For the Dead (29 page)

“But the browsing history can probably be unerased, right?” Rafferty says. “Miaow talks about how you can’t really erase much of anything.”

“Well, sure. I mean, what I did on the phone wouldn’t stand up to anyone who knew what he was doing. But I sent them to a, a—” He glances uneasily at his father, licks his lips, and plunges in. “A secret account. It doesn’t have my name connected with it anywhere.”

Nguyen says, “How many of these do you have?”

“Just
one
,” Andrew says with total, unblemished sincerity, wide eyes and everything.

“Why do you need one?”

“Everything you do online,” Andrew says, a bit hurriedly, “it’s like skywriting. Nothing is secret. I mean, confidential. Kids at
school
can get through most firewalls.”

“What’s the name on the account?” Rafferty asks, mostly to back Nguyen off.

“It’s, uh, [email protected].”

“Catlover,” Rafferty says. Andrew goes fire-engine red. “Bet I can guess the password.”

“You probably can,” Andrew says without moving his teeth at all.

“Well, let’s take a look.”

Andrew brings up Gmail. The password displays in asterisks on the screen as he types it, but Rafferty sees him hit the
M, I
and
A
keys before Andrew glances up and catches him. Andrew says, “Do you
mind
?”

Rafferty says, “I wouldn’t be a kid again for anything.”

Either Homer or Chinh says, “Me neither.”

Nguyen silences them with a glance, and all of them go back to watching Andrew. In about eight seconds he sits back and says, “There’s the download.”

“Only one?” Nguyen says. “I thought there were a lot of them.”

“I zipped it,” Andrew says. “I grabbed an online utility and zipped it. And it’s got a password of its own, so even if someone found it, they’d have to work to see what it is.”

Nguyen says, and he’s almost smiling, “What password?”

“Julie.” Andrew waits, but no one asks.

“After the character in
Small Town
,” Rafferty says.

Andrew mutters something that could just possibly be, “Shit.”

His father says, “Anh
Duong
.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew says. He sticks a thumb drive into a USB port and copies the zipped file.

“Here’s a thought,” Rafferty says, a bit ashamed of himself. “You’re our tech guy, and all your stuff just got pounded. How about we go buy you a new laptop? It was a Mac, right?”

Andrew’s head snaps around, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “I’ll need some image processing software.”

“You got it.”

“And a, uh, a new iPhone.”

“My pleasure.”

“Mr. Rafferty,” Nguyen says.

“It’s my daughter they went after. Anyway, the kid needs a phone.”

“Fifty-fifty,” Nguyen says. His eyes flick to Homer and Chinh, and then come back. “Since we seem to be a team.”

Rafferty says, “A team.”

Over him, Andrew says, “MBK Mall, you know, Mah Boon Krong. They’ve got competing shops.” He pulls out the thumb drive, clears the browser, and gets up. “Top of the line,” he says.

Rafferty says, “Of course. What else?”

“We can’t stay on the defensive,” Nguyen says. “That’s what they’re expecting.”

Rafferty says, “Great.” He extends his arm and sights down it. “Aim and ignite.”

T
HE DESK BETWEEN
Arthit and Thanom could be a mile wide and a mile deep. They regard each other across it like Korean soldiers on opposite sides of the thirty-eighth parallel. Coffee cools untouched in front of them.

Thanom moves things around on his desk until they satisfy him. “You called me,” he says.

“And I’m having second thoughts.” Arthit picks up his cup, blows on the coffee, and puts it down again. He sits back in his chair and regards Thanom for so long that the other man lowers his gaze. Arthit can smell his superior even over the scorch of the coffee, can see the wet cloth beneath his arms.

“This is unacceptable,” Thanom says. He blinks a couple of times, tantamount to a cry for help. “Just tell me what you found.”

Arthit tastes the coffee and glares at it. Putting it down again, he says, “We’ve reached a tipping point.” He uses the English expression.

Thanom shakes his head as though he’s being swarmed by gnats. “We’ve what? What’s a tipping point?”

“We both know,” Arthit says, “that this thing could bite us in half.”

Studying the surface of his desk, Thanom says, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course not.”

Thanom says, “Ah.”

“And you don’t trust me.”

“So,” Thanom says. “How do we start?”

