The Samui Conspiracy

by Carline Bouilhet

  One hour later, Lily and Stephanie emerged from the bathroom, their hair still damp, both dressed in light linen trousers and simple T-shirts.

  “So? Did you get him?” asked Stephanie, referring to the phone call to the law firm.

  “Tomorrow afternoon at four, in his office, conveniently located a few blocks down Silom Road. We’re lucky: it’s virtually the same district or we would have had to plan ahead for traffic,” replied Sophie.

  “Ready to get a sense of the town, before stopping for lunch followed by a long siesta? As a preventive measure, I’ve booked us all for a Thai massage at five, just down the road. I went there last night and it was divine. This morning, I propose we take a private boat down the Prahran River to begin with. With this heat, it’s marginally better to be on the water, and the trip has the added advantage to look at the city from a completely different perspective. To my recollection, the boat stops at the snake farm and at least one temple. So much of the commerce is done through the river that snakes through the city, that I promise, it’s well worth experiencing. On the way, we’ll see some magnificent old colonial homes side by side with shantytowns: it’s surprising at best. All in all, it’s very colourful.”

  “We are game,” enthused Lily before Stephanie could raise any objection. “What do we need?”

  “Money, a hat, sunglasses, a camera and that’s it,” replied Sophie.

  As soon as they exited the hotel, they were blinded by the sunshine. Right away Lily insisted they take one of the traditional and colourful tuk-tuks parked in front of the entrance. Sophie shook her head, beckoning them to cross the street instead, preferring to hail another one.

  “The first one wasn’t good enough for you?” mocked Lily as they climbed in.

  “Same, same, but different,” replied Sophie. “We’d have had to pay three times as much, simply by the driver watching us come out of the hotel. We’re already marked as tourists but let’s not be marked as rich tourists to boot!”

  On the map provided by the concierge, she had shown the driver the spot where they were heading and he took them there in no time, perilously weaving through the dense traffic. As predicted, on arrival the young man tried to extract more money than the trip was worth, until the savvy boat operator came to their rescue and shooed him away.

  Smiling and unfazed Sophie announced that such chivalry was bound to cost them anyway.

  “So how much for a trip down river?” asked Sophie innocently to the man who had come to their rescue.

  “Private boat?”

  “No, no, normal boat.”

  “Are you mad?” protested Stephanie who hated been thrown with the masses. “I really don’t care to sit with all those smelly English backpackers and belching Germans!” she added looking at the queue of patiently waiting tourists, most of whom fitted her description.

  “Five hundred baht per person” replied the operator.

  “How many people on the boat?”

  “Ten people.”

  “And for the private boat?”

  “Four thousand baht.”

  “Three thousand and we go right now.”

  “OK.”

  Sophie and her bewildered sisters were led to a thin boat, with peeling paint and a huge outboard motor hanging at the back. It looked barely sea worthy.

  “Are you sure?” hesitated Lily, “Wouldn’t we have been better off paying the asking price and not drown?”

  “Don’t worry: they are all the same. It’s an adventure anyway and from memory, we’re all strong swimmers, aren’t we? If worse comes to worst?”

  They all jumped in carefully, sitting on the narrow benches stretched across the middle of the boat. The driver lent them some cushions of doubtful cleanliness but Sophie insisted they were necessary to absorb the vibrations caused by the antiquated motor perched at the back.

