Jake Needham - Killing Plato

Sinc Kjuswai

We followed the maid as she led us down the wide glass corridor that defined the front of Karsarkis’ house. Lining it were a succession of small sculptures displayed on tall pedestals, and I paused briefly to examine one that turned out to be a likeness of a very fat woman bending forward and displaying her formidable rear end. The piece was made of something that looked like terracotta, and the material and the soft lighting of the corridor combined to cause the woman’s imposing posterior to glow with a bright pink sheen.

“I’ve heard that having a huge pink bottom helps females attract males,” I whispered to Anita.

She shifted her eyes toward me, but said nothing.

“Of course, the bad news is it only works if you’re a baboon.”

Naturally Anita pretended she hadn’t heard me.

The maid gestured us between two large fig trees that seemed to sprout straight out of the corridor’s marble floor and toward the pool outside in the courtyard. It wasn’t until we had taken half a dozen steps that I realized we weren’t outside at all. There was an unobtrusive glass dome that sealed over the whole courtyard, which was as comprehensively air-conditioned as the rest of the house.

I nudged Anita, rolling my eyes up at the dome. “I wonder if it’s bulletproof.”

“Cut it out, Jack,” she hissed.

Karsarkis was standing near the opposite end of the swimming pool with a distinguished-looking, somewhat elderly man who appeared to be Thai and wore a beautifully cut dark suit. It had to be the only beautifully cut dark suit on the whole island of Phuket where in most circles even the donning of long pants was considered hopelessly pompous. Karsarkis himself was plainly dressed in jeans, loafers without socks, and a long-sleeved white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He seemed to be listening intently to whatever the man in the suit was saying and he nodded slowly as the older man tapped the air with his fingers.

I took a deep breath and followed Anita as she walked toward him.

When Karsarkis glanced up and saw us, he apparently excused himself from the man with whom he was talking because soon he was giving my hand the kind of vigorous, two-fisted pump that left the impression we were the oldest of friends.

“So happy you could come, Jack. Or should I call you Professor?”

“It was nice of you to ask us,” I said, ignoring Karsarkis’ question.

“Mrs. Shepherd, I’m Plato Karsarkis.”

“Of course you are.”

Anita shook Karsarkis’ hand as well, although I noticed that with her he restricted himself to a one-hander.

Another uniformed maid appeared beside us so silently I wondered if she had grown out of the marble like the two fig trees. She carried a silver tray with a half-dozen champagne flutes and Karsarkis distributed glasses to both of us. Then he took one for himself.

“This is quite a house,” I said to K Njuswases to barsarkis, mostly just to be saying something.

Naturally the real question on my mind was how a notorious international fugitive had gone about acquiring such an extravagant house in a world-famous resort like Phuket, and more to the point, how he had done it without anyone apparently noticing. Karsarkis obviously realized what I was thinking because he benevolently offered an explanation without forcing me to make my curiosity explicit.

“One of our local companies built this place about five years ago. It was supposed to be for entertaining or to loan to clients. I never stayed here myself until now, but…” Karsarkis trailed off with a shrug that looked genuinely rueful. “I’m sure you understand.”

I smiled tightly without saying anything. I also drank some of the champagne, which I wasn’t surprised to discover was pretty good stuff.

Karsarkis watched me, his face a mask.

“Maybe I’m wrong, Jack, but my guess is you’re not too happy to be here tonight. Am I right about that?”

I responded quickly, too quickly for my better judgment to have any chance to grab my elbow and warn me to keep my big mouth shut.

“The only reason we’re here tonight is because Anita wanted to come,” I said, “and I didn’t think it was worth arguing about. I don’t know how much of what they say about you is true and how much is made up, but I think enough of it probably is true to make me certain I wouldn’t be in your house tonight if Anita hadn’t insisted. I’m sorry if you think I’m rude, but you did ask.”

Karsarkis lowered his head and something resembling a repentant smile slid over his face.

“You are married to a very straightforward man, Mrs. Shepherd.”

“That’s one of the things I’ve heard Jack called,” Anita said. I noticed she didn’t look at me when she spoke. “But most of the other things are considerably more colorful.”

Karsarkis laughed, but somewhat automatically, I thought. Then he lifted his eyes to mine again. “What is it you don’t like about me, Professor?”

“I don’t know you,” I said. “It’s what I’ve heard about you that I don’t like.”

The abrupt change in the way Karsarkis had addressed me caught my attention. At least calling me professor was less pally than calling me Jack, and less pally was just fine with me. Maybe our relationship was moving in the right direction after all.

“Jack,” Anita murmured, obviously more than a little uncomfortable, “I don’t think-”

“No, let me finish. I’m sure Mr. Karsarkis would prefer it if I spoke my mind.”

Karsarkis tilted his head slightly and gave a little wave with his champagne glass, a gesture I took to be an invitation for me to continue. So I did.

“Coming here has put me in an impossible position. What am I supposed to do now? You’re a fugitive, Mr. Karsarkis. You jumped bail and fled the US.”

“Are you done, Jack?” Anita’s voice was crisp now.

“No, Anita, thank you for asking, I’m not done. I am a lawyer, as you may recall, a member in good standing of the Bar of the Supreme Court of the United States, and although I admit my personal connection with the concept of justice may sometime S mahe Bs be a touch tenuous, I still have at least a degree of concern for the ideal. So what do I do now? Have dinner at this man’s home and then turn him in? And what if I do nothing? Am I helping to harbor a fugitive? Shouldn’t I just call Bangkok right now and tell the American Embassy where they can find this guy?”

“They know where they can find me,” Karsarkis said. He spoke so softly I wasn’t absolutely sure I had heard him right.

“Pardon me?”

“I said the American Embassy knows where they can find me,” Karsarkis repeated. “A lot of people have known about this house since the day it was built, and anybody who has the slightest interest in me knows I’m here now.”

“Then why don’t they send somebody down here and arrest you?”

“This is Thailand, Professor. The United States government has no jurisdiction to arrest anyone here.”

That was true, of course, but Thai authorities could certainly arrest Karsarkis if the American Embassy requested it. I wasn’t an expert on such things, but I was pretty certain there was an extradition treaty in effect between the United States and Thailand. I knew I’d heard of people being extradited in drug cases to face American courts, at least a few, and if the embassy requested Karsarkis’ arrest and extradition, I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t get the same treatment.

Again, Karsarkis seemed to sense the question that was in my mind before I asked it.

“The Thais’ view of my presence here is rather different from the American view,” he said. “Nothing I have been charged with is a crime under Thai law, my lawyers tell me, so happily I am not subject to the terms of the extradition treaty. The Thais are pleased to have me in their country.”