Stephen Leather: Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson

Dave told her that it was best they just go their separate ways. Nong shrugged. Dave said he’d arrange to sell he car and he’d split the money with her, fifty-ffty. Nong shrugged, then left.

Dave called her the next day, but Nong didn’t answer the phone. He phoned the sister’s house, but no one answered. That really annoyed him. He had to go to Hong Kong so he left a spare set of keys for the Honda with me and asked if I’d take care of the car until he got back. I had a couple of jobs lined up where a car would be useful, so I took a motorcycle out to Sen’s house. There was no one at home but the car was in the driveway so I drove it back to the city. I decided not to park it in my space just in case Nong started to get possessive over the car, so instead I left it in the car park of a nearby hotel.

I was watching TV a few hours later when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole before opening the door. It was Nong. I told her the Dave wasn’t staying with me but she kept ringing the bell. I opened the door to give her a piece of my mind but as soon as I did three heavy set Thais in cheap suits charged into the room, followed by Nong’s older sister. I made a run for the kitchen, thinking that I was about to get a kicking. My plan was to grab a bread knife and start flailing it around, but one of the men pulled out a badge and started screaming that he was a policeman. I calmed down a bit and looked at the badge. It looked real enough.

Sen began screaming that I was the farang who’d stolen her car, and it all fell into place. Nong didn’t say anything, she just stared at the floor. One of the detectives grabbed my left arm. I started talking to the senior office in Thai and asked him if I could talk to him one on one, that I was sure there had been a mistake and that we could easily sort it out. The officer agreed and his two men ushered Sen and Nong out into the corridor.

I offered him a drink and we both sat down with tumblers of Johnnie Walker Black Label and Coke. The detective explained that Sen had returned home to find the Honda Civic had gone and that a neighbour told her that a farang had driven it away. Sen had gone straight around to her local police station and they had asked the police in my area to make enquiries.

I hit the roof. I told him that it wasn’t Sen’s car any more, that my friend Dave had paid 100,000 baht for it. I explained that Dave had given me the key and that Dave was planning to sell the car when he got back and give half the money to Nong. I was just an innocent party, and I resented the fact that Sen was laying the blame at my door.

The detective shrugged, finished his whisky, and then went outside to speak to Nong. He came back after a few minutes and said that there seemed to be a difference of opinion over who actually owned the car, and that the police would have to sort it out. He seemed like an okay guy so I asked him if we could both go to the police station where the complaint had been lodged and explain the situation to them. I’d feel happier if he was with me. For all I knew, Sen might well be tight with the cops there.

The detective agreed and he drove me in his pick-up truck while Sen and Nong followed in a police car. We reached the station just before midnight and we were all ushered into the duty captain’s office. The captain was overweight with short, close-cropped grey hair and a jagged scar across his left cheek as if someone had stabbed him with a broken bottle years ago. He grinned when he saw me and I saw the flash of a gold tooth at the back of his mouth. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he tried to work out how much money he could extort from me.

As soon as Sen walked into his office she started mouthing off again, that I’d stolen her car and lied to her sister, that I’d told Nong’s boyfriend that she was sleeping around, that I was a liar and a thief and that I should be sent to prison.

I turned to my new-found detective friend for support but as soon as he started to speak the captain jabbed a finger at him and told him that he was out of his jurisdiction and that he might as well go straight back to Bangkok. My detective hurried out, clearly embarrassed. Sen launched into another verbal attack, pacing around the room as she accused me of stealing her car, lying to her sister, having bad body odour, and everything else she could think of. When she finally ran out of steam, the captain picked up a toothpick and began jiggling it between his front teeth as he waved at me to speak.

I spoke slowly and clearly, in my very best Thai, with lots of smiles and nods. My fate was totally in the captain’s hands. If he decided there was no case to answer, I’d be tucked up in my bed within hours. If he decided I was guilty or didn’t like the look of me I’d be in a prison cell for up to a year waiting for my case to come to court. I explained that the car belonged to my friend Dave, that he had paid 100,000 baht for the car, and that I had the keys. I took them from my pocket and waved them over the captain’s desk. If Sen wanted to give back the 100,000 baht, she could have the car.

The captain grimaced, tossed the chewed toothpick into an ashtray, and told us both to make written statements. That took the best part of two hours. Then we were back in the captain’s office. He read through the statements while Sen sat in the corner, glaring daggers at me. Eventually the captain tossed the statements into a metal tray on his desk.

‘You must tell us where the car is, then we can decide how much money you owe,’ he said.

Sen let out a sharp yelp of triumph, but the captain silenced her with a cold stare.

I offered to go and fetch the car but the captain said no, under the law he couldn’t let me go until the car was returned. I knew that I had no choice other than to give him the keys and tell him where I’d left the car. I said that the apartment car park was full so I’d left it at the nearby hotel. Two uniformed cops took me upstairs and I was placed in a small waiting room while the captain sent one of his men to fetch the Honda. It was three o’clock in the morning. Two hours later the captain came upstairs. The older sister had taken possession of the car, he said.

I hit the roof and shouted that it wasn’t her car, that she’d been paid a 100,000 baht for it.

The captain said that the car’s papers were in order and showed Sen as the owner. And that for the moment, I was to remain in police custody. With that, he turned and left. A uniformed officer gripped my arm and took me to a holding cell. There were twenty men in there. No bunks, no pillows, no blankets, just a bare concrete floor, a foul-smelling bucket to piss in and a tap with a short length of hosepipe attached for washing. Several of the men already there were curled up on the floor, trying to sleep. The overhead fuorescent lights were on. Rats were scurrying around the edges of the cell, and there were cockroaches all over the walls.

A couple of Thai men with tattoos came over and asked what I’d done. I told them about the car. They were in on drugs charges. One had been caught with several kilos of amphetamine tablets in his truck and would almost certainly get the death penalty. I squatted against a wall and cursed the day I’d offered to help Dave out.

At eight o’clock in the morning there was a change of shift and two uniformed officers arrived with a small plastic bowl of rice for each of us, a bowl of hot, rancid soup and a bottle of water. I asked one of the guards if I could talk to the duty captain but I was told that he’d gone home.

‘Who else can I talk to about my case?’ I asked, scratching one of the dozen or so mosquito bites I’d acquired during the night.

‘Only him,’ said the guard.

‘When is he back?’

‘Ten o’clock tonight.’