The Last Executioner (11 page)

She didn’t kill the boy; she became part of something that was completely out of her control and experience. She was guilty of kidnapping but a lawyer would have pointed out how she was badly kicked when she tried to protect the boy, and how she was treated by her employers in the first place. I suppose the government had to make an example of her, to warn any other domestics against this behaviour. We still have a few cases today of servants assaulting or killing their employers because they are being badly treated. At the end of the day you have to respect others. The case got widespread coverage because of the child, and the government probably felt they had to be seen to respond as efficiently as possible.

Chapter 10

By October 1984, the executioner Prathom Kreuapong had retired. I was going to miss my colleague. He had been an undertaker before working for Bang Kwang and was also into Black Magic, and loved to regale us with fantastic stories about his former career and hobby. Thinyo Jan-otarn was another executioner who was still active in the prison. Soon after Kreuapong left, Superintendent Sawat Sansern asked me to step into his office.

‘Chavoret, could you be an executioner? I’ve already spoken to Chalore Nhumuang, the head of the execution team. He and Prathom warmly recommended you for the job. Will you do it?’

When I didn’t reply he added, ‘I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you were up for the job. You would be second to Thinyo and it’s not like there would be an execution every month. Just a few times a year.’

I’ll be honest. I considered it an honour to be asked. The job required experience and skill. Plus I was being asked by the Superintendent himself. I knew I was a good worker. I wasn’t corrupt and I didn’t try to charm my superiors through licking ass or collecting college degrees. I just did my job to the best of my ability. It was obvious to me that I was liked and respected by the high-ranking officers. I had made a name for myself through my efficiency and my ability to act under pressure.

On a practical level the extra money could not be ignored. I was now the father of three children who I dearly wanted educated in the best schools I could afford. This would make a difference. I was still playing gigs to make ends meet, mostly weddings at the weekend. Tew was doing her bit too. The prison had hired her to sell food to the inmates’ relatives; she ran a Somtam (papaya salad) stall. We were both working hard but not really gaining much from it. Every so often I would have to take out a loan to get us through a rough patch. The 2,000 baht per shooting would mean we could start saving money for the kids’ future.

Once again I rose to the challenge and compliment.

‘No problem sir. I will take it.’

I had played a vital role in the execution team for more than ten years now, first as escort and then as gun adjuster. I didn’t differentiate much between the roles—that of actual executioner was no more part of the killing than gun adjuster or the one who held the flag. I have already described why I thought the escort had the worst job in the process. That look that the prisoner gives you, just as you stop outside his cell to collect him, pierces your very being. When I have trouble sleeping, it is that look of pure terror which appears in my mind’s eye.

The escort is like the last friend in the world for the condemned. They get to hear the stories and tit-bits about the prisoner’s life. One guy told me that he was being executed because his wife had failed to ask his lawyer to file a petition for him. Instead of encouraging the lawyer to pull out all the stops to save her husband’s life, she slept with him. After chatting with the prisoner and maybe consoling him about his fate you then had to blindfold him and fasten him to a cross. That could seriously mess with your head.

I suppose that is why the team contained so many of us. Ten officers had ten duties surrounding the termination of one convict. No one could take the full brunt of the awful responsibility. I’ll be honest again. I think it is a sin to take a man’s life but I live in Thailand where we make people pay if they commit a dreadful crime. You murder someone—then you must lose your life too. An eye for an eye. It’s not a perfect solution but there has to be an ultimate deterrent. I didn’t take the job because I wanted to shoot people dead. If I had shown any signs of excitement or a thirst for blood I would never have been offered the position. A while ago there was one mean guy who really wanted to be an executioner. He used to chop the heads off cats and dogs, and revelled in the idea of killing criminals. He was never considered for the job, and later came to a bad end himself when he was burnt alive in a car crash.

There are some evil people out there, who are and always will be a danger to ordinary people. We arrest them for murder, and perhaps they show remorse, or perhaps they don’t. But what’s the point of feeding them in jail for the rest of their lives? What good is that to anyone? Social services people would advise that a person becomes a criminal because of their upbringing or peers. They are influenced or manipulated into carrying out their evil acts. The criminology guys advise that there are born criminals—they are lacking, or have too much of, some chemical in the brain. I say that criminals, no matter how they evolved, should be punished according to the crime they have committed. There was a case here recently in Thailand: A young boy at military school was beaten within an inch of his life by a gang, and was left permanently injured. The boys who did this to him were charged with physical assault and received sentences of two and three years. Meanwhile, the victim’s parents have just about lost their son; he will never be who he was before the beating. This is hardly reflected in those flimsy sentences. An eye for an eye would surely bring more justice to that family.

