The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (12 page)

Martin Gay cradled his friend’s head to his bosom. “I understand mate. I truly do.” He didn’t know for how long he continued to console his bereft friend. Finally the cries stopped. The droopy eyes signaled that Ben Post had drifted off to sleep. With a deep sigh, a sense of determination, and the knowledge that the gates of his captivity would soon fall, he too relaxed into slumber.

Butchered flesh has a heavy dank smell. It is said that the stench of a decomposed corpse is almost impossible to get rid of. It is as if the spirit of the body righteously clings to the spot of its demise. Pantrem and Power stood paralyzed by the sight which greeted them. The room was splattered with blood. The dark red liquid was so prevalent that they needed to carefully make their way across the room trying not to contaminate the evidence.

They came astride the dance floor. “The Mayor,” Declan choked.

Bangkok Man looked grimly on the horror. Tied in a tight embrace to one of the dancer’s poles were the ‘Mayor’ and his wife Mama Joy. Well their torsos were attached to the pole. On the stage floor were scattered their limbs. Next to those, staring bluntly at the dazed witnesses, were the decapitated heads of the victims. Each held a gaze of speechless terror.

As if on cue Declan and Phitak jerked their heads away in revulsion. The butcher’s axe however left no refuge from the depravity. Horror met them in every direction. Declan began to reign in his disheveled brain. It was time to cowboy up. Professionals need to thrive in times such as these. He steadied himself to approach this like a crime reporter. Inhale every detail and look for the why as well as the what.

Phithak Pantrem must have gone through the same mental process. He took out his notepad, adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and began to take notes. Declan spoke slowly into his recorder. He began to snap photos. Snap save snap save. He repeated the process without bothering to look at the photos. One glimpse was enough.

It then hit him. There were three farang, foreigners, seated around the stage. Their penises were inserted in their mouths sticking out like limp cigars. They had been escorted upstairs by three of the club’s hostesses. The ladies heads had been lopped off and put on the table in front of each man. Dinner served. Declan walked carefully up to the nearest table. The lady and her guest’s hands were entwined.

“How the hell was this pulled off,” Bangkok Man said trying to digest the atrocity which confronted him.

Declan was at a loss. He noticed that there were half empty glasses at each table. He picked one up and brought it to his nose.

“Don’t touch anything!” his fellow witness snapped.

“Poison,” Declan whispered.

Pantrem nodded. “It makes sense. Nobody seems to have made a run for it. But how did the culprit get everybody upstairs? Wouldn’t the pub staff downstairs have known something was amiss?”

“An after-hours party,” Declan answered absentmindedly.

The Chief joined them and looked grimly over the crime scene. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Somebody pays for a private party after hours.”

“Ok, what happens then?”

Declan looked at him oddly. The Chief knew well the festivities involved in an after-hours celebration.

“I mean here, in this establishment,” Pao clarified.  

Declan got his drift. Each club has their own particular way of satisfying a customer’s request. “The pub staff is let go and whoever is invited gets the run of the house.” Declan pointed to the desecrated corpses. “They were all invited to a party. The drinks and the girls were paid for and the ‘Mayor’ and Mama Joy attended to make sure things didn’t get too out of control.” Declan rubbed his chin and gave the matter further thought. “My guess is that the ‘Mayor’ didn’t trust the person who had paid for the party.”

“Why,” Pantrem questioned.

Declan walked over to the booth he had sat in the previous night. “This lady,” Declan tried to explain before finally succumbing to the totality of the carnage. A tear crept into his eye as he searched for a breath. He knew the lady only too well. Kiki was her name. She had been Declan’s first centerfold girl. They had been lovers many years back before he had fallen in love with Oum. More than that, they were friends. The sight of her decapitated head was too much. His world turned to white bringing him to his knees.

“Everybody down the stairs now,” Job commanded. Job eased Declan up and guided him down the stairs back to the pub.

Easing gently into a stool he took a grateful gulp of water. “Where was I? Oh yeah, Kiki has been, was, employed here for more than ten years. Stairway To Heaven was her home. To the ‘Mayor’ and Mama she was like a daughter. Kiki was family. And she was more than just a bargirl. She would help run the place acting as a mamasan second in command. The only instance where the ‘Mayor’ would chaperone a party like this is if he didn’t trust the customer. He wouldn’t put Kiki in harm’s way.”

A commotion erupted around the entrance. The forensic unit had finally arrived. The Chief quickly went over to the head crime scene investigator and apprised him of what lay in wait. Job hopped to his duty as well. Pantrem and Power were left to stare at each other numbly.

“So, you’ll run with this story then?”

Declan nodded. “You know it and I know it Pantrem. This is a story of a lifetime. And I’m a newspaper man climbing the ladder.” He walked behind the bar and produced a bottle of Hennessey. He poured two glasses.

