The women started to arrive in dribs and drabs with no sign of Gladys, Bob had been warned that she always tended to arrive late, since she didn't play bridge, though in Marjorie's eyes she just wanted to make an entrance. Linda arrived and nodded at Marjorie; they had briefly discussed the previous evening how they would deal with the situation. Marjorie had suggested that they should keep it within the women's group and that obviously Gladys could no longer be a member after she had been exposed. For Marjorie, humiliating Gladys in front of the BWBLS was ample reward. Marjorie had begun to slowly harden her words with Linda. "I don't care that she's taking our money, but she's stealing from the charities too. Those poor orphans. She's stealing from them." Linda agreed that it was simply disgusting.
Bob looked quite a sight, in a full linen suit with a Panama hat and black shoes, he struggled his way through the Bangkok Post, and then began to make something of a scene of himself as he tried to fold the large pages neatly so he could read. Occasionally he would surreptitiously peer over the top of the paper to check he had a clear view of the women and their money pot. Marjorie found the whole scene quite comical, and she wondered whether she really needed this guy. But she explained to Linda that it would help to have an independent confirm what she already knew, and Bob Lowe, she felt, would be easy to convince of what she already knew. The card game started with little drama, a few giggles and squeals. Bob knew nothing about bridge but it seemed every so often the women were making academic errors, based on their comments. Marjorie glanced at the door regularly and when she did she would catch the eye of Bob, who twice nodded at her. Hardly inconspicuous. Eventually Gladys arrived making her grand entrance and Marjorie leapt from her chair.
“Gladys, darling! How wonderful to see you.”
“Hello, Marjorie. Sorry I’m late.”
Gladys was always late, so it incensed Marjorie that she would make a false show of apologising. Marjorie grabbed her by the arm, delicately helping her to walk to the payment bowl. Bob put down his paper and was quite obviously carefully watching the scene. Linda Taylor was also glancing from her vantage point, playing bridge.
The two ladies chatted and Bob couldn’t hear what was being said from this distance. He tried to use his smartphone to zoom in, but it wasn’t much help. Marjorie and Gladys crowded over the bowl as Gladys removed her purse from her handbag.
“Blast, move, Marjorie!” Bob muttered to himself. He couldn’t get a clear view of the bowl as Marjorie and Gladys were both blocking his eye line. After some moments they turned back in Bob’s direction. Gladys put down her handbag and Marjorie returned to her bridge game. Bob was frustrated, but it was clearly the client’s fault. It wasn’t clear what was going on. A moment later his phone buzzed with a message from Marjorie, Did you see her stuff those notes quickly into her bag? Bob replied, Negative, view obscured.
He got up and walked through the women’s tables and, pretending he was just casually strolling through the hotel, he peered down at Gladys’s handbag which was placed on a spare chair and he could indeed see a few one thousand-baht notes at the top of the handbag. He took out his smartphone and while pretending to take a photo of the hotel lobby he quickly snapped a photo of the offending handbag.
He continued to walk through the lobby, while looking around with his hand on his chin at times. It was as if he had been asked to do a bad act of a private detective going undercover and pretending to not be looking at what he was obviously looking at.
Marjorie and Linda trotted after Bob and got into an animated conversation. “So, did you confirm she had the money?” Marjorie asked.
“It would appear that way, yes.” Bob showed the women the photo.
Linda squealed. “Oh, it’s too awful. Gladys, a thief.” They continued their conversation and Bob explained to them that for an investigator like him it was vitally important that he corroborated the evidence.
“Can you use this venue again next week? I’d like to have a repeat, to confirm.” Bob tried to convey an air of confidence. Linda and Marjorie agreed it was an excellent idea.
They BWBLS members returned to their game where most of the others hadn’t even noticed the two chatting with the strangely attired, but not quite dapper, British chap.
Bob sat down back in the same seat and carefully looked around the venue. Something wasn’t adding up for him. He made a few notes and this time formulated a clear plan of action. He was confident that he could bring this case to a conclusion the next time they met.
