The Solitary Man (26 page)

The bus turned off the main road and rattled over the railway lines, exactly as Hutch and Bird had done in the Capri. Hutch THE SOLITARY MAN 207 tried to remember how long ago that had been. He couldn't be exact about the number of days, they had all begun to merge into one during his stay at the detention centre. That was one of the first things to go in prison: the sense of time passing. The sentence became a limbo, marked only by the meals that arrived and the switching on and off of the lights.

'Is that it?' asked Joshua, bending to peer through the mesh covered window. He was bathed in sweat and his body odour was overpowering. 'Is that Klong Prem?'

'Yeah,' said Hutch.

'I've got friends there,' said Joshua. 'What about you?'

Hutch shook his head. The coach turned sharply to the left and he had to hold on tightly to keep his balance. It drove around the roundabout and came to a sudden halt in front of the main entrance. The rear doors opened and the guards began to usher the prisoners out. Hutch could barely believe what he was seeing: they were being asked to walk into the prison under their own steam. The sun was blinding and Hutch kept his head down as the prisoners were recounted and made to line up in pairs. When the guards were satisfied, the prisoners were walked forward, through the archway and along a gloomy hallway. Corridors led off to the left and right, and ahead of them was a huge white-painted metal gate. As they approached it, a small door set into the gate was opened by a guard with a look of boredom on his face.

Once through the door they were made to squat while another head count was taken in a courtyard, the likes of which Hutch had never seen in a prison. There were neatly trimmed bushes, flower beds laid out as formally as a royal park, and grass that would have done a bowling green proud. There was a building that looked as if it was an administration centre and another large gate set into an inner wall. It looked more like a holiday camp than a prison. A man in a blue uniform cycled past on a gleaming bicycle without giving them a second look.

When the count was finished, the prisoners were divided into two groups and those wearing the brown uniforms were marched away. Hutch and the rest of the remand prisoners were taken into the administration building.

In a large reception area a middle-aged Thai guard barked at rx 208 STEPHEN LEATHER them, reading from a clipboard. 'He's telling us when we eat, when we wash, the work we'll be doing, stuff like that,' Matt whispered to Hutch. He was cut short by a guard, who hit him on the back of the head with the flat of his hand.

'No talking,' grunted the guard. It was the first time that Hutch had heard a guard speak English. Hutch flashed Matt an apologetic smile. It had been his fault that the American had received the blow.

To the left of the reception area were two tables. One was piled high with cardboard boxes. The men were marched up in pairs and ordered to hand over their belongings. Hutch handed over his wallet. It was put into a box which he was surprised to see already contained his holdall and clothes taken from him at the airport. There was no sign of his sleeping mat or the rest of the things he'd left at the detention centre.

The men were made to line up again and a guard wearing gold-rimmed sunglasses removed their handcuffs and manacles, handing these to another guard who put the chains in wooden boxes. There were more shouted commands and Matt began to undress. Hutch followed his example. The prisoners squatted naked as the guards went through the clothing, then they were made to stand and bend over for an internal search. It was only perfunctory, and Hutch was grateful for small mercies. A guard used a large pair of shears to cut the sleeves off the shirts and hack the trouser legs off just above the knee before handing back their clothes. The prisoners were marched off to another room, smaller than the first but painted in the same drab green.

One by one the prisoners were taken to a table where a young Thai in blue T-shirt and shorts took their thumbprints and made them sign their name on a form filled with Thai writing. Hutch was weighed, his height was measured, and he was marched back out into the main reception area where he was made to squat again. Squatting was something that Thais did naturally, but for a Westerner it was an agony, and his muscles burned after just a few minutes.

Once all the prisoners had been processed a guard reached into a sack and began putting manacles on the table. Hutch's heart fell. They were similar to the ones he'd seen on the man on the bus:

no locks, just a steel plate that was bent around the ankle by an antiquated vice operated by another blue-shir ted Thai. The guard checked that Hutch couldn't slip his feet out of the manacles then pushed him to the side. The rough steel was like a cheese grater against his ankles and Hutch winced with each step. He bent down to pull up his socks and a guard screamed at him. One thing was for sure, Hutch realised: with the chains on, escape would be next to impossible.

