Warren Hastings was the next name to be called. Hutch got to his feet and stood straight, his chained hands in front of him. Immediately Khun Kriengsak stood up and addressed the judge. The judge nodded, and then began to talk to a uniformed policeman.
Kriengsak went over to the bars and motioned for Hutch to come forward. As the policeman read from a file, Kriengsak translated in a hushed voice, so quietly that Hutch had to strain to hear. The policeman had related the details of the arrest at the airport and the results of the lab test on the heroin that was discovered in his bag. The policeman took a sheet of paper and held it up. The judge motioned for the woman with Hutch’s file to hand it to him. He polished his glasses and flicked through the paperwork and pulled out a sheet of paper which he studied carefully.
‘The police say that you signed a confession, admitting that the heroin was yours,’ whispered the lawyer.
‘Under duress,’ said Hutch.
‘Nevertheless . . .’ said Kriengsak, but he didn’t finish. He listened to what the policeman was saying. ‘They say the arrest was the result of a tip-off from a regular informant.’
The judge nodded gravely and then looked at Hutch, blinking behind the thick lenses. He spoke for less than a minute, then put the file aside and waved at the senior assistant to continue with the next case.
‘You are to be held in custody for twelve days,’ said Kriengsak. ‘No bail.’
‘Where?’
‘Klong Prem.’ A uniformed guard took a sheet of paper from the judge and passed it through the bars to Hutch. ‘You must sign that,’ said Kriengsak. He handed Hutch a slim gold pen.
Hutch fumbled to hold them both with his handcuffed hands. He scanned the sheet. It was all in Thai. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘You sign it to say that you understand that you are being remanded for twelve days. After twelve days they’ll bring you back here. And for every twelve days thereafter until your trial. You’ll have to sign a form like this each time they take you to prison.’
‘Just a thought,’ said Hutch. ‘What would happen if I didn’t sign?’
‘Then they’d keep you in the holding cell,’ said the lawyer patiently. ‘Without food or water or a place to sleep.’
Hutch signed. He almost made the mistake of using his real name, and struggled to make the C that he’d begun to write look like the W of Warren. He handed the paper and the pen back to Kriengsak. ‘Now what happens?’ Hutch asked.
Before the lawyer could answer, Hutch’s shoulders were seized and he was pulled away from the bars. He looked over his shoulder. Chau-ling had got to her feet, her face creased in anguish.
He was taken through the door at the back of the seating area, along a corridor and through a second door. Behind the second door was another corridor, with cells on both sides. He was put in the first cell on the right. It was barely twenty feet square with green-painted walls and floor-to-ceiling bars on the side facing the corridor. There were already more than thirty men there, most of them in brown sleeved shirts and short pants and almost half with chains on their legs. They sat on a dirty cement floor or stood at the bars shouting to prisoners in the cell opposite. Hutch walked to the back of the cell, but stopped when the smell of the toilet hit him. There was an open sewer stinking of urine behind the squat toilet. He returned to the front of the cell and found a place to sit while he waited. After an hour Matt was put into the cell and he sat down next to Hutch.
‘Klong Prem,’ sighed the American.
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Hutch. ‘Was your lawyer there?’
‘For all the good that it did me. I paid him thirty thousand baht and he didn’t even have a copy of the arrest report. He’d been drinking, too. I could smell it on his breath. I asked him to translate what the judge was saying, but all he kept telling me was that it was routine, that the judge would be angry if I held him up by asking for everything he said to be translated. Then he asked me for another fifty thousand baht.’ He closed his eyes and banged his head on the wall again.
Hutch drew his legs up against his chest. He didn’t like the look of the chains that the men were wearing, and the brown uniforms suggested that they had already spent time in the prison. Did that mean that he too would be put in chains?
There were footsteps in the hallway, but Hutch didn’t look up. ‘Khun Warren?’ It was Kriengsak, holding his briefcase in one hand.
Hutch got to his feet and went over to the bars. ‘Thanks for translating,’ he said.
The lawyer accepted Hutch’s thanks with a slight smile. ‘I am only sorry that you would not let me do more, Khun Warren. Do you still insist that you do not require my services?’
