On the geomancer’s instructions, Joyce had phoned Sergeant Chatchai, summoning him for an important meeting. The slim officer appeared ten minutes later on his motorcycle at the jetty.
‘Sa-wat dee,’ he said with a little bow.
‘Good thing you were close,’ said Joyce. ‘Traffic’s awful.’
‘I not close,’ Chatchai replied. ‘But on this wery fas’.’ He gestured at the bike. ‘But mus’ be quick-quick. Wery busy today.’
With a spray of water, the ferry arrived beside them.
‘Come,’ said Wong. ‘We talk on boat.’
They clambered unsteadily onto the rocking vessel. After the feng shui master had found his feet and wobbled to a seat, the four of them sat in a row at the back.
Wong pulled out Joyce’s video cover showing Warin Krung-wong. From his other pocket, he produced a thick marker pen. ‘Here is one movie star. Now watch please.’
He started scribbling on the photo with the marker.
‘Hey, that’s mine,’ Joyce objected. ‘You’re spoiling it.’
Wong continued to draw until he had added a peaked cap to Warin’s head. Then he drew glasses on him and blackened his cheeks. He added a moustache. After surveying his handiwork for a moment, he added epaulettes to the shirt and drew a collar and tie. He turned to the police officer. ‘Is this the driver you interview?’
Sergeant Chatchai studied the photograph for a long time before replying. ‘May be drywer,’ he said, slowly. ‘Yes, may be drywer.’
The feng shui man looked the officer in the eye. ‘Please think carefully. You said you thought driver was telling truth. But maybe actor was playing role of driver. Maybe quite good actor was playing role of driver.’
Wong pulled out a fuzzy mugshot of a thin-faced individual with buck teeth. It looked like an employee’s identity card photo blown up with a computer. ‘Or was this the man you interview?’
‘No,’ said Sergeant Chatchai. ‘No see this guy before.’
Suchada put her fingernails to her teeth in nervous excitement. ‘So you think maybe the driver he interviewed was Warin? Warin with a load of make-up? How did you know?’
‘I did not know,’ said Wong. ‘But I suspect something is not right. Sergeant Chatchai here said driver does not know what kind of car bashes him. This very strange. For drivers, cars are whole life. Usually they know every type of car. That makes me think driver’s story not true. Also, driver said Warin was in back seat. But servants say he was in front. Then I know that the man police talk to is liar.’
Silence descended as the four of them dealt with the implications of this revelation. If the main premise on which the entire case was based was false, all assumptions changed. The boat chugged briskly down the Chao Phraya River, its engine throbbing a powerful rhythm.
‘That’s why the police couldn’t find any witnesses to the kidnap,’ Suchada said. ‘Because it didn’t happen.’
‘There was no assailan’,’ Chatchai said.
‘There was no kidnappers’ car,’ Suchada added. ‘That’s why police couldn’t even find skidmarks on the road.’ She yanked her phone out of her bag: ‘I need to tell Mr Plod-prasad this right away.’
A little over ten minutes later, the four of them were on the stage of the second auditorium at Star City Ventures. There were more than a dozen people walking around with costumes and parts of theatrical sets. A woman wearing a huge papier mâché mask, supported by a man on either side, was carefully walking along a white line chalked in the middle of the stage. Preparations were in hand for a production of West Side Story in khon masked-dance style.
Suchada had given a rundown of Wong’s thinking to her superior.
‘So you think the driver police interviewed was Warin? But what happened to the real driver? Who did what to whom?’ Plodprasad asked. ‘I’m confused.’ The old man wearily sat down in a front-row seat.
Wong, whose legs were also hurting from his over-active day, sat down next to him. He explained: ‘Warin sat in front passenger seat and switch on some gas thing. Silent, quiet, dangerous. I think maybe he roll it under his seat and point it backward so gas go on back-seat passengers first.’
‘Khoon Boontawee and Ing Suswadee.’
‘Yes. Mr Khoon and Ms Ing get dizzy, go sleep quickly. Warin very clever. He close off chauffeur dividing panel, privacy panel, to keep gas in back-seat area.’
