The Half-Child (22 page)

The steep stone staircase smelled of garbage. Rajiv followed the woman, whose deep pink lipstick matched the colour of her
salwar kameez
, to the brothel on the second floor. He had chosen her for her voluptuous breasts and because she looked like a woman who could teach him something.

She opened the door on a dimly lit room with few furnishings apart from a bed and a couple of low tables. She gestured towards a washroom off to one side that smelled of camphor, walls stained black with mould. There was a worn cake of soap and a small towel on the edge of a chipped basin and Rajiv guessed he should undress and wash himself. He put his underwear back on and carried his clothes out in a pile.

The woman lay on the bed, naked from the waist down, her
kameez
straining to cover her breasts. The prospect of fondling those breasts was enough to make him hard, but he was too embarrassed to ask the woman to remove her shirt. She tried to engage him in conversation, but Rajiv was too nervous for small talk. He placed his clothes on the floor, slipped out of his underpants and rolled a rubber condom down the length of his eager penis. He gestured for the woman to turn over so her back was to him. She waited for him on her hands and knees, arching her back to tilt her arse towards him.

He knelt behind her on the bed and pushed himself inside her. He didn't even have time to grope for her breasts. With a few short thrusts, he felt his body quiver and explode.

He slumped forward over the woman, still propped on her hands and knees, panting more from surprise than exertion. He reached for her breasts, but the woman did not linger. She squirmed out from under him, pointed to a brass pot by the bedside table and disappeared into the washroom. Rajiv understood he was to put money in the pot, get dressed and get out.

He was fastening his belt buckle when the woman reappeared, frowning to indicate he should move faster.

He headed for the door when he thought he heard the woman crying. When he turned back, he saw her lift something from the darkest corner of the room and cradle it in her arms. It wailed like a kitten—Rajiv wanted to believe that's what it was—but he couldn't deny what he saw. He got his wish and saw the prostitute's naked breast—as she offered it to her crying baby.

To his shame this remained Rajiv's one, inglorious experience of sexual intercourse in twenty-eight years.

Jayne watched Rajiv linger over his cigarette, worried she was pushing him too far. He seemed nervous, though that was to his credit: clearly he didn't make a habit of chatting up sex workers.

She was relieved when he finally stubbed out his smoke and sauntered over to the bar where Wen worked. Jayne chose a table where she could keep an eye on him, putting her alongside a Thai boxing ring. She checked her watch and, much as she would've liked a beer, ordered lemonade.

The in-house sound system was playing Madonna, though not loudly enough to drown out the strains of ‘Can't live if livin' is without you' coming from the karaoke bar next door. It was a dreadful rendition but the singer was politely applauded all the same. In the
muay thai
ring, a sweaty Thai boxer posed with a podgy shirtless tourist, pretending for the photographs that the farang had beaten him up. Not for the first time Jayne was struck by how accommodating Thai people were. The crowd that paraded along The Strip was a far cry from humanity at its finest, yet everyone was made to feel welcome. Pattaya might not be Jayne's style but she understood its appeal.

Rajiv had followed her instructions to the letter and sat at the front of the bar, Wen by his side with her hand on his knee.

‘Rajiv!' Jayne called out as she walked towards him.

‘Ramesh,' he corrected her.

‘Ramesh?' She stifled a grin. ‘Of course, my mistake.

How
are
you?'

‘I'm fine. Won't you join us?'

‘Thank you.'

‘This is Wen—' Rajiv began.

‘
Roo jak kan laew,'
Jayne greeted Wen with a wai as she took a seat. ‘It's okay Raj—Ramesh, Wen and I know each other,' she added in English before returning to Thai. ‘How are you, sister?'

‘I'm fine, Khun Jayne.'

She didn't look it.

‘And your little boy?'

‘He's fine, too.' She lowered her voice. ‘I'm sending him away from here. He's going to stay with my relatives in Si Saket.'

‘You're worried after what happened to Mayuree's baby.'

Wen looked around as if someone might be listening.

‘It's okay,' Jayne said. ‘I understand. Wen, I need to find Mayuree urgently. Can you help me, give me your address in Pattaya?'

