Sonchai Jitpleecheep - 03 - Bangkok Haunts by John Burdett

Author:John Burdett
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781400097067
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 2008-06-10T06:57:32+00:00

20

“A body fitting the description you gave last night arrived at the morgue at six this morning,” Dr. Supatra says. She has called while I’m getting dressed. Chanya is at the wat begging the Buddha to overlook her former profession and provide a healthy, happy, and above all lucky baby.

“Who brought it?”

“Detective Inspector Kurakit.”

“Where did he say the body was found?”

“At an apartment rented by the deceased.”

“You were not invited to investigate the scene?”

“No.”

“Thanks,” I say, and close the phone.

I call Manny, Vikorn’s secretary, to ask her to put me through to the boss. I can tell by her tone that she’s been primed already. “He’s out at a meeting.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He’s very busy, Detective. I’m not sure he’s got time for you today.”

“I want to know why I’m not on the new murder case that came in this morning.”

“Do you want me to ask him for you?”

“No. He’ll say it’s because I have my hands full already. I want to speak to him.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

No call comes, of course. Our protocol is of such rigidity that he might as well have taken a trip to the moon—there is no way of getting to him if he doesn’t want to see me. I guess I’ll have to try to deal with Kurakit. It would have to be him, of course.

We don’t hate each other, for the simple reason that to hate another person you have to understand them on some level. Kurakit is as baffled by me as I am by him. From his point of view, I’m an idiot who should never have been recruited in the first place. A devout Buddhist and a former soldier, to Kurakit and millions like him, life is very simple: find a billet, identify the boss, do whatever he tells you to do, and accept the promotions that follow. To him, my complicated psychology is a sure sign of insanity. He has, of course, been warned that I might call.

“How are you?” I ask with as much bonhomie as I can muster.

Suspiciously: “Okay.”

“I hear a new case came in early this morning.”

“Who told you?”

“Is it a secret?”

“It’s my case. Colonel Vikorn called me at home at four o’clock this morning. You’re too busy to deal with it.”

“I’m not trying to steal it from you. It might be connected to something I’m working on—maybe we should brainstorm together.”

“Brain what? What are you talking about? It’s not connected to anything you’re working on.”

“How do you know?”

“Vikorn said so. He said if you called, I was to tell you it’s not connected.”

“Did he tell you who did it?”

“No.”

“But he told you who didn’t do it?”

“Maybe.”

“Did he tell you a certain senior banker named Tanakan had nothing to do with it?”

“Yes. No. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

He hangs up. I call again. “At least let me have the address where the body was found.”

“No. I’m not allowed to.”

This time I hang up. I call Dr. Supatra instead to ask her for the address on the admission form that Kurakit must have completed.

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