Suchada agreed. ‘That makes sense. So Khoon and Suswadee are out cold before they know what’s going on.’
Wong nodded. ‘As soon as victims asleep, Warin get rid of gas canister. He get driver to take him to hideout near Samut Prakarn.’
‘So the driver is in cahoots with Warin? Is that what you’re saying?’ Plodprasad’s fuzzy white eyebrows rose against his dark brow.
‘Don’t know exactly,’ the feng shui master replied. ‘Maybe actor is paying driver lots of money. Anyway, they hide unconscious bodies. Driver he disappears, runs away. Warin he dress up, pretend he is driver, he goes and gently crashes car into tree and then give statement to first officer who comes along.’
‘Who just happens to be Police Sergeant Chatchai Suttanu,’ said Plodprasad.
Sergeant Chatchai proudly pointed to himself. ‘Pom.’
‘Then he goes back to kidnap house and waits.’
Suchada asked: ‘Waits for what?’
‘For us,’ says Wong. ‘Waits for investigators and media to start working. All going to plan perfectly. Suddenly, small, not very good, action movie is front-page news on every newspaper. Story of mystery disappearance is on TV, even probably on international news in oversea countries. Everybody talking about three stars. Everybody know their names.’
‘Is that what he wanted? Just publicity? It’s a great stunt, but you can hire PR companies to get publicity for you.’
‘No, he wants more than that,’ says Wong. ‘Look at VCDs of Joyce. Warin always number two, number three. Always support actor. Khoon Boontawee always number one, always star. But in this real-life movie drama, Warin want to be number one.’
‘So how is going to do that?’
‘Because he is playing special role. Role which will make him very famous. He is going to be hero who escapes from kidnappers and rescues colleagues. Rescues Khoon and Ing. Who are in support roles only. Warin going to be number one star in this story.’
Plodprasad looked from Wong to Suchada and back again. ‘It all sounds rather fanciful to me. But who knows? Whatever you say, I guess there is nothing to do but sit and wait.’
Sergeant Chatchai left to recover his motorbike and get back on patrol, but his seat in the front row of the theatre was almost immediately taken up by another officer. Major-General Thienthong’s third (and favourite) daughter had a minor role in the dance-drama being rehearsed and he was delighted to spend the day at Star City using the kidnapping incident as an excuse.
The lights dimmed. The overcrowded stage was suddenly empty. A run-through of a khon scene started to unfold on stage.
The noble God-King, Phra Ram, danced across the stage. His face was an intricate mask of finely-painted red-lined features on a white background, topped with a glittering gold crown.
Suchada whispered to Joyce: ‘The masks are made with up to twenty layers of paper. We use a special paper made from tree bark called khoi. It takes years to learn how to do it.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘All the teeth on Hanuman—that’s the monkey-general over there—are made from real ivory, and the jewels in his crown are made from glass and semi-precious stones.’
They watched scenes from the Ramakian for almost two hours.
Then they heard the doors at the back of the auditorium creak open. Someone had entered the theatre. Wong turned his head to see a young woman wave urgently from the back. It turned out to be Plodprasad’s secretary. She skipped nimbly down the stairs, her face flushed with excitement.
‘Call for you, sir, very urgent.’
‘Who is it?’ Plodprasad asked
.
‘One of the kidnapped actors, sir.’
The group sitting in the front row rose to its feet as one man. Everyone stared at the secretary.
‘It’s Warin Krungwong, sir,’ she said. ‘Shall I transfer the call down here?’
‘Let me speak to him,’ said Major-General Thienthong.
Wong raised his hand. ‘No. Let Mr Plodprasad speak to him. But Mr Plodprasad: Tell him that media is here. Media wants to take picture of him. He will like that, I think.’
The secretary returned to her desk at a sprint to transfer the call to the telephone in the star dressing room that Wong and McQuinnie had feng shui-ed the previous day.
Minutes later, a light flashed on the green handset on the dressing table, and Plodprasad picked it up, at the same time pressing a button to activate a built-in speaker.