  The boat slipped out of the makeshift dock into the muddy river. The clatter of the motor drowned all possible conversation. Shouting was the only potential mode of communication, so they all sat down and stared instead at the city in front of them with its gleaming buildings competing for space with corrugated iron shacks whose walls defied all laws of gravity. The nauseating stench lifting off the river mixed noxiously with the fumes from the outboard motor, but the sisters, fascinated by the sprawling chaos around them, no longer cared. With klats and klongs only accessible through a series of louvered passes, many boats pressed into the canal passes, drivers yelling at each other and vying to be the first to escape. While they waited each time for the water to rise sufficiently to bring them down safely back to the lower canals, the mayhem was indescribable. Yet as soon as they had exited, they were approached by a series of small boats filled to the rim with cold drinks, cut fruit and curios. Lily leaned over to buy them three cokes. It took some persuasion for the driver to skip the obligatory stop at the famed snake farm and leave them instead a bit longer to walk through the mosaic-filled temples. They were glad for the break from the overwhelming bedlam of the past 90 minutes and eyed curiously the shaved-headed monks who serenely walked around in their saffron robes, ignoring the crowds. Stephanie thought them too young to have dedicated their lives to a higher power, as many barely displayed the hint of a moustache, but Sophie explained that all young males were initiated as monks for a period of up to two years. It was as much part of the tradition as it were the religion.

  As soon as she got off the tour, Stephanie complained of a headache and they searched for a pharmacy. They giggled at the over-the-counter sales of anti-depressants, Valium and Viagra and other drugs normally obtained only through a doctor’s prescription. Amused, Lily cheekily stated that she had a few dates of late who could have definitely benefitted from a bit of chemical help, and thus bought a packet just as Stephanie reached the counter with her Tylenol. Slowly, they found their way back to the hotel, walking along myriads of food stalls displaying an incredible array of strange-looking fare. Lily suggested that they purchase their lunch on the street, when a toothless old woman pointed out her barbecue rats and sautéed cockroaches. Disgusted, they decided it was somewhat safer to stop instead at a Starbucks, where they ordered sandwiches and coffees. Afterwards, Stephanie begged for a nap and they went back to the hotel, feeling hot and dirty. Rapidly they took a shower and slipped under crisp pressed sheets. When they woke up three hours later, all three of them felt disorientated and tired, unwilling to move, but Sophie dragged them nonetheless to Thai Bliss. By the time they were finished with their treatments, feeling incredibly invigorated, Sophie suggested they first go to the Dome for a drink. She had booked dinner on the terrace for eight o’ clock, very early by Thai standards but perfect for the three women who were looking forward to a long and uninterrupted night’s sleep prior to their encounter with Louis’s lawyer the next day.

  The night was exceedingly warm and humid, and the three women wore feminine dresses and strapless sandals. Sophie had pulled her hair up into a bun and Stephanie wore hers in a high ponytail. Their appearance on the terrace turned many heads but they paid no heed to the silent compliments, fascinated as they were by the round illuminated bar which changed colours as they approached. Standing high on a platform, it was separated from the restaurant by only a few steps, and from a vertiginous fall 65 stories down, by just a metre high sheet of glass. Sophie, who had vertigo ever since a skiing accident a few years back, stayed away from the transparent barrier and ordered their cocktails, while Lily laughed at the absurd contradiction of non-opening balconies when the low metre high glass wall would be so easy to climb. Stephanie countered gaily that safety though must have been on someone’s mind, since a 60 cm wide safety net had been stretched around the parapet: the fact that it was barely wide enough to catch an accidental spill of a glass and was not contiguous left them in stitches.

  They admired the city in silence and chatted brightly about the day, sharing their impressions of this city of flagrant economic contrasts and comparing it to other cities they had visited.
Their animated conversation was interrupted by a waiter who showed them to their table. Lily ordered a bottle of wine and Stephanie a bottle of San Pellegrino. They were given a menu in English and were absurdly pleased to see that the restaurant showcased French chefs during the month of August. Their pleasure turned to delight when their meals came with a distinctive Asian presentation and flavour, turning what would have been a great meal into an unforgettable experience. Slightly drunk and fully sated, the women returned to their room, giggling and happy to have shared the day together. None mentioned Louis, as if by a tacit accord they had decided to leave all unpleasantness to the following day.

  After a day of shopping along the bustling streets, wandering back to Thai Bliss for another foot massage, the sisters were in a much more subdued mood when they finally reached the law offices of Ferguson and Freehill on the 23rd floor of an impressive glass and steel structure, further down on Silom Road.