“But what exactly is the story Power?”

Declan lit a smoke and slid the pack towards Pantrem. Bangkok Man looked at them suspiciously. “Shit, why not. I’m trying to quit.”

“Not the night for that. Even my lady took up a stick a few hours ago.”

They both inhaled deeply and slumped onto their stool. “I’m not sure what the story is Pithak. But something hit me as I walked in here tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“I took a look down Loi Kroh towards the Night Bazaar. It used to be that the pubs ran all the way down to the Bazaar and across Chang Klan Road towards the river. Not anymore.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“You are up here to put the screws to Thanat Jaisaen. The big wigs in Bangkok are beginning to take his Lan Na separatist rhetoric seriously. Hell you elite won’t even put up with a Prime Minister from the north.”

Bangkok Man took a drag from his cigarette and pushed his empty glass across the bar. “Me! An elite? Far from it pal. But some are getting nervous I’ll admit. Still, this has nothing do with the political unrest. I’m investigating a tax evasion scheme.”

Declan shrugged his shoulders and refilled their glasses. “His vision of a Lan Na renaissance does not include the likes of all this,” he asserted waving his arms around the seedy décor. “Jaisaen wants to portray Chiang Mai as a sea of virtue positioned against Bangkok’s river of filth.” 

“For all his flowery words he’s a gangster you know,” Pantrem spat.

Declan shrugged. “There are a lot of gangsters running around. Here, Bangkok, Boston, everywhere, people are trying to get fat.” He chugged down the last of the whiskey and lit another smoke. He looked at his watch, “Time to write a story.”

“You’ll use the photos?”

“That’s an editorial decision. But, knowing my boss the guess would be yes. Don’t worry though. You and the Chief will come off as heroes.”

“May help to save some lives, though it’ll kill business,” Pantrem shrugged.

Declan laughed. “The Lan Na King may well kill off the Loi Kroh red light district. But like any strong weed another Loi Kroh will sprout up and prosper.” He looked at the Chief who was busy filling out the necessary paperwork allowing the forensic specialists to proceed with their gruesome task. “Pao’s one of the good ones you know,” he stated staring Bangkok Man directly in the eye.

Pantrem shook his head. “Bangkok’s not after him. Keep me posted on what you dig up.”

“Does your phone have Line?”

“Good idea,” Pantrem said raising his i-phone in the air. Declan did likewise and they both shook their phones until the connection was made.

Connected, Declan slapped a big handshake on the out of town investigator and walked out into street. He didn’t trust Bangkok Man. But he sure as hell would use him. A hint of dawn had made its way down the disheveled corridor that was Loi Kroh. He lumbered his big tired frame towards Best Bar.

Chapter 4

The drugs were enforcing a powerful jolt to the body. “The wonders of modern medicine,” the future King Mengrai noted with awe. The doctor to supervise this procedure had been chosen as carefully as the regal name. The revived Lan Na Kingdom with Chiang Mai as its glimmering capitol needed to be presented as a shining jewel set in the foothills of the Himalayas. The Lan Na king also needed to be a pillar of vitality. A deep breath was taken. A satisfied smile followed. The body was getting stronger by the day and the mind remained resolute and focused.

The vigorous lord set a confident gaze over the mystical Suthep Mountain. Wat Doi Suthep, the Vatican of Lan Na Buddhism, bounced to life with the dawn gently caressing its golden stupas. It was an auspicious beginning to what would be a monumental day. 

The evening’s raid on the bordello had gone off as perfectly as one could expect. Like any good military leader, a political strategy lay behind the violence. The press would take the bait and the police would be left grasping at straws. A speech would be prepared. It would be a powerful call to the people of the north to take matters into their own hands and not be subject to the oppressive overlord to the south. Bangkok could barely run its own politics. How could it be expected to efficiently run matters in the north? A call for independence would echo throughout the mountains.

A rage began to mix with the potent brew coursing through the veins. For too long Thailand’s capitol city had tried to humiliate The Rose of the North. Duly elected Prime Ministers such as Thaksin Shinawat, a son of Chiang Mai, had been driven from office on trumped up charges of corruption. A fist came crashing down on the desk. No longer would this be tolerated. It was time for action. A deep breath brought on a sudden calm. Anger would not win the day. A smile returned. This brought on an even more powerful realization. Yes, it was ‘he’, he alone, who would return Lan Na to its rightful place amongst nations. The day would be won. And a new king would be crowned.

Declan was accosted by a group of frantic ladies of the night as he entered Best Bar. Fear was encasing the city in a powerful grip. Loi Kroh was ground zero. “Declan! Declan! Did they catch the crazy man?”

Declan was after a killer. He was also after a story. “You mean the Lan Na Ripper? No girls. The police have not cuffed anybody yet. The Ripper is still on the loose. But you’ll be safe here!” There was a bit of carnival barker to his act but he knew two things: The girls would set ‘Lan Na Ripper’ through the streets like wildfire. More importantly, the fear it would render would also be their best protection.