‘Krungwong, is that you? Can you speak English—the international media are here.’
‘Sardsud. Thank God! Call the police, we’ve been kidnapped.’
‘I know. The police are here too. We’ve been looking for you for the past twenty-four hours. Where are you, man? Are you safe? Are the others with you?’
‘We’re in some sort of old barn in Samut Prakarn. I saw a sign on a factory out of the window. But we’re safe.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t remember very well. We were being driven along when some car comes up and fires a gas thing into our car. We all black out. Next thing I know, I wake up to find I’m all tied up in a locked room with no windows. I woke up about two hours ago. Ing and Khoon are with me, but they’re still unconscious.’
‘How did you get away?’
‘I managed to wriggle out of the ropes that were holding me. Then I kicked down the door. Then I dragged poor old Khoon and Ing out of the building. Ing is coming round a bit, although she is still very dizzy and delirious. She can walk a bit. Khoon is still out cold. I had to carry him to safety. So much for the Street Fighter Dragon. Ha! He must have a pretty weak metabolism.’
The police officer took the handset from the theatre director. ‘Mr Warin. This is Major-General Thienthong Sukata speaking. I’m going to send some men over to get you. Are you in any immediate danger?’
‘Depends on when and if the kidnappers come back,’ said Warin. ‘And if they decide to search the area for us.’
‘Stay low and hidden. We have cars in the area that can reach you within minutes. Can you give us more precise directions as to where to find you?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Warin. ‘I know this area a bit. Go to the main roundabout on the way in to Samut Prakarn from Bangkok and take the third left by the old farm. I think if you go straight for a couple of kilometres, you’ll see an old brick barn on the left-hand side. That’s where we’re hiding.’
‘We’re on our way.’
‘Be quick.’ Warin rang off.
Plodprasad held up one finger for the police officer’s attention. ‘Get your men to take them to hospital first, give them a good check-up. If Mr Wong’s theory is right, and it is looking good so far, my guess is that Khoon and Suswadee will be full of gas fumes, and Warin Krungwong will be mysteriously clear of them.’
Major-General Thienthong Sukata marched out of the green and red dressing room, leaving a stunned and inert group behind him. The frozen tableau was broken when the theatre general manager came back to life with a chuckle.
‘Ha ha ha!’ Plodprasad shook his head, suddenly laughing. ‘Woo hoo! You know what the strangest thing about this whole incident is?’
‘What?’ Joyce asked.
Plodprasad wiped tears out of his eyes. After all these years, poor Warin has finally turned in a performance worthy of winning the best actor award. But unfortunately, nobody filmed it.’ He started clapping.
Suchada Kamchoroen joined in the applause.
Joyce raised her hands and clapped. ‘Yaaay, Warin. What a star!’ She turned to Suchada Kamchoroen. ‘It’s a bit of a shame, really. He really was a major hunk. Can I keep the photograph?’
Wong was the only one who failed to react in any way. He sat in the wicker chair, tapping his finger against the dressing table, still unsettled.
The Thai woman draped an arm warmly around his shoulder. ‘Not celebrating, Mr Wong?’
‘Cannot work out why my lo shu charts for actors all wrong,’ he said.
Suchada smiled, and patted the feng shui master’s bald pate. ‘If that’s all that’s worrying you, it’s a question I can answer in two seconds flat.’
‘You can?’ He looked up at her.
‘Sure. You obviously haven’t spent much time with actors. Actors are one group of people you will never be able to do successful birth charts for, Mr Wong.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they lie about their age. Every single one of them. Every single time you ask. I guarantee it.’
Wong blinked. Of course! Boontawee wasn’t a 1951 thunder tree earth dragon. He was much older. Something quite different. Same with the other two. They were actors. They needed to stay young forever. How could he have failed to realise this!
The feng shui master picked up his lo shu charts, rolled them into a bundle, dropped them in the dressing room bin, and allowed himself a smile.
7 The case of the
late news columnist
In ancient China lived a very bad king named King Zhou. He always drank too much wine. When he drank too much he became suspicious. He became dangerous.
