“Of course not, Khun Wiriya. Of course murder is not legal,” she said in a plaintive little girl voice. “Who could possibly think it was?”
“Some people”—he paused—“might become confused about just what is legal and what isn’t.”
“Well, let me assure you that I am not one of those people.”
“That would be good, if it were true. But you see, we know perfectly well that it isn’t.” He didn’t wait for her to interrupt, but instead plowed ahead.
“We know, for instance, that you looked for ‘husbands’ with a very specific name. Such consistency is perhaps laudable, but when your previous husbands have died, one has to wonder at the importance to you of that particular name. So I am curious. Does that name have sentimental value? Is it perhaps a lucky name?”
Peaflower was quiet but watchful. It was as if the tables were turning against her slowly. She recognized that change in the game but wasn’t ready yet to turn and run. So the detective continued.
“We also know, as I’ve said, that these ‘husbands’ of yours seem to have a very high mortality rate.” He allowed himself a small smile. “One would be tempted to conclude that life with you must be a risk factor much like smoking is. One might almost be tempted to say that you were dangerous. At least”—he paused—“to men with an unfortunate name.”
“Yes, it’s true that I have suffered much loss in my life. I am truly a poor woman who has been unlucky in love. But is that a crime, Khun Wiriya? Can I be arrested for being unlucky?”
“No,” the detective admitted. “Being unlucky is not yet illegal. But sometimes luck needs a little bit of help to turn one way or the other. Haven’t you found this to be true, Khun Anchan?”
Peaflower didn’t answer. She was still trying to figure out what this detective was certain of, and what he was guessing about. And that was worrisome, because Ladarat knew that he was mostly guessing. They had what was probably called circumstantial evidence. A series of connections and coincidences. But would that be enough to convict her? Probably not. If it were, Wiriya would simply have arrested her.
And it seemed that Peaflower was having the same thoughts, and reaching much the same conclusion. So she was ready to try to be tough. She would deny everything. And she might get away with it.
Perhaps that was why Wiriya decided to change his tactics. He seemed to pull himself up a little straighter, and he folded his arms across his chest. The net effect was that he appeared ten centimeters taller. His voice changed, too, dropping an octave and becoming rougher. He began talking in a faster rhythm, making points quickly, as if to head off any interruption.
“We know you have a marriage certificate from a man named Zhang Wei, dated about five years ago. Whether you killed that man is, unfortunately, not known to me. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he met an untimely end. Since then, though, we know that you’ve been using this marriage certificate to collect the life insurance of unsuspecting Chinese men with the same name. You lure them here from nearby regions of southern China—Kunming, especially. You draw them here and you establish that they do indeed have a life insurance policy and that they have no dependents. Then you kill them, confident that Chinese law will award you at least some of the life insurance money as the recognized spouse. Even if the family contests the claim, you are sure to get something. And we suspect that you’ve done this not just once, but many times, dropping these men at emergency rooms around our city in order to obtain an immediate death certificate.”
Peaflower looked stunned for a second, but only a second. Recovering almost instantly, she managed a laugh that, although not entirely convincing, was still quite impressive from someone in her difficult predicament.
“Of all the things you believe that I’ve done, Khun Wiriya, there is one aspect of these… accusations… that is most surprising. Exactly how do you believe that I’ve killed all of these men? I’m just a single woman, small in stature. And weak, too. How do you propose that I’ve managed to murder these men?”
Ladarat snuck a glance at Wipaporn, whose previous finger tapping had resumed with renewed energy. Her gaze was still fixed on the monitor, but in the few seconds that Ladarat watched her, the mamasan took a moment to look around the room, and at the door to her left. In short, she looked like a very nervous woman.
Ladarat thought for a second, then turned back to the monitor. She decided it was time to be helpful.
She knew how to be helpful. That was easy. But what about Wipaporn? Whose side was she on exactly? She’d brought them all here, to be sure. But they were sisters, were they not?
Well, she would find out.
She leaned over to the microphone on the table and pushed the button just as she’d seen Wipaporn do a moment ago.
“Dr. Tantasatityanon sends his regards and asks that you not come to him anymore for prescriptions.”
Wipaporn looked at her and nodded. Her finger tapping ceased, and she looked resigned and sad at the same time. Wiriya smiled up at the camera. He looked pleased.
Peaflower, however, did not.
“So this doctor… Tantasatityanon? This Dr. Tantasatityanon believes that I got prescriptions for my husband?”
“For several husbands, in fact,” Wiriya said smoothly. “In the time you’ve been getting prescriptions for Mr. Zhang, there have been several deaths of Mr. Zhang. And yet those deaths seem not to have diminished his need for pain medications. So sad, really. One always hopes that death brings peace, but it seems that even repeated deaths did not bring relief of suffering. Even after cremation, these men are still suffering and in need of the good doctor’s services.”
Wiriya paused to let that observation sink in. Then he reminded Peaflower that what she’d done to procure prescriptions of opioids was illegal. “And that’s punishable by twenty years in prison. Longer, in fact, than a sentence for murder often is. And may I remind you that there is no doubt about your guilt in this matter at least. We have a doctor who is willing to testify that you obtained these prescriptions under false pretenses. And he has already identified a photo of you. So there is no doubt that you are the culprit.”