The Thai prisoners were separated out and taken away. Hutch and the rest of the foreigners were marched through another large steel gate, and then another, and then into another walled courtyard. The further away from the main gate they got, the more austere their surroundings became. The second courtyard was a square of dried grass about half the size of a football pitch with a cluster of green two-storey blocks with bars on the windows.

Hutch realised that the lack of security he'd seen on the outer wall was deceptive. There was no reason to have a large perimeter wall with high security measures because there were so many internal walls to cross, all of which were guarded by men with shotguns. Still, there were no closed-circuit television cameras and he saw no motion detectors or other sensors on the wires running along the top of the walls. Klong Prem would be a difficult prison to break out of, but not impossible, given enough time.

They were taken over to one of the blocks and ushered inside. The block was on two floors, lined with cells^m all sides. The cells on the ground floor overlooked a concrete-floored courtyard and there was a metal catwalk with waist-high railings running around the upper level. It was noisy, hot and airless, and as close to hell as Hutch could imagine a place to be. He could barely breathe, and the sound of shouts and arguments was mind numbing. Matt looked across at him and grimaced. The door clanged shut behind them.

Haifa dozen men in blue T-shirts and shorts gathered around. There were no signs of the brown-uniformed guards who'd escorted them from the administration building. They were divided into three groups, apparently arbitrarily. Matt, Joshua and two Taiwanese teenagers were pushed together with Hutch. Two of the Thais in blue took them up a metal stairway to the 210 STEPHEN LEATHER upper level, along the catwalk and into a cell about twenty feet square with two fluorescent strip lights in the ceiling, and a metal-bladed fan. There were already a dozen men there, sitting with their backs against the wall or lying on the floor. There was a window high up in the far wall, covered with a mesh screen that had probably been put up to keep out mosquitoes but was so tattered as to be useless. Apart from a line of wooden lockers under the window, there was no furniture in the cell. In one corner a cement wall, just under three feet high, hid a foul-smelling squat toilet and a tub of water. The new arrivals stood in the centre of the cell, uncertain what to do next.

One of the Thais in blue stepped forward and introduced himself as Pipop. He was in his early forties with skin so dark that it was almost as black as Joshua's. He was slim but well muscled and had a nose that looked as if it had been broken several times. Pipop explained in halting English that the men wearing blue were trustys, prisoners like themselves but with added responsibilities. 'Anything you want, we will get for you,' said Pipop. 'Any money you have is registered with the front office. You can use that money to buy food from the outside. You tell us and we will have it brought in for you. Stamps, writing paper, soap, we can supply anything for you. You do not ask the guards for anything. You ask us. Do you understand?'

The prisoners nodded.

Matt said something to the trusty in Thai.

Pipop nodded. 'You will get ten baht a week for working in the furniture workshop.'

'Ten baht?' exclaimed Matt. 'That's nothing.'

Pipop smiled cruelly. 'That is right. You will have to have money sent in from outside. You will be woken at six. You start work at seven.'

Hutch looked around for somewhere to sit. The only floor space was close to the toilet. He caught Joshua's eye and the two men grimaced together. 'Toss you for it?' said Hutch.

Joshua grinned. 'Help yourself. Fm gonna stand for a while.'

A guard appeared and he talked to Pipop before reaching for a key chained to his belt. Hutch stepped towards the bars and watched as the guard locked the cell door. He stared at the THE SOLITARY MAN 211 key as the guard withdrew it, trying to imprint the shape on his memory.

The guard and trustys walked along the catwalk, laughing together. Matt joined Hutch at the bars. They stood together, looking out over the catwalk at the cells opposite. In virtually all the cells sheets or blankets had been put up along the bottom of the bars to give the prisoners a measure of privacy.

'Ten baht?' repeated Matt incredulously. 'Ten baht a week?'

'Haven't you got people who can send you money?' Hutch asked.

'No way,' said the American. 'I split from my family years ago, and my Thai girlfriend won't hang around. I'm up shit creek.' He went over to the concrete wall next to the toilet and sat down.