One time he spent the whole night drinking wine with his friends. He became very drunk. They became very drunk also.
The next morning he woke up. He did not know what time it was. He did not know what day it was. He did not know what his duties were for the day. His friends also did not know.
King Zhou said: ‘Don’t worry. I have one wise and capable official in my government. His name is Ji Zi. He knows everything about running my kingdom.’
The king told his servant to go and ask Ji Zi what day it was.
But after the servant went, King Zhou became suspicious. He said: ‘Ji Zi very smart. Maybe TOO smart.’
The servant reached the house of Ji Zi. The servant said: ‘The king drank two bottles of wine and has forgotten what day it is today. Can you tell him?’
Ji Zi replied: ‘Tell King Zhou I drank three bottles of rice wine last night. I cannot remember anything. I cannot remember my own name even.’
The servant told King Zhou what Ji Zi said. The king stopped being suspicious of his official.
Blade of Grass, always be smarter than people think you are. The best way to do this is to act more stupid than you are.
This is even truer in times of danger. If a forest has a beauty contest, the judge will choose the tree who stands up tall. But when the woodcutter is walking around, the tall trees wish they could bow their heads.
From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’
by CF Wong, part 31.
A guttural banshee howl erupted from Madam Xu’s room.
It was a heart-stopping wail reminiscent of nothing but a pterosaur losing a game show final. The dying cry rose sharply and petered out slowly into a cracked whimper.
Alarmed, Joyce raced out into the corridor and hammered on the door. She was wearing a fake DKNY (it said DNKY) oversized T-shirt and had a ring of toothpaste around her mouth.
‘You okay in dere?’ she asked indistinctly, the toothbrush rattling against her teeth.
There was no reply.
She knocked again, and then took the obstruction out of her mouth to speak with more volume. ‘Madam Xu? Something wrong? I’m coming in.’
She noticed with horror that she had spat Colgate Sparkling White With Tartar Control against the door and was instantly aghast, feeling a powerful urge to return to her own room to fetch something with which to wipe the door down.
Dismissing that thought as impractical in the circumstances, she reached for the brass-plated handle, repeating: ‘I’m coming in.’ But it was lock
ed, so she was left rattling it uselessly.
Joyce used her fist to bang on the pale satinwood door as heavily as she could, splattering more toothpaste on it, this time from the toothbrush in her hand. Bugger! She gritted her teeth. Did Colgate Sparkling With Tartar Control damage wood varnish? Would they be charged for this?
‘Chong-Li? Chong-Li? You okay?’
Still no reply. She wondered what to do. Should she call the hotel reception, get a spare card-key? Or perhaps call an ambulance—the animal-like squawk she’d heard had chilled her to the bone, and suggested that some thing in there was attacking Madam Xu. Or should she call security? Someone with a gun might come and shoot whatever it was!
But what if the people she summoned to open the door were men and Madam Xu was not properly dressed? Or had her teeth out? Or had no make-up on? She would never be forgiven.
Wracking her brain for alternatives, Joyce recalled that the guest rooms had connecting balconies. It might be possible to clamber from one to the next.
She raced back through her room and out onto a tiny terrace. Taking great care not to look down, she gingerly lifted her right leg as far as she could and heaved it across a tiny space on the left side of her balcony so that it hovered over the floor of the terrace of the neighbouring room. She could see nothing but concrete in front of her eyes, and was surprised that it had pores in it, like skin. She tilted her toes and stretched her leg until it touched the floor on the other side, and then carefully shifted her weight so that it was on the side to which she was moving.
She jumped down, painfully scraping her thigh against rough cement as she did so. Thrilled to see Madam’s Xu’s French windows partly open, she placed her fingers on the cold left doorjamb and yanked. It swung open.
Stepping inside the chilled, low-lit room, she found Madam Xu, fully dressed, lying flat on her back on the bed, eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling. The room was filled with a thick cloud of floral perfume.
Had Madam Xu been Guerlained to death?
‘Madam Xu! You okay?’
The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook Page 22