The chorus of shrieked fright enveloped the bar as he made his way to the back office where Oum would be doing her best to put things in order. He noted more than a few foreigners, and some familiar faces, hanging around the bar.

‘Shit, let me get my hands on that muck and that’ll be the end of this horror.’

‘Hell, I know how to use a blade. It’ll bloody right be the end of his days!’

Bravado was aplenty on a drunken early morning Declan thought with a smile. He was tempted to show them the photos of the fresh carnage. Then Oum would have to set to cleaning the floor. Better to leave them in their cups. But a story needs background so he put his elbow up to the bar. “Let me buy a round gentlemen.”

Naturally this was met with approval and they all hunkered closer around the bar like good punters and joined in the gossip of the day.

“Good on you Declan,” an elderly gentleman opened. “I’ve been in Chiang Mai for about twenty years now and I’ve never seen the likes of this.”

“It’s a terrible business it is,” another joined. “Declan, working on the story are we?”

Declan nodded silently as he finished filling the mugs. He set each beside a shot glass of Hennessy. With a hoist of his glass he cheered, “Lads.”

“John, I am indeed working on the story, but I likely know little more than you,” Declan answered hoping to get the tongues wagging.

“The street’s a changing, too many thugs roaming around. Used to be Loi Kroh was a civil place,” the old man continued. “You could come down for a pleasant night, good drink, good mates, and walk home with a frisky companion for the bed. Now, you’ll see a bust up almost every night.”

“Times may be a changing Jimmy, but the ladies are still pleasant!”

This drew a cheery agreement and the mugs were raised: “To the lovely ladies!”

Now was not the time for idle banter so Declan started to exit. Oum would be waiting. Before he got from behind the bar another gentleman saddled up to a stool.

“Having a party are we. A pint will do me fine barkeep,” he called to Declan.

Declan nodded and set him up with a shot and a beer. “On the house mate,” he said with a yawn.

“Cheers! We ran down here as soon as we got the news. My girl is a dancer at Stairway. She’s in a right mess she is.”

Declan’s ears perked up. “Were you there tonight?” he queried. Everyone turned their heads and craned their neck in anticipation of some fresh news.

“Just a few hours back. Hell I just got off the plane a few hours back. Came over to Stairway to pick up my girl, we’ve had a thing going for a year or so, takes care of me real good when I’m in town. Know what I mean?”

A chorus of mumbled “Yeah, yeah,” followed.

“All right then, well I only stayed for a drink and wanted to get over to me hotel with my lady.”

“So, you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” Declan pushed.

“Nah. There was one thing though. Two men were organizing a party upstairs. Free drinks and all that. Heck, there were only a few punters in the joint and a handful of girls left. But enough for a party I guess.”

“These guys, organizing a private party as you say, anything unusual about them?”

The man leaned back in his stool looked at Declan suspiciously. “You a cop? I’m not much for cops.”

“Declan, a cop! No mate,” Jimmy snorted jumping to Declan’s defense. “Declan is a newspaper man. He covers Loi Kroh and does right good by the girls he does,”

“Oh, sorry mate,” he said nodding towards Declan. “Me and cops never got on well you see.”

“Hell, I’m a reporter! You know the cops hate me,” Declan shrugged. Laughter spit up all around followed another chorus of “Cheers.” 

“About those guys organizing the private party,” he pursued.

“Yeah, about them. A pushy pair. And didn’t fit the cut of the suit, know what I mean?”

“How so?” Jimmy questioned.

“First of all, they were two Thai guys. Second, dressed to the nines they were. This was odd because they looked like dockworkers and bloody well seemed out of sorts in those thousand pound suits.”

Declan was making mental notes of what was being delivered to him. The beginning of the massacre was coming into focus. “You said pushy.”

“Sure. Like I said, I wanted to get back to my hotel. My girl wasn’t into some upstairs party as well. But these two blokes were practically blocking the exit. I was about ready to knock one right on his arse but then he steps aside, smiles, pats me on the shoulder, and off he goes to join the others filing up the stairs.”

The picture was complete in Declan’s mind. Two men had come in and made an offer too good to refuse. Free women and free booze for the men and money in the girls pocket. They weren’t eager for this guy and his lady to get away but, apparently, had no choice.

“Quite a story,” Declan said tapping the guy on his shoulder. “Where’s your girl?”

The man nodded towards Oum’s office.

“Ah, she’s with my lady then. Jimmy get your lazy arse back here on the stick and fill everybody up. The night’s on me.”