Hutch watched the guard and trustys go downstairs and walk across the courtyard, then turned around. Joshua was deep in conversation with another Nigerian. Matt had his eyes closed. An old Oriental moved his blanket to the side to make room for Hutch. There was barely enough floor space for everyone to lie down at the same time. Hutch smiled his thanks and sat down on the hard concrete floor. A mosquito whizzed by his^eft ear. The noise from the surrounding cells was almost deafening, an incomprehensible mixture of languages and accents, mixed with shouts and screams and moans. He put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. He wasn't looking forward to his first night in Klong Prerri.

CHAU-LING RESTED HER HEAD against the side of the plane and felt the vibration deep inside her skull. The seat next to her was empty and she was grateful for the space: the last thing she wanted was for someone to attempt to engage her in conversation. Go back to Hong Kong, Warren had said. Forget about him. She banged her fist against her leg. Forget about him? How the hell did he expect her to do that? There wasn't a day that had gone by since they'd first met that Warren Hastings hadn't occupied 212 STEPHEN LEATHER her thoughts. Why did he think she'd stuck at the job so long? It wasn't as if she needed the money, he knew that. She'd taken the job originally because she loved dogs and had wanted to start breeding Golden Retrievers. Working for Warren had seemed an obvious way of picking up the necessary knowledge: his kennels and the quality of his Dobermanns were renowned through the territory. She'd made it clear from the start that she only intended to work for him for six months or so and that her eventual aim was to set up her own kennels. But that had been almost two years ago and she had made no attempt to leave. She'd found him attractive right from the start, and his apparent lack of interest only added to his appeal. Chau-ling was used to being pursued. She was well aware of her looks, had been since she was a teenager, and she'd had a succession of boyfriends while she was at college in the United States, but always it was they who chased her. In Hong Kong her pursuers were all the more persistent, because her father's wealth was well known, and in Hong Kong money often counted for more than looks. But Warren Hastings had never asked her out, hadn't even asked her if she had a boyfriend.

A stewardess asked her in Cantonese if she wanted a drink. Chau-ling shook her head. She massaged her temples with her fingertips. 'Headache?' asked the stewardess.

Chau-ling forced a smile. 'I'm fine,' she said.

'I could get you something.'

'Really, I'm fine,' she said. Chau-ling never took painkillers, or any form of Western medication. On the few occasions in her life when she'd fallen sick as a child, her parents had consulted a traditional Chinese herbalist, and now that she was an adult she continued the practice.

The stewardess moved away to attend to a Thai businessman who was having trouble opening his packet of peanuts. Chauling looked out of the window. The sky was a brilliant blue, the clouds below a pure white. They looked almost solid enough to walk on. She wondered what Warren was doing. He'd looked terrible in the courtroom. He hadn't shaved, he hadn't washed, and there was a look in his eyes that she'd never seen before. It was the look of a trapped animal.

Chau-ling ran her hands through her hair and tucked it behind THE SOLITARY MAN 213 her ears. It didn't make any kind of sense. If Warren was innocent, why wouldn't he accept Khun Kriengsak's help? And why had he been so convinced that he'd never go to trial? She was certain that there had been a mistake; there was no way that a man like Warren would ever get involved with drugs. But the evidence was overwhelming, and she couldn't see how he'd expect to avoid a trial. The way his shoulders had sagged when she'd told him about the laboratory results had almost broken her heart. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to comfort him and tell him that whatever happened she'd always stand by him. There had to be something she could do, some way in which she could help. Her lower lip began to tremble and she fought back the tears.

She'd gone to the prison with Khun Kriengsak and tried to see Warren, but had been told that Thursday was the only day she could visit. The lawyer had shown her how to deposit money so that Warren could make himself a little more comfortable. She had had to queue with him in the searing sunshine outside a window set into the prison perimeter, close to a cafeteria serving cooked meals and soft drinks. Two beige-uniformed guards sat on the other side of the window. Putting money in Warren's prison account had been surprisingly easy: she handed over twenty thousand baht and her passport and a piece of paper with Warren's name on it. In return she was given a receipt. It was a small thing, the least that she could do. No, she corrected herself, it was all she could do, for the moment at least. Khun Kriengsak had insisted that nothing would happen until Warren's next court appearance, and that she might as welllwait in Hong Kong. She knew that the lawyer was right, but that didn't make leaving any easier. The tears began to fall and she turned her head to the window, not wanting anyone to see her grief.