The Tunnel Rats (24 page)

'I'll open a bottle of wine,' she said.

Hunter retrieved the video cassette, grabbed his jacket, and drove to Janie's house.

He parked behind her car and walked up the driveway. She opened the door before he reached it. She was wearing a pink silk dressing gown and full make-up and she'd obviously just brushed her hair. Wright thought she looked gorgeous, and he knew immediately that she'd lied about the pasta. She was dressed for the bedroom, not the kitchen. Hunter kissed her on the cheek and caught her favourite scent. Her arms slid around his neck and she kissed him on the mouth, pressing her body hard against his. Hunter could taste wine as her tongue slid against his teeth.

'Thank you for coming,' she said when she eventually broke away.

He held up the video cassette. 'I have to watch this,' he said.

'Right now?'

'Right now. It won't take long.'

She took it off him and examined it. 'Apocalypse Now} That's at least two hours long, isn't it?' She held it behind her back. 'Bed first.'

'Video first,' Hunter insisted.

Janie could see that she wasn't going to get her way, so she gave him the video and flounced off to the sitting room. Hunter followed her and loaded the video into the recorder. He dropped down next to Janie on the overstuffed sofa opposite the television. A half empty bottle of wine and two glasses were on the coffee table next to Janie. The screen flickered into life and Hunter picked up the remote control and fast-forwarded through the piracy warning and trailers for other movies.

Janie picked up her glass and sipped her wine. She put her glass down and slid across Hunter, straddling him. Her dressing gown rode up her thighs as she put her hands on either side of his face and pressed her lips against his. Hunter tried to protest but as he opened his mouth wine spilled between his lips and he had to swallow. Janie thrust her tongue deeper into his mouth and ground her backside against his groin. Wine dribbled from between their lips and ran down Hunter's chin. Janie took her hands away from his face and wriggled out of her robe. She was naked underneath.

Hunter put his hands on her shoulders arid pushed her away. She was panting and there was an almost manic gleam in her eyes. 'Janie,' he protested.

'Do as you're told,' she said. She seized his wrists and placed his hands on her full breasts. The nipples were hard and he couldn't stop himself caressing them. She smiled, sensing that she'd won, and slipped her hands down to his groin, rubbing and probing and making him hard.

'Where's Sean?' he asked.

'Sean's in bed, asleep.' She raised herself up and undid his belt. Her right hand found him and Hunter gasped. Janie pressed her mouth against his again and as she kissed him she slid him inside her.

The British Airways flight to Bangkok was full and Nick Wright was lucky to get a window seat. He was seated next to two Australian backpackers who seemed to be intent on drinking as much free beer and wine as they could. They were pleasant enough but there was no chance of Wright getting any sleep. Two hours into the flight he decided that he might as well join them in their binge, and together they downed the best part of a case of lager by the time they landed in Thailand.

It took more than an hour for Wright to clear immigration. The queues were long and the brown-uniformed immigration officials seemed in no hurry to process the arrivals. His suitcase was waiting THE TUNNEL RATS 171 for him on the carousel, so he collected it, handed in his Customs form and headed through the 'Nothing To Declare' exit.

Several Thai men in blue blazers and black slacks tried to shepherd him towards counters offering hotel and limousine services but the Australians had already warned him that they were overpriced. They'd told him to walk on to the public taxi counter and given him the names and addresses of several reasonably priced hotels to go along with those he'd already picked from the Lonely Planet guide to Thailand.

At the public taxi counter a young girl in a white blouse tried to persuade him to accept a non-metered taxi, but the backpackers had told Wright to refuse and to insist on a taxi with a meter. Reluctantly, the girl handed him a chit stamped with 'Taxi Meter'. On it she'd written his destination, one of the hotels that the backpackers had recommended. It was off Sukhumvit Road, a mile or so from the orphanage where Eric Horvitz had worked.

A driver materialised at Wright's shoulder, a bulky Thai in his forties wearing a blue T-shirt and beige slacks. He took the chit,

picked up Wright's suitcase and led Wright across the crowded terminal building. Wright stopped to change the sterling he'd '� brought with him into Thai baht then they walked outside.

