The Half-Child (7 page)

She made a note of the anomaly and swapped the police report for the envelope Jim Delbeck had given her. In stark contrast to the forensic images was a head-and-shoulders photo of Maryanne. She had the same guileless smile on her face as she did in
The Bangkok Post
, the air of a person without a care in the world. It was hard to reconcile this image with that of a young volunteer depressed to the point of being suicidal.

Nor was there any sign of depression in Maryanne's letters home to her family. In one of the earliest dated 10 June 1996, Maryanne described her work as ‘so satisfying'.

I'm working one-on-one with a little girl called Sobha, though one of my tasks is to get her used to her new name, Sophie
, she wrote.
I'm preparing her for life with her adoptive parents, who are coming from the USA to collect her in about six weeks. She's just under a year old and I'm teaching her how to say mummy, daddy, that sort of thing.

Jayne checked the dates of Maryanne's letters against the doctor's report. Was it significant that her first visit to Doctor Somsri roughly coincided with the departure of Sobha/Sophie to live with her adoptive parents?

Jayne leafed through the photocopied letters.

Sophie's new parents, Mike and Deborah, came for her today
, Maryanne wrote to her mother on 19 July.
They were so happy, it was fantastic! Of course, Sophie couldn't really know what was going on, but I like to think I prepared her well. She didn't cry when Deborah picked her up, but let herself be held and cuddled. It helped that Deborah was wearing a string of brightly coloured beads: Sophie loved them. She's totally adorable and I'll miss her. But she's gone to a lovely family, and it feels great to have helped make that happen.

While Maryanne undoubtedly kept things from her parents—just as Jayne sanitised her experiences in her own letters home—it didn't make sense for her to put on a brave face in this instance. She seemed genuinely happy about the outcome for Sophie.

Jayne read through the rest of the letters and conceded that Jim Delbeck had a point: Maryanne's correspondence was uniformly upbeat. She came across as cheery, her confidence verging on conceit. There was nothing to suggest depression, let alone suicidal tendencies.

Maryanne wrote once a fortnight for the first two months, tapering off to once every three or four weeks thereafter. The only negative inference Jayne could find was in a letter dated 5 August.

I feel sorry for the ones who can't be adopted out
, Maryanne wrote.
It's quite common here for poor families to hand over their kids to be raised in an institution. But they're not considered orphans so they can't be put up for adoption. It seems so unfair. It's not as if their families visit them regularly. Some never come back for them at all
.

Even in this case, Maryanne focused on the positives.

They're not all lost causes and we've had a few cases where successful counselling has resulted in a parent or parents putting their child up for adoption. The specialist adviser, Frank Harding, is really good. He's American but he speaks Thai fluently and he's been in Pattaya a long time. Because he knows both Thailand and the USA, he can be honest with the poorer mothers and families about where their child would be better off
.

That's a matter of opinion
, Jayne thought.

I really like what I do now, but I'm thinking of asking Frank if I can work with the boarders
, Maryanne concluded in a letter on 23 August.
I'd like to try and help make a difference to these kids, and my teacher says it would be a great way to improve my Thai language skills
.

Hardly the words of someone unable to cope.

The Australian Embassy's investigator noted this apparent contradiction, though after re-interviewing Doctor Somsri and staff and volunteers at the New Life Children's Centre, he stood by the Pattaya police report findings. His report included a photocopy of a prescription for antidepressants issued to Maryanne Delbeck six weeks before her death. There were also photocopies of pages from the doctor's appointment diary showing the frequency of Maryanne's visits. The consultant noted that depression was an insidious illness, the effects of which Maryanne could well have kept hidden from her loved ones, particularly given the distance between them.

Jayne scanned back over the letters for any irregularities she might have missed. There were letters addressed to her mother and father, others to her mother alone, none addressed only to her father, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Passing mention of the brother, Ian, but less concern for his wellbeing than for ‘Mitzu the Shiatsu' to whom Maryanne sent love at the end of each letter. She wasn't unique in preferring the company of a dog to a sibling.

The letters were matter-of-fact rather than intimate.