Hutch had a sudden impulse to beg the lawyer to do whatever it took to stop him being sent to prison, but he knew it was pointless. He shook his head.
‘Very well,’ said Kriengsak. ‘I wish you the best of luck.’ He turned to go.
‘Wait!’ said Hutch. ‘You’ve been inside Klong Prem?’
‘Not personally,’ said the lawyer, without any sense of irony. ‘But I have had several clients who have had the misfortune to spend some time there, despite my best efforts.’
Hutch put his head closer to the bars. ‘Klong Prem,’ he said. ‘What’s it like? What can I expect?’
‘It will not be pleasant.’ The lawyer took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a courtroom speech. ‘First, you must understand that prisons in Thailand do not operate as they do in the West. Prisoners here do not have the same rights, even prisoners such as yourself who are on remand. We assume that if the police say a man is guilty, he is. You will be chained as soon as you reach Klong Prem. The chains will stay on for at least a month, perhaps longer, but if you are prepared to bribe your guards, the chains can be taken off sooner. The food you will be given will be worse than you can possibly imagine, but you will be able to buy better food, fruit and vegetables. You will be put in a cell with up to twenty other prisoners, but if you are prepared to pay, you can be moved to a better cell.’
‘I can buy myself a better cell?’ asked Hutch in astonishment.
‘In Klong Prem, you can buy almost everything,’ said the lawyer. ‘Except your freedom.’
Hutch groped for his wallet. He opened it. There was only two thousand baht inside.
‘I’m sure Miss Tsang will deposit money for you,’ said Kriengsak.
Kriengsak stepped aside to allow two guards to open the door to the holding cell. The two Nigerians were ushered in and the door relocked. Joshua gave Hutch a gentle pat on the back and mumbled something that Hutch couldn’t quite catch.
‘And I have to stay in prison until the trial?’ Hutch asked Kriengsak.
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
‘Which will be how long?’
‘Three months. Four. Trial dates are unpredictable in Thailand.’
Hutch rested his forehead on the bars. A group of brown-uniformed policemen walked in twos down the corridor. One of the guards shouted at the prisoners and gestured for them to stand up. Hutch looked at Kriengsak expectantly.
‘You are to be taken to the prison now,’ said the lawyer. ‘All I can do is to wish you the best of luck. If you should change your mind about representation . . .’ He didn’t give Hutch time to reply, as if he already knew what his answer would be. He smiled sympathetically and walked away, leaving Hutch feeling more alone than he’d felt since he’d arrived in Thailand.
THE PHONE ON TIM Carver’s desk trilled like an injured bird and he picked it up. It was a Thai scientist at the police forensic laboratory. His name was Chat, and though Carver had never met the man he spoke to him several times a month. Their conversations were always in English. Carver’s Thai was as fluent as a Westerner’s could be, and it was considerably better than Chat’s English, but the scientist refused to speak to the DEA agent in Thai. Carver wasn’t sure if it was because the scientist felt threatened by Carver’s grasp of the language, or if it was simply that Chat wanted to practise his Englis
h, but whatever the reason, the conversations were punctuated with pauses and hesitations as Chat sought to get his grammar and vocabulary in order.
‘Mr Tim, we have received now the results of the heroin test,’ said Chat, labouring over each word.
‘That’s good,’ said Carver, flicking a cigarette out of its packet with one hand.
‘It is from heroin that we have had before,’ Chat continued.
Carver lit his cigarette and settled back in his chair. ‘Even better,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Chat.
Carver realised his words of encouragement had only confused the scientist. ‘Nothing,’ said Carver. ‘Please go on.’
‘Yes, good,’ said Chat. ‘It is identical to a batch we tested last year. From Chiang Mai. I have a reference number. Do you have a pen?’
Carver reached for a ballpoint. ‘Yes,’ he said. Chat gave him the reference number used by the Thai police. It wasn’t familiar, but then Carver dealt with hundreds of cases every year. ‘Chiang Mai, you said?’