‘I will write down the address where we lived,' Wen said, ‘but I don't think Mayuree will be there. She should be on her way home to Kanchanaburi by now.'

Jayne handed her a pen and paper. ‘Kanchanaburi— that's where she's from?'

Wen nodded as she wrote.

‘Do you have an address for her there, too?'

Wen shook her head and handed back the paper and pen. ‘I'm sorry. You could ask Mister Frank. He has the addresses of all our families.'

‘Thanks,' Jayne said. ‘I have one other question. Was Mayuree close to Maryanne, the volunteer who worked at the orphanage last year, the one who passed away?'

Wen frowned. ‘Why do you keep asking about Maryanne?'

It had been an innocent question, but she'd hit a raw nerve. Jayne improvised.

‘We were friends in Australia,' she said.

Wen raised her eyebrows. ‘So you know about Sumet.'

Jayne had heard that name before. ‘Her Thai teacher?'

Wen nodded, eyebrows raised, waiting for more.

Jayne wracked her brain. What was it Dianne had said about Sumet? He'd come to Pattaya because his sister had a baby. And before that he'd been a high school teacher… Where was it…?

Kanchanaburi
.

‘And Mayuree's brother, right?'

Wen exhaled as though she'd been holding her breath.

‘How could I have forgotten,' Jayne said, waving her hand as though Wen had told her nothing she didn't already know.

When Jayne asked Mayuree if she knew Maryanne, she hadn't mentioned the link with her brother. What was it about Sumet that made the women around him—first Dianne, now Mayuree—so protective?

There was more Jayne wanted to ask, but she didn't know where to start, and Wen was getting edgy, alternately biting her fingernail and looking over her shoulder.

‘Sister, here's my number in case you need it.' She handed Wen a card and rose to her feet. Rajiv leapt up beside her.

‘Thanks for your time. Now, do you mind if I take your friend here away with me?'

Wen shrugged, gave them a half-hearted
wai
and scuttled off to join the throng around the stage where the pole dancing had started to the tune of ‘I want to break free' by Queen.

‘
Ramesh
?' Jayne poked Rajiv in the ribs as they made their way back along The Strip. ‘What was all that about?'

He squirmed out of her reach and flashed his dimples. ‘I thought I should be having an alias, you know, while I am on the case.'

‘Couldn't you have picked something a little more exotic?'

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know, like Bruce.'

Rajiv grinned.

‘Speaking of the case, I'm going to try this address for Mayuree. Are you up for it because if not, you can go back to the hotel and I can meet you—'

Rajiv raised his hand. ‘I'm your Doctor Watson, remember? I go where you go.'

He thought for a moment. ‘Actually it might be more accurate to say I am the Charles Butler to your Kathy Mallory.'

The reference was to characters in the novels of Carol O'Connell, whose book Jayne was looking for the first time she met Rajiv. It was flattering enough to think he'd read it. Better still, Charles Butler was besotted by Mallory.

‘I'm not sure that's an appropriate analogy,' she countered, ‘given Charles's love for Mallory was unrequited.'

They met each other's gaze and again Jayne fought the desire to drop everything and hotfoot it back to her hotel. Instead—she re-checked Wen's note—they were headed in the opposite direction, north to Naklua.

27

T
he neon sign on top of the building said ‘RUGSTORE', the letter D broken long ago, but the glowing green cross identified it as a pharmacy. The shop was closed for the night. Mayuree's flat was up a narrow flight of stairs at the back. No light showed in the gap under the door and Jayne's knock went unanswered. She took a penlight from her bag and got down on her hands and knees.

‘What are you doing?' Rajiv whispered.

‘Routine check.' She shone the torch under the door. ‘That looks promising.'

‘What is it?'

‘Not sure. Pass me a stick or something.'

He found a bent fork. ‘Will this do?'

‘Perfect.'

Jayne slid the handle of the fork under the door. There was a soft clink of metal on metal. She pulled out the fork with a key dangling from its tines. She rose to her feet, unlocked the door and felt inside for the light-switch.

Rajiv raised his eyebrows. ‘Impressive.'