  “Welcome to Ferguson and Freehill,” said a young woman behind a kidney-shaped frosted glass desk. “How can I help you?”

  “We are here to see Mr Ferguson,” replied Sophie. “We have a four o’clock appointment.”

  “Please take a seat, it’ll only be a minute. May I offer you a tea or coffee or a glass of mineral water?”

  They all shook their heads, thanking her so. Within minutes, Charles Ferguson showed up at reception. By their standards, he was a good-looking man, in his mid-thirties, with a self-possessed air and a quick smile. He looked quite dapper, in a light dove grey suit: no one could have ever mistaken him for anything but a lawyer or a banker. Three pairs of inquisitive, almost anxious eyes met his own and he gestured for the women to follow him down a corridor to a corner office with magnificent views.

  “Hello, I’m Charles. And let me guess, you’re Sophie,” he said, shaking her hand. “And you must be Lily and, of course, you’re Stephanie.”

  The sisters exchanged glances. Had their photos been forwarded from the Paris office or what he just guessing according to their age, which, of course, would not be too flattering, thought Sophie. Looking at their puzzled faces, Charles broke into a broad smile.

  “I’m not a magician,” he said quickly. “Louis was quite accurate in his descriptions.”

  “This is why we’re here, as you may have guessed, I’m sure,” interjected Lily. “We want to know exactly what happened. From the beginning. We want to know when Louis contacted you and why? Did you actually meet with him or did you just talk over the phone?”

  “Is something bothering you three?” asked Charles in lieu of a reply. “Do you want to tell me what you are doing here? Is there an issue with the instructions I wired to the branch offices in your respective cities? The transfers were all to be done after the first of August. Didn’t you receive the money?” he added, puzzlement clearly written all over his face.

  “We did,” said Stephanie impatiently. “That’s not the problem. Our late brother never had that kind of money. All our inheritance is tied in trust and bonds…”

  She did not get to finish. Visibly pale, Charles interrupted.

  “What do you mean by your ‘late’ brother? Something happened to Louis? When?”

  Bewildered, Lily stared back at him.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No, I didn’t. Can I get you something to drink? I’m so shocked by the news! I’ll be fixing myself a bourbon, no ice.”

  “Same,” replied Lily and Sophie, also shaken by his visible agitation.

  “Louis died on the 14th of July here in Thailand,” explained Sophie. “We were alerted by the French Embassy. The funeral was a few days later. Closed casket.” Repressing a tear, she continued bravely.

  “We hadn’t seen him in over 9 months. We never had the chance to say good-bye. Louis was in Thailand filming something for National Geographic with a friend of his. His friend was recalled to Paris for some emergency, but Louis decided to stay and we believe it’s because he met a girl. Actually, she came to the funeral. Then from one day to the next, she simply vanished. And less than a fortnight later we were informed by your branch offices that we had ‘inherited’ a half million dollars each. We can’t understand any of it. Something is not quite right. Our brother was a bohemian for lack of a better word and he certainly never had any money. Our dad used to say he had a hole in the palm of his hand; could never hold on to a dollar,” she finished a tear gleaming on her eyelash.

  “Well, I assure you that your brother had plenty of money. Besides the money that was wired to each of your accounts, he asked me to wire another 2.5 million to a numbered account in Switzerland. Now that he’s dead, this money automatically reverts back to you three: you were named as sole executors of his estate and sole beneficiaries.”

  “What the hell?” cried Lily truly exasperated. “Receiving 1.5 million made no sense to begin with and now we are looking at 4 million between the three of us! Come on! I just can’t believe this!”

  “Are you upset about the money?” queried the lawyer baffled by their unexpected reaction. “I would have thought this would be good news!”

  “You don’t understand,” said Stephanie as calmly as she could. “Louis was a recovering drug addict. The only field we know where this type of money can be earned in such a short time period is either in gambling, arms trading or drug trafficking. Let’s be real here. So we need to go back to the beginning and you need to tell us exactly how you came to be instructed.”

