I climbed into the Hummer and closed the door. It was already swelteringly hot even though the air-con had only been off for ten minutes or so. I switched on the engine. ‘Fairly serious, but I’m okay.’
‘You need anything, let me know,’ he said, and he sounded like he meant it. ‘I’m calling about the two numbers you wanted checking. It took my contact longer than usual.’
‘Better late than never,’ I said.
‘One of them was a DTAC number so that was a non-starter. The other was an AIS number but it’s been switched off for almost two weeks now and no calls have been made from it. But three days ago it was on long enough to send an SMS.’
‘Did the message by any chance say “I’m okay, don’t worry” and please don’t ask me if I’m psychic.’
‘That’s it exactly. The phone was on for less than two minutes.’
‘And please tell me that you have the phone’s location?’
‘Koh Samui,’ said Muller.
Interesting.
CHAPTER 44
Koh Samui used to be one of my favourite islands, and when Noy and I were first married we used to go down several times a year, just to watch the waves crash on the sand and eat seafood and breathe in the fresh air. It’s got what Bangkok hasn’t – white sandy beaches, coral reefs and coconut palms. But it’s become much more commercialised recently, with faceless hotels spoiling the coastline and foreign firms building overpriced villas with no infrastructure to support them. The fact that foreigners can’t own land in Thailand hasn’t stopped the villas selling, and now there are parts of the island where the only Thais you see are the maids and poolboys. It’s now the second-most popular tourist destination in the country, following Phuket, but it has become a violent place too, with foreigners getting raped and robbed on a regular basis and estate agents hiring hitmen to sort out contractual problems. The full moon parties have become world famous for drug-fuelled raves that go on for days at a time, with many a bemused foreigner being busted by undercover cops. It’s been at least five years since Noy and I visited and when I told her that I was going there to look for Jon Junior she told me to be careful and didn’t offer to come with me.
The easiest way to get to Koh Samui is by plane with a flight time of an hour, give or take. The island’s airport is cute, with thatched buildings and palm trees, and the customs check for those arriving on international flights is minimal to say the least. It’s the third-biggest island in Thailand, fifteen miles long and thirteen miles wide, and most of the hotels and huts are clustered around the beaches. John Muller had been able to identify the cellphone transmitter that Tukkata’s phone had logged on to when she’d switched it on, so I had a pretty good idea where to start looking. Mae nam, on the north side of the island.
Mae means mother and nam means water and together mae nam means river. There’s a seven kilometre beach with pure white sand, shielded by a line of coconut palms. Lots of small resorts and restaurants and bars catering for tourists. I caught the first flight from Bangkok and had a taxi drop me at the east end of the beach and figured that I could walk the full length in three hours, and if I had to I’d walk back. If I didn’t find them during the day then my plan was to book into one of the resorts for the night and to try again the following day.
I wandered into a restaurant called Mr Pu’s and showed a waitress Jon Junior’s photograph. She frowned and shook her head. I sat down and ordered a coffee and a bottle of water, figuring that I ought to get my fluid levels up before I started walking down a sun-drenched beach with temperatures in the mid-forties. I’d brought a New Orleans Saints baseball cap with me and some factor thirty sunblock because the Thai sun can be devastating to Western skin. I rubbed the sunblock over my face and hands as I waited for my coffee. A couple of Italian girls came in wearing string bikinis and I showed them the photograph but they both shook their heads.
I drank my coffee and half the bottle of water and then paid my bill and took the bottle outside. The sea was blue and the sky was cloudless and I could feel the hot sand through my shoes as I headed for the water. I walked along the wet sand, heading west. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, just about the hottest time of the day, but there were plenty of people lying on the beach, roasting like pigs on a spit as if they’d never heard of UV damage and skin cancer.
I’m with the Thais when it comes to sunbathing. They don’t do it, and most of the time they cover themselves up on the beach, and even swim in t-shirts and jeans.
Most of the girls on the beach were farang, so I didn’t have to get too close, and most of the men with Thai girls were in the forties or older, so again I could give them a wide berth. What I was looking for – a young American and a Thai student – was a rarity on Koh Samui.
An hour into my walk along the beach I’d already finished my bottle of water and I was heading for a bar to replenish my supply when my cellphone rang. It was Somsak. ‘What’s that I can hear?’ he asked.
‘The sea,’ I said.
‘Where are you?’
‘Koh Samui.’
‘Vacation?’
‘Work,’ I said. ‘I’m hoping that Jon Junior is here.’
‘Jon Junior?’
‘The missing Mormon.’
‘Good luck with that,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve got good news, bad news for you.’
I was hearing that a lot lately.
‘The good news is that the guy who shot you is pleading guilty.’
‘And the bad news?’
‘He’s not naming Big Red as the paymaster.’
‘What?’
‘Now he’s claiming that Big Red’s driver paid him to shoot you.’
‘Oh, come on…’ I stood looking out over the sea. On the horizon were four fishing boats, heading east.
‘I know, I know. But that’s what he’s saying.’
‘So he’ll plead guilty to what, attempted murder?’
‘Assault perhaps. He’s claiming that he didn’t intend to kill you.’
‘He shot me, Somsak.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t kill you. For which we are all grateful. I wouldn’t be anywhere near as understanding if you were dead, my friend.’
‘So assault, then. Ten years?’
‘Six if there was a trial, but it will be halved if he pleads guilty.’
Three years, then. For trying to kill me.
And with the king’s birthday coming up, maybe halved again.
Eighteen months.
‘And Big Red’s driver?’
‘Another guilty plea. He’ll admit that he paid the guy to shoot you but will say that it was just as a warning.’
‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘Two years?’
‘Hopefully,’ said Somsak.
‘And Big Red carries on as normal. Paying schoolgirls for sex and sending motorcycle assassins to deal with anyone who crosses him.’
‘Amazing Thailand,’ said Somsak.
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Sometimes life isn’t fair, is it?’
‘It isn’t,’ agreed Somsak. ‘We just have to deal with it as best we can. But we will do something about Big Red and the schoolgirls. Vice is watching him.’
‘Do you think they’ll make a case against him?’
‘Big Red isn’t as rich or well connected as he thinks. A lot of cops send their kids to that school and they’ll want something done. You know that things have a way of working out in Thailand. Just give it time.’
