Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness

by David Casarett

  “Do you think any of the other families here knows him? Have you seen him talking to anyone?”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Never. He never talks to anyone. What’s even stranger,” she whispered, “is that he’s always in that corner. Always the same place. Never on a chair, but always on the floor.”

  “You don’t know anything about who he might be visiting?”

  “No, I don’t know.” Then she was thoughtful for a moment. “But he’s been here longer than most of us.” She gestured at the other families in the room. “So whoever he’s visiting has been here for a long time. Though I’ve never seen him go in back.” She pointed at the doors to the ICU. “All of us go back and forth and visit for at least an hour a day, but I’ve never seen him go back there.”

  Ladarat thanked the woman, wishing her the best of luck with her troubles. For a moment the woman looked surprised.

  “Ah,” she said. “Thank you, but what will happen will happen. It is out of our hands.”

  THE JAI DEE DETECTIVE

  It was fortunate indeed that Ladarat came to the ICU bearing good news. Some good news, at least. Because as soon as she walked through the door, she found herself in trouble.

  “Khun Ladarat,” the head nurse said, scolding. “Where is your white coat? And your name badge? Where is your name badge?” The head nurse was a sharp-featured, rough-tongued bossy woman even in the best of circumstances, and the impending inspection had made her particularly irascible today.

  So Ladarat apologized profusely, trying to catch the attention of Dr. Jainukul, who seemed to be finishing a phone call at the nurses’ station. As the head nurse calmed down, she deigned at least to tell Ladarat that the American was unchanged. Then, as soon as the director hung up the phone, she stalked off to berate some other hapless employee.

  The director, at least, was pleased with the news she shared.

  “So at least now we know that he is waiting for one of our patients,” he said, sitting down next to Ladarat. The director pulled a stack of charts over to him and began to glance through them, signing the first three without even looking. “Of course we suspected that, but this is good to know for certain.”

  “But there is one fact I don’t understand,” Ladarat said. And she told him what the man had said about not knowing the patient’s name.

  That caused the director to pause in mid-signature. He even put down his pen. Dr. Jainukul looked surprised at first. Then his eyes widened in confusion.

  “How could this man be waiting for a patient whose name he doesn’t know?” He thought about that for a moment. “Perhaps… perhaps you misunderstood him?”

  She shook her head. “No, Khun. He was very clear about that. He did not know the patient’s name.”

  Dr. Jainukul was still shaking his head, so she was reluctant to give him any more information that would confuse his day. But he had asked her to be a detective, and so she needed to tell him everything she’d learned.

  “There is one other thing,” she said. “You see, I think he may be sleeping here in the hospital.”

  “He is sleeping in the hospital? But that is very bad. The inspectors will not like that at all if they find him. How do you know this?”

  “I don’t, know for certain,” she admitted. “But…”

  In truth, she wasn’t sure how much she should tell him. Now her hypothesis sounded like fiction. And the steps she’d taken to find out seemed ridiculous. Still, it was something the director needed to know, wasn’t it?

  “Well, yesterday we were talking and he disappeared suddenly. I followed him out to the hallway and he disappeared. I knew he couldn’t have reached the elevator at the end of the hallway in time, so I reasoned that he must have taken the stairs.”

  Dr. Jainukul was starting to smile, just a little. Though she couldn’t tell yet whether that smile would be at her expense. But she’d already begun, and it was too late to stop now.

  “So later I took the stairs myself. As you know, Khun, we Thais don’t like to take the stairs.”

  The director was nodding agreement. “I never take the stairs, it is true. Although perhaps I would lose a few kilos if I did more often.” He smiled and began signing charts again. “But what does this have to do with our mysterious man?”

  “Well, I took the stairs all the way down to the basement. I thought that the stairs, and particularly the stairs at the lowest floor, would be unlikely to get much use. It would be a perfect place to hide.”

  Now the director was grinning. “Of course. What better place to hide in a country of lazy people than in the stairwell?” He paused. “So you found him there?”

  “Not exactly. But I did find a space under the last flight of stairs in the basement where the wax was worn. As if someone had been sleeping there,” she concluded.

  “But why has no one discovered him? And why… why was there this place where the wax was worn? Surely the cleaning staff polishes that floor every night.”

  It had taken Ladarat a little while to work that out, too, and she was impressed that the director had arrived at that question so quickly. But at least she had an answer.

  “You see, all of the cleaning staff are preparing for the inspection. They began the least-trafficked areas two weeks ago and there haven’t been any cleaning staff down there since then, except to sweep up quickly. So you see, no one would find him. And no one would polish the floor after he’d slept on it.”

  Dr. Jainukul was nodding, impressed. “So we should send hospital security to find him and remove him?” The director glanced at her stealthily between signatures.

  Was he suggesting this course of action? Or was he asking her advice?

  He would be tempted to evict the man, certainly. Doing so would solve this problem for him. But she could also tell that the director was a gentle man, with a good heart. He didn’t want to lose face with the inspectors. But neither did he want to hurt this man. Especially now that Ladarat had determined that he was here for a patient. She smiled her uncertainty and waited for the director to come to the right decision. Most people, she knew, came to the right ethical decision on their own.

