Grandad, There's a Head on the Beach

by Colin Cotterill

  “Mair,” I said.

  “Yes, Sissi darling?”

  See? She really didn’t need booze. We were in the kitchen deep-frying mini squid and swaying to one of her old Boney M. tapes. Yes, she still had tapes. She kept them in a box with her stone clubs and flint axe-heads.

  “I’m Jimm.”

  “Of course you are. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Mair? We’ve all been a bit preoccupied these past few days. But there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  “Fire away.”

  “The monkey.”

  “Well, that was hardly a question, was it? And her name’s Elain. Show some respect.”

  Marvelous that she could remember the monkey’s name but forget mine.

  “Elain, sorry. She disappeared on Tuesday.”

  “Yes. If you say so.”

  “That was a day after…”

  “After what?”

  “After the headboard of your bed first started banging against the wall of your cabin. The night me and Grandad went to your room to see what had happened. The night you screamed the resort down.”

  “You’ve probably got the dates mixed up.”

  “No.”

  “Then it must have been the wind.”

  “You do realize that mothers who lie to their own children get warts on their tongues and grow claws.”

  She laughed.

  “That was just a story, child. You’re all grown up now.”

  “But that doesn’t stop it being true. Show me your tongue.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Show me.”

  She glared at me. I glared back. She poked out her tongue.

  “My God. Mair!”

  “What?”

  “How can you eat with all those warts? Your tongue looks like dinosaur skin.”

  “I was afraid that might happen.”

  “Who was it, Mair?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “But it was human, right?”

  “What type of a pervert do you think I am?”

  “Oh, Mair. It’s true. You were having sex.”

  “Shout it for all the world to hear, why don’t you?”

  “Why not? I think it’s great.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. You’re almost a hundred years old and you’re still active.”

  She laughed.

  “Remind me again who it was,” I asked, hoping to tap in to her senility.

  “Nobody you really know.”

  “Give me a clue.”

  “I’m not playing.”

  “All right. I’ll work it out myself. It must have been someone we’re used to seeing because a stranger would never be able to sneak in and out of our snoopy little community without being spotted. Oh, my gosh.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Bert. The kid who collects the palm berries.”

  “Child, he’s only twelve years old.”

  “He’s nineteen and randy.”

  “He only has one eyebrow.”

  “But it’s long enough for both eyes. And I doubt you’d notice in the dark.”

  “Your mother does still have her pride, you know?”

  “Well, your pride woke us up at two o’clock that morning, so he’s fit. Agile, by the sounds of him. And it didn’t sound to me like you were faking it.”

  “All right. That’s more than enough. It was a dream. I was calling out to Indra to stop the damned rain. Let’s leave it at that.”

  She looked out the window.

  “Your policeman’s here,” she said.

  I stood beside her and saw Chompu parking his motorcycle in the car park. He had a bandage on his nose that made him look like a parrot. I had to give him credit for agreeing to be seen in public like that. I was just out the door with a tray of squid when I remembered.

  “Mair, if I see you drinking…”

  “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing.”

  I handed my tray to one of our co-op ladies and went over to hug Chompu. His reaction told me he still hadn’t fully recovered from his beating.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how great you were,” I said.

  “I confess I do have certain skills when it comes to being punched. I tend to roll rather well.”

  “Come on. You did it. You solved the case.”

  “If it hadn’t been for your mother and sister, I’d be receiving this accolade posthumously.”

  “Smile,” I said, and I took his photo with my cell phone.

  “Oh, really. Not my best angle.”

  “But so colorful. The purples, browns, and greens of Benetton bruising. And that darling little beak. And if I didn’t, you’d always regret not having a photo of your first serious beating to show your grandchildren. I wish I had one of mine.”

  We walked into the cauldron of the party, where we both found ourselves with unidentified drinks in our hands.

  “Any news on Egg?” I asked.

  “He’s in a lock-up in Lang Suan.”

  “You think he’ll get out?”

  “Probably. Arrests like this are usually for show. I’m scheduled to give evidence against him, but it’s bad form for the police to be locking each other up. I doubt he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me when he’s sprung.”

  “Do you think anyone will be punished?”

  “They’ll put the poor ones away. The armed guards. The rat brothers. Maybe even the slave boss. The rest will buy their way out. Without witnesses or evidence, there’ll be no murder charges. Captain Kow witnessed one of the Burmese being shot, but he wasn’t in a position to say who pulled the trigger. And as yet, there’s no body. It rather reads like a fairy story.”

  “So, why did we bother?”

