Stephen Leather - Bangkok Bob and the missing Mormon

I wandered into a restaurant called Mr Pu’s and showed a waitress Jon Junior’s photograph. She frowned and shook her head. I sat down and ordered a coffee and a bottle of water, figuring that I ought to get my fluid levels up before I started walking down a sun-drenched beach with temperatures in the mid-forties. I’d brought a New Orleans Saints baseball cap with me and some factor thirty sunblock because the Thai sun can be devastating to Western skin. I rubbed the sunblock over my face and hands as I waited for my coffee. A couple of Italian girls came in wearing string bikinis and I showed them the photograph but they both shook their heads.

I drank my coffee and half the bottle of water and then paid my bill and took the bottle outside. The sea was blue and the sky was cloudless and I could feel the hot sand through my shoes as I headed for the water. I walked along the wet sand, heading west. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, just about the hottest time of the day, but there were plenty of people lying on the beach, roasting like pigs on a spit as if they’d never heard of UV damage and skin cancer.

I’m with the Thais when it comes to sunbathing. They don’t do it, and most of the time they cover themselves up on the beach, and even swim in t-shirts and jeans.

Most of the girls on the beach were farang, so I didn’t have to get too close, and most of the men with Thai girls were in the forties or older, so again I could give them a wide berth. What I was looking for – a young American and a Thai student – was a rarity on Koh Samui.

An hour into my walk along the beach I’d already finished my bottle of water and I was heading for a bar to replenish my supply when my cellphone rang. It was Somsak. ‘What’s that I can hear?’ he asked.

‘The sea,’ I said.

‘Where are you?’

‘Koh Samui.’

‘Vacation?’

‘Work,’ I said. ‘I’m hoping that Jon Junior is here.’

‘Jon Junior?’

‘The missing Mormon.’

‘Good luck with that,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve got good news, bad news for you.’

I was hearing that a lot lately.

‘The good news is that the guy who shot you is pleading guilty.’

‘And the bad news?’

‘He’s not naming Big Red as the paymaster.’

‘What?’

‘Now he’s claiming that Big Red’s driver paid him to shoot you.’

‘Oh, come on…’ I stood looking out over the sea. On the horizon were four fishing boats, heading east.

‘I know, I know. But that’s what he’s saying.’

‘So he’ll plead guilty to what, attempted murder?’

‘Assault perhaps. He’s claiming that he didn’t intend to kill you.’

‘He shot me, Somsak.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t kill you. For which we are all grateful. I wouldn’t be anywhere near as understanding if you were dead, my friend.’

‘So assault, then. Ten years?’

‘Six if there was a trial, but it will be halved if he pleads guilty.’

Three years, then. For trying to kill me.

And with the king’s birthday coming up, maybe halved again.

Eighteen months.

‘And Big Red’s driver?’

‘Another guilty plea. He’ll admit that he paid the guy to shoot you but will say that it was just as a warning.’

‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘Two years?’

‘Hopefully,’ said Somsak.

‘And Big Red carries on as normal. Paying schoolgirls for sex and sending motorcycle assassins to deal with anyone who crosses him.’

‘Amazing Thailand,’ said Somsak.

‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Sometimes life isn’t fair, is it?’

‘It isn’t,’ agreed Somsak. ‘We just have to deal with it as best we can. But we will do something about Big Red and the schoolgirls. Vice is watching him.’

‘Do you think they’ll make a case against him?’

‘Big Red isn’t as rich or well connected as he thinks. A lot of cops send their kids to that school and they’ll want something done. You know that things have a way of working out in Thailand. Just give it time.’

‘And what about Tukkata’s father?’

‘Vice is monitoring him when he goes online. He’s grooming a number of girls and next time he goes to meet one he’ll be picked up.’

‘And then what? A slap on the wrist? On an appeal for a donation?’

‘One step at a time, Khun Bob.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘At least no one died,’ said Somsak.

‘That’s true.’

‘I’ve some more news for you,’ he said.

‘My cup runneth over.’

‘Remember the owner of the Kube, the figurehead? Thongchai?’

‘I remember.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘He was found in a house out near the airport. Heart attack.’

‘Heart attack?’

‘Yeah, same as Ronnie Marsh, the manager.’

‘Coincidence?’ I said.

‘Amazing Thailand,’ he said. ‘Poker next week?’

‘Definitely.’

So that was that. Case closed. Still, as Somsak had said, at least I wasn’t dead.

I put my cellphone back into my pocket and headed inland. I found a small bar, little more than a wooden shack with a few roughly-hewn wooden tables and benches in front of, shielded with large beach umbrellas advertising Phuket Beer, which I took as a good sign.

I sat down and before I’d even taken off my baseball cap a pretty girl with skin the colour of mahogany and her hair tied back in a ponytail handed me a cold towel that send shivers down by spine when I wiped the back of my neck.

I ordered a Phuket Beer and it was as chilled as the towel. I overtipped her and showed her Jon Junior’s photograph.

‘Have you seen my friend?’ I said. ‘His name’s Jon, I think he’s staying near here with his girlfriend.’

She smiled and nodded. ‘He was here yesterday.’

My jaw dropped and I thought I’d misheard her.

‘With Tukkata,’ she added. ‘Pretty girl from Bangkok.’

I handed her another hundred baht note and thanked her. ‘Do you know where they’re staying?” I asked.

She pointed along the beach, to the west. ‘One of the bungalows down there,’ she said. ‘I don’t know which one.’

She went off to serve another customer, her ponytail twitching from side to side as she walked. I smiled to myself and raised my bottle in salute to no one in particular.

I love it when a plan comes together.

I finished my beer and then went back to the beach. It was almost three o’clock. I took off my shoes and socks and walked barefoot along the wet sand. Ahead of me was a resort of cheap bungalows, maybe a dozen, with sharply sloping roofs and small terraces shielded from the sun by coconut palms.

I could see a couple lying on rattan loungers under a large white beach umbrella. A farang boy and a Thai girl. As I walked towards them the boy sat up and began applying sunblock to his arms. Then the girl sat up, took the sunblock from him and began to rub it over his back and shoulders.

My heart began to race. I couldn’t see the boy’s face but I was sure it was Jon Junior. And the young Thai girl rubbing sunblock into his shoulders could only be Tukkata.

Tukkata saw me first and she whispered something to Jon Junior. He looked around and stood up, his arms at his side as if he wasn’t sure if he should attack me or run off down the beach. I put my hand up in greeting. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘I come in peace.’

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Bob Turtledove,’ I said, taking off my baseball cap. ‘Your parents wanted me to find you.’

‘My parents? Why?’ He was wearing sunglasses and he pushed them up onto the top of his head.

‘Because they haven’t heard from you in weeks,’ I said. ‘They’re worried about you.’