‘Nalissa’s not sure her mother knew she’d be sold to a brothel owner,’ Jayne said to Moira. ‘Such men tell parents they’ll find jobs for their daughters as maids or waitresses. The man gave Nalissa’s mother a thousand baht and took her away. It wasn’t until she arrived in Chiang Mai that Nalissa understood her real fate.’
Moira raised her head, a concerned look on her face. ‘Please, Jayne, tell Nalissa I know this must be painful, but it would be helpful if she could provide as much detail as possible.’
Jayne turned back to Nalissa. ‘She’s asking for details now. And I suppose you’re going to tell me to keep making it up.’
‘Nae norn,’ Nalissa said. ‘I’m enjoying the story myself. By the way, do you think this farang knows what her name means? You know, moi ra.’
With certain tones, moi sounded like the Thai word for ‘pubic hair’ and ra as ‘mouldy’. Jayne bit her lip and glanced sideways at the academic whose head was buried in her notes.
‘Anyway, Jayne, what do you do?’ Nalissa said. ‘Do you work here in Chiang Mai? How come you speak Thai so well?’
‘Nalissa says the middleman expected her to repay the money he’d given her mother,’ Jayne said. ‘In effect, she became a slave to the brothel owner. He kept everything she earned to pay off her debt.’
‘Ask her how many customers she serviced in a day,’ Moira said.
‘I live in Bangkok,’ Jayne returned to the conversation with Nalissa. ‘I came here to visit a farang friend—the one killed by the police three days ago. Maybe you’ve heard about it? They say he murdered his boyfriend, but I don’t believe it.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Nalissa said. ‘It was in the papers. I saw the boy, Khun Sanga, the night he was killed.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, it was around one o’clock.’
That was close to the time of Nou’s death. Jayne wanted to press Nalissa for details, but feared blowing their cover.
‘Nalissa cannot say how many men she was forced to service in a day,’ she said quickly. ‘To be honest, Moira, I think the memories are too painful.’
‘Oh?’ The academic couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘Well, ask her to tell me as much as she can.’
‘Can we meet again?’ Jayne asked Nalissa. ‘I’d really like to talk with you.’
‘Sure. How about tomorrow morning? Somphet Cafe near the Tha Pae Gate, around ten? In the meantime, could you bring this story to a close?’ She glanced around the room. ‘I really should get going.’
‘Nalissa paid off her debt last year,’ Jayne said. ‘But she’s a ruined woman and can no longer go back to her village. That’s why she works here. She still sends money to her mother, but she’s too ashamed to return home.’
‘Of course.’ Looking up from her notes, Moira assumed her concerned expression again. ‘Please, tell her I understand.’
Jayne turned back to the Thai woman. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’
‘Sure. Thanks for your help with the story.’
‘Nalissa would like to thank you for the opportunity to tell her story,’ Jayne said to Moira, nodding at her tote bag. ‘She needs to go now…’ ‘Right.’ Moira handed Jayne an envelope. ‘Please thank her again.’
‘The mouldy pubic hair says thanks,’ Jayne said, ‘And I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nalissa took the envelope, pressed it between her hands and bowed in a wai—a gesture Moira emulated, unaware of any intended irony. As the Thai woman walked towards the bar, Jayne turned back to Moira.
‘Maybe we could have that briefing now.’
The academic, absorbed in her notes, looked up frowning.
‘You were going to tell me about the work you and Didier are doing.’ The music got louder as Jayne spoke.
‘What about Didier?’ Moira was forced to shout.
Jayne leaned closer. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere quiet?’
In response, Moira stood up and moved towards the door.
‘What about the bill?’ Jayne called after her, but she was out of earshot.
Annoyed, she checked the drinks invoice and slipped some money beneath the table marker. She saw Nalissa sidle up to a blond man at the bar and grab his crotch in greeting. Jayne wondered what the academic would make of that.
‘I haven’t got long,’ Moira said as Jayne joined her. ‘I still have to finish writing up these notes before I pack.’