  “I think I asked you that same question when I still had a functioning nose.”

  “I think you look lovely battered.”

  I gave him an air kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for?”

  “Being an honest cop.”

  “I’ll be lucky if I still have a rank tomorrow.”

  “They don’t dare fire you. You’re a hero. The world loves you. My sister thinks you’re adorable.”

  “She’s quite special too.”

  “I don’t suppose…?”

  “We do both have posters of Antonio Banderas on our walls. I’ve known relationships to start with a lot less.”

  “You would make a lovely couple.”

  “You and I would stand more chance.”

  “That hopeless? I’ll break the news to her gently. Let’s go and see her. They’re all waiting for you.”

  I took him along the beach. We’d rented a large plastic awning on legs from PI Meng just in case it rained. We’d set it up near the forty-five-degree latrine. There were ropes anchored on the beach running down into the bowels of the toilet block. We called it extreme peeing. Of course, at night, few people bothered to use the facilities.

  There was a standing ovation for Chom when we joined the group. Our almost complete band of heroes was there sitting around one large table: Sissi, Arny, Gaew, Grandad Jah, Ex-Police Captain Waew, Ed, and PI Meng. Sissi was in her countryside casual, baggy chinos, tight spaghetti-strap top, hair in a ponytail. Lots of make-up. It was remarkable—after her Howard Hughes year of solitude—that she would allow herself to be here on show. Yet she was relaxed, making fun of the local dialect, hitting shamelessly on Ed. Apart from that last part, I loved having her here. Before he sat down, Chompu leaned over and gave her a real kiss on the cheek. She feigned a faint. There was a silent pause followed by a loud “Oooo” from the crowd. I wondered how many sitting there understood that my sister and the lieutenant had just officially become girlfriends.

  “What’s in the box?” Chompu asked me.

  At the center of the table—actually a lot of small tables joined together and covered in plastic—was a small wooden chest. I’d considered leaving it open but decided that w
asn’t such a tasteful idea. The chest was just big enough to fit a foam box, which in turn contained ice, which in turn …

  “I went to the Rescue Foundation yesterday,” I told him. “It was under lock and key, but another foundation had won the bidding war to take over its stock. One item of that stock was the head we found on the beach, which started all this. Nobody had claimed him and I thought it would be fitting…”

  “He’s in the box?”

  “I’ve arranged a ceremony for tomorrow. I thought he should have one more night out before his trip.”

  “You’re a most peculiar child.”

  “I know.”

  Once drinks were replenished, the debriefing began.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Bigman Beung and Captain Kow?” Ed asked.

  “No,” said Grandad. “Get on with it.”

  We discussed the things we might have done better and gloated over the parts that had gone well. I was a little concerned that I had edged so close to being killed merely for the sake of a musical end to the evening.

  “OK, Ed,” I said. “When was it exactly that you knew you had thirty little boats joining us?”

  He looked sensational. His hair greased back. A white cotton shirt with no collar contrasting with his tan. He and my sister were getting along a little too well for my liking. It was time to put him in his place.

  “I think it was all Captain Kow’s doing,” said Ed. “He was in touch with the little boats all the time. I think what sold them was the idea it was all being broadcast to the world on the Internet. They gave up fishing for the night. Nothing like an audience to bring out the showman in a man. So once they caught up with us, Kow and I directed them into a circle, and the rest you know.”

  “I know I almost died,” I told him.

  “No, you didn’t. I was watching through the binoculars. You were safe.”

  “And you didn’t think ‘Dancing Queen’ might be inappropriate for the situation?”

  “It’s the only one in English they’ve got on the check-list. They’ve got it written down phonetically.”

  “They didn’t have any idea what it meant,” said PI Meng.

  I had more complaints to level at Ed, but Mair arrived just then with a tray of squid and a red glow. I knew she’d been tippling. She too received a standing ovation, to which she curtseyed, and half the squid dropped onto the table.

  “Is he still in there?” she asked, referring to our head in the box.

  “I didn’t see him leave,” said Grandad Jah, which was as near to a joke as we’d heard from him for a long time. He got a laugh from the heroes.

  “How about a toast to head,” I said. “If it wasn’t for him, a lot more of his brothers and sisters would probably be dead by now.”

  “To head,” said Sissi.

  “To head,” said everyone else.

  We downed our drinks and refilled our glasses just in time for the next standing ovation.

  “You all just go ahead and start without me” came a voice.

  We turned to see Bigman Beung dressed in a pure white naval dress uniform. We turned away from the glare.