‘The big one last year. Fifty kilos. From Zhou Yuanyi.’
Carver remembered the bust, one of the biggest that year. It had been handled by the Thais, and the DEA hadn’t been informed until after arrests had been made. One of those arrested had been Park, the man Carver had gone to see in Klong Prem prison. He wrote, ‘Zhou Yuanyi’ on a sheet of paper and underlined it. ‘Fax me the report, will you, Chat? I’d like to see it as quickly as possible.’
‘Of course, Mr Tim,’ said Chat. ‘Right away.’
Carver smiled as he replaced the receiver. The fax could arrive any time within the next week or so. The Thai definition of ‘right away’ was flexible, to say the least.
THE PRISONERS WERE SHEPHERDED on to a coach by brown-uniformed guards with shotguns. It wasn’t one of the pristine white coaches that Hutch had seen parked outside the prison: it was shabby with blue rusting paintwork, though it did have similar metal screens on the windows. There were more prisoners than seats and Hutch and the two Nigerians had to stand during the two-hour journey to the prison. The main road leading out of town was almost blocked solid with traffic and they moved at a snail’s pace. Two guards with shotguns rode at the back of the bus, another rode up front with the driver.
Hutch looked down at the manacles on his ankles. They were shiny stainless steel, almost brand new, with a lock on each shackle. The chain allowed him to take steps about three-quarters of his normal stride. Several of the prisoners had tied strips of cloth to the middle of their chains which they held to keep the chain from dragging on the ground as they walked. Hutch managed to get a close look at the manacles on the legs of a Thai man in prison uniform and what he saw scared him: there appeared to be no locking mechanism, just pieces of metal which had been curved around the ankles. He hoped they weren’t standard wear in the prison. Chau-ling’s lawyer had said that he would be forced to wear chains for the first month. If the manacles had locks, at least he stood a chance of getting them off: the chains worn by the Thai prisoner could only be removed by forcing the metal link apart, something that would require superhuman strength or, more likely, some sort of machinery.
The bus turned off the main road and rattled over the railway lines, exactly as Hutch and Bird had done in the Capri. Hutch tried to remember how long ago that had been. He couldn’t be exact about the number of days, they had all begun to merge into one during his stay at the detention centre. That was one of the first things to go in prison: the sense of time passing. The sentence became a limbo, marked only by the meals that arrived and the switching on and off of the lights.
‘Is that it?’ asked Joshua, bending to peer through the mesh-covered window. He was bathed in sweat and his body odour was overpowering. ‘Is that Klong Prem?’
‘Yeah,’ said Hutch.
‘I’ve got friends there,’ said Joshua. ‘What about you?’
Hutch shook his head. The coach turned sharply to the left and he had to hold on tightly to keep his balance. It drove around the roundabout and came to a sudden halt in front of the main entrance. The rear doors opened and the guards began to usher the prisoners out. Hutch could barely believe what he was seeing: they were being asked to walk into the prison under their own steam. The sun was blinding and Hutch kept his head down as the prisoners were recounted and made to line up in pairs. When the guards were satisfied, the prisoners were walked forward, through the archway and along a gloomy hallway. Corridors led off to the left and right, and ahead of them was a huge white-painted metal gate. As they approached it, a small door set into the gate was opened by a guard with a look of boredom on his face.
Once through the door they were made to squat while another head count was taken in a courtyard, the likes of which Hutch had never seen in a prison. There were neatly trimmed bushes, flower beds laid out as formally as a royal park, and grass that would have done a bowling green proud. There was a building that looked as if it was an administration centre and another large gate set into an inner wall. It looked more like a holiday camp than a prison. A man in a blue uniform cycled past on a gleaming bicycle without giving them a second look.
When the count was finished, the prisoners were divided into two groups and those wearing the brown uniforms were marched away. Hutch and the rest of the remand prisoners were taken into the administration building.
In a large reception area a middle-aged Thai guard barked at them, reading from a clipboard. ‘He’s telling us when we eat, when we wash, the work we’ll be doing, stuff like that,’ Matt whispered to Hutch. He was cut short by a guard, who hit him on the back of the head with the flat of his hand.