“So my crime is…”
“Your crimes are murder. There is no doubt in my mind about that.”
Now the detective’s voice had turned rough. He’d left the calm, benevolent interviewer far behind. Now he sounded like a detective. And Ladarat remembered for a moment what he’d told her about wanting—needing—to solve this case. She hoped that ambition didn’t bring out a side of him that she’d rather not see.
“I know that you’ve killed several men. And I know how. Perhaps I can’t convict you of those crimes. But that doesn’t really matter to me. I’m not trying to solve a big case or make a name for myself. I’m happy to live out the rest of my time in the police without solving another case. But I do want to make sure you go to jail. It doesn’t matter to me what crime you’re convicted of, as long as it’s one that will put you in jail for a long, long, time.”
Now Peaflower looked truly concerned. Almost scared. It was as if she’d finally realized that this was not a man to be bargained with or bought off or… bribed in other ways.
“So this is your choice. You can either confess to this latest murder, or we’ll prosecute you for illegally obtaining narcotics. And if, in the process of that investigation—and conversations with doctors and experts—we determine that there is enough evidence to prosecute you for all of those murders, well, then we’d do that, too.”
Wipaporn’s finger tapping resumed, but more slowly than before. Almost thoughtfully.
“Your friend the detective,” she said, “is very clever.” She said that as if it weren’t entirely welcome news.
Back on the screen, Peaflower seemed about to say something, but then lapsed into watchful silence. So Wiriya went on.
“During the investigation of the narcotics charge, for instance, we’d look very carefully through the prescribing records of the Chinese doctors in the city.
Particularly the ones near the center of town. And particularly the good Dr. Tantasatityanon, who I believe will want to be very helpful.” He snuck a quick look at Peaflower’s face.
“Yes, I think that would be an excellent place to start. We’d look at all of those records very carefully. And of course we’d check hospital records to see if there were other prescriptions being filled by a woman who matched your description. We’d look very long and very hard. And maybe, just maybe, we’d turn up additional evidence of wrongdoing.” He paused.
“Do you think we might turn up additional evidence? That often happens, you know,” he said conversationally. “Often we look for one crime and we find another. Sometimes several others. So you never know what we might find. Or… perhaps you do?”
Did she? What exactly had she done, and what kind of a trail had she left behind her? How careful had she been and—more to the point—how careful did she think she’d been? Because that was going to be what mattered right now.
There was a silence that seemed to stretch out forever as Peaflower weighed her options. Every few seconds her eyes would dart to the camera and Ladarat had to check an impulse to lean back.
But finally, after a last sweeping glance around the room, as if looking for a chance of escape, Peaflower seemed to collapse. She slumped forward as if someone had taken her backbone out entirely. Ladarat never would have believed it could happen, but it certainly seemed as though Peaflower was giving in.
Then she was gone. In the space of a blink, Peaflower had simply vanished. Ladarat looked around the office in confusion, but Wipaporn turned her attention to the other screens and pointed to one on the far left. Ladarat turned just in time to see the blurred image of Peaflower’s face flit by the camera, only to appear on another screen. And then another. In no more than a few seconds, she was racing down the stairs.
She was going to get away. Ladarat couldn’t believe that they had come this far, only to watch this murderer run out the front door. And they’d never find her again—Ladarat was certain of that. With all the resources at Wiriya’s disposal, they hadn’t been able to locate her. And now that she knew she was being hunted, she would disappear.
Too late, Ladarat resolved that she would chase this woman. She would at least try to catch her. Because they had to do something, did they not?
But as she turned toward the door, the mamasan caught her arm and pointed at one of the screens that showed the Hing Phra shrine next to the front door. As they both watched, Peaflower flew off the last step and across the floor. Just as she reached to push the door open, a massive shadow detached itself from the wall next to the shrine and enveloped her as implacably as a hand might capture a moth.
Peaflower struggled and screamed loud enough for Ladarat to hear her through the closed office door. But she made no progress whatsoever. And as the shadow and its quarry moved back toward the stairs and into the light, Ladarat knew that struggling would be futile.
Jonah was by far the biggest person Peaflower had ever encountered. Easily twice her weight, and struggling against those arms was a lost cause. One might as well struggle against a mountain.
He seemed to be trying to talk with Peaflower for a moment, but then she pulled a hand free and slapped his face. Ladarat could hear the sound of the impact, and Wipaporn winced. But Jonah simply shrugged. Then he bent over and hoisted Peaflower over one shoulder much as one might carry a bag of rice.
A few moments later, Jonah and his burden reappeared in the room in which Wiriya was sitting comfortably on the bed. As soon as Peaflower felt her feet back on the floor, she took a step toward the door, but something in Jonah’s expression must have convinced her that another attempt at escape would not be wise. And so, seemingly resigned, she resumed her seat. Jonah took a step back out of the camera’s range, but presumably he was still close at hand.