“With a goal,” Arthit says. “What do you want out of this?”

“To handle the case properly,” Thanom says. “And to—to protect the department.”

Arthit says, “Right.” He looks at his wristwatch and pushes his chair back.

“I want to survive,” Thanom says, biting the words off.

Arthit says, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He picks up his coffee, starts to sip it, and puts it back down. He says, “Can you get your pet dragon to—”

“Taan,” Thanom says into his intercom, “get us a pot of fresh coffee and two clean cups.” He snaps off the intercom and sits back, hunching his shoulders practically up to his ears. He swivels his spine right and left and then says, “It’s me.”

Arthit says, “I thought it might be.”

“I’m the sacrifice. Here’s how dumb I was. They told me it was you, and I believed them.”

“Did you argue with them?”

Thanom shakes his head.

“Well,” Arthit says, “I was pretty sure it was you, and I didn’t worry about it much, either. They told you? They who?”

Thanom points at the ceiling and then says, “Higher.”

“Name.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Thanom says, “Once I tell you that, what have I got?”

“What did you have when I walked in?”

“A few … moves held in reserve.” He wipes his face with an open palm.

Arthit lets it pass. “So they told you it was me and now you know it’s you. So tell me the truth. Was it?”

“No.” The word hangs over the table as though it’s tethered there, and then Arthit nods.

“I believe you.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Thanom says, “why do you believe me?”

“You’re not that stupid. You might never be policeman of the year, but you’re not stupid.”

“The people involved in this are not stupid.”

“Up there?” Arthit points at the ceiling. “They can be as stupid as they want. They’re untouchable. How do you know you’re it?”

Thanom gazes at the center of Arthit’s chest for a moment, and then closes his eyes. “They’ve been building a bank account in my name. For years.” He opens his eyes, looks at Arthit, and blots his upper lip with his cuff. “Opened by someone in police uniform, using identification that said he was me. With deposits made by someone else in uniform with identification that said he was Sawat.”

“How much money?”

Thanom takes a deep breath and says, “At the moment, almost two million baht.”

“Starting when?”

“About ten years ago. When Sawat was active.”

“When did they stop?”

“Six months ago.”

Arthit says, “Two million. They were serious.”

“It feels serious to me,” Thanom says.

“How frequent were the deposits?”

“Months apart. Why?”

“How do you know it was two men?”

“How do I know
what
was two men?”

“The one who opened the account and the one who made the deposits. How do you know it wasn’t just one man?”

Thanom says, “Stands to reason.”

“Not really. Someone opens the account in, say, February. Then, in April or May, he comes back with new ID, gets in a different line, and makes a deposit. Or uses different branches for deposits and withdrawals.”

“But why—” He breaks off. “Right, I see. In the wrong hands, this—this information—is a gun to the head. If the relationship with the person who does the banking breaks down, the guy behind him is at his mercy.”

“Has to be someone he trusts.”

“Or owns.”

Arthit says, “Trusts
and
owns. Probably not many of those around, no matter who he is. He’d want to keep the number as small as possible. Whose name on the withdrawals?”

“ID in my name.”

The door opens and Taan comes in with a tray. “This is foolish of you,” she says, putting it down. “I’m going home.”

Reflexively, Thanom says, “Be careful.” He takes a cup off the tray and, after a second’s hesitation, politely hands it to Arthit and takes the second for himself. He waits until Taan closes the door. “She terrifies me,” he says.

“Do you think she’s a plant?”

Thanom says, “No more than yours is.”

“Something to think about.”

“I don’t need something else to think about.”

“So we’re in a situation,” Arthit says. He drinks about half of the coffee, which is scalding. “You know they’re after
you
, and I’m not sure they won’t come after me. They might just clean up the whole mess, get rid of all of us, put people in here whose memories don’t go back that far. Why don’t you tell me who it was who called you?”

Thanom says, “You first. Tell me what you found today.”

And, after a moment of reflection, Arthit does. It takes him the rest of the coffee in his cup and most of another one to tell it.

When he’s finished, Thanom looks past him at the wall. He says, “No such crimes?”

“None that might have involved Sawat.”

Thanom pushes the coffee away as though it’s offended him. “Let’s go get a drink.”