There were occasional references to friends in Pattaya but nothing specific and little about the place itself. In short, a G-rated account of her adventures in Thailand. Jayne wondered if there were an R-rated version somewhere. A journal perhaps. Maryanne struck her as the type to keep a diary, but there was no mention of one in any of the reports.

Jayne understood Jim Delbeck's frustration. The finding of suicide appeared to come down to the opinion of a doctor over a father.

She stared again through the bus window. She doubted she'd learn anything new by interviewing the same people for a third time. If there were fresh light to be shed on the case, it would have to come from somewhere else. She went over the case again in her head, searching for gaps, until she remembered a throwaway line in one of Maryanne's letters.

My teacher says it would be a great way to improve my Thai language skills.

Maryanne was studying Thai. There was no mention of anyone having interviewed her Thai teacher. It might not amount to much, but it was a start.

The noise from the video cut out abruptly as the driver announced their arrival at the Pattaya Bus Station. Jayne fended off the taxi drivers and hotel touts and headed to North Pattaya Road to hail a
songthaew
, literally ‘two rows'. Pattaya's chief form of public transport was a utility truck, its tray lined with parallel bench seats and sheltered by a canvas awning. Jayne checked the direction the driver was headed and climbed on board. There were six farang men and three Thai women in the vehicle, one bouncing a chubby infant on her lap. Jayne took a seat at the end of the bench on the right side where she had a view out the back.

The
songthaew
headed west along a road lined with billboards plugging beer, shampoo, petrol, mobile phones and ‘Tiffany's: The Original Transvestite Cabaret Show New Extravaganza'. Turning left at a roundabout with a dolphin fountain at its centre, they cruised south along

the coast road, following the curve of Pattaya Bay. The
songthaew
pulled over to let off the Thai woman and her baby. Jayne got her first good look at the beach. She took in a grubby strip of sand dotted with coconut palms and large-leafed
hu khang
trees. Tourists lazed on wooden sun lounges beneath umbrellas that stretched as far as she could see. Vendors trawled the sand with baskets of fruit on their heads, sarongs draped over their arms, and seafood grilling in metal bowls dangling from poles across their shoulders.

A sinewy Thai woman massaged the back of a fleshy blonde in a leopard print bikini. Her companion was having her toenails painted. The whine of distant jet-skis could be heard above the idling
songthaew
engine. They took off again and Jayne turned her attention to the opposite side of the road, a stretch of open-fronted beer bars, guesthouses, hotels and go-go clubs with a 7-Eleven every fifty paces. The bars had names that ranged from corny—Happy Friend, Lovely Corner, We Are The World Beer Bar—to bawdy. Among the latter, Jayne liked Shaggers for its simplicity. Despite the mid-afternoon sun, the bars were more crowded than the beach, and Jayne noted with a wry smile that where Thai women were concerned, the beach was for covering up, the bars for bikinis.

The trip continued through Central Pattaya past more beer bars, a dive centre, a couple of shopping plazas. Two more farang men descended at Soi Pattayaland 2, aka ‘Boyz Town', the town's busiest gay zone, before the
songthaew
turned left into South Pattaya Road and headed away from the beach. Jayne lost her bearings for a few minutes as they zigzagged up the cliff, but caught sight of the Bayview Hotel and pressed the button on the roof to bring the
songthaew
to a stop.

A young Thai woman in high-cut denim shorts, pink singlet and diamante-studded sunglasses watched Jayne get out. In one of those moments when Jayne wished she couldn't speak the language, the woman turned to her friend and in a voice loud enough to be heard over the engine asked, ‘What do you think a fat farang like her is looking for in Pattaya?'

6

J
ayne could see why Maryanne chose the Bayview Hotel. It was a cliff-top sanctuary dividing the sleaze of Pattaya in the north from Jomtien in the south, a quieter stretch billed as ‘family oriented' with a gay beach at one end and a large Russian presence at the other.

