“Ever see anyone with him?”
“He only came to the shop twice, once to collect the form, once to bring it back. He was alone both times.” The man hesitates. I encourage him with a nod. “I think I saw him once, though, walking down the street. He was hard to miss. He was with a woman.” I nod again. “Well, I mean, quite a woman. At first I thought she was African American like him, then I saw she had eyes like us, and her skin was more brown than black and her hair was basically straight, even though she’d frizzed it out a bit. Tall, much taller than most Thais, but not as tall as him of course. She came up to his shoulder.” The man grins. “I came up to his rib cage.”
“What was her hair like?”
“Dyed different colors, green, orange, you know? But well done, the two of them sauntering down the street was like a fashion show. She was incredibly sexy, like something out of a film. Everyone turned their heads, I think people wondered if two film stars had arrived from the United States. She looked like she was enjoying the attention.”
“And him?”
“I think he was a serious guy. He looked like a serious American, you know? She looked more frivolous. But as I say, I only saw them once, and from a distance, it might not even have been him. I think it was because there aren’t many like that in Krung Thep.”
This is my first real lead and I want to reward this man. I copy down Bradley’s address as it is written in Thai on the form and say: “Listen, sooner or later some agents from the FBI will come here asking to see this form and asking the kind of questions I just asked.”
“So?”
“They have no investigative powers here. You’re not obliged to tell them anything.”
“What d’you want me to do?”
I smile. “If I were you, I would let them bribe you.”
The man nods. The suggestion does not surprise him at all. “What would be a good price?”
I think about it. I am strongly in favor of redistribution of global wealth from West to East. “If I were you I might hold out for a thousand dollars.” He makes an instant calculation: forty-five thousand baht, not a fortune but a considerable windfall. He places his palms together near his forehead and wais. “Thank you, Detective.”
“You’re welcome. And if you ever see the woman again, you’ll let me know.”
Out on the street I suddenly feel faint. The meth has leached every nutrient from my blood, and I’m failing rapidly. My brain thuds with the rhythms from a nearby music store and I believe I’m going to vomit. The world is inclining by about thirty degrees by the time I find the narrow soi where Bradley’s apartment is supposed to be.
14
To my surprise, Bradley’s address is not an apartment but an old teak house on stilts. I kick my shoes off, climb the wooden staircase to the main door and examine a bellpull. It is old, brass-an antique curiosity, perhaps seventy or more years old. Underneath, a name also in brass: William Bradley.
I wait five minutes before pulling the bell again. I seem to hear the slap of bare feet on teak boards, but it’s hard to be sure because of distant traffic noise and the interminable thump-thump-thump from speakers on Koashan Road. I try once more. On the third pull I realize I’m being watched from an open window by a woman in her sixties with the fearful eyes of the incurably shy. I give her my best smile.
“Khun Bradley around?” She stares. “I’m a police officer.” I fish for my ID and flash it at her, aware that she is probably illiterate. She continues to stare so I try: “Mother, I have your wages for last week.”
A smile breaks out on her face: naÏve, country, joyful. A bright pink tongue and gums set off the pure ebony of a few remaining stumps. It seems the house even boasts an authentic grandmother with an authentic betel habit. She disappears and with surprising speed the front door opens. She is less than five feet tall with black hair drawn back in a ponytail which reaches the base of her spine; not a trace of gray. She wears a sarong and a cream-colored shirt, a gold chain with an oval in gold displaying a former king of Thailand. She presses her palms together and makes a deep wai. Now that she has decided to trust me she lets another smile reveal the untouched soul behind her eyes.
As I enter the house she leans over the stair rail and emits a stream of rich vermilion fluid which hits a specific target on the ground.
“Remind me, mother, how much do we pay you each week?”
“Four hundred and fifty baht.”
I pull a roll of notes out of my pocket. “Sorry to be so late.”
“Not late, today is payday.”
“When did you last see them?”
“Two days ago. But she came back sometime and took her things. It must have been yesterday, when I was with my daughter in Nakhon Sawan.”
“Yesterday was your day off?”
“Yes.”
“You sleep here?”
“Yes.”
I squat down in order not to tower above her. She immediately squats also, so as not to keep her eyes above mine. I take out the picture of Bradley. “This is Khun Bradley, no?” She nods her head vigorously. “I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of Madame Bradley. Do you?” She shakes her head. “Could you describe her?” The question only raises a moment’s doubt in her eyes; she has decided I’m a good man and a few strange questions will not shake her faith now.
“Tall, oh! Very tall. I never saw such a tall woman.”
“As tall as him?”
“As him? Nobody is as tall as him. He is a giant.”
“Who gave you your orders?”
“She.”
“Did she speak Thai like you and me?” The question confuses her. “She farang or not?”
“No, not farang. She’s Thai, speaks, talks, same as us. At first I thought she was African”-the woman makes a shape around her head indicating big hair, and raises her hand to show height-“but she’s Thai.”
“What did you call her?”
“Madame Bradley.”
Silly question. “Mother, I want to look around, okay?” She shrugs. How could she stop me? I cast an eye over a large downstairs room which takes up the whole of the first floor, with two teak pillars equidistant from the walls. The floor of long narrow boards is highly polished, even more so than is usual in these houses, and reflects light with a dull, antique glow. Brightly colored throw cushions and futons are scattered over the floor. The cushion covers are silk, in electric shades of green, orange and purple, contrasting well with the old wood of the walls and floor. Panels in the walls are picked out in gold leaf and midnight blue and there is a sunken teak table about ten feet long with a hidden well for legs and feet. The table is laid with a homespun blue cloth, rattan napkin holders with yellow homespun napkins, celadon plates and bowls, citronella candles in coconut shells.