He was hit by a wall of humidity that took his breath away. Beads of sweat gathered on his face and he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He slipped off the blazer he was wearing.

The driver grinned at his discomfort as he held open the door of the white Toyota. 'First time in Bangkok?' he asked. , 'First time in Asia,' said Wright. In fact, it was his first time out * side Europe. Janie loved France and Italy, and apart from a couple of weeks in Spain, they'd spent most of their holidays there.

The driver put the suitcase in the boot, climbed into the front seat and drove off. Wright leaned forward and pointed at the meter. 'Meter,' he said.

The driver shook his head. 'Not working.'

The backpackers had told Wright that it was common practice to claim that the meter was out of order so that the drivers could negotiate a higher fare. Wright jabbed his finger at the meter. 'Use the meter,' he said.

The driver shrugged and pressed a button on the front of the meter. Red numbers glowed. 'You want massage?' said the driver.

'No,' said Wright.

'You want girl?'

'No.'

'Boy?'

Wright laughed and the driver laughed along with him.

The traffic was heavy and they soon slowed to a crawl. Cars and trucks seemed to stretch towards the horizon. In the distance tower blocks glinted in the early morning sun. Th� light was dazzlingly bright, a stark contrast to the grey drizzle he'd left behind in England. Wright settled back and dozed, his head resting against the window.

It took them almost two hours to get to the hotel, which as far as he could judge was only ten miles from the airport. Wright had become so used to the taxi stopping and starting that he didn't realise they'd arrived until the driver twisted around in his seat and pointed, saying, 'We here.'

Wright stretched and rubbed his eyes. They were in a narrow street in front of a five-storey building that had once been white but that was now a grubby grey. Streaks of rust ran down from leaking pipes and the windows were covered with a film of dust. Wright pulled out his wallet, paid the driver and carried his suitcase into reception.

A security guard in a blue uniform was fast asleep on a grey sofa, his peaked cap over his face, and the young girl at the reception desk had her head on her arms and was snoring softly. Overhead a wooden-bladed fan turned slowly and in the corner of the reception area a smalh television showed a Thai news programme, the sound muted. The girl opened her eyes and looked up at him sleepily. She smiled, reached under the desk for a check-in form and slid it across to him. She smiled again and put her head back on her arms.

Wright filled in the form, and just as he finished the girl opened her eyes and handed him a key. She was snoring once more as he picked up his suitcase and headed for the stairs.

His room was on the third floor, clean but basic with a double THE TUNNEL RATS 173 bed, two cane chairs and a small circular table, a mirrored built-in wardrobe, a television and a small refrigerator. Wright heaved his suitcase on top of the wardrobe and sat down on the bed.

Bangkok was six hours ahead of London, but despite not sleeping on the plane he didn't feel tired. There was a telephone by the bed and a Yellow Pages. He flicked through it but it was all in Thai. He took his notebook out of his blazer pocket and read through the notes he'd made on the Eric Horvitz murder. He'd managed to find a translation agency in the West End that had translated the Thai cuttings, and one of them had contained a quote from a policeman who was involved in the investigation. Wright reckoned he would be as good a place to start as any, but first he needed a contact number.

He showered and changed into a pair of brown slacks and a white shirt, then took his notebook down to reception, woke up the receptionist and showed her the policeman's name in his notebook. She frowned, not understanding. Wright pointed at the inspector's name and mimed using a telephone. The girl squinted at his writing, then smiled and shook her head. 'Not speak English,' she said.

'Directory enquiries?' asked Wright, pointing at her telephone, but it was clear from the look on her face that she didn't understand. The girl's smile widened, as if the smile would solve his problem. He banged his notebook against his leg as he considered his options. The orphanage where Horvitz had worked seemed the best bet.

He went outside and looked up and down the narrow street but there was no sign of a taxi. He headed for the main road and within seconds he was bathed in sweat. The Bangkok air assailed his nostrils, a stifling brew of exhaust fumes, sewage and fried food. He stepped across an open drain and as he looked down something moved in the grey sludge, something with a tail and hard, beady eyes.

