“Sonchai, what are you doing?”
“I am meditating.”
“D’you have to do that now, in the middle of a conversation? We’re supposed to be working.”
See what I mean?
There is no point waiting for the Monitor, who has probably got himself lost, so I leave Jones to the cassettes and go search for the key myself.
I find that I have underestimated the Monitor, who found the key all right. It was already in the door because three young constables are in the evidence room playing some kind of Space Invader game on Bradley’s computer. The polythene we used to carefully protect the evidence is on the floor and the three boys-they’re between eighteen and nineteen years old-have brought in stools, and some food in Styrofoam boxes, some cans of 7UP. It looks as though they have installed themselves here for quite some time. The Monitor is standing silently behind them watching the black steel-clad invaders get knocked off by the lithe white defenders, with something that approximates to excitement.
This situation, like everything in life, is a useful conundrum to a practicing Buddhist. To scream and yell will generate more negative karma than has already been generated by the boys. On the other hand, too soft an approach on my part will lead them to continue on their downward path. What would my master the abbot do in such circumstances?
I find that I don’t really give a shit, so I slam the door as hard as possible behind me. This has the effect of a scramble. Three rapid wais, the computer is turned off in double-quick time, the food gathered, the Styrofoam boxes closed, the polythene replaced, the 7UP drunk in a minimum of gulps, the room emptied except for me and the Monitor. My precipitate action has had the negative effect of obliging me to unwrap the computer again and turn it on, so it was not an entirely skillful strategy. I have plenty of defilements left to work on, even if I don’t go to bed with the FBI.
I tell the Monitor to bring Jones, while I locate Bradley’s e-mail file. Jones enters while I am reading. I find it convenient to divide the e-mails into phases.
Phase 1 [July-September 1996]:
Bill, your piece arrived yesterday FedEx. The boys are getting the point, I agree, but there’s still a long way to go.
Bill, look, this is good work which I can sell anywhere, but it’s not what we discussed. I’m arriving on a Thai Airways flight next Tues. We’ll talk.
Bill, I have to tell you I was very impressed with the latest piece. It’s not quite there, but it’s damn close. I’m going to release the second tranche today. Keep it up.
Phase 2 [November 1996-July 1997]:
Bill, I have to admit you’ve impressed me quite considerably. I’m not entirely sure how we take it from here, but I agree you can continue to cross-refer over the Net. I think the best would be for you to e-mail me the design you have in mind, I’ll come back with some general comments, you’ll modify and work up the details (something you’re damned good at) and we’ll proceed like that until we’ve got an agreed set of three-dimensional designs. I’m releasing a special payment for your extra expenses. I have to tell you I’m damned excited. It’s like being a kid at Christmas. Except that this is the real thing, if you see what I mean.
Bill, got the designs you sent. I fully agree that the Net has its limitations here, so you better send the hard copies FedEx. I’ll continue to make general comments over the Net, with more detailed ones when we meet. I’ll be in BKK end of next week. I’m at the Oriental, however, and I think I explained what that means. The Chiu Chow bosses are throwing one of their parties. I’ll call you and we’ll meet somewhere discreet. I do not want you to come to the Oriental. When I stay at Rachada, that’s a different matter. I’m sure you understand.
Bill, received your FedEx package today and I’m more excited than ever. This new venture of ours requires a whole new outlook. They say an old dog can’t learn new tricks, but I take a more Buddhist view: by learning new tricks you stop yourself from turning into an old dog!
Phase 3 [September 1997-end 1998]:
Bill, I understand your reservations about your work and its final purpose, but frankly this is hardly the moment to get cold feet. You have to finish what you start. Be a marine.
Bill, this is fantastic! Can’t wait for everything to be finished! I’ll be in BKK early next month and maybe you’ll let me have a peek? See you then, and I apologize if I was a little insensitive in my last e-mail.
Jones is looking over my shoulder at the screen. I glance up at her. She is frowning, her jaw is working. I think she is starting to realize who did it, which will be a problem for me but, I now realize, an unavoidable one. I watch and admire while that efficient professional side of her comes to dominate. Sex could not be further from her mind at this moment.
“I never read them that way. That’s pretty smart of you to divide them into phases like that. D’you want to explain what inspired you?”
“The tone of his voice on the cassettes. The totally desperate but gifted second-stringer, the order-follower who will do anything for money is doing just that. The symbiosis only began with jade. It went on to something quite different.”
“But we don’t know that Bradley knew… everything that might have been on Warren’s mind.”
I sigh. To me it is obvious, but intuition clearly plays no part in American law enforcement. “No, except that Bradley’s knowing would have been an overwhelming motive for killing him. Anyway, look at the change of tone, starting with phase two. Can you imagine Warren expressing that kind of boyish excitement if it wasn’t over something really different? This guy has been in the gem trade all his life-how is someone like Bradley going to get him all excited about copying a jade figure like the horse and rider?”
Jones is shaking her head. I check her eyes and realize that she has still not plumbed the unspeakable depths, which is just as well. There is a lot more work to do. The snakes remain a problem and I do want to know what Warren did that Vikorn and Suvit don’t want me to know about.
While Jones returns to the embassy to retrieve photos of Gladys Pierson, I leave the station to use an Internet café to check the Bangkok Post, an English-language daily which is published on the Net in its entirety and has an excellent archive going back ten years. As I patiently click through the thousands of articles and reports responding to the keyword “murder” I know I’m wasting my time. I key in “Russian prostitutes,” and the name of Andreev Iamskoy immediately pops up. The ways of karma are mysterious and implacable. Convinced I will not be able to live out this lifetime without another brutal session with Iamskoy, I give up on the Internet, pay fifty baht for fifty minutes’ use and while I’m waiting for change cast my eyes over the rest of the users sitting at the twenty or so monitors in the shop. They are all women between the ages of eighteen and thirty and they are helping each other out with the English. “Thank you for-allai?” “Money.” “Okay, thank you for money.” “Thank you, darling, for money.” Giggles.