  And when it became obvious that Ladarat wasn’t going to agree, he shrugged. “So we can’t ask security to remove him. No, that would be wrong. But then what can we do? We can’t have the inspectors find him, can we? To have them see him in our waiting room would cause us to lose face, but if they were to find him sleeping in a stairwell…” He shuddered.

  “I think that is very unlikely, Khun. He is a country man. Someone used to rising very early. I’m guessing that he is awake and gone by four thirty or five at the latest.” She smiled. “Even the most aggressive inspector will not be searching the hospital basement at five A.M.”

  The director smiled, too, and she knew that she had won.

  “So what should we do?” he asked. “You are the ethicist. What is the right course of action?”

  What indeed? She wasn’t sure. But she knew they couldn’t remove the man.

  “Perhaps if you were to give him information about the patient he’s waiting for, that would allow him to spend less time here?”

  “Yes, but we don’t know which patient.”

  “Well, he’s been here for several days…”

  The director was nodding. “Yes, I see. So he must be waiting for a patient who has been here for several days.” He paused. “But you know there are thirty-two patients in the ICU right now, and more than half have been here for several days.”

  Then Ladarat thought of something else. The man had said “he,” hadn’t he? She was sure of it. She offered this information to the director, who scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “Well, that might help. But as you know, Khun, we get many accident victims, and most are male. Men seem to be much more stupid when it comes to traveling fast on motorcycles. There are only”—he thought for a second—“six women here now. But that will help. Even if we can narrow the possibilities down
to a dozen patients, I can begin speaking with our nurses to see if anyone has talked with the man.”

  He put the last chart on the pile and smiled. “Now these are all ready for our inspection.”

  They said their good-byes, and just as she was leaving, the director stopped her and thanked her for her efforts. “You are truly a jai dee.” A good-hearted person.

  A week ago, Ladarat would have thought that was the highest compliment anyone might pay her, and she thanked the director for his kindness. But then he surprised her by offering a compliment that pleased her even more.

  “And… you are a very good detective.”

  The warm glow of Director Jainukul’s compliment carried her the rest of her long day. There was the meeting to review the credentials of their credentialing staff, for instance. Because, of course, those responsible for assessing the merits of physicians needed to demonstrate their own merits. And there was a committee meeting to agree on policies for the use of opioids like morphine, which were necessary for pain, but which could be abused. And, of course, there were policies to review. And more policies. So much work, in fact, that Ladarat had not even availed herself of the food sellers in front of the hospital. One of their most loyal customers, she let them down today, snacking instead on a small portion of mango and sticky rice from the hospital cafeteria.

  But finally, her day was over. At least, her day as a nurse ethicist was over. And she was still feeling virtuous and valued and… clever, from the director’s kind words.

  She felt so good, in fact, that she was momentarily nonplussed by the scrap of paper adorning the windshield of her yellow Beetle, tucked under a tired windshield wiper. It was not a parking ticket. Nor was it an advertisement, she realized as she drew closer. Because the page was blank, and that would be a highly ineffective way to advertise anything. It was simply a page of paper.

  In the back of her mind, Ladarat recognized that this might be a message from Khun Tippawan. Certainly she seemed to favor such indirect means of communication. And yet there was the fact that this page was blank. Or was it?

  Ladarat removed the mysterious page from its resting place, looking at it carefully. Nothing. It was only as she turned to open her car door that she thought to check the other side. And there the message was difficult to miss, and most definitely not the work of Khun Tippawan:

  Khun Ladarat: Your car, it is very nice. An antique no doubt. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to damage such a fine machine that has lived so long and in such excellent health. Give up your Peaflower investigation now, and your car will live for many more happy years.

  It took Ladarat several long minutes to calm down after finding the message threatening her little car. Her pulse had raced at first, at the very thought that someone might consider harming such a blameless vehicle. Who would consider doing such a thing?

  Then, of course, she looked around. Surreptitiously at first, then more boldly. Was this Peaflower woman out there somewhere, watching her? Or did she have an… accomplice? But the parking lot was empty. Yet someone was almost certainly out there somewhere, watching her. Ladarat found that possibility even more disturbing than the threat to her Beetle had been.

  A few minutes later, sitting in the front seat of her still-stationary Beetle, Ladarat had a second thought that made her pulse race all over again. Not only was Peaflower watching her now, but that woman had almost certainly been watching her this morning. How else would she have known which car was Ladarat’s? So Peaflower had been watching, and waiting for her to arrive at work. Or—much worse—Peaflower had followed her from home.

  Eeeyy. That was very disturbing indeed. It was one thing to be chasing a murderer, but another thing entirely to be chased by one. Once again, Ladarat felt her heart bouncing up and down in her chest like a monkey in a cage.

  And yet… Ladarat was pleasantly surprised to note that her pulse soon returned to normal. Or nearly normal.

  Ladarat thought of calling Khun Wiriya, and indeed she knew that she should. But it was getting late, and she had a stop to make before she returned home. And besides, if she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that this threat didn’t seem real. It seemed like something one would see in a film, or read about in a book. People—real people—did not make threats like this. Against an antique car? Really?