THIRTY ONE
“It’s margarita o’clock, Pat!” Bob slurped enthusiastically from the strawberry margarita that he had poured from the large jug, spilling some down the sides of the glass.
“When in Mexico, my dear!” Bob bizarrely winked at Pat as he said this, as if it had some deeper meaning.
“Delicious!” Pat wasn’t really one to enjoy the delights of alcoholic imbibing, but a fruity cocktail was an exception for her.
Pat explained to Bob that it was clear Nont was embarrassed, about losing his job, not being able to repair the truck and therefore not being able to drive his mum to her work pitch each day.
Pat was adamant that Bob’s business should be about helping people become better human beings, helping them to do the right thing, “put the world on a good path” as she like to state it.
“Zen Lowe… you may be on to something here, young Pat.” Lowe did his best ‘wistful Lowe’ act as he looked out around the Mexican restaurant.
“I will speak with Nont, tell him to ask Khun Daeng if he can hire the tuk-tuk each day.” Pat got straight to the point.
“Good Lord, Pat, no, no, no. If he does that, Daeng will know he is the tuk-tuk thief. You’ll cause quite a kerfuffle. Leave this to the professional.”
“He not say anything. I know men like Daeng.” Pat went on to express her thoughts to Bob. Of course, both men would know the truth, but it would remain unsaid and an outcome that was of mutual benefit could result, in the right way. On this occasion he chose not to argue and to listen intently. When it came to matters of Thai culture and foibles, at least he recognised Pat’s greater knowledge and expertise.
They thrashed out a plan. He would inform Daeng the case was closed, the tuk-tuk would no longer be stolen, but for reasons of confidentiality he could not explain how and why. His official recommendation was that this was not a matter for police involvement. Daeng would of course agree. He certainly could do without the hassle of officialdom. Or in the words of the Brit, “Trust the Lowe.”
For the next week or so the tuk-tuk should remain, ‘unstolen’ to prove the case was solved, then Nont could approach Daeng about borrowing the tuk-tuk.
“It’s a superb plan, Pat, but there is one small detail. This is why you are merely my assistant and not a PI, my dear. What pray will Nont do for the next week?” Bob sat back, arms folded as if he were some sort of smug savant.
Pat smiled. “What you doing at five tomorrow morning, Bob?”
And so it was that at five the following morning Pat, Bob and Nont, each with four or five big plastic bags full of pork, shuffled their way down the soi to Nont’s mother’s pitch. The sweat began to pour down Bob’s face and with his hands weighed down by fried pork he could do nothing to stop the sweat dripping into his eyes. It reminded him of a horrendous incident in Lampang one year. Bob had visited during the hottest time of the year. “Up to the cooler northern climes,” he had informed friends, neglecting to realise that those cooler northern areas were much hotter in the summer months! In the height of the daytime sun, with the thermometer comfortably exceeding forty degrees he’d stumbled around with bags of heavy shopping. His sweat was so salty that he’d felt a stinging in his eyes affecting his vision and having avoided a couple of cars he’d collided with a, fortunately slow moving, motorbike. His bag of fruit had flown across the road, dragon fruit, pomelo, and mangoes creating a Lowe fruit cocktail in the middle of a busy Lampang intersection. Momentarily, Lowe had been relieved as he the
n had a spare hand to wipe his brow, before it dawned on him that he’d lost a few hundred baht’s worth of fruit. The next day he invested in a 1980s Bjorn Borg style headband.
“I’ll Borg it up tomorrow, Pat,” Bob cheerily stated. This was one nonsensical comment that Pat chose to ignore, she had no idea what he was talking about but didn’t feel she needed to know.
THIRTY TWO
Bob had been binge reading and binge watching any detective books and TV series he could. Documentaries, fiction, even some of the more comic-satire variety. He was learning his trade slowly but surely and it was certainly noticeable that he was becoming more perceptive. Bob was aware of it himself, picking up on signs and signals. He kept being uncannily right about little things. It was unnerving. This was indeed 'New Lowe'. What next he pondered? Should he get himself a slick designer suit? Shades?