The hotel had two distinct sections: the White Wing, a modern tower of ‘deluxe' and ‘superior' rooms; and the Green Wing, an older, low-rise guesthouse with a dozen ‘standard' rooms. Judging from the liberal use of Formica and round feature windows, Jayne dated the Green Wing circa 1960; the White Wing was still so new the paintwork had barely begun to blister.

The Green Wing was not so much surrounded as encroached upon by a tropical garden: the rooms smelled of damp, liana vines crept through the air-vents, and palms jostled against the balcony railings like Triffids. The White Wing by contrast was surrounded by a belt of neat lawn, interrupted only by two large umbrella trees that survived the renovation.

Jayne knew from her file notes that Maryanne had rented a room in the Green Wing after a short-lived experiment in a flat on her own.
The apartment was in what they call a condo
, she wrote home to her parents.
All the neighbours were sleazy European men with much younger Thai girlfriends (or boyfriends!). I came home one night and found a guy trying to break in my door. He said the landlord had sent him to check the security system, but I didn't believe him. I packed up my things on the spot and moved into the hotel where I am now. It's so much safer for me here, more secure. Plus I was getting really run down because work is so exhausting and I couldn't be bothered cooking for myself. But the hotel has a 24-hour kitchen and breakfast is included in the room rate. What do you think? Will you cover the extra?

This explained the increase in the monthly payments into Maryanne's account.

The police report mentioned that although Maryanne wasn't staying in the White Wing, as a guest she had access to all hotel facilities including the tower's rooftop bar and swimming pool. Hotel staff interviewed by police couldn't say how often Maryanne had made use of these facilities, though it was considered odd that she should be there when the bar and pool were closed.

Jayne booked into an upper storey room in the Green Wing. It crossed her mind that this might well have been Maryanne's room. The Thais would consider it haunted and gladly let it to a godless farang. Good thing she wasn't superstitious.

The simple room contained a queen-sized bed with side tables and reading lamps bolted onto the wall at one end, a unit with a built-in desk, TV, bar fridge, wardrobe and mirror at the other. The en suite bathroom to the left of the entrance was so small you could have a shower, brush your teeth and use the toilet all at the same time. On the far side of the room, glass doors led to a balcony containing two white plastic chairs and a matching table. A glass ashtray rested precariously on the railing.

Jayne unpacked her clothes and placed the paperwork on the desk but didn't linger. Armed with cigarettes, wallet, mobile phone and a notebook, she headed back out to the main road in search of a
songthaew
to take her into Central Pattaya.

Following the direction of the traffic, she walked west along Soi 7 towards the beach. The beer bars were stacked side-by-side and piled on top of one another like speakers at a stadium concert, each playing a different tune. The result was a cacophony of whining Thai pop, booming slow rock and the clang of Thai boxing music, all competing to the point of distortion. Jayne fled to Soi 8, but it was more of the same.

The cluttered footpaths forced her on to the road, where she careened into a pile of sand. She stopped to shake out the grit in her sandals, the traffic fumes made her eyes water. She'd planned to explore the district for a while, but soaking up the atmosphere made her feel like she needed a shower.

She headed back to the main drag and waved down another
songthaew
. It was nearing dusk. Neon signs and fairy-lights flickered around the entrances to the bars and restaurants. From the dolphin fountain she continued north, pressing the button to descend at one of the
soi
, or secondary roads, that ran west of Thanon Naklua. She avoided a hole in the road and the spider-web of electrical wires inside it and skirted around a pile of bitumen chunks. She might as well never have left Bangkok.

The New Life Children's Centre was in a gated compound halfway along the soi. In typical Thai fashion, the gate was elaborate wrought iron painted gold, intended to make a good impression. Jayne peered through the railings. Inside was an assortment of freestanding buildings labelled in Thai and English—Administration, Orphanage, Clinic—connected by plant-lined paths and surrounded by manicured lawns. There was a large crucifix on the outer wall of the orphanage. The place looked orderly and welcoming, though a sign on the front gate in Thai and English advised visitors were not admitted without an appointment. Jayne jotted down the phone number. Attached to the gatepost was a perspex box containing pamphlets in English entitled ‘Give A Child A New Life: Volunteer Now'. Jayne slipped one into her pocket.