***

On 10 October 1984 the Superintendent sent a letter to the Department of Correction asking for permission to grant two appointments; Thinyo would be 1st Executioner and Chavoret Jaruboon would be 2nd Executioner.

He received an official reply on 4 December.

‘The DOC has considered your application. Execution is ordered by the court and is the duty of a prison to carry out. Therefore, the Superintendent of Bang Kwang is entitled to assign any officer he wishes to enable the smooth operation of execution, without the express approval of the DOC. The position of Executioner is treated as any other position. With that in mind the DOC is not required to issue an official appointment. If the Superintendent of Bang Kwang requires two executioners then he should go ahead and appoint them himself.’

And so began the next 20 years of my life.

***

My first killings, in my new position within the execution team, were of a gang who had shot a market trader after they tried to rob him, and had then panicked and shot two young policemen, killing one.

The crime had happened on 23 November 1980, at Saphan 2, the fresh food market on Lardprao Road in the Banggapi District of Bangkok.

38-year-old Lhiam Kiat-opas was working at his fish stall as usual. A blue Datsun pulled up at the market place and three men got out. They walked straight up to Lhiam. One of the men reached out and tore a necklace from the neck of the fish vendor. The chain was made of pure gold and contained three tiny Buddha figures; it was worth approximately 50,000 baht. Lhiam was a brave man and fought back. However, he was no match for the .45 pistol that was suddenly produced. He was shot at point blank rage and died instantly. There was panic in the market with people screaming and running for cover. The three men walked back to their car as if they were out for a stroll, ignoring the chaos around them.

Meanwhile, two young police officers were driving by the market and saw all the commotion. Before they could respond, the windows of the Datsun were lowered and the robbers opened fire. A 21-year-old officer called Anek Anantachaigul died after being shot through the back of his helmet. His partner, 23-year-old Surapong Boonchai, was shot through his forehead and right leg. When the killers left, the wounded officer was carried to the hospital by the market people.

The following day a Mr Yuttapol Pummalee returned his rented Datsun to Klongtoey Car Rentals. During the customary inspection a blood stain was discovered inside the car. Details of the previous day’s shooting spree had been all over the evening news. The suspicious employee rang the police and was able to detain his client until they arrived. The officers told the 26-year-old that he would have to accompany them back to the police station as they needed to ask him about the stain. They put him in the back of their vehicle and drove off. The lights turned red at Dusit Thani Junction and Yuttapol seized the opportunity to jump out of the car and start running. He was caught minutes later and asked by the police why he was trying to escape—after all they just wanted to ask him some questions about a blood stain.

Yuttapol must have felt the gig was up because he folded immediately:

‘Yesterday, my friends and I robbed a fish merchant at the Saphan 2 market.’

He went on to tell the officers where his friends, Narong Pingaew, Lhee Daengaram and Samran Pingaew were hiding. They were still in Bangkok, staying in Wat Koh Suwannaram. There, on 13 December, the police arrested 25-year-old Narong and 38-year-old Lhee and then a little later that day they arrested Samran in the province of Suraburi. The men were charged with the robbery and murder of Lhiam Kiat-opas, and the murder of Officer Anek Anantachaigul.

The case went to court. Thanks to Yuttapol’s confession, and plenty of witnesses from the market place, the four men were found guilty as charged. They were handed the death penalty in view of the severe nature of the crime and the fact that it happened in a public place, thus endangering the public at large. The four men were also ordered to pay a fine of 50,000 baht to the victims’ families.

On 23 November 1984, fours years to the day after committing the two murders in the market place, 3 of the 4 killers of Lhiam Kiat-opas were to meet their just reward, and I would take my place alongside Thinyo in the execution room—my first time behind the gun. I don’t recall what happened to Yuttapal, the first man to confess. His fate was none of my business.