A large Mercedes went by, the wing mirror narrowly missing Wright's arm. He walked by an open-fronted shop selling tinned food and canned drinks. He bought a can of iced coffee and sipped it as he walked.

The traffic on the main road was locked solid. Wright looked at his wristwatch. Nine thirty. Obviously still rush hour. In the 174 STEPHEN LEATHER distance a traffic light turned from red to green and the traffic began to crawl forward. A green taxi with white Thai writing on the side had its red 'For Hire' light on in its windscreen, so Wright flagged it down and opened the rear door.

'Sukhumvit Soi Two,' he read, hoping that he was pronouncing it correctly.

The young driver smiled and shook his head. Wright tried again. This time the driver made a waving motion with his hand. Wright showed him the notebook but the driver refused to look at it. Horns blared out behind them, illogical because the traffic was barely moving.

'Look, I want to go here. This is Sukhumvit Road, right? I want to go to Sukhumvit Soi Two. It can't be far away.'

The driver turned away and sat motionless with his hands on the wheel. Wright sat back and silently cursed. What chance did he have of solving the case if he couldn't even tell a taxi driver where he wanted to go? He got out of the taxi and walked back along the side street.

When he got back to his hotel the sleeping girl had been replaced by a young man in a black suit and a starched white shirt whose collar was about three sizes too big for him. He smiled at Wright and held out a key for him. 'Good morning, Mr Wright,' he said, flashing a grin of perfect white teeth.

'How did you know my name?' asked Wright.

'My colleague told me that you had checked in, and she described you as a good-looking man wearing brown trousers.'

Wright shook his head in amazement. Faultless English and flattery combined, it was almost too good to be true. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'Somchai,' said the teenager. 'At your service.' He bowed slightly, still holding out the key.

'Somchai, you're just what I need,' said Wright, showing him the notebook. 'I want to go to this address. Can you help?'

Somchai put the key back in its cubbyhole and studied the page. 'An orphanage?' he said.

'That's right.'

'Sukhumvit Soi Two. The main road is called Sukhumvit. The soi is the street off the main road. We are in soi twenty-six.'

'So how do I tell the taxi driver?'

'You say Sukhumvit Soi Song. And to get back here you say Sukhumvit Soi Yee Sip Hok.' He picked up a pen and a sheet of hotel notepaper and wrote on it in Thai. 'This will be better,' he said. 'Show the driver this, and when you want to come back, show him the printed address.'

'You're a lifesaver, Somchai,' said Wright, pocketing the piece of paper. He went through the notebook and found the name of the police inspector. He showed it to Somchai. 'I want to speak to this man. He's a police inspector. Can you get a telephone number for him?'

'Do you know which police station he is based at?'

'I'm afraid not.'

Somchai copied down the name. 'I will see what I can do,' he said. He smiled expectantly at Wright. Wright smiled back. Somchai's smile widened so that it seemed to encompass the whole of his jaw. Realisation dawned and Wright took out his wallet and gave the teenager a hundred-baht note.

This time Wright had no problem persuading a taxi driver to take him to the orphanage. It was only a mile or so away from the hotel but the journey took almost an hour. If it hadn't been for the searing heat and humidity, Wright could have walked it in less than half the time. Even the Thais seemed affected by the heat. A line of schoolchildren stood in the shadow cast by a telegraph pole; female office workers in pastel-coloured suits shielded their faces with their handbags as they walked along Sukhumvit Road; a crew of workers resurfacing a section of the road wore wide-brimmed straw hats and had swathed their faces with cloth to protect themselves from the sun.

The road was a mix of old and new: gleaming shopping malls with boutiques and ATMs, and small open-fronted shops where bare-chested old men worked on ancient Singer sewing machines. There were roadside stalls selling T-shirts and cheap watches, and others offering noodle soup and fried fish balls on sticks from the shade of spreading umbrellas. The orphanage was in a quiet side street, barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass at the same time. Wright heard the 176 STEPHEN LEATHER sound of laughing children as he climbed out of the taxi and paid the driver.

The orphanage was surrounded by a high wall into which was set a pair of huge wrought-iron gates encrusted with dirt. A security guard in a pale blue uniform with a gleaming gold badge on the breast pocket opened the gate for Wright.