Terry had given me Nam’s office address but he didn’t know the name of the apartment block. That was another red flag raised. Anyway, I went out to Yannawa one afternoon and took a few bags of fried insects over to the nearest motorcycle taxi stand and started chatting to the guys there. The motorcycle taxi guys pretty much know everything that goes on in their locality and they’re always my first port of call in an investigation.
I got chatting away in Khmer and asked them if they knew of any women-only blocks within walking distance. There was lots of frowning and head-shaking but when I said I’d pay a hundred baht to anyone who could come up with a name one of the guys said he thought there was a hostel for women fairly close by so I had him run me over. Another hundred baht for the security guard on duty and I learned that no one who looked like Nam lived there. It was a small place, probably only two dozen studio flats, so I was pretty confident that the guy knew what he was talking about.
My motorcycle guy saw that my wallet was well-packed with 100-baht bills so he came up with another women-only block in Silom. That was well outside walking distance from the office where she worked but I figured it was worth a try so we took a run out there. Another hundred baht later and I had confirmation that Nam didn’t live there either.
By four o’clock I was back at the office block, sweating in the heat and waiting for Nam to finish work. I was pretty sure that she was lying about living in a women-only block close to her office and having caught her out in one lie I was sure there’d be others.
Nam appeared just after five by which time I had large damp patches under both armpits and I could feel puddles of sweat in my shoes. She waved goodbye to a group of her co-workers and walked across the road to a bus stop. A bus came and went and Nam made no move to board it. She looked at her watch, then made a call on her mobile phone. Another bus came and went.
I went inside a coffee shop, bought a Coke and settled down to wait. I figured she was waiting for a bus and that once she’d boarded one I’d get one of the motorcycle taxi guys to follow her. Following busses is a piece of cake because the motorcycle taxi guys all know the bus routes. I was sipping my Coke when a new model Toyota Corolla pulled up at the bus stop. Nam got in and the car roared off. I managed to get a look at the number plate before it vanished around a corner. I rushed over to the motorcycle taxi rank but by the time I’d explained what I wanted the car was well gone. It was my own fault, I should have had my ride already fixed up, but I’d just assumed that she was going to get the bus. Still, I had caught her out in two lies, and I was pretty sure that it had been a Thai man at the wheel of the Corolla.
I phoned Terry and told him what I’d discovered, and he said he’d pay me to follow her for another couple of days. He asked me what I thought, and I told him the truth. She was lying to him, and that could only mean one thing. ‘But she isn’t a bargirl,’ he said plaintively. I thought about giving him the ‘just because she doesn’t work in a bar doesn’t mean she’s not a bargirl’ speech, but I decided against it. I said I’d phone him back when I had something to report.
The following day I was better prepared. I had my own motorcycle guy all ready to go at four o’clock, and when Nam appeared I was on the pillion and he had his crash helmet on. The Corolla turned up at ten past five and we tucked up behind it and followed it a few kilometres through the crowded streets until it parked outside a decent-sized apartment block. The man was in his thirties wearing a suit and tie and the way she touched his arm as they went into the block together suggested that they were, as we say in the private-eye game, ‘romantically involved.’ I managed to fire off a few digital photographs and I emailed them to Terry later that night.
There was only one more piece of the puzzle and that was to identify the guy. The next day I took a run out to the Car Registration Office at Chatujak, near the famous weekend market, filled out the necessary forms and a twenty-baht fee, and explained to the girl behind the counter as I slipped her a tin of chocolate almonds that I was buying the car and wanted to check that it was owned outright and not under any finance deal. It’s a common enough request and the chocolate almonds were the only incentive she needed to offer me every assistance. She punched in the registration number of the Corolla, printed out the details and gave me a copy, along with her phone number, which I thought was quite sweet of her considering she was a good five years older than me and had the makings of a half-decent moustache.
The owner was from Chonburi, the same place as Nam, which suggested the he was a long-time boyfriend, but the surname on his ID was different from Nam’s so it didn’t look as if they were married. Chonburi is on the way to Pattaya, and as I had a couple of bargirl investigations lined up in Sleaze-By-The-Sea I decided to pop out that way and stop off at the Chonburi Municipal Office to run a check on the guy. I told the girl behind the counter that he had applied for a job with my company and my winning smile, a box of Thai sweets and a 500-baht note got me a look at his house papers. He was married and had a son. Nam was obviously his mia noi, his minor wife.
I guess that Miss Nam was happy to be the Thai guy’s mia noi at the same time as she was going out with Terry, and that she was just putting off the time when she had to choose. Maybe the Thai guy would leave his wife, maybe Terry would marry her and she’d settle down with him. To be honest, I could understand why she’d want to keep her options open. Girls marry young in Thailand, often in their teens, and her clock was ticking. For all she knew, Terry might dump her for a younger, prettier girl. It’s not as if he’d be spoilt for choice in Thailand. The Thai guy could also trade her in for a newer model at any time. From Miss Nam’s point of view, she was simply hedging her bets.
Terry didn’t see it that way, of course. He couldn’t stand the fact that she’d so blatantly lied to him and he called off the wedding, changed his phone number, and refused to answer her emails and letters. From the day I filed my report, he had no further contact with her. Harsh, maybe, but in my opinion he did the right thing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again-lies are like cockroaches, If you find one,. There’ll be dozens of others that you don’t know about.
So, with two out of two good girls turning out to be bad, I started Mark’s investigation feeling pretty confident that Miss Suming had a skeleton or two in her closet. I parked myself at a corner table in Rivas nightclub and knocked back JD and Cokes at 200 baht a throw, plus tax plus service charges plus the odd tip for the very pretty waitresses. I had a good view of Miss Suming and her friends-all thirty-something hi-so Thai women-knocking back bottles of champagne and having a whale of a time. Suming showed no interest in any of the farangs hanging around the bar and no Thai men came over to join them. From the look of it, Miss Suming was enjoying a girls’ night out, and fair play to her.
There was a band playing, an American group that could actually hold a tune, and during their break they came over and joined Miss Suming’s group and more champagne was swiftly ordered. Miss Suming certainly knew how to enjoy herself, but I suppose it was nothing to her as Mark was paying for everything even though he was out of town for a week on business.
Other than the band, Miss Suming’s table remained a man-free zone for the night, but I figured that I ought to hang around until closing time just to check that she went back alone to Mark’s apartment. Eventually the band finished and the staff started packing up for the night. Miss Suming and her group were obviously well known there and they seemed in no rush to leave so eventually it was just me and them still drinking. I decided I’d better go so I hung around outside, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. I was able to keep an eye on Miss Suming through the open doorway.