“You already know enough to convict me on charges of falsifying a prescription,” she said. She looked perfectly composed, but she sounded out of breath. Or perhaps now she was truly nervous. Or perhaps this, too, was an act. “So why should I tell you anything?”
“To teach me,” Wiriya said gently. “I want to learn how you did what you did.”
“But why? Why would you want to learn… from me?” Now Peaflower sounded genuinely curious.
“To help me understand the murderer’s mind. How you think. And why you did what you did.”
At this, the mamasan’s fingers seemed to take on a life of their own. Their drumming increased in pitch, but with a scattered rhythm that sounded like raindrops on a tin roof—haphazard and chaotic.
“Just… to teach?”
“Just to teach,” Wiriya confirmed.
“And not…” Peaflower glanced at the camera. “Not recorded?”
Wiriya’s smile was a combination of amused befuddlement, as if he’d never heard of such a thing. “Are there cameras in a place like this? Video recorders?”
Peaflower shrugged. “My sister wouldn’t do that to me.”
Would she? Ladarat wondered. She snuck a glance at Wipaporn, whose face was inscrutable. Her fingers, though, continued their rhythmless clacking.
“Very well,” Wiriya conceded. “We won’t record.”
“You’d best not,” Peaflower warned. She seemed to be getting her spirit back very quickly. “She’s as guilty as I am.” And Peaflower glanced up at the camera.
“So if I describe what I’ve done…?” Peaflower asked finally.
“We’ll stop there. No need for dredging up old secrets.”
“Just… to teach?”
“Exactly so. Think of this as a chance to educate an old policeman.”
Wipaporn touched Ladarat’s arm lightly, as if she didn’t really want to attract Ladarat’s attention. They looked at each other for a long moment, as if Wipaporn was coming to a decision. Then, finally, Wipaporn pointed to a blinking light under the screen that held Wiriya and Peaflower.
“There is enough tape there for a long conversation. Longer, probably, than your friend will need. But if the tape runs out, here is another.” She placed a well-manicured hand on an old videocassette next to the microphone.
Ladarat was certain something was happening that she should be paying close attention to. Something important. But most of her attention was still focused on Peaflower, who seemed to be thinking very carefully about what to teach Wiriya.
So compelling was Peaflower’s consternation that Ladarat found herself staring at her expression, the mamasan next to her temporarily forgotten. Only a few seconds passed, but during those seconds, Peaflower’s smile was transformed to one of sadness, something like resignation.
When Ladarat turned back to Wipaporn, she realized she was alone in the room. The mamasan had vanished. A quick glance at the rows of monitors showed her hustling out the door.
GIVE MEN EXACTLY WHAT THEY EXPECT
Peaflower sighed. No doubt she was shrewd. And tough. But she also realized when she was not holding a winning hand.
“What do you want to know?”
If Wiriya was surprised by this sudden turnaround, he didn’t show it. Presumably that was a skill that real detectives learned. Along with negotiating from a position of power, presumably one also had to expect the unexpected.
She herself was proof that that was good advice. For instance who would have guessed a week ago that she’d be sitting in a place like this on a Saturday night listening to a murder confession? You never could tell, could you?
“Just tell me how it worked. With the last man. Tell me what you did.”
Peaflower sighed. “All right. It really wasn’t very complicated, and there’s not much to tell at all. But if you really want to know…”
The expression on Wiriya’s face indicated that he did very much want to know.
“My late husband—he died six years ago—was named Zhang Wei. A common Chinese name, as you probably know. They say there are hundreds of thousands men in China with the same name. So I thought, m
aybe one of them is looking for love? Maybe one of them would find me attractive?”
She paused, perhaps waiting for Wiriya to say something gallant. He didn’t. Instead, he took a small spiral notebook out of his other breast pocket, opened it, and began to take notes.
Peaflower shrugged and continued. “So it was easy enough to meet another man with his same name.”
“But how did you find a man with the same birthday so the marriage certificate matched the death certificate? Surely that would have been impossible?”
Peaflower looked confused for a moment, then she laughed. “So you’d think that would be necessary, wouldn’t you? In order to convince an emergency room doctor that the man I’ve brought is who I say he is, you’d think I’d need some form of identification. But in fact, they don’t look too closely. When you arrive at an emergency room in the middle of the night with a man you say is your husband, and when you have a marriage certificate and his birth certificate… well, let’s just say they are very willing to be convinced that everything is as it should be.”
For a moment, it seemed as though Peaflower was going to stray, and that she’d begin talking about the men she’d murdered. Perhaps that was exactly what Wiriya was hoping for. But if he was, he was going to be disappointed. Instead, she sat there in silence.
“So you met this man Zhang Wei—the most recent one—through this establishment,” Wiriya prompted. “And then what?”
“We corresponded by e-mail and then by phone. He was much slower than you were. More… selective.”
“Ah, well… I’ve been told by a close friend that I’m quite ugly.” He smiled and snuck a quick look at the camera. “So I could not afford to be too selective.”
Oh dear.
“And then what happened?”
“Then he wanted me to meet me at Kunming, where he lived, but I said he should come here.
Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness Page 24