At exactly 7am, Sane was blindfolded and led to the cross to be secured to it. With his back to the gun, his arms were brought over the arms of a cross and tied together, as if in prayer, behind the horizontal beam. Sane tried to prevent his hands being placed in the wai, or praying, position, and fought against the bouquet of flowers being pushed between his palms. This practice meant that the condemned went to death with a last plea of forgiveness for his bad deeds. He was tied to the cross in two further places, around the torso and stomach and was pulled astride a bar that stuck out from the cross forcing him to hug the cross between his knees. His ankles were still chained together so the cross was now completely supporting him.
One last tug on the rope and he was ready. Behind him the screen was pulled across, separating him from the gun. There was a square white cloth on the screen with a concentric circle pinned on it which denoted the prisoner’s heart—the target. Sawaeng Puangsookrak, the gun adjuster, aimed the gun for this white square and when he was satisfied he nodded to the executioner for that day, Mui Juijaroen. Mui was a thin, quiet man who enjoyed a drink. I didn’t know him too well, I don’t think anyone did. He kept mostly to himself. He had already experienced a small level of fame as a result of his job and had been interviewed by journalists a couple of times. He was the prison executioner from 1960-1974, and shot 48 criminals in that time.
I watched him step forward to the gun stand that looked for all the world like a sewing machine. He turned and saluted the Execution Supervision Committee as a sign of respect and then saluted Sane through the screen for his forgiveness before moving to bend over the gun, pressing his eye to the sight and moving his hand over the trigger.
He waited there, glancing neither right nor left. I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. The gun separated him from the rest of his colleagues. I cannot say that anyone looked at him enviously. In fact we probably experienced a collective shiver of fear as he appeared temporarily lost to us and utterly focused on what he had to do. The white cloth suddenly looked very small and vulnerable while the gun appeared to grow in size, demanding all our attention. Its ugliness seemed to suck all the warmth and energy out of the room. I felt that even if Mui wanted to walk away the machine wouldn’t let him. It was too late now for anything other than what was to happen.
The head of the execution team took his position to the far right of the gun holding the red flag tensely in his hand. This flag normally stood in a pole attached to the wall when the room wasn’t in use, the only colour in the room. Once the escorts had tied the prisoner to the cross and moved away the red flag is held high until the executioner signals that he is ready. At 7.11am the red flag was lowered and Mui pulled the trigger. One shot rang out that bright summer’s morning with six bullets hitting Sane from the Bergmann submachine gun, followed by a shocked silence. Mui straightened up, turned his back to the screen and quickly left the room. The doctor entered the room immediately after, passing by the gun and then the screen to check on Sane. He felt for a pulse and then pushed up the blindfold to shine a torch into his eyes, searching for a reaction from the retinas. There was no sign of life and he confirmed that Sane was dead.
The bullets had penetrated his back and he stood almost as if he was sunk into a last embrace with the cross. His neck and head had fallen back as if he was looking skywards. The scene was grotesque. For six minutes after the shot a gurgling was heard from his corpse; the soul was taking its time leaving his body. Sane was protesting and defiant to the bitter end. The escorts untied him and lay him fast down on the ground. The blood seeped out of him on to the floor. I could also see blood on the cross and on a couple of the sand bags. His fingerprints had to be collected again to verify that the right guy had been executed.
Afterwards, Mui was interviewed by a newspaper and the journalist asked how he felt about Sane. He was definite in his reply.
‘Over the last seven years I’ve seen more than a hundred convicts who have been sentenced to death but I have never seen such a mean and cruel felon like he was. No matter how much people kill, when they meet the Chaplain they pray and ask for forgiveness. Some are so upset they can’t even stand when they hear the execution order and we have to put them in a wheelchair. Sane was an unapologetic bastard.’
Chapter 6
15 June 1972.
At 3.30pm Jumras Janopas, the Commander of Wing 1 at Bang Kwang, had three convicts brought to the Security Tower for their execution. They had all been sentenced to death by the Supreme Court in 1971. They had appealed to have the death sentence overturned and then had to wait nine months to hear that their appeals had been rejected because of the severity of their crimes. This was faster than the norm, which was usually a 12 month wait.
This was my first time to be an escort. I hadn’t been expecting to play a part in the proceedings. My boss, Prayad Loharatana, the head of the custody section, had sent for me at 6am that morning. I wondered if I was in trouble and hurried over to his office. I quickly checked to see if my uniform was neat and knocked on his door. He bid me come in and close the door.
‘Chavoret we have one today. Could you be the escort? We’re short of staff.’
I stared at him.
‘But sir I don’t know how to be an escort. I’ve never done it before.’
He shrugged impatiently saying ‘There’s nothing to it. Just walk behind the older guys and do what they do. Look we’re really short of staff, are you going to help me or not?’
I had made an impression on my superiors by trying to calm Sane down. At the time I thought that I had simply reacted instinctively to an angry man in distress. However, with hindsight I wonder if I was showing off again. I would never lick up to a boss or kiss ass. I don’t believe it is necessary if you can prove that you are a good steady worker with initiative.