  “Where’s your wife?” I asked.

  “Which one?” he replied. “I have so many of them, major and minor.”

  “What are you tonight, brother?” asked Ed.

  “British navy,” he boasted. “Gunner. First class. Found it in a locker when they gave tours around the Queen Elizabeth II before they turned her into a hotel. It’s a bit big, but it really gets the girls damp.”

  “Let’s give him a welcome before he says anything else inappropriate,” I said.

  We all stood and saluted the headman.

  “I have experience with British sailors,” said Mair.

  “Not now, girl,” said Grandad.

  “I’d like to hear it,” said Gaew, who hadn’t left my brother’s arm all evening.

  Again we were rescued by an arrival, this time of Captain Kow who’d been parking the headman’s truck for him. He looked dashing in a button-collar shirt and jeans with a leather belt.

  “Ah, a real hero,” said Waew.

  Grandad muttered something under his breath.

  We all stood.

  “Captain Kow,” I said. “I thank you. The head thanks you. We all thank you.”

  “Chaiyo,” we all said, which was much more rousing than “cheers.” We drank to the captain and retained our seats. All, that is, apart from Sissi, who remained standing. It occurred to me she hadn’t yet met our brave fisherman.

  “This is Captain Kow,” I told her. “He’s the one who followed the ferry out to the slavers and organized the karaoke attack. This is my brother, Somkiet,” I said. “Although most of us call him Sissi.”

  There was an odd, uncomfortable moment when Sissi just stood there, staring at the captain with an astounded expression on her face. The captain smiled, almost apologetically.

  “How are you, Dad?” Sissi said at last.

  “Fine, son. You?”

  Author’s Note

  Correct Lyrics for Chapter Headings

  1. Sleeping on the job

  2. Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping

  3. It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart

  4. I’m gonna shoot you right down, right off of your feet

  5. All my dreams fulfilled

  6. It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log

  7. I thought love was more or less a given thing

  8. Our love is like a ship on the ocean

  9. We rely on each other

  10. Something in the way she moves

  11. Give me my profits when you get home (Aretha Franklin version)

  12. I was feelin’ kinda seasick, but the crowd called out for more

  13. Sunshine, blue skies, please go away

  14. The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

  15. Old pirates, yes, they rob I

  16. Start spreading the news

  17. And all he left us was alone

  I’d like to claim I’d made up that whole story about the Burmese, but sadly, in a less bizarre form, it’s true. If you want to see what indignities our Burmese brothers and sisters face, take a look at this BBC article from 2011: www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-13189103. And things aren’t any better today.

  Acknowledgments

  With thanks to Tony, Quentin, Hans, Apple, Nok, Lizzie, Kay, Kye, Janet, David, Shona, C.G. Moore, Dad, Andrew, Rachel, Hannusia (and the faculty of Georgetown), and Bouy.

  But this book is dedicated to the lounge singers, cover bands, and karaoke exponents of Thailand who bravely attack English songs phonetically without suffering the inconvenience of meaning. It is from them that over the past twenty years I have assembled my catalog of mangled English lyrics, some of which I use in this tome with gratitude. If, like me, you are of a certain age and like to keep a check on the speedy advance of your dementia, I’ve put the correct lyrics for the chapter headings at the end of the book so you can test yourself.

  Also by Colin Cotterill

  Killed at the Whim of a Hat

  THE DR. SIRI SERIES

  The Coroner’s Lunch

  Thiry-Three Teeth

  Disco for the Departed

  Anarchy and Old Dogs

  Curse of the Pogo Stick

  The Merry Misogynist

  Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

  About the Author

  Colin Cotterill was born in London, has taught in Australia, the United States, and Japan, and lived for many years in Laos, where he worked for nongovernmental social service organizations. Now a full-time novelist who lives in southern Thailand, Cotterill is the author of Killed at the Whim of a Hat and the award-winning series featuring Dr. Siri, including The Coroner’s Lunch.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fi
ctitiously.

  GRANDAD, THERE’S A HEAD ON THE BEACH. Copyright © 2012 by Colin Cotterill. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

  Cover illustration by Hugh Syme

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Cotterill, Colin.

  Grandad, there’s a head on the beach : a Jimm Juree mystery / Colin Cotterill.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-312-56454-4 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-01482-5 (e-book)

  1. Women journalists—Thailand—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6053.O778G73 2012

  823'.914—dc23

  2012005482

  eISBN 9781250014825

  First published in Great Britain by Quercus

  First U.S. Edition: June 2012