‘Not really,' she replied as a fluorescent tube sputtered on. ‘Mayuree had to leave the key somewhere, and this—' she nodded at the door ‘—you need the key to lock. So it had to be nearby.'

‘There's a real art to this detective work, isn't it?'

‘And luck, don't forget. Mayuree might have left the key with the shop-owners downstairs. You coming in?'

He looked over his shoulder. ‘No, I will be keeping watch out here.'

Jayne shrugged, slipped off her shoes and entered a small, harsh-lit room with a tiny bathroom off to one side.

A single window overlooked a nest of electrical cables tinged green by the light of the drugstore sign. At first glance, the place looked rundown and neglected. A mouldy bulge near the ceiling hinted at a leak in the roof and floor tiles rattled beneath Jayne's feet. But someone had worked hard to make the best of it. The view might be dull but the window was spotless, the walls bore no sign of the scum you'd expect with a leaking roof, and the floor tiles though loose were clean and smooth. On the cupboards that ran the length of one wall she could make out the silhouettes of ducks and rabbits where stickers had been removed.

She searched the cupboards in the main room and the bathroom cabinet, opening and closing all doors and drawers, checking for loose panels.

‘What are you looking for?' Rajiv called.

‘Something with Mayuree's Kanchanaburi address on it.

I think we're out of luck. If this was a crime scene, forensics would struggle.'

‘So what now?' he said as she joined him.

‘I'm not sure. Wen said everyone's details were kept on file at the centre. I don't know who I can trust to ask and I don't want to raise suspicions by asking the wrong person.'

‘Does this mean we are coming to a dead end?'

‘Not yet. There's always the option of breaking in—'

‘You want to do
another
burglary tonight?'

‘Technically, this wasn't a burglary. We didn't
take
anything. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to call it a break and enter—we used the key.'

‘Jayne, it's nearly midnight!'

She checked her watch. No wonder Rajiv sounded impatient.

‘I'm sorry about this, but I didn't know you were coming and I've got a job to do…' She tried again. ‘Look, I understand if you want to go back ahead of me, but I have to see this through. I hope it won't take much longer but I can't promise anything.'

Rajiv wiggled his head. ‘I'm staying with you.'

She leaned forward to kiss him but he backed away.

‘We don't have time for that,' he said. ‘We are having another break-in to organise, remember?'

She told herself he was right: she shouldn't let herself get distracted when there was still work to be done. But first Tommy had abandoned her for Rasmi and now Rajiv didn't want to kiss her. She was starting to take it personally.

Neither of them spoke during the journey. The excitement Rajiv felt was giving way to exhaustion and resentment. He couldn't go back to the hotel and wait for her even if he wanted to: without Jayne to vouch for him, he'd never be allowed into her room, and taking his own room would defeat the purpose.

He'd have brooded for longer but the walk along the dark laneway to the orphanage got his heart pumping, the same thrilling sensation that made him follow Jayne on this wild goose chase in the first place. Rajiv was hooked. He knew it. Perhaps Jayne knew it, too.

The blue metal gate was unlocked.

‘Curious,' Jayne whispered.

She pushed it open, took Rajiv by the hand, and led him across the darkened compound to an office building.

There were signs a guard was around—a bottle of Red Bull and a copy of a Thai newspaper on the plastic chair by the entrance—but no guard in sight. Jayne pulled at the front door. It was open. They slipped inside.

‘Stay close,' Jayne whispered as she flashed her penlight around the foyer.

They stopped outside an office marked with a sign in Thai that Rajiv couldn't decipher. Jayne tried the handle.

‘Is it locked?'

‘Not for long.'

She took out a credit card and with one brisk swipe they were in. Rajiv was astonished.

‘How did you do that?' he hissed as she closed the door behind them.

‘Shoddy builders.'

He frowned.

‘The doorframes are made of unbroken aluminium strips. You can think you've locked the door but you've only locked the handle. The door can't be locked unless there's a hole to slot the bolt into. Get it?'

‘Is there anything you can't break into?'

‘The filing cabinet's a problem. Frank wears the key around his neck and if I break in, he's going to know it.'