I felt I was being tested to see if I would rise to a challenge. I had never believed myself to be particularly good at anything. I had done alright at school but not enough to be a teacher. I played the guitar in plenty of bands but never excelled as a musician. I knew a bit about medicine but not enough to be a doctor. Being part of the execution was a serious undertaking. I had heard that some prison officers had fainted at their first execution. But it was also a career move, a reflection that my boss saw potential in me and felt he could trust me with more duties. How many people turn down their bosses when they are personally complimented for their daily performance with an opportunity to take on more responsibility? I looked my chief in the eye and said yes.
Being an escort can be a tricky business. It’s probably one of the most emotional roles in the whole process of execution because you personally pick up the prisoner from his cell. In other words, you are death’s messenger. Then you can end up spending a lot of time with the prisoner before he dies. When it is time the escort brings the condemned into the execution room and ties him to the cross. After the prisoner has been confirmed dead by the doctor it is the escort who unties him and lays him down on the floor. Even the executioner does not have to see the body after he has done his job.
The other officers and I went in to Wing 1 to pick up the prisoners. As usual there was a tension in the air as the other death row prisoners wondered if they were to be collected too. It was a bleak day outside with dark clouds almost falling out of the sky under a weight of gloom. I cannot pretend that it is an easy thing to do, to make that walk with my colleagues past frightened faces until we reach the ones whose time has run out. The first two that we picked up looked at us in sheer panic when we stopped outside their cell. They knew that something was up because earlier they had been put in the same cell—partners-in-crime were never locked up together. We let them say their goodbyes to the other inmates who looked stricken on their behalf.
***
By this time, I had made a point of finding out more about the prisoners doomed to die. This case was pretty awful. Somsak Pa
tan and ‘Piek’ Twat Sutakul had happened upon Supapun Ratanataya, a young librarian from Thammasart University, who was visiting Sammuk Mountain in the province of Chonburi with her boyfriend. The couple was set upon by these experienced and hardened men. First Supapun’s boyfriend was forced to watch her being raped by the two men. Then Supapun had to watch her boyfriend being killed before she too was finally murdered. The case was well-known and had shocked the country with its brutality. But this wasn’t the reason for their execution; they had committed plenty of murders before this.
The third convict to be executed that day was 34-year-old Jaroen Yimlamul who had murdered a farmer in Lopburi Province and stolen all his livestock of cows and buffaloes. He had also killed before.
There was a very official reception waiting for the men in the security tower. They were met by the prison’s Superintendent Slab Visutthimuk, the head of the prison hospital, Sujarit Phamornbutr, the Inspector of the Department of Corrections, Prasert Mekmanee, head of the vocational training centre; Prayad Loharat, chief of the custody section, and lastly there was a guy representing the Governor of Nonthaburi.
At 3.45pm their fingerprints were taken for the records and their last meals were placed in front of them. All three dinners of soup, fruit and dessert remained untouched. This was typical. I can’t imagine that I would want to eat a few minutes before I was going to be executed, though the meal was a lot better than the normal fare suffered by the prisoners. The Chaplain Phramahasai read some Buddhist teachings to them. Somasak was Islamic so he washed his feet, face and hands and then knelt down to say his own prayers. They were then offered pencils and paper to write to their families. Jareon refused to write anything. He chain smoked while the other two accepted the stationery and briefly thought about what they wanted to say.
Somak wrote to his mother and youngest brother to tell them they were always in his thoughts. He also asked them to pick up his body within 24 hours of his death as keeping with his faith—the prison had a special arrangement with an Islamic organization and ensured that the convicts’ and families’ wishes were carried out. His faith also prevented him from donating any body parts unlike Piek who was donating his eyes to the Thai Red Cross and his body to the Faculty of Medicine at Siriraj. Consequently his note was to tell his family not to collect his body. Doctor Sujarit Pamornbood had campaigned for and instigated this practice but after receiving a huge amount of criticism the prison authorities decided to discontinue it shortly afterwards. It didn’t seem appropriate to be asking someone to make a donation of their organs when they were trying to cope and prepare themselves for their imminent death.
After that all they could do was wait. By then Piek had banished his fears and was in exceptionally good form. He laughed and joked with the prison officers. He answered all questions put to him, confirming that he had actually killed 27 people. He challenged the other two to see if they could beat that figure. However, Somak admitted to killing only nine and Jareon admitted to four murders. Then Piek went one better and sang to the officers ‘Rak Jak Daungjai’ (Love From My Heart).
At 4.30pm Jareon was placed in the wooden cart to make the journey from the tower to the execution room. This cart was more like a wheelbarrow with a chair propped up on it. Mui was still the executioner then. He fired the Bergmann gun which sent five bullets into the back of Jareon’s heart, killing him instantly. At 5pm it was Somsak’s turn and he was wheeled off to a similar fate. Piek never looked frightened or troubled, even when Somsak was taken away. He continued to chat as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Finally at 5.30pm I got him into the cart. As I pushed him down the path he burst into song again, singing ‘Pee Boon Noi’ (I’m Unlucky) to us officers. One of the officers asked Piek if he would appear to him in a dream and give him the lottery numbers. This is a Thai belief; when someone you know dies they can visit you in your dreams and pass on useful information like the lotto numbers which is a serious business in Thailand. There are all sorts of monks and gurus who claim they can help you with lotto numbers and as a result they can count big gamblers among their many followers.
