The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (6 page)

His executioners then paused. A bottle of wine was produced. Ben looked on as the happy couple began to undress. Laughter filled the air as the blood flowed from his body seeping the life out of him. Curiously, a pang of jealousy registered. He couldn’t watch Rose being handled by another. He forced his head to look away. He fixated on one of the ancient mountain tunnels that once allowed the monks of the past passage. It was gated. He was on the other side of Wat U-Mong. Ben Post thought of Declan Power. Why hadn’t he listened to his friend’s advice? Rose’s cries of lust disturbed his thoughts. All he wanted were comforting thoughts to guide him to his death. But even here, she continued to taunt him.

Almost two years ago Declan had met the two drunken thugs who now sat across from him. At that time they had recently arrived in Chiang Mai and were flush with optimism. The younger one, Mick, was a talker. It was here where Declan first caught wind on Martin Gay’s TEFL center scam. The con was simple. A prospective student would pay Martin, the director of the Lan Na Language Center at Mengrai University, for a TEFL course. What they were paying for, essentially. was a year’s vacation. They would receive an educational visa and told to return in a couple of month’s to pick up their certificate. The plan was gold. Each course had room for thirty students. Martin was able to place eighty to one hundred ‘students’ for each course.

Naturally, Martin told his ‘phantom’ students to keep mum. Mick didn’t get the memo. After one night of drunken revelry Declan had been able to ply the whole scheme out of him and his equally verbose friend.

From there, Declan went to work. In a few short months he had penned an expose which brought down the whole deck of cards. Declan Power had made a name for himself. He had also made enemies.

“Shite mate, we almost got tossed from the country. Fuck all if I want to go back to Ireland,” Mick said as he poured down another shot.

Declan nodded gravely. The Chiang Mai Immigration office acted swiftly after the story broke. All visas issued under the program were revoked. Many a student was whisked out of the country lighter in the pocket and without any teaching certificate.

“Say what you want about Martin Gay, but he worked things out for us,” Oscar blurted.

“How’s that,” Declan inquired.

“He set us up with a job first at CEC language school. Then he got our money back to us. After he opened World TEFL Center he gave us a fifty percent discount in their first course. I got me a right proper certificate I do,” he slurred with about as much pride as he could muster.

Declan was on the right track. They were talking. Perhaps they had nothing to offer. But talking usually led to something. “When was the last time you saw Marty?”

“Four or five nights back mate. Marty came over with a bottle of Hennessey, we got right blasted we did.”

Declan made a mental note that Martin Gay had fallen off the wagon. It happened to Marty when the stress got too high. “So what, just a couple of friends getting lit,” he laughed trying to keep the conversation light.

“Yeah, but then he stumbled off with a bird.”

Oscar was also famously loquacious when he was on the bottle. He poured the two another shot. “What were you guys talking about?” Details of drunken conversations could be difficult to recall. But he wanted them to focus as any details, however small, could prove valuable.

“Oh man,” Oscar shrugged emptying his glass, “I don’t remember what I had for lunch.”

“Marty said he had one last big score to settle and then he was back to Oz,” Mick offered. “He had sent a lot of money back to his sister and they were going to open a travel business.”

Declan smiled to himself. This fit in with what he had gathered from the ‘Mayor’ and Marty’s wife. Marty was tying up loose ends and making a run for it. “Ok, so Martin gets himself all lathered up and then walks away with one of these hookers. Not a bad bon voyage ‘eh boys.”

“Fuck no!” Oscar chimed back in. “Hell, Martin Gay flew first class. A real looker came in here and sat right down beside him. She was no hooker mate. They got all cozy for a bit and then left.”

Declan waved over Kiw to update his tab. He placed a hundred baht tip into the mammoth bouncer’s hand. There wasn’t much more to wrangle out of Mick and Oscar so they parted ways. Still, it was productive. He was able to place his subject further down on the timeline. Martin had left with some society broad. Perhaps Ben would have knowledge of that. He included that along with the other bits of information he was able to gather that evening into his i-phone.

