While waiting, Yuddha recalled the incident that had led to the confrontation between him and Sia Preeda. The businessman had been involved in a car accident that resulted in the death of a motorcyclist. Such accidents are routine in Bangkok and no longer reported by the media. According to the crime scene investigator, the speeding motorcycle had crashed into Sia Preeda’s Mercedes. The businessman’s expensive car was heavily dented. The fault was obviously the dead motorcyclist’s. But technically, according to the Criminal Code, the driver of the Mercedes was to be arrested and charged for careless driving causing death.
Sia Preeda had accompanied his driver to the police station and requested bail for the unfortunate chauffeur. It was Friday afternoon. Unless the bail was quickly granted, the driver might have to spend the weekend in the police detention cell. The superintendent has the power to approve or deny bail. In this case the investigating officer had recommended that bail be granted.
For experienced but dishonest police officers, this was an ideal opportunity to make easy money. Yuddha flipped the pages of the investigator’s report, feigning reading. A few pages afterward, he looked up and told the businessman, “Looks like your driver was going a little fast.”
“Fast?” Sia Preeda and his driver were obviously shocked. “We were approaching a very busy intersection. The traffic was—”
“I am aware of the traffic condition.” The superintendent’s voice was raised and ice-cold. “It was congested, yes, but you were going beyond the speed limit, as the skid marks show. Incidentally, who was actually driving the car at the time of the accident?”
“Who?” Sia Preeda repeated the word in disbelief.
“What do you mean, who?”
“I was driving, sir,” the driver offered meekly.
“That remains to be seen,” the Colonel’s voice was offish. “In the meantime I am afraid we may have to hold both of you for additional questioning.”
“This is ridiculous!” the businessman nearly screamed. “I am going to call my lawyer.”
“After you have been charged,” the superintendent said in a toneless voice, “you may call anyone you like. But we have to seize your phone too. It’s an important piece of evidence.”
While Sia Preeda was speechlessly trying to control his temper, the young colonel pushed a button on his desk. The warrant officer entered the room, approached the desk and waited for the stern order.
“Book these two men as suspects in the accident case.”
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 Preeda 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 Preeda 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.