"Easy, Lowe." He grimaced, as he realised he was letting his mind wander and things could be in danger of getting out of hand. He was certain he had picked up on some strange things at ‘The Lumpini’ during the ladies bridge session and he was convinced he was right. He had discussed with Marjorie the need to repeat the same the following week.
"If you want me to apprehend this Gladys chap, we need to do a controlled experiment. Let's just say I am on to the old girl," Lowe confidently informed Marjorie Dubshott.
“Chap or chapess? Can one say chapess? Can a woman be a chap? If not, why?” Marjorie decided to ignore this nugget of Lowe-speak.
Marjorie phoned her dear friend John Albertson.
"Hello, Marjorie, got a scoop for me?" Albertson asked with a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Oh, John, don't be so vulgar! You know very well I would never want to embarrass Gladys. She is a Bangkok legend after all." Marjorie got her sarcastic tone perfect, a lifetime of experience.
"Of course, of course, what was I thinking."
"Anyway, John. We will be having our weekly BWBLS meeting this Thursday at the Lumpini."
"I see, so you mean..." John began to speak in a more serious tone before Marjorie cut him off.
"I mean nothing, just chatting you know. Anyway toodle pip, must dash. We must do lunch sometime."
Lowe donned the same attire he had done on the previous week's visit to the Lumpini and sat in the exact same spot. Marjorie had set things up as she had the previous week, with the money pot in the same location. Bob surveyed the scene. "Hmmm, just as I suspected." He sent a couple of text messages and got ready to solve this case.
"Judgement day!" he declared, to the bemusement of the couple sat on the table next to him.
"Apologies, just thinking out loud." He felt the need to try and explain, but the couple ignored him and carried on chatting.
Just as on the previous week the bridge players began playing bridge before Gladys had arrived, and she made her entrance at about ten thirty, half an hour into the game. The identical routine played out, confirming Bob's suspicions.
Marjorie returned to her game. Confirm the money is in the bag, and then we will have to expose her, tactfully, she texted Bob.
Bob looked up and nodded to Marjorie, before replying, I have everything I need. Case solved. Lowe does it again. He noticed Marjorie chuckle when she read the message.
Marjorie replied, We need to expose her, please take a photo of the bag this minute.
Bob ignored the text and sat patiently.
Marjorie began to grow frustrated. DO NOT be so impertinent, I AM NOT paying you to sit and sip coffee. Take a photo of the money in the top of the bag NOW!
Again Bob glanced at the text and chose to ignore it. She made an elementary mistake in the card game, costing her crucial points and kept looking up at Bob Lowe, who kept on pretending he hadn't noticed.
She got up and walked over to pour herself a coffee. "AAAAHHH!" she screamed loudly, everyone turning to look at her.
"Gladys! How could you!? Ladies, we have a thief in our midst. Gladys has been stealing from the money. I’ve suspected for weeks and today I saw her." Marjorie sounded distressed.
Gladys looked up. "Have you taken leave of your senses, Marjorie? Someone get her a glass of water." Gladys was genuinely slightly concerned for Marjorie after this strange outburst.
"Don't play the innocent with me. How do you explain four thousand baht sitting at the top of your bag, with a little red dot in the corner of each? Caught you red-handed!" Marjorie had taken on a more acidic tone.
Gladys just looked utterly bemused. The women were all shocked. Marjorie took the opportunity to pounce. "Yes, you play this perfect role, but you've never fooled me. All this nonsense, all on the back of your husband – who is a crook by the way. You are nothing, Gladys, and now I move to throw you out of the BWBLS in utter shame."
John Albertson was watching with incredulous excitement and furiously taking notes. A more modern journalist would have been filming for a YouTube video, but John chose to take notes in shorthand.
At that moment, Bob stood and walked towards Marjorie.