Jayne smiled through clenched teeth. ‘Perhaps we could talk on the way back to your hotel.’
‘Fine.’ Moira raised her hand and flagged down a tuk-tuk. ‘We—go—hotel—Chiang—Mai—Plaza?’ she said to the driver in a loud voice.
The elderly man nodded.
Moira’s bag between them made for a tight fit on the bench seat. Jayne ignored the clasp digging into her hip and cut to the chase. ‘So the proposed collaboration, what’s it about?’
‘We’re hoping to use my research findings as the basis for a much larger study on the sex industry in northern Thailand,’ Moira said. ‘We’ve proposed a joint project between the University of Melbourne and Chiang Mai University.’
She re-positioned herself as if making a formal presentation. ‘Didier and his assistants will map out patterns in the procurement and trafficking of women into the sex industry, both within Thailand and from neighbouring countries, as a starting-point for identifying how culturally specific notions of gender, age and ethnicity make women vulnerable to sexual exploitation. The team in Australia will be responsible for survey design and data analysis.’
The jargon left Jayne cold but she pricked up her ears at the mention of trafficking. Chiang Mai was a centre for human trafficking as well as drugs, and it was assumed both police and border patrol were complicit in the trade.
‘Sounds interesting,’ she said. ‘You mentioned some difference of opinion between you and Didier over the project?’
‘Yes, well…’ Moira cleared her throat. ‘He’s suggested we include child prostitution in the study. But as I told him, it’s beyond the scope of the research. Paedophilia is a political minefield in Australia at the moment, what with the new laws coming in and everything.’
Jayne remembered reading that the Australian government recently introduced legislation to enable child sex offenders to be prosecuted under Australian law for crimes committed overseas.
‘Besides,’ Moira added, ‘it wouldn’t look good to have someone like Didier involved in a study like that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, he’s a single man in his thirties who’s lived in Thailand for fifteen years. And…well…it just wouldn’t look good. I mean, he is gay.’
Jayne turned away so Moira couldn’t see the look on her face. The tuk-tuk pulled up at the entrance to the hotel and she got out.
‘How much should I give him?’ Moira called after her.
‘Oh, two hundred baht should be enough.’
The driver looked at her with raised eyebrows—the figure was four times the regular price; Jayne smiled and allowed the academic to pay.
‘I think it’s a good sign that Didier asked you to see me for a briefing,’ Moira said as they ascended the stairs. ‘It makes me think he’s come back on board.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased we’ve had the chance to talk,’ Jayne said. ‘Before I go, though, Didier said something about a background paper he’d prepared. He didn’t have time to give it to me. Do you have a copy?’
It was a long shot, but it hit the mark.
‘There is something…’ Moira took a folder from her bag and leafed through it. ‘Not so much a background paper as notes. But…oh, it’s a bit dated. It still mentions children and—’
‘That’s OK,’ Jayne said quickly. ‘It’d be good to have something to start with. And I’ll take our discussion into account.’
‘Well, in that case, I suppose it’s all right.’
It was all Jayne could do to resist snatching the document from Moira’s hand. If nothing else, it had es
caped the clutches of the Chiang Mai police. She offered to make a photocopy and leave the original at the reception desk.
While the copying was done, Jayne wandered around the lobby, typical of the excesses of Thai interior design. A huge, bronze temple bell dominated the main entrance, while larger-than-life statues of warriors guarded the stairs and elevator doors. The cavernous ceiling was augmented with recesses, each housing enormous, multi-tiered light-fittings like sprays of inverted parasols. The staff wore Lan Na period costumes, evoking Chiang Mai’s golden age as the kingdom of One Million Rice Fields: the men in tailored jackets and sarongs swept up between their knees; the women in matching silk jackets and long skirts, elaborate hairpieces tinkling like wind-chimes when they moved. Distracted by the back of one woman’s head, it took Jayne a moment to notice the receptionist gesturing at her.
‘It’s the blue colour,’ she said, shaking her head.