Death is like an octopus with toxic tentacles. It paralyzes everybody it touches. Declan had been brought to his knees only an hour before. The sight was not the culprit. Rather, the concept of death held the reaper’s scythe, the knowledge that another breath will never be breathed, another laugh laughed, another enchanting dream dreamt. So it was with pity that he encountered Oum gently cradling the sobbing young lady of the night.

He also realized that this was a reporter’s dream. A first-hand witness to the events right before things went down. Her grief would be his oracle.

Oum looked up. She motioned for Declan to sit down behind the office’s dilapidated wooden desk.

“Som,” Oum began, “This is my boyfriend. You know Declan. He work with police to catch the bad man who kill our friends.”

“Hi Declan,” Som said her sobs unabated.

“Som, can you tell me about the men who brought the party upstairs?”

“No. It only strange because they are Thai man. But sometime rich Thai man want to party in the farang or yipun (Japanese) style. I not go though.”

“I know, your boyfriend told me.” Declan had already received the main elements of the story. Now he sought any small observation a girl, especially a girl in the business, could provide. “Did anything seem odd about the men? I mean, other than that they were Thai.”

“No. Well, maybe one thing. I see the one man mobile phone.”

Declan retained a solemn grimace but inside smiled. The mobile phone was now a status symbol, the first sign that the man sitting at the bar had a fat atm. “What about the phone Som?”

“It was the old Nokia style. Can buy at market for two hundred baht. How he pay for big party when cannot buy the smart one phone? Sure I not look for that man. If cannot ‘selfie’ with me in pub then I not ‘selfie’ for him at hotel. But I not care. I have boyfriend take care of me.” She then buried her face in her hands allowing for a new wave of tears to flood out.

Declan leaned his elbows on the desk which teetered against the pressure. Deep in thought, he readjusted his position. A sharply dressed man was rolling with a poor man’s phone. The implication was telling. It confirmed his suspicion. Someone had bankrolled the massacre. The ‘why’ was still abstract but that too was coming further into focus. The murderous events of the past two nights were connected with the disappearance of Martin Gay. It was enough for him to go on. He stood up and went to kiss Oum on the cheek.

“I need to get to the office” he offered gently brushing away her tears.

“Go, go. I stay here but keep everything shut up.”

Declan squeezed her hand and was about to whisper ‘I love you.’

Som suddenly shouted “Boots.”

They both looked at her startled. Declan bent down. “What about the boots Som?”

“Both men had the shiny black boots.” She brought her hands to her temple as if to jog her memory. “How can I say? My boyfriend take me to Royal Palace in Bangkok. That is the boot! Not like soldier boot, but like Royal Palace guard boot.”

He looked up at Oum. “Boots,” they whispered in unison.

Declan stood up. “Shit,” he exclaimed. “This really is going straight to the top.” 

The halls of the Chiang Mai Chronicle were silent. Only the office of Peter Morgan showed any sign of life. “Where the hell was Power,” Morgan scowled into the black abyss as he made his way back to his office. The hot cup of coffee he was cradling steamed upward clouding his nostrils.

Something was afoot. Morgan could feel a story much like an amputee could feel a pain in a missing limb. Love him or hate him, Morgan fell into the latter camp, Power was his man on the street. And if they had a dysfunctional relationship the partnership worked. One thing could be said for the lump of Boston-Irish coal as well, he answered the phone. So why was he now in his office in the dark both literally and figuratively? What the hell was going down?

Finally his mobile jumped to life cutting through the dark silence. Morgan jumped. His coffee followed suit. “Where the fuck are you? And it better be good! You just made me dump my coffee.”

Declan smiled. Even something as simple as a spilled coffee over his boss’ desk brought joy. And the fact that he caused the mishap, well all the better. “It’s four o’clock in the morning and I’m on a goddamn story. I don’t have time to answer every call mom.”

Morgan let the snide comment slide. The coffee was forgotten. “It’s a big one! I knew it. I goddamn felt it in my bones! What the heck is going down?”

Declan had no time for chatter. He was heading to the office to punch out a story. The only thing Morgan could do was slow him down. Rather he disconnected the line and went to the photos he had snapped at Stairway To Heaven. The image of the ‘Mayor’s’ decapitated body with the head set at the table nearly made his knees buckle again. He took a deep breath of the chilly morning air. He pushed the send button on his phone ushering the grisly photo to Morgan’s office.

Power looked down the road to where the police were still milling around the scene of the crime. “Boots,” he muttered before roaring his chopper to life.

Morgan reacted quickly to the message signal from his computer. Power had sent an image. He hurriedly opened the file then watched in suspended horror as the gruesome photo took shape.

“Good lord! The humanity…”

“What’s the matter Peter?”

Morgan jumped out of his chair. He had thought he was alone in the office. He fumbled around to see Bartholomew Hartin. “Bart, I, well I thought I was alone.” Morgan tried to collect his bearings while Bart Hartin craned his neck to steal a glimpse of what was on the computer.