‘No talking,’ grunted the guard. It was the first time that Hutch had heard a guard speak English. Hutch flashed Matt an apologetic smile. It had been his fault that the American had received the blow.
To the left of the reception area were two tables. One was piled high with cardboard boxes. The men were marched up in pairs and ordered to hand over their belongings. Hutch handed over his wallet. It was put into a box which he was surprised to see already contained his holdall and clothes taken from him at the airport. There was no sign of his sleeping mat or the rest of the things he’d left at the detention centre.
The men were made to line up again and a guard wearing gold-rimmed sunglasses removed their handcuffs and manacles, handing these to another guard who put the chains in wooden boxes. There were more shouted commands and Matt began to undress. Hutch followed his example. The prisoners squatted naked as the guards went through the clothing, then they were made to stand and bend over for an internal search. It was only perfunctory, and Hutch was grateful for small mercies. A guard used a large pair of shears to cut the sleeves off the shirts and hack the trouser legs off just above the knee before handing back their clothes. The prisoners were marched off to another room, smaller than the first but painted in the same drab green.
One by one the prisoners were taken to a table where a young Thai in blue T-shirt and shorts took their thumbprints and made them sign their name on a form filled with Thai writing. Hutch was weighed, his height was measured, and he was marched back out into the main reception area where he was made to squat again. Squatting was something that Thais did naturally, but for a Westerner it was an agony, and his muscles burned after just a few minutes.
Once all the prisoners had been processed a guard reached into a sack and began putting manacles on the table. Hutch’s heart fell. They were similar to the ones he’d seen on the man on the bus: no locks, just a steel plate that was bent around the ankle by an antiquated vice operated by another blue-shirted Thai. The guard checked that Hutch couldn’t slip his feet out of the manacles then pushed him to the side. The rough steel was like a cheese grater against his ankles and Hutch winced with each step. He bent down to pull up his socks and a guard screamed at him. One thing was for sure, Hutch realised: with the chains on, escape would be next to impossible.
The Thai prisoners were separated out and taken awa
y. Hutch and the rest of the foreigners were marched through another large steel gate, and then another, and then into another walled courtyard. The further away from the main gate they got, the more austere their surroundings became. The second courtyard was a square of dried grass about half the size of a football pitch with a cluster of green two-storey blocks with bars on the windows.
Hutch realised that the lack of security he’d seen on the outer wall was deceptive. There was no reason to have a large perimeter wall with high security measures because there were so many internal walls to cross, all of which were guarded by men with shotguns. Still, there were no closed-circuit television cameras and he saw no motion detectors or other sensors on the wires running along the top of the walls. Klong Prem would be a difficult prison to break out of, but not impossible, given enough time.
They were taken over to one of the blocks and ushered inside. The block was on two floors, lined with cells on all sides. The cells on the ground floor overlooked a concrete-floored courtyard and there was a metal catwalk with waist-high railings running around the upper level. It was noisy, hot and airless, and as close to hell as Hutch could imagine a place to be. He could barely breathe, and the sound of shouts and arguments was mind numbing. Matt looked across at him and grimaced. The door clanged shut behind them.
Half a dozen men in blue T-shirts and shorts gathered around. There were no signs of the brown-uniformed guards who’d escorted them from the administration building. They were divided into three groups, apparently arbitrarily. Matt, Joshua and two Taiwanese teenagers were pushed together with Hutch. Two of the Thais in blue took them up a metal stairway to the upper level, along the catwalk and into a cell about twenty feet square with two fluorescent strip lights in the ceiling, and a metal-bladed fan. There were already a dozen men there, sitting with their backs against the wall or lying on the floor. There was a window high up in the far wall, covered with a mesh screen that had probably been put up to keep out mosquitoes but was so tattered as to be useless. Apart from a line of wooden lockers under the window, there was no furniture in the cell. In one corner a cement wall, just under three feet high, hid a foul-smelling squat toilet and a tub of water. The new arrivals stood in the centre of the cell, uncertain what to do next.
The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 24