Jayne looked at the documents. Not even this grand hotel could resist turning down the settings on the photocopier to make the toner last longer. As a result, notes in biro on the front page of the original hadn’t come out in the duplicate. She glanced at the woman and pushed the copy back across the desk.
‘Older sister,’ she said in her most polite Thai, ‘please make sure Khun Moira gets this.’
‘Mai pen rai,’ the woman replied with the hint of a smile.
Before another night’s guard duty at the farang’s house, Komet fortified himself with a visit to the mor phii. The shaman, much revered for his ability to appease ghosts, gave him an amulet of herbs in a pouch of snakeskin, which Komet tucked beneath his dark-brown shirt. At the station, to his dismay, he was again summoned to Ratratarn’s office. And this time there was no mistaking the Lieutenant Colonel’s displeasure.
‘The deputy sergeant on the surveillance team that relieved you this morning says he found the back door unlocked. What do you have to say about that?’
‘But Sir,’ he said, thinking aloud, ‘I checked all the doors and windows. One window in the bathroom didn’t shut properly. But everything else was locked.’
‘So you have no idea how the back door came to be unlocked this morning?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Well,’ Ratratarn clapped his hands, ‘it must have been the phii come to haunt his old house, right?’
Komet blushed, aware of the amulet scratching against his skin. ‘Sir, I’m not sure—’
‘Oh, spare me these idiots from the ban nok!’ he banged his fist on the desk.
Komet flushed again and bowed his head so low his chin touched his chest.
The lieutenant colonel sat forward in his chair. ‘There must be a rational explanation,’ he said. ‘Think, Officer Komet. Think back and tell me everything that happened last night.’
‘Sir, I arrived at the farang’s house as ordered at 22.00. The surveillance team left and I entered the property. That’s when I checked the windows and doors. After that, I maintained a watch on the street from the front balcony.’
‘Did anyone approach the house?’
‘No, Sir. Though there were a few passersby, no one came near the place, except—’
‘Except what?’
‘Well, there were a couple of young guys—this was around 2am. They got into a fight in the street. I broke it up then returned to my post.’
Ratratarn narrowed his eyes. ‘Did you get the names of these young guys?’
‘No, Sir. They were just two guys arguing over a girl. I threatened to arrest them if they didn’t stop fighting, and when did, I let them go.’
‘You let them go,’ Ratratarn repeated. ‘And would you recognise these men again?’
‘Ah, I’m not sure, Sir. It was quite dark, not long before the storm. One of them wore a baseball cap…’ He hesitated. ‘Oh, I remember! Their names were Bom and Deh.’
‘Bom and Deh,’ Ratratarn said, ‘that should narrow the field. Idiot! There’d be hundreds men in Chiang Mai who go by those nicknames. Now think again, Officer. Is there anything else you can tell me, anything out of the ordinary you saw last night?’
Komet mulled over it for a moment. ‘Well, I did see a farang woman near the foreigner’s house when I first went on duty.’
‘What farang woman?’ Ratratarn’s tone was no longer sarcastic.
‘I don’t know, Sir. She had white skin. She was standing outside a cafe across the street.’
‘What time was this?’
‘When I arrived, Sir. She might have looked at the house once or twice. But she went away after that.’
‘Think harder, Officer Komet,’ Ratratarn said as he leafed through a pile of documents. ‘What did the farang woman look like?’
Komet took a deep breath. ‘She had dark hair, like a Thai person, but curly.’
‘And was this farang woman’s curly hair short or long?’ Ratratarn said, finger poised on a document.
‘Long enough to touch her shoulders.’
‘Gotcha!’ Ratratarn punched the page in front of him. ‘It’s in the interviews Pornsak and Tanin conducted at the Night Bazaar. Several witnesses reported seeing a farang woman with long, dark, curly hair in the bar that evening.’
‘Oh?’
Ratratarn looked up as if he’d forgotten Komet was in the room. ‘You can go, Officer. But when you resume your post this evening, your orders are to take down the names of all pedestrians—even the damn garbage collectors—and report back on any activity in the area surrounding the foreigner’s house.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘One more question. Did you check the locks on the doors and windows after those boys got into a fight in the street?’