The mobile then began to light up. It was Pao. Declan sighed. It was late and a call from the Chief at this hour meant one thing. This was a double edged sword. He’d be fatter by ten thousand baht, but he wouldn’t get back to his girl until four or five in the morning. Business was business.

“Yeah Chief.”

“Dek, you need come now. Not station, come Three Kings Monument. Big trouble. Come fast!”

The Three King’s Monument is set directly in the middle of Chiang Mai’s Old Town. It is majestic, a testament to the ancient splendor of the Lan Na Empire. Beside it sits the Lan Na historical museum. Here too a tourist could see the multitude of artifacts which identified an artistically and socially advanced civilization. The Square which houses both the monument and the museum also serves as the center of the nascent Lan Na Renaissance.

Driving up Thapae Road, the main thoroughfare in the bustling Old Town district, a sense of foreboding began to overtake Declan Power. This was not about shaking down some wayward farang. The usually jovial Chief sounded tense. The tone of his voice betrayed a sense of nervousness, panic even, that Declan had never observed before.

He thought of the events that had put him on the trail of Martin Gay. It all began, he realized, over a year ago with his uncovering of the scam being run out of the Lan Na Language Center at King Mengrai University. Now he was being summoned to the center of Lan Na Culture, to the monument immortalizing King Mengrai, the founder of the Lan Na Civilization. His sixth sense, that indefinable voice in the head that every successful newspaper man should have, told him what awaited him was intricately entwined in the search for Martin.

His heart began to pound. A dog jumped from an alley giving him a further start. The roads were deserted, except for the alley dogs which eyed him hungrily. Up ahead he could see a beehive of activity. He came to a police barrier.

“No come through,” a uniformed officer casually said with a yawn.

“Chief Pao told me to meet him here,” Power replied.

The officer yawned in reply and walked away with an uninterested wave. Declan reached for his phone.

“Dek, Dek,” a friendly voice called. He looked up. Lieutenant Job jogged up, took him by the elbow, and led him past the barrier.

“We have big problem Dek,” Job stated with obvious concern. Pott Panthetem, Job, was an officer on the rise, a sharp young man with a bright future. Declan had never seen him in such a state.

“What’s the problem?  The Chief seemed out of sorts and now you’ve got me more worried.”

“This is a problem you must see. I don’t know the word to explain,” Job explained breaking increasing his speed. They slowed as they came to the Lan Na Historical Center’s courtyard. It was carefully roped off.

He was then led through a myriad of uniformed officials all engaged in animated conversation. He spotted Bangkok Man. Bangkok Man also took note of Declan. He motioned for him and Job to stop.

“I can guide Mr. Power from here Lieutenant,” he ordered.

“Guide me to what Pantrem?” Declan use of the tax officer’s last name was impolite in most cultures, but especially so with a Thai government official. Phitak Pantrem took no offense.

“I’ll need you to identify somebody.”

Declan stopped walking. “And what the hell does this have to do with a tax issue. Let me talk to my friend the Chief.”

Again, Pantrem did not seem to take issue with Declan’s less than accommodating tone. “Of course, Declan, you will have time to consult with the Chief. He is over here, but now he is being questioned.”

A thought jumped into his mind. Bangkok Man was being almost friendly. Something obviously bad had taken place. A crashing thought erupted. Oum! “I need to make a call,” he said frantically breaking away from Bangkok Man. The phone rang and rang. No answer. Ten rings and then ten more, the sweat began to pour from his brow. A sleepy voice finally mumbled: “Declan?”

He let out a long breath. “Baby! My Girl! You’re ok!” he exulted. A deep sense of relief swept over him.

“Of course ok. Where are you?”

“I’m at the Three King Monument. Something bad has gone down.”

“What?” Oum exclaimed suddenly awake.

“I don’t know baby.” Declan looked at Bangkok Man who was beginning to get impatient. “I’m about to find out though.”

