Colin Cotterill - Killed at the Whim of a Hat

“From the moment she started speaking. Don’t you think it odd that the company owns fourteen thousand hectares of land but she can recall the details of one little plot in the boondocks? And all that horse manure about helping out a neighbor. Did she give you the impression she was the caring type? No, she had a reason to remember that land. It meant something to her.”

“You’re a suspicious lady.”

“Crime reporters can’t afford to believe everything they hear.”

“Crime reporters aren’t that trustworthy themselves. Oh, there goes my mouth again.”

“Did you have any particular crime reporter in mind with that statement?”

“No, really, I shouldn’t.”

“It’s too late to turn back.”

“All right, let’s start with a charming reporter from the Chiang Mai Mail who flew down to pursue a case in the south.”

Busted.

“I didn’t actually use those words.”

“And you didn’t actually use the words ‘I quit my job and moved down to live in a rundown resort in Maprao,’ either.”

“People hear what they want to hear irrespective of what I actually tell them. Their mistake.”

I cast a sideways glance at the lieutenant who was smiling serenely at the scenery.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“Since the day of your romantic lunch with the boss.”

“You checked up on me?”

“Call me nosy.”

“Do the others…?”

“Not sure about the major. He’s been hard to tie down lately. Can’t even get him on the phone. The constables? Well, they’re locals. Nothing happens down here that doesn’t spread like water hyacinths on a warm pond. Everyone knew about you the day you stepped over the provincial border.”

I pouted. I hated to get found out on a lie.

“You aren’t exactly lieutenant open-and-aboveboard yourself.”

“How dare you. I’m as honest as a mountain spring. Not that I actually know how honest mountain springs are. I imagine they’re quite unsullied, however.”

“Really? This morning? My phone call telling you I’d found the previous owners of Old Mel’s land? ‘Oh, can I come along?’ he says. ‘You’re so resourceful,’ he says.”

“So?”

“So we arrive in Ranong and you drive straight to the company. I hadn’t told you the address.”

“Oops. You hadn’t?”

“No.”

“Lucky guess?”

“You’re a man to watch, Lieutenant Chompu.”

He blushed.

“And talking about men to watch…” he said.

“Hmm. Lovely smile. And I bet he ironed his own shirt.”

“Too bad he’s his mother’s pet.”

“Reminded me of Liu De Hua.”

“Ah, scream. I had a crush on him for years.”

“Me too.” We slapped palms and the truck swerved dangerously onto the hard shoulder. “And there I was thinking I’d never have anything in common with the police.”

The family ate dinner that evening at the table nearest to Mair’s shop so she could keep her eyes open for a sudden unexpected rush. Arny watched over the two cabanas occupied that night: one by our largely absent ornithologist, another by a young couple who had arrived with no luggage on an old motorcycle. The television in the room was old and clunky and, frankly, not worth stealing, so Arny had taken cash in advance and didn’t bother to fill out the Tourism Authority of Thailand registration form. He considered it an unfriendly intrusion into the guests’ private lives. It was in Arny’s nature to trust everyone he met. I suspected his oversensitivity was a result of the constant beatings he’d taken from the gloves of disappointment. He never learned.

The last of the evening light was reflecting off the slimy backs of beached jellyfish: hundreds of them like macrobiotic UFOs forced into shallower and shallower waters by the over-fishing of the Gulf. Overnight they’d be cannibalized by our nascent community of tiny crabs that lived in pinprick holes in the sand. Once I’d seen what they could do to a jelly the size of a bin lid, I was loath to sit on the beach for longer than five minutes at a time. To a shortsighted crab, my expanding backside could very well have been mistaken for some washed up sea urchin.

“Anyone got any news or should we just sit here and eat in silence?” I asked, breaking Mair’s dinner rule by surreptitiously letting a prawn tail drop through a crack between the floorboards to where Gogo waited on the sand.

“I found a gym,” said Arny. “I mean, a sort of gym.”

“Good news, little brother,” I said insincerely. I knew a gym would drag him further away from his duties and leave more for me to do.

“Where is it, child?” Mair asked.

“Bang Ga. Just two villages away. It’s not exactly California Fitness. They’ve got weights and a Nautilus, but it’s better than rolling logs along a beach. Some old fellow donated money to the temple there and the locals couldn’t think of what else they needed. So, someone suggested investing in health rather than death. He figured everyone would be in better shape for the trip to the afterlife.”

“That someone sounds like a football coach,” I offered.

“Muay Thai boxing. I met him today. He asked if I’d be interested in joining his squad.”

Some hope of that. First kick in the ear and my little brother would be squealing. He wasn’t the fisticuffs type. It always surprised me that bodybuilding was classified as a sport. It had its own categories in the national games. All the strutting and posing. I would have put it in the same category as hairdressing. I wouldn’t dare mention that to Arny, though.

“And what did you tell him?” I asked.

“Said I’d think about it.”

“Good for you. Don’t make any rash decisions. How about you, Granddad Jah? What have you been doing today?”

I hoped we’d be able to build on the previous day’s uninterrupted flow of speech but I guess he’d exhausted himself. He looked up from his rice and grunted. He needed inspiration.

“Fine,” I said. “Then it’s my turn.”

I didn’t dwell on the visit to Ranong, if only because it wasn’t that interesting. Instead I described the crime scene at Feuang Fa temple as recounted to me by Lieutenant Chompu. There’s nothing like a murder scene description to keep the family engrossed during a meal. At one point, Granddad Jah looked up and I thought he was about to make a comment. But he had second thoughts and continued to shovel food into the hatch of his mouth. Granddad Jah had good solid bones but you could see most of them, so I had no idea where all that food went to.

“And Mair,” I asked, “how was your day?”

“Ed stopped by again,” she said. I wished I hadn’t asked. “He was on his way to put up a roof.”

“I thought he cut grass.”

“He’s a carpenter, too. He asked after you again.”

“I hope you told him…you know what.”

“It was against my principles, but, yes I did.”

“Good Mair.”

Granddad Jah grunted and pointed his fork. We followed the direction of the prongs. Someone was outside the shop waiting. Mair put down her utensils and went to attend to the customer.

“Business is booming,” said Arny. He collected the plates from the table and carried them to the kitchen. It was his turn to wash up. Granddad Jah refused to give up his bowl and spoon. He was apparently attempting to scrape the pattern off the ceramic. I wondered if he had the same worms as Gogo.

“There are two avenues,” he said, unexpectedly. Again I was surprised to hear his voice. “One,” he continued, “is when you go to a crime scene and look for what isn’t there, what’s been stolen: knives missing from drawers, computer discs removed. You’ve seen those scenes.”