The warrant officer knew exactly what he should do. He had done it many times before. Once outside, he told the businessman: “Sia, there is a way this can be settled without any complexity. You and your driver don’t have to be locked up, spend the night in the cell and go to court tomorrow.” The officer’s voice was soft and soothing. Sia Preeda lowered the hand holding the mobile phone. The warrant officer did not wait for a response but proceeded with his advice: “The superintendent is a contestant in the annual departmental programme for police station development. But he is short of funds. With some voluntary donations, the station can be renovated, the lawn mowed, the flagstaff repainted. Besides, donation means public support. The superintendent will earn additional points in the contest and have a better chance of winning.”
“Wh-what about the accident case?” The businessman was not convinced.
“Take my word. All you have to do is go back to the superintendent and offer a sum—er, donation—and everything will be all right. You will be freed, although your driver will have to be charged. But the investigating officer will conclude it was the fault of the dead motorcyclist. He will recommend that the driver be released on bail, and the charge will be dropped. Believe me, it’s routine.”
“But there’s still the prosecutor.” Sia Preeda showed he knew some legal procedures. “He may disagree with the investigating officer. And what about the motorcyclist’s family?”
“The prosecutor will agree.” The warrant officer’s raised voice indicated he was annoyed. “As for your Mercedes, it is insured, right? First-class? Will the insurance company not handle the matter for you?”
“How much should I offer for the… er, donation?” Sia Preecha asked the expected question.
He was shocked when given the amount. “Fifty thousand baht! I think I’ll call my lawyer.”
“Go ahead.” The warrant officer’s soft and soothing tone was gone. “I’ll take you to the investigating officer. He will charge the driver and charge you as an accomplice in the accident case. You and your driver will be detained and denied bail. I don’t know what the lawyer’s fee is, but in a case like yours I presume it won’t be low.”
The warrant officer waited while Sia Preecha was pondering an alternative. He was certain of the businessman’s next sentence. And he was right, as always.
“Okay, but I don’t have enough cash. I’ll have to write a cheque.”
“No cheque.” It was an order. “The superintendent does not accept cheques, only cash. There are two ATMs in front of the station, next door to the 7-Eleven.”
Five minutes later, Sia Preeda was back in the superintendent’s cozy office. He found the Colonel sitting comfortably on the padded leather chair, intensely watching an ongoing football match between two famous British teams.
“I… I understand, sir, that you are in the process of developing this police station to win a contest,” Sia Preeda’s wavering voice reflected his total submission. “I would like to help by making a—er, donation.” The superintendent turned around in his swiveling chair, smilingly facing the businessman, and responded in a friendly tone. “I appreciate your kind interest in the police business. As you must have already known, the police serve the public. But our budgetary capability is very limited. So public support like yours is always welcomed. We will never forget your kindness.”
Half an hour later, Sia Preeda found himself out of the police station in his Mercedes with the bailed driver. Leaving the premises, he spotted the shining blue BMW parked in the roofed garage under a sign that read “Superintendent.” The businessman could now guess where his donation would be going.
The young police colonel eyed the white envelope he had just accepted from Sia Preeda. Yuddha knew that, according to the Criminal Code, he had just made another offence of willfully accepting a bribe. If caught and proven guilty, he might be sentenced to serve years in a state penitentiary. But the superintendent was not worried. Sia Preeda was a wealthy businessman. In his business his profit must be huge, incomparable to the Colonel’s meagre salaries. It was a fair game in which no one was hurt. Yuddha believed he deserved the 50,000 baht he had just squeezed from Sia Preeda.
He opened the envelope and took 5,000 from the stack. As a usual practice, the amount would go to the warrant officer—his broker—for another service rendered.
Yuddha opened his Samsonite briefcase and threw in the envelope. The 45,000 baht would join the millions in the safe at his house. He never trusted the bank, although he maintained a modest account there, in case someone investigated.
The warrant officer entered the office without knocking, pocketed his earnings, deposited some mail on the desk and left. Yuddha looked at his watch and saw that it was close to six o’clock in the evening—time for dinner. His dinner date was a young, extremely attractive and extremely rich lady. Yuddha had been steadily courting the girl for a year and seriously planning to marry her. The wealthy girl, though openly affectionate, had been evading his engagement proposals. Yuddha did not want to miss the dinner or keep her waiting.
He rose, but a posted envelope on the desk caught his attention. The crude handwriting on the envelope looked familiar. Then Yuddha saw the name of the sender and the return address and recognized them. Slowly he sat down, opened the envelope and read the short, simple letter.
“My dearest son Yuddha, “I have bad news. The doctor has just told me that I have a final stage cancer and don’t have long to live. As you know, you are my most beloved son. So after I die, I want you to handle all of my money and property, to make sure that you, your brother and your sister have fair shares. As you already know, as a farmer, I do not have much, but I hope what I give you will help you some. Please come to see me as soon as you can—before it is too late.
“Your loving father, “Samarn”
Yuddha felt as though he had been hit on the head with a mallet. He could not move. The superintendent stared at the letter and had a strange feeling that it was staring back at him, accusingly. Samarn was not his father. The superintendent’s parents had died in a road accident years before he finished high school. He had since been under the care of a poor uncle who lived from hand to mouth, with many mouths to feed, including Yuddha’s. The Police Officer Academy, for Yuddha, had been god-sent, as every cadet was given official status and pay that helped relieve his financial burden.
It was when Yuddha was in his second year at the Academy that he was sent, under a programme, to live like a stepson with a family in a rural province. The programme was designed for the cadet to familiarize himself with the rustic farmer’s life, and to demolish the traditional barrier that separates the police from the public. It was hoped that the experience would be imprinted on the cadet’s mind and memory so that, after his graduation and at the beginning of his police career, he would recall the hardship of his stepfamily and be understanding and sympathetic when serving the public.
Samarn’s family had been selected for Cadet Yuddha. The week of home stay had resulted in a strong bond between Yuddha the stepson and Samarn the stepfather and his family. Before Yuddha left the family to return to the Academy, Samarn gave his police stepson a bag of straw mushrooms as a going-away present. “Son,” Samarn had said, “you won’t be able to live on the low police pay. Grow the mushrooms and sell them. It will supplement your pay and enable you to maintain your integrity and be a good policeman.”
Samarn and his family were invited to witness the graduation ceremony. The man wept when he saw Yuddha kneeling down in front of the King, who presented Yuddha with a sword. The sword is symbolic but significant, as it marks the beginning of the long, hard road of police life.
After the graduation the bond between Yuddha and his stepfamily weakened and diminished. The ceremonial sword was kept in its scabbard, occasionally used together with white gloves when required.
Yuddha nearly jumped when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by the piercing sound of his cellular phone. It was the girl. The superintendent mumbled a weak excuse, telling his date he was tied up by an urgent, unexpected errand and would be with her shortly.
The young colonel was reaching for his briefcase when he was interrupted again by a voice. It was his very own voice. The words were familiar. It was a pledge uttered by all cadets in the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, following their admittance to the Academy. The voice came in loud and clear:
“I pledge to perform my duty with utmost integrity and honesty, to devote myself in serving the people, and to be a police officer with full moral and ethical principles;
“I pledge to enforce the law altruistically and justly, and not to be influenced by personal feeling, aversion, bias or gratuity in making my decision;