Rose lay tethered to the silk enveloped bed. Her four limbs were securely attached to each of the four teak bed pillars. She had just been ravaged. Her lover’s servants, three of them, had violently ripped her clothes asunder and pinned her to her present position. They raped her. She endured it.

Then the master entered the room brandishing a whip. The three miscreants were rendered to tears as the whip tore into their skin. Finally the punishment came to an end. They scurried out of the room. Still, they had been fed.

The master looked down on Rose passively. No words were exchanged. None were necessary. A contented smile creased her face as her lover began to mount her. Rose was now a slave.

There are moments in life that will remain ingrained in a person’s memory permanently. Some are happy and others sad. Regardless, those moments carry a significance that remains deeply etched on the consciousness.  

Declan was led towards the Three Kings Monument, the mythological center of Chiang Mai. It is said that the Lan Na King Mengrai with his allies, the Kings of Sukhothai and Phrae, designed the new city, Chiang Mai, capital from the very spot where the monument now regally observes the old city section.

The courtyard within which the monument stands was now crowded with city officials and flooded with lights. Interestingly, he noticed no members of the press. Something was up and something was being covered-up.

Then he saw it. Or should he say her. The hill-tribe dancer from Foxy Lady, the young lady Ben had taken a fancy to, was carefully laid out at the monument’s square base. It was the severed head which first appeared. Placed atop the eight foot platform and at King Mengrai’s feet, a stark look of sheer terror harkened. Declan returned the gaze. A rose was placed in the girl’s well combed hair. Below, at the monuments marble base the rest of the unfortunate girl’s torso rested in a sitting position. The right leg was placed at the right corner of the foundation with the left adorning the left corner. The arms occupied a similar position at the monuments rear. The girl from the mountain was dismembered. The shock of the situation barely registered. It was disconcerting, but in a strange way. The macabre scene had an almost artistic quality. Declan was numbed.

“This way Declan Power,” he was prodded. Bangkok Man gently nudged him away. He was being led into the Chiang Mai Art and Culture Center. A lantern lit the entrance. Here the bizarre exhibition of mutilation continued. Bangkok Man stopped. Declan saw an arm hanging down from the lantern which lit the entrance. It was held in a gently sway. His eyes opened wide. He knew the arm. It was unmistakable to him. The tattoo, John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd, The Blues Brothers, was expertly printed into the bicep. Declan was looking at Ben Post’s arm. He pivoted quickly to vomit. He started to run away.

Bangkok Man caught up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You can identify him?” he shouted.

Declan sat down. He took in a large gulp of air. “What the fuck! Why did you drag me down here for this? The Chief or his aid certainly can identify Ben Post.”

“How could they?”

Declan looked up dazed. “I’m sure the sick bastard who did this has Ben’s body cleverly placed inside the museum. But you know that already don’t you,” he replied trying to hold his nerve.

Bangkok Man leaned against the lamppost. He rubbed his chin. “No,” he grumbled. “That was it.”

Declan looked on not understanding.

Bangkok Man continued in a murmur. “The arm that is, nothing else was left.”

They looked at each other distantly. Each consumed with his own ideas, his own knowledge, regarding the situation which had developed in a gruesomely murderous direction. Declan got up and walked silently away. Pantrem looked after him but did not attempt to stop him. They were linked.    

The tunnel wove deep into the mountain. The kerosene lanterns lit the way but there was always darkness just beyond. The rats scurried out of sight. Small drips of water crept down the ancient stone walls only occasionally spilling onto Rose’s hair. None of this bothered her. She studiously carried out her task. She looked down at the platter she was carrying with great care. It was silver and said to have been presented to the kings of Lan Na on their coronation day. The history mattered little to Rose. She was most proud of what the platter held: Ben Post’s head. ‘An enemy of the state,’ her new master had proclaimed. She didn’t understand the situation. It didn’t matter. Rose had found her destiny. And it lay within the walls of this estate.