. They whispered sweet nothings into the ears of the heavily armed police on the barricade. Told them who was funding the invasion, I wouldn't wonder. Reminded them of the oaths they swore at school and strolled right on through the lines. Your average policeman is overcome with guilt when aiming his gun at a terrorist who looks and sounds exactly like his primary-school teacher-and probably was."

"How long before your flight?"

"Somewhere between forty minutes and infinity."

"Do you want something to take your mind off it all?"

"Anything."

"Can you get online?"

"Of course. I'm traveling first class. They'd fly in Bill Gates if I asked."

"You obviously haven't flown first class for a while. But do you think you'll have time to do me one quick favor?"

"Probably more than enough."

"Do you think you could access Bpook's class lists for the duration of her course at Georgetown?"

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"I could probably do that on my iPhone with my eyes closed."

"Big head."

"How do you think that would help?"

"I don't know. I'm wondering if there was some relationship issue. What if she had a boyfriend studying with her, someone who was taking advantage of her?"

"Isn't that the role of boyfriends anyway? I doubt there'd be a cross-reference of relationships in the public domain."

"No, but we can see what names come up often in her classes. She said she was a rental, dented and dumped and used."

"You want me to check call-girl agencies around D.C.?"

"You don't think…?"

"She wouldn't have been the first."

"Well, OK. But I doubt she'd have used her real name."

"The Web sites post photos of their girls these days. Prostitution's come a long way."

"She said, 'The monitor lizard knew nothing.' "

Sissi laughed. I knew why. The Thai word for monitor lizard is heea , and, oddly, it's the dirtiest word we've got in our language.

"Male or female?"

"She said it in English so there was no gender. But somebody's really upset her. If it was the call-girl thing, it might be a friend or relative that got her involved. Could have been a boyfriend pimping her out. But I don't know. She doesn't seem the type. She's got the looks, but she's missing the tough edge. She seems so innocent."

"They pay extra for that."

"I know."

I knocked on the door of the office that was formerly that of Lieutenant Chompu.

"Come in" came a gruff voice that clearly wasn't his.

I entered and found Lieutenant Egg sitting at Chompu's old desk, the one with the bullethole decals across the front. Chompu was at a sort of card table off to one side, working through a pile of files. The annoying short-wave radio was on, the volume too loud.

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Egg," I said.

"That's me," he said.

I've never understood how men with bad toupees can be unaware of exactly how ridiculous they look. I wonder if they gaze lovingly at themselves in the mirror and visu-alize their heads twenty years earlier before the bald bugs started gnawing at their roots. Lieutenant Egg really looked as if some flock of small birds had built a nest on top of him. But the rest of him was all brawn, so I doubted anyone dared make fun of him. He was a rough-looking man, not to be reckoned with.

"My name is Jim Juree," I said. "I'm a journalist doing a piece for Thai Rat about the police and their relations with the Burmese."

"Why come to me?" he asked.

"Major Mana said you were responsible for Burmese matters."

"So?"

He looked pointedly at Chompu, who hadn't yet emerged from his paperwork burrow.

"So I'll be looking at officials at every level, from village headmen, through medical and emergency personnel. I need to know what the attitude of the police is."

"I don't think-"

"The major believes it would be valuable for his station to have this story told. He said it might dispel some widely held myths that there's any anti-Burmese sentiment in the police force."

"The major said that?"

He probably would have done if he'd been here and not off selling herbal hair conditioner out of the back of his Pajero.

"Yes."

"All right. No names to be printed. I haven't got much time. Grab that chair and bring it-"

"I'd rather do this just the two of us."

"That's all right. Loo-ten-ant Chompu can skip out and pick daisies somewhere. Isn't that right, Loo-loo? Got some embroidery to do?"

Chompu blushed.

"Ah, the major had me set up my recording device in your meeting room," I said. "There are refreshments there as well."

Lieutenant Egg slapped his palms on the desk.

"This better not take long," he grunted.

"Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most," I said.

The lieutenant slammed shut the file he was working on, picked up his radio receiver, and stamped past me and out the door. I raised my eyebrows to Chom.

"Fifteen minutes at the most," I mouthed and tossed him a pack of bobby pins before following the lieutenant along the corridor.

After taking a long time to settle down and test the recorder, which was being temperamental, I finally asked Egg what his role was when dealing with the Burmese community. I wanted to ask him to turn off his short wave, but I didn't want to antagonize him. He summed up his duties in about four sentences and leaned on the desk, ready to stand.

"Is that all?" he asked.

I couldn't think of any more questions, but I knew he'd walk if I didn't say something.

"Why you?" I asked.

"What?"

"Why did they make you the representative for the Burmese? There are a lot of officers of the same rank. Why you?"

"I'm an expert," he said.

"On…?"

"Burmese issues. I'm fluent in their language. I know more about their history and culture than most of the uneducated peasants you meet over here. I'm a sort of ambassador, I suppose you might say."

As opposed to a diplomat. He was distracted by movement in my rain cape, which hung from the door.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Dog," I said.

I got the feeling he thought I was lying.

"So you were also liaising with the Burmese when you were stationed in Pattani?" I asked.

He glared at me.

"How do you-"

"Major Mana."

"Yeah, I was organizing cross-cultural events. Awareness training for new arrivals. That kind of thing."

"Well, that's just wonderful. I admire men who care about ethnic problems."

"Right. Other officers-they don't care so much. But I'm very sensitive to the problems the Maung face."

Ten minutes and counting.