"Ah, thanks, Bob. This is a private detective who I, with great regret I might add, had to employ to catch this disgusting thief. Bob, please confirm what you have witnessed." Marjorie waved her arm to signify the floor was now Bob's.
"Marjorie, I think perhaps we should go somewhere quiet." Bob was trying to be sympathetic.
"Too late for that, Bob. We have all seen what has happened. Can you confirm these thousand-baht-notes are from the Bangkok Women's pot?" Marjorie was indignant.
"Confirmed, Marjorie..."
There was an audible gasp from the women.
"Confirmed. Did you hear that, ladies? Gladys Suprawongse is a nasty thief." Marjorie had some spittle forming in the edge of her mouth as she spoke.
Bob tried again to take a compassionate approach. "I really think we should sort this out in private, Marjorie."
Marjorie turned her vitriol on Bob. "Oh, you pathetic man. I have paid you handsomely to do a job now do as I have told you! How dare you try to tell me what to do. Impertinence. Tell these women what has been going on!" she screamed.
"Very well. Ladies, I am indeed Bob Lowe. Bangkok’s finest farang investigator, in my opinion. Of course I can’t claim for any independent verification of said fact, as of yet.”
“Oh, for the love of God will you just get on with it.”
“I have indeed seen that cash from the money pot is now in the bag of Gladys Suprawongse and I am afraid I did notice the very same last week."
"Oh for goodness sake, what on earth is all this." Gladys had barely spoken but she really was getting curious and now slightly irritated by this ridiculous chain of events.
Bob nodded his head towards Gladys. "Khunying Gladys, I am sorry to have to involve you..."
"Sorry?!" Marjorie yelled. "She's a common thief. We should call the police, frankly."
"Marjorie, that won't be necessary. Yes I am indeed sorry, Gladys, as you are entirely innocent of any wrong doing," Bob said confidently.
"Oh for pity’s sake, Bob, you have just confirmed the ugly truth. What are you saying? She didn't know what she was doing? The old cow ain't senile yet!" Marjorie laughed an aggressive and evil laugh.
"I am saying no such thing. Khun Daeng, please come here." Bob waved to Khun Daeng who was sitting quietly at the other side of the lobby.
"I am saying Gladys had no idea what you were doing, Marjorie Dubshott." Bob gave her a smug grin.
"I believe my trusted colleague, Khun Daeng has caught the whole episode on video. I thought it odd last week, Marjorie, that you deliberately blocked my line of sight. Trying to outfox the Lowe may be a bold move but it ultimately ends in failure, as indeed it would for anyone else. I am to Bangkok what Hercule Poirot was to, well wherever Poirot was from. Was it Belgium?"
He held the smartphone that Daeng handed to him and played a video; it clearly showed with great clarity that as Marjorie went to greet Gladys and help her to the money pot she then surreptitiously placed a handful of notes
into the top of her handbag.
"That, madam, is what we call ‘bang to rights’. Underestimate The Lowe at your peril."
Marjorie sat down, speechless. Speechless and shell-shocked. The women gathered around Gladys who was looking equally bewildered.
Linda Foxsmith-Taylor stood up. "I hereby call an emergency vote of the BWBLS. All those in favour of Marjorie Dubshott's lifetime ban from the BWBLS please raise your hand and say aye'"
All the hands went up, with the exception of Gladys who was too upset.
Bob raised his hand enthusiastically, before realising that he wasn’t entitled to and apologetically put it back down.
"Let the record show that, as of now, Marjorie Dubshott is persona non grata. Please leave the BWBLS."
Gladys spoke. "All those in favour of Linda Foxsmith-Taylor's immediate election as acting chair of the BWBLS please raise your hand and say aye."
The same was repeated; this time Gladys raised her hand and an embarrassed Bob apologised again for his previous attempt to vote “Electoral fraud? Not on The Lowe’s watch. Marjorie stood and walked out in floods of tears.
John Albertson frantically scribbled in his notebook and strolled over to Bob. "We must meet for a glass of wine and a chat about your work."
The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tuk-Tuk Page 14