‘Take off your shoes.’
I sighed and did as I was told. Lek and Tam took theirs off, too, and we lined them up by the door.
The room was in near darkness, the only light coming from a small bulb mounted in what looked as if it had once been the axle of a buffalo cart. There was a man sitting in a teak planter’s chair. He was wearing dark clothing and had set the light up so that he was sitting in shadow.
Tam pointed at a wicker sofa and motioned for me to sit down. I did as I was told and looked around the room. There were two doors leading off to the left, both closed, and one to the right that was open and through which I could see a kitchen. An open stairway of thick teak planks led to the upper floor.
‘You are Bob Turtledove,’ said the man, in accented English. It was a statement rather than a question.
‘If I’m not, you’ve all been wasting your time,’ I answered. I was pretty sure that if they were going to do anything nasty to me they’d already have done it. The man wanted to talk, which was fine by me.
Lek tapped the gun against my leg as if he wanted to remind me that he was still holding it.
‘Please don’t try my patience,’ said the man, again in English.
‘Yes, I’m Bob Turtledove,’ I said in Thai. ‘Who are you?’
I wanted him to speak in Thai because then I’d have a pretty good idea of where he came from.
‘You’re not here to ask questions,’ he said. I couldn’t make out his face but he was tall for a Thai and had stretched out his long legs. ‘You went to see Marsh in hospital. Why?’
‘What business is that of yours?’ I asked, again in Thai.
Lek put the barrel of the gun against my forehead. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. I’ve never been happy at people pointing guns at me, especially loaded ones with the hammer cocked. I didn’t think that Lek intended to shoot me but his finger was on the trigger and guns sometimes went off unintentionally.
I knew that from experience.
‘No one will hear the gunshot, except for us,’ said the man, still in English. ‘And anyone who does hear will not care. Why did you go to see Marsh in the Bumrungrad?’
‘I’m looking for an American boy who has gone missing,’ I said. ‘His parents are worried. They thought that he might have been in the nightclub when it burned down.’ I switched to the Isarn dialect, which is close to Thai but has a lot in common with the language of neighbouring Laos.
The man settled back in his chair and I could feel him staring at me, trying to work out if I was telling the truth or not.
‘What is his name?’ asked the man, this time speaking in Isarn. ‘This missing boy?’
‘Jon Clare,’ I said.
‘And that is all you wanted from Marsh?’
I nodded. His accent sounded as if he was from the north of Isarn. Udon Thani, maybe. Which meant that it was probably Thongchai, Lek and Tam’s boss who had disappeared after the fire.
‘And why did you go to the kickboxing gym?’
‘Same reason.’
The man crossed his legs slowly. ‘You were at the Kube with the police.’
‘I was there when the police were there, yes.’
‘And you spoke to the Public Prosecutor.’
‘Khun Jintana. Yes.’
‘Did you think that Public Prosecutor might know where the boy is?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘So what did you talk about?’
‘I was just there to see the club,’ I said.
‘And it was a coincidence that one of the investigating officers and the Public Prosecutor were there?’
‘I went there to see a friend of mine who’s in the police,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see that that’s any business of yours.’ I leaned forward. ‘What are you so scared of, Khun Thongchai?’
He stiffened. ‘How do you know me?’ he asked.
‘You owned the Kube and these two work for you,’ I said. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re here and not in Udon Thani.’
‘Because the police are looking for me and Udon Thani is the first place they’ll look,’ he said.
‘So you’re hiding?’ I said.
‘I’m not scared of the police,’ he said. He reached over and flicked a switch on the wall and the room was flooded with light. The walls, floor and vaulted ceiling were all made of polished teak and two wooden-bladed fans slowly stirred the air above our heads.
Thongchai was tall and thin, wearing a dark blue Mao jacket ands baggy pants. There was a gold watch on one wrist and a thick gold chain on the other, and five Buddha amulets were hanging from a heavy chain around his neck. Thais wear amulets for a whole host of reasons. Some are passed down from father to son, others are gifts from nearest and dearest, some are worn as good-luck symbols, some for protection.
Protection?
That’s right. There are amulets that are supposed to protect against bullets, others that are proof against poison, or car crashes. I couldn’t get a good look at the ones hanging around Thongchai’s neck but I would have bet my last dollar they were amulets that offered protection of one form or another.
He took off his dark glasses and stared at me with cold eyes. ‘Who told you about me?’ he asked.
‘You’re not an official secret,’ I said. ‘The police know that you are one of the owners.’
‘And you talked to Marsh about me?’
‘Your name come up.’
‘And you went to see Lek and Tam to find out where I was?’
I shook my head. ‘I already told you, I was looking for Jon Clare.’
‘You have a picture?’
I nodded and reached into my jacket. Lek pushed the gun against my neck and I slowly took out the photograph and gave it to him. Lek passed it to Thongchai.
‘You think he was in the club the night of the fire?’ said Thongchai as he studied the photograph.
‘It’s possible, but your men don’t remember him.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Thongchai, passing the picture back to Lek. ‘I think you can assume that he wasn’t there. One of us would have seen him.’
Lek gave me the picture and I put it back in my pocket.
‘You know that Marsh is dead?’ I said.
‘You think I killed him?’
‘The thought had entered my head, yes,’ I said.
‘And why would you think that?’ asked Thongchai.
‘Marsh thought that he was going to be blamed for the fire.’
‘It was the band that set off the fireworks,’ said Thongchai. ‘That was what started the blaze.’
‘Marsh said that the club was overcrowded and the fire exits were blocked. He seemed to think that he’d get the blame.’
‘He’s a farang,’ said Thongchai. ‘They will want the head of a Thai for this.’
‘You ordered the exits to be locked?’
Thongchai shook his head. ‘No. I said it was a bad idea, I said it was illegal and dangerous, but I was overruled.’
‘But you’re the owner.’
‘I own ten per cent and I have to work like a dog,’ said Thongchai. ‘The other investors put in most of the money but they don’t lift a finger.’
‘But you run the place, right?’
‘Marsh was the manager but I was there every night. The exits kept being opened from the inside. One guy would pay to go in, then he’d open the door and let in his friends. It happened a lot.’
‘So you had the doors locked?’
‘No, I told the other owners that we needed more security, a static guard stationed at each fire exit. I’d already brought the men in but I was told to let them go and to lock the doors instead.’
‘Told by who?’