‘I’m not sure, Sir.’
Komet regretted the words as soon as he’d said them.
‘Damn it, Komet! Did you or did you not check the doors and windows after the boys had left?’
‘I checked the front door, Sir. But maybe not the back…’ ‘Just get out of here!’
Ratratarn picked up the phone and began making a call before Komet had even closed the door.
The young officer resolved to be more diligent. He would check the doors and windows every hour. He would take down the names of everyone who even glanced in his direction. And he would not let his imagination run away with him. As Ratratarn said, phii were things peasants believed in, not members of the Chiang Mai police. Komet had a job to do. And with a baby due in the cool season, it was vital he kept doing it.
The line was busy. Ratratarn smoked a cigarette before trying again. It was risky, calling from his office. But his mobile phone battery was flat and it couldn’t wait. He had to talk to Kelly.
Ratratarn didn’t like dealing with farangs; but the building that housed Kelly’s venture was owned by the jao por whose business interests Ratratarn protected. And it wasn’t a task he could delegate—despite years in the country, Kelly hadn’t learned Thai, whereas Ratratarn spoke reasonable English, a result of being posted as a young officer to the US Air Force base in Udon Thani.
He tried the number again. The phone was answered with a gruff ‘kup’. It was Kelly’s bouncer, Mongkol, a man with the face of a bullfrog and charm to match.
‘Get Kelly,’ Ratratarn said.
‘G’day Lieutenant Colonel,’ Kelly came on the line almost immediately. ‘What’s up?’
Ratratarn cleared his throat. ‘Looks like the foreign woman resurfaced last night.’
‘Are you serious? This is bad.’
It irked Ratratarn that Kelly only considered the situation serious when another foreigner was involved. He’d tied up loose ends within his own ranks, even allowing that imbecile Komet to take the credit for locating the murder weapon. Yet Kelly showed no sign of feeling under threat from the Thai side.
‘Who is this woman?’ Kelly continued. ‘Is she Australian?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Ratratarn said. ‘In the meantime, keep your eyes open. We can’t let anything slip at this point.’
‘For sure,’ Kelly said. ‘You’ll keep me posted?’
‘Excuse me?’ Sometimes Kelly’s vernacular was beyond him.
‘You’ll let me know, right?’
‘Of course.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You do realise this latest development affects our agreement.’
‘Oh, come on—’
‘I have to dedicate additional manpower to finding the farang woman. Such services cost time and money.’
Ratratarn wanted him to understand how the system worked: everybody served somebody. Ratratarn served the local mafia boss, while the jao por’s underlings served him. Pornsak, Tanin and Komet served Ratratarn, too, as did Kelly, although the Australian failed to appreciate this. Kelly laboured under the delusion that if he paid enough money he could buy himself out of the hierarchy. He thought the issue was price when, in fact, it was all about order and respect.
‘Listen, mate,’ Kelly said. ‘Can we meet in the next day or so? I agree, this changes things.’
Ratratarn smiled. ‘I’ll come tomorrow at midnight.’
He hung up and returned to the files on his desk. When Pornsak interviewed the owner of Man Date, he’d mentioned meeting a farang woman on the night of the murder. He said she’d accompanied the Canadian to the bar, witnessed the argument between him and Khun Sanga and left soon after. He couldn’t recall her name but said she spoke Thai.
One of the kids there also mentioned a farang woman. But Officer Tanin, who conducted that interview, hadn’t thought it warranted further questioning; he hadn’t even bothered taking down a physical description.
He read over the particulars in Pornsak’s report:
Name: Unknown
Height: approx. 1.6 metres
Race: European (white skin)
Appearance: Black-brown, curly, shoulder-length hair
Nationality: Unknown
Address in Thailand: Unknown
Other: Can speak Thai
He pressed the intercom button on his desk. ‘Send Sergeant Pornsak to me.’
‘He’s on patrol, Sir,’ the receptionist said.
‘Then put through a call to his meu teu, will you?’
Behind the Night Bazaar Page 8