  “I see,” said Charles reflectively. “It makes more sense now…”

  “What makes more sense?” asked Lily.

  “Louis called me around the 1st of July. He asked to speak to me personally, but he only knew my last name. The phone call was long distance. He introduced himself and told me he obtained the firm’s local number through our branch in Sydney…”

  “I never knew he called the office…” mused Sophie bewildered.

  “He asked me,” Charles went on, “how difficult I thought it would be to set things up so as to have a certain sum of money wired to newly opened accounts in each of your names and name you as beneficiaries of his account should anything happen to him. I told him that anything was possible. He said it was rather urgent and that the money would be wired in trust to the firm the following day to be dispatched as requested. I asked to meet him to set it all up. He hesitated and in the end told me it would be impossible. I told him I could go to him and have him sign authority on the proper papers. He laughed, telling me that Koh Samui wasn’t exactly down the street and added that he didn’t think he ‘would be offered the opportunity to do so’, quote, unquote. I thought at the time it was a strange choice of words, but I assumed something was lost in translation, even though his English was quite remarkable. Again he asked how it could be done via remote control. I asked for proof of his identity and that I would need to check his say-so with Paris. He insisted he had not time to waste and asked me to prepare all necessary paperwork in anticipation of a favourable ID. He told me he would call me back again the next day at the same time, and that I should be ready to fax him all the forms so that he could send them back duly signed and ensure that it was all in perfect order. Before he hung up, he added that he trusted me because he had no one else he could talk to right then. There was such sincerity and urgency and desperation in his voice that I did exactly as I was told. Our Paris office confirmed his identity and when he called back the next day, I had everything ready…”

  “Do you still have that fax number?” asked Sophie excitedly.

  “I’m sure, it’s in his file,” reflected the lawyer. Pressing the intercom he asked his secretary for the Cluny file and she rapped at the door only seconds later.

  “Here it is,” he said, brandishing the AR confirmation for the fax he had sent over 6 weeks prior.

  “What’s the area code? Where is this number coming from? Can you check the White Pages or the Thai equivalent?”

  “Right away,” said Charles having understood the nature of Sophie
’s request and looking it up quickly. “It’s indeed a number on the Island of Koh Samui.”

  “So this is where Louis was! That’s the last trace we have of him alive. This is where we have to go,” pronounced Sophie, looking at her sisters.

  “Why?” asked Charles. “What good will it do? Your brother is dead, is he not?”

  “Well,” replied Stephanie, “we actually need proof.”

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but wasn’t the coffin enough? Didn’t you have a funeral and a burial? Isn’t that what you told me or have I misunderstood you?”

  “We have had this dream,” offered Stephanie as an explanation. “All of us. We have had exactly the same dream down to a T. In this dream the coffin is actually empty. Can’t you see? How do we really know it was Louis’s body lying in that coffin? It arrived sealed and under padlocks and we were never able to see his face.”

  “I see,” said Charles pensively. “Then let me help you. I do speak Thai. I’ll take care of your tickets and reservations. Do you have any other information?”

  “Oh yes,” added Lily. “He sent us postcards around Easter time. It’s on my refrigerator at home.”

  “That could be useful. Even though Samui is not a very large island, it could take some time to find anything about your brother. Knowing which beach he was at could be invaluable.”

  “Why would you want to help us?” asked Sophie suddenly suspicious.

  “Because of something Louis said,” replied Charles, lowering his eyes. “In our last conversation, once all the papers were signed, Louis told me that you may come asking questions. He told me that if you did, I should dissuade you to come after him because you’d never find him. I didn’t stop to think it meant that he could be in danger or that some threat hung over his head. At least it didn’t occur to me until now. In retrospect, I’m beginning to think that Louis possibly knew he was in danger and he wanted to make sure that he left you financially secure. What an idiot I am! I feel so responsible by omission. The whole thing was just too unusual; I should have asked more questions…”