I was informed that morning that there would be an execution later in the evening. I was allowed to finish my shift early and drove home to take a nap and change my uniform. I wanted to be sure that I was completely refreshed and at ease. The day before, the family and I had celebrated my 36th birthday. I had gone to the temple to make a merit, as I always do on my birthday. This is a Thai or Buddhist practice which might seem funny to outsiders. I made an offering of a Sungkatan basket. This is a plastic yellow basket filled with essentials for the monks: toothpaste, umbrella, tea, sandals, soap, and a robe. You offer it to the monk out of kindness and a longing to help maintain the Buddhist system. The items have to be bought new and specifically for the monk. You can also make a merit by buying the life of an animal, obviously the bigger and more expensive, the better. If a cow is going to be butchered you can offer ample money to save its life. If you couldn’t stretch to a cow, you might be able to buy a cage of birds, or turtles, and set them free. So you do your good act and silently ask for something in return. You do good to have good happen to you. Therefore, if you do bad…

***

I had personally checked my gun at 9am, believing that I would never truly trust anyone else to do it. I wasn’t too nervous; I had so much experience by now in these matters. I slept, showered, quickly dressed, and was back at the prison with plenty of time to spare.

At 5pm the escorts brought in Narong and Samran. Narong was tied to the cross on the right and Samran was tied on the cross to the left. They were to die together, Narong by Thinyo’s hand and Samran by mine. At 5.07pm the red flag was lowered. I fired ten shots into Samran, and Thinyo fired eight into Narong. The doctor came through and confirmed the two men to be dead. They were untied by the escorts and carried into the morgue. I busied myself with emptying and reloading the gun. We had about 15 minutes to go before the third convict arrived. I glanced at Thinyo and he looked like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it. I decided to make it easier for him.

‘Well brother, what about the third guy?’

He relaxed his features and suggested I do it. In fact he asked me to. It really wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t have to talk to these men in their last moments. I didn’t hand them a pen and paper and help them with their spellings in the letters to their families. I didn’t know if they were scared or not, or whether they were obediently listening to the Chaplain or scowling in resistance at his teachings. All I had to do was pull a trigger at a target on a screen—it is very easy to empty your mind and just shoot. Especially when it is your job and you are being closely watched by your superiors and government officials.

At 5.20pm Lhee quietly followed his escorts into the room. At 5.24pm I saluted him through the screen and leant over the gun. The flag lowered and I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Red-faced I realised I had forgotten to unlock the gun. I felt a jolt of surprise from the viewing box, where the officials stood. I didn’t dare look up to meet anyone’s eyes. Instead, I kept focused on the gun. Another second and I had unlocked it and put 11 bullets through the screen, killing Lhee instantly.

It hit me later in the evening. I thought about my kids being asked by their friends, or their friends’ parents about what their father did. I imagined some of the kids in their class proudly announcing that their father was a dentist, a soldier, a businessman or whatever. Then my child might suddenly realise that they weren’t delighted to inform teacher that dad was the executioner in Bang Kwang prison. I worried about nobody ever being brave enough to date my daughter, after hearing what her old man did for a living. I fretted that first night that I had ruined her chances for a husband and family of her own.

On the other hand, because I was the executioner I had to remain in Bang Kwang. Prison officers were always living under the threat of being moved to another prison. This way I could never be moved away from my family, or alternatively spend long precious hours commuting to work. At the end of the day I felt that I played an important role in the country’s justice system. My boss needed me, since nobody else wanted to do this job. And he was right about infrequent executions; in 70 or 80 years of the death sentence, there have only been 300 people killed in this way. Previously the condemned was flogged 90 times and then tied to a small cross in the ground, which meant the prisoner was seated with his back to it and his arms outstretched, and beheaded. Three executioners were always standing by to make sure the job was done.

Christians always ask about the relevance of the cross, whether it means something particular, but there is no hidden meaning about its role in an execution. It has nothing to do with Jesus Christ being crucified by the Romans or about His resurrection. It is simply the best shape for the job. A man’s arms can be spread out across it and it is the perfect shape for taking someone’s limp weight after they have been shot, as in the case of the bigger cross. If the condemned was a member of the Royal Family or a high-ranking officer then a better class of execution was required—they would be beaten to death with a sweet-smelling stick.