Piek told my colleague that he would help him out in exchange for the officer making a merit for him. The prisoner waved gaily at all he passed and just before I pushed him into the room he asked us all to look after his friends who were serving life sentences—we were to give his mattress to Jare his cell-mate. Like the two before him, five bullets were used to kill him. He had amazed me with his attitude. His execution was probably the easiest that I had ever been involved with. It was the only time that I asked a condemned man if he really did commit the crimes he was charged with, which proves how relaxed he looked to me. I felt that he knew his chosen life style was always going to bring him to this point, and so here it was—pay-back time. He had become addicted to playing god with other peoples’ lives but it was always going to end badly for him. He was happy to go; it was only fair after all he had gotten away with. But don’t get me wrong, I didn’t admire him for it.
Both Piek and Somsak were only 26 years old when they were executed. They could have lived their lives differently and make their parents proud. I didn’t feel sorry for them, they had committed terrible crimes—36 people were dead because of them. What they did to that poor librarian and her boyfriend was horrific. They were pure evil. I believe there are truly bad people who can never be cured of their desire to do depraved things. I don’t think prison will make them any better than they are, and yes, I believe this type of person deserves to die.
Chapter 7
My career went from strength to strength and soon I had become an experienced officer. I had seen death up close, and learned to deal with it, how best to help carry out the cold and calculated executions. It was the way to get the job done. I didn’t think about the condemned that much, and I didn’t pity them. They were just as cold and pitiless when they took the lives of the innocent.
31 May 1972.
The bus-stop in front of the Olympia building on Rama IV Road, Bangkok.
The number 76 bus stopped and there was the hustle and bustle of people getting off and on. Three men watched one well-dressed woman laden down with bags as she jostled to get on the bus. Sanong Phobang slipped his hand into her handbag and tried to grab some money. As she was about to step on to the bus, two men, Thanoochai Montriwat and Jumnian Jantra, pressed against her on either side. Jumnian nodded at Sanong Phobang, who proceeded, from behind, to open up one of her other bags. Suddenly a male passenger shouted from the bus;
‘You’re being pick pocketed,’ and pointed to Sanong. The three men were furious and Sanong roared at the other two:
‘GET HIM!’
Jumnian attempted to climb up the window of the bus but the driver had started to accelerate away from the stop. Unfortunately the three men were able to jump on the back and charged upstairs. The bus stopped 200 metres down the road at the Sala Daeng Junction. Jumnian ran to the front of the bus to prevent the passenger, Boonyarid, from getting off. Sanong followed him and then removed a small knife from Jumnian’s back pocket. He brandished the knife over the heads of the frightened passengers as he closed in on Boonyarid who sat petrified in his seat. Then, understandably, it got too much for him and he decided to make a run for it. With his eyes on the knife in Sanong’s hand he raced to the front where he was duly grabbed by Jumnian who held him by the collar, allowing Sanong to stab him once in the chest. Even as Boonyarid was falling to the ground the three men had jumped off the bus and ran, not one passenger hampering their escape in any way.
Thanks to the amount of witnesses the three men were arrested within a fortnight, over three consecutive days. Jumnian, Thanoochai (or Daengyik) and Sanong were caught respectively on the 8, 9 and 10 June. They confessed that they and other groups had targeted bus passengers as they got on or off a bus, and they also admitted to beating up, even killing, anyone who told on them.
While they
were being investigated in custody two passengers from another bus came forward with fresh allegations. At 6pm, 28 April 1972, the three suspects had been on the number 18 bus attempting to pick pocket a Thai-Chinese woman. Her husband, Sanan, spotted what they were up to and gently chided them saying, ‘Brothers you can’t do this.’ Again the robbers responded with rage. Sanan had been standing downstairs with his wife near the door. One of the men grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him off the bus and on to the road side where they all started to thrash him. Somehow Sanan managed to get to his feet and started running down the street with the three in angry pursuit. He hadn’t got a chance—they soon caught up with him and stabbed him. He collapsed and died in front of a restaurant near Soi Phayanark.
Thongyoo Gerddee was on the bus and witnessed the whole episode while Prom Yimprasert told the police that she recognized the three as soon as she saw their photographs in the newspaper. They had been standing with her and her husband at the bus-stop before the number 18 appeared.
The three men denied murdering Sanan. Jumnian did admit that he had been previously arrested and charged with stealing and assault. Thanoochai admitted that he had served a prison sentence of one year and four months for stealing and knowingly buying stolen goods. Sanong admitted that he had been previously arresting for stealing. However, all of this confessing did not save them. The prison received a summary execution order from General Thanom Kittikajorn on 19 June which said that their repeat offences showed the men to be inordinately cruel and beyond respecting the law, therefore they must be punished by execution. That was how I got to know them.
The Last Executioner Page 7