  Ladarat tucked the offending piece of paper in her glove box and started the Beetle. Her car, fortunately, seemed unimpressed by the threat that had just been leveled at it. In fact, it seemed to spring to life with more vitality than usual, as if to prove to its owner that it, too, was undeterred. So she put her faithful car in gear and pointed it toward the Ping River.

  THE VERY LOW PRICE OF GENUINE HAPPINESS

  The fruit seller was where he always was. Today, though, he wasn’t looking at Ladarat but at the Beetle. He seemed to be eyeing her car appreciatively. The man even stepped out from behind his booth as Ladarat emerged, sneaking a glance over her shoulder at the car’s odometer.

  “Sawat dee krup, ajarn.” He often addressed her with the honorific ajarn reserved for teachers, and Ladarat had never bothered to correct him. “I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

  Ladarat paused. That was unusual.

  “Ah, really?” Even to her, that sounded like a poor rejoinder.

  “Yes, Khun. There’s a man—an American. He is looking for just such a car as this. Of course, I didn’t tell him about yours…”

  Of course, that’s exactly what you did.

  “But I thought of you immediately. You wouldn’t be interested in selling it, would you? I could get you a good deal with this man. A very good deal, I’m sure. He seemed very wealthy. And I could find you a new, modern Japanese car. Or Korean? You like Korean? Much better value for the money. I can get you a top-quality Korean car, for just a fraction of what this man would be willing to pay, I’m sure. You’d have money left over…”

  “No, thank you, Khun. I don’t think so. Not today. But I’d like a bunch of bananas, if it’s not too much trouble?”

  The man looked downhearted, but not for long. In his line of work, he probably took chances and was rebuffed all the time. Ladarat hefted the bananas in the plastic bag he’d given her. (“Free! No charge! Special for you!”) Then she made her way down the small soi, toward the Tea House. The whole way, she thought about the man’s proposition. Not about what he was offering. She’d never sell the Beetle.

  No, she put that out of her mind. But she was still thinking about what the man said. About his being an intermediary.

  This woman, Peaflower. Perhaps she has an intermediary of sorts. Someone who can help her find the men, and who can set up a meeting. Perhaps that was a matchmaker, as they had guessed initially, or perhaps it was a friend or acquaintance.

  But who?

  She pushed through the double doors, offering a deep wai and the bananas to the Hing Phra Buddha shrine just inside.

  One of the girls greeted her, seeming genuinely pleased to see her. She ran to get the mamasan. Then Kittiya—Ya—brought a cool towel and a glass of tea, and Ladarat thanked her.

  But Ya didn’t leave. She simply knelt on the floor, just out of reach. She didn’t say anything but seemed to be waiting expectantly.

  In all of her visits, Ladarat had never spent much time with the girls alone. Now she wasn’t sure what to say.

  It wasn’t that she had moral objections to prostitution. It wasn’t that the girls were doing anything wrong. And yet Ladarat had always found it difficult to live and let live when it came to the sex industry. Too much bad happens as a result of all the money that it creates. The abductions, the drugs. No, Thailand should do away with it. At least as much as it’s possible to do away with something like that.

  But that would be harder here than almost anywhere else in the world. Not just because of the farang who come here, but because of the way the population accepts prostitutes here. So many work to support family members, and they’re honored. A woman
like Ya who works for five years in Chiang Mai to put her younger brother through school, and who builds a house for her parents, and buys them a herd of buffalo…

  Well, what can you say about someone like that except that she has made much merit? Back in the village they worship her. It would take an ordinary businessman a lifetime to earn that amount of respect and merit for charitable works.

  Ya was crouched a few feet away, looking at her expectantly. Ladarat took a sip of the tea and thought about what a detective would do. A detective, she decided in an instant, would ask a routine question to put the person at ease.

  “Please, Khun. Keep me company.”

  Ya rose and sat primly on the edge of a chair, keeping her head respectfully below Ladarat’s. Still, she said nothing.

  “And where are you from, Khun?” she asked the girl.

  “Ah, I’m from Mai Charim District, in Isaan.”

  “Yes, that is beautiful country. Very peaceful.” Ya nodded and smiled. She seemed to be coming to a decision to speak.

  “And so…” Ya said hesitantly.

  Ladarat nodded encouragement and took a sip of tea.

  “The mamasan says that you are not only a nurse, but you are now a detective.” She seemed suddenly wide-eyed with admiration. “How does one get to be a detective, can you tell me?”

  Ladarat smiled and almost laughed, but caught herself just in time. And besides, it would not do to have people talking about her detection work. It was bad enough that Peaflower was aware. Even worse, what if Khun Tippawan were to find out? No, some activities are best kept quiet.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I am hardly a detective. I am a nurse, it’s true. But as for the detective part… well…”

  She wasn’t a detective, that was for certain. But she wasn’t not a detective, if that made any sense. Or she wasn’t not a detective in the same way that, say, the fruit seller on the corner was not a detective. She was, perhaps, a little closer to the detective end of the spectrum than to the not-detective end. But that wouldn’t help her answer the girl’s question.