Cockroaches(65)

He assured Harry and Nho that no one by the name of Jim Love was staying there. When they described him he smiled and he shook his head. Above the reception desk hung a sign declaring the basic house rules: no weapons, no odorous objects and no smoking in bed.

“Excuse us a moment,” Harry said to the receptionist, pulling Nho toward the door. “Well, you’re so good at reading liars …”

“Tricky,” Nho said. “He’s Vietnamese.”

“So?”

“Haven’t you heard what Nguyen Cao Ky said about his countrymen during the Vietnam War? He said the Vietnamese were born liars. It’s in their genes, having learned generation after generation that the truth brings nothing but bad luck.”

“Are you saying he’s lying?”

“I’m saying I have no idea. He’s good.”

Harry turned, went back to the desk and asked for the master key. The receptionist smiled nervously.

Harry raised his voice a tiny fraction, enunciated “master key” and smiled back at him through clenched teeth.

“We’d like to go through this hotel room by room. Do you understand? If we find any irregularities we will of course be obliged to close the hotel for further examination, but I doubt there will be a problem.”

The receptionist shook his head and suddenly seemed to have difficulty understanding English.

“I said I doubt it will be a problem. I can see you have a sign expressly forbidding smoking in bed.”

Harry took down the sign and banged it on the desk.

The receptionist stared intently at the sign. Something was stirring beneath his condor neck.

“In room number 304 there’s a man called Jones,” he said. “That might be him.”

Harry turned and smiled to Nho, who shrugged.

“Is Mr. Jones in?”

“He’s been in his room ever since he checked in.”

The receptionist led them upstairs. They knocked, but no one answered. Nho motioned to the receptionist to open up, and from a calf holster Nho drew a loaded black 35mm Beretta, with the safety catch off. The receptionist’s head began to twitch, like a chicken’s. He turned the key and took two hasty steps back. Harry carefully pushed the door open. The curtains were pulled tight, and the room was dark. He put a hand inside the door and switched on the light. On the bed lay Jim Love, unmoving with closed eyes and headphones on. A ceiling fan hummed and whirred, ruffling the curtains. The water pipe was on a low table beside his bed.

“Jim!” Harry called, but Jim Love didn’t react.

Either he was asleep or he had the Walkman on loud, Harry thought, surveying the room to make sure Jim didn’t have company. Then he saw an unhurried fly emerging from Jim’s right nostril. Harry walked over to the bed and laid a hand on his forehead. It was like touching cold marble.





30


Friday, January 17


Everyone except Rangsan was assembled in Liz’s office later that evening.

“Tell me we’ve got a lead,” she said menacingly.

“The Forensics people found loads,” Nho said. “They had three men there and found a stack of fingerprints, hairs and fibers. They said it didn’t look as if Yupa House had been cleaned for six months.”

Sunthorn and Harry laughed, but Liz just glared at them.

“Any clues that could actually be linked to the murder?”

“We don’t know if it is a murder yet,” Harry said.

“Yes, we do,” Liz snapped. “Suspected accomplices in murder investigations don’t accidentally overdose a few hours before we arrest them.”

“He who is destined for the gallows will not drown, as we say in Norwegian,” Harry said.

“What?”

“I agree.”

Nho added that fatal overdoses were rare among opium smokers. As a rule they lost consciousness before they could inhale too much. The door opened and Rangsan walked in.

“News,” he said, sitting down and picking up a newspaper. “They’ve found the cause of death.”

“I didn’t think the autopsy result would be through until tomorrow,” Nho said.

“Not necessary. The boys in Forensics found prussic acid on the opium, a thin layer. Guy must have died after the first drag.”

For a moment the table was silent.

“Get hold of Maisan.” Liz was back in the groove. “We have to find out where Love got his opium.”

“I wouldn’t be too optimistic on that score,” Rangsan warned. “Maisan’s talked to Love’s main pusher, and he hadn’t seen him for a long time.”

“Great,” Harry said. “But now at any rate we know someone has obviously tried to finger Brekke as the murderer.”