W
ITH
H
OMER
—
THE ONE
with the brow ridge—standing guard, it takes Rafferty less than twenty minutes to get them all packed up and ready to go. A medium suitcase for each of them, plus Rose’s pillow, which goes wherever she goes. He’s pulled the money out of everywhere he can remember stuffing it and repacked it into Murphy’s briefcase. Probing the depths of the couch for some stray hundreds, his fingers hit the remote.

Holding it up, he says to Rose, “This is the first place I’d look.”

“Shhhhh,” she says, with a glance toward Miaow’s room. “Put it back.”

An unmarked embassy SUV is waiting in the underground garage, with Chinh at the wheel and Andrew in the seat behind him, his face lighted from beneath by the glow of his new laptop’s screen, like a figure out of some Asian Toulouse-Lautrec. Miaow almost stumbles when she sees him, but then she marches forward, throws her bag in the back, and sits on the same long seat as Andrew, against the opposite wall. Neither child speaks. The SUV purrs quietly, and they’re whisked up the driveway to the street. Rafferty sits in front with Chinh; Miaow and Andrew occupy the middle seat, pasted to their respective windows; and Rose sits in solitary and queenly splendor in the back. Homer, when they last see him, is angling for a cab to the embassy.

As Chinh signals a left into the street, Andrew clears his throat and says to Miaow, “Hi.”

After a long four or five seconds, Miaow says, “Hi.” The car goes silent again.

Watching the darkened sidewalks through the tinted windows, Rafferty doesn’t see anything out of place, but he says to the driver, “Take us around the block. If the guy is here, I want to see his face. Miaow, crack your window so you can get a better look.”

“I can only see one side of the street,” Miaow says.

“Well, we’ll go around twice, and you can change sides.”

She lowers her window and says, to the street outside, “When I change sides, Andrew will have to move.”

Rafferty says, “He will,” and simultaneously Andrew says, “I will.”

Miaow says, to no one, “Okay.”

Rose says, in her calmest voice, “I hope the bed is nice.”

“Oh, Christ,” Rafferty says. “A bed. I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Rose asks.

“A bed. I have to make a stop between here and the embassy.” He says to the driver, “I’m sorry, Chinh. Let’s go around the block twice so we can look for friends we don’t want.”

Rose says, “A stop where?”

“Where Treasure is. I have to see Boo for a second.”

Andrew lowers his window, too, and Miaow says, “What are you doing?”

“Maybe it’s one of the guys who chased us,” Andrew says. “If it is—”

“You can’t see across the street,” Miaow says. “It’s like a kilometer wide and there’s the Skytrain and—”

“Having you look too is a wonderful idea, Andrew,” Rose says, aiming it at Miaow.

“But maybe she’s right,” Andrew says, immediately defensive. “I mean—I mean—”

“We know what you mean, Andrew,” Rafferty says. “You’re both right. Now let’s all shut up and look out the windows.”

Traffic is moving at the eternal Bangkok creep, and Rafferty figures both kids are getting a good look. It gets more difficult when they turn into the traffic on Silom and confront the packed sidewalk. Since Andrew can’t see the other side of the street, he slides over next to Miaow. Rafferty waits, but she accepts it.

They roll half of the block in silence. Twice, Miaow straightens and inhales sharply, but both times she sinks back, saying, “No.”

A moment later, Andrew, looking back, says, “
That
guy? Loose dark shirt?”

“No,” Miaow says, following his gaze. “I looked at him twice, too.”

After another fifteen or twenty meters, Andrew says, “I’m glad you got away from the one with the knife.”

Miaow doesn’t reply. As they near the first crossstreet, Chinh hits the turn indicator, but Andrew remains next to Miaow.

Rose says, “Are we going to eat something any time soon?”

“After we see Boo,” Rafferty says.

“I’m eating for two,” Rose says. “I’ve been waiting all day to say that.”

As they take the corner, Andrew says, “What does that mean?”

Miaow says, “She’s going to have a baby.”

“Oh,” Andrew says. Then he says, “Jeez.” At the same time, Miaow says, “
Slow down
,” and Andrew is thrown against the back of the front seat as Chinh brakes.

“That one,” Miaow says, pointing to a man in dark pants and a dark long-sleeved shirt who’s suddenly reversed direction to trot away, still walking, but putting some back into it.