a restaurant just far enough from the station that it’s unlikely a familiar cop will wander in—and if one does it’ll confirm his belief that Thanom is going to keep an eye on him and Anna for a while, if only to know whether they met immediately after Anna looked at the surveillance videos. Arthit is certain he wasn’t followed from the station, so if anyone was, it’s Anna.
He looks around the restaurant again, sees no one who seems to be paying attention to them. He says, “Only one man.”
That I saw
, she writes on one of the blue cards she carries.
“Kosit figures there were at least three. The security men in Sawat’s condo were killed with knives. Had to take two, at minimum. The man who shot Sawat and his guards was waiting upstairs in an unoccupied unit. So he thinks three. How do you know it was the same man on both tapes?”
He sips his iced coffee, keeping half an eye on the food cooling in the center of the table. She’s too busy writing to eat, and he feels a twinge of guilt and puts his hand over the pad. With his other hand, he indicates the food.
Anna pushes his hand away.
He made his hair gray the second time and he walked like an old man, but when he moved fast, it was easy to see it was the same one
.
“What kind of gun? In the second video, the killing of Thongchai.”
She shakes her head and shows him the palms of her hands.
“Not a big one, like the first time.”
Another shake of the head.
Arthit takes the pen and draws two crude guns, one a revolver with its curved lines, and the other a boxy automatic. Anna taps a fingernail on the automatic and holds up her index fingers, about seven or eight inches apart. She waits, and he nods.
“You could see what he said after he threw in the match?”
She scratches her head and then wiggles her hand from side to side, meaning,
sort of
. Then she begins to write again.
I think he said, Two children. One woman
.
“And when he killed the first men,” Arthit says. “He said, ‘Two women, three children.’ ”
She nods.
“Victims, probably,” Arthit says. “Sawat and Thongchai murdered a lot of people. These killings were probably revenge for the dead.” He rubs the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and says, “Children.”
Anna drops her gaze to the tablecloth. Without looking at the blue card, she folds it in half and then in half again. She uses her thumbnail to sharpen the creases and looks up as he taps the tablecloth.
“So first you looked at the video from last night, where he killed Sawat and the other three, and then someone brought in the second tape.”
Anna nods.
“And what happened to the cop who brought the tape into the room?”
She makes a brusque, shooing-away gesture, flapping the backs of her hands toward him.
“Thanom told him to leave. And Thanom’s reaction,” Arthit says. “When he saw the face on the second tape, the face of the fat man, how did he look?”
Anna unfolds the creased card and writes on the blank side,
Like he went to the bathroom in his pants
.
Arthit surveys the restaurant again and sees no one to worry about. He has a
thousand
things to worry about, but none of them seems to be present. He says, “Do you want to take the food home?”
She nods, gathering up the blue cards and stacking them, evening their edges so she can put them into the compartment in the front cover of the pad, where she keeps the ones she’s written on, and he motions to the waiter and makes a box in the air with his hands, miming shoveling the food into it. Anna breaks into laughter. She writes,
Talking to me too much
, and he joins her, although the laugh has to push its way past something squatting in the center of his chest.
The killing of Thongchai, Arthit thinks, will be very bad for Thanom. Thanom barely dodged the hail of institutional bullets when Sawat’s murder-for-hire scandal broke, and several innocent men went down in his place. Thongchai was Sawat’s lieutenant and
He looks around the restaurant again, sees no one who seems to be paying attention to them. He says, “Only one man.”
That I saw
, she writes on one of the blue cards she carries.
“Kosit figures there were at least three. The security men in Sawat’s condo were killed with knives. Had to take two, at minimum. The man who shot Sawat and his guards was waiting upstairs in an unoccupied unit. So he thinks three. How do you know it was the same man on both tapes?”
He sips his iced coffee, keeping half an eye on the food cooling in the center of the table. She’s too busy writing to eat, and he feels a twinge of guilt and puts his hand over the pad. With his other hand, he indicates the food.
Anna pushes his hand away.
He made his hair gray the second time and he walked like an old man, but when he moved fast, it was easy to see it was the same one
.
“What kind of gun? In the second video, the killing of Thongchai.”
She shakes her head and shows him the palms of her hands.
“Not a big one, like the first time.”
Another shake of the head.
Arthit takes the pen and draws two crude guns, one a revolver with its curved lines, and the other a boxy automatic. Anna taps a fingernail on the automatic and holds up her index fingers, about seven or eight inches apart. She waits, and he nods.
“You could see what he said after he threw in the match?”
She scratches her head and then wiggles her hand from side to side, meaning,
sort of
. Then she begins to write again.
I think he said, Two children. One woman
.
“And when he killed the first men,” Arthit says. “He said, ‘Two women, three children.’ ”
She nods.
“Victims, probably,” Arthit says. “Sawat and Thongchai murdered a lot of people. These killings were probably revenge for the dead.” He rubs the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and says, “Children.”
Anna drops her gaze to the tablecloth. Without looking at the blue card, she folds it in half and then in half again. She uses her thumbnail to sharpen the creases and looks up as he taps the tablecloth.
“So first you looked at the video from last night, where he killed Sawat and the other three, and then someone brought in the second tape.”
Anna nods.
“And what happened to the cop who brought the tape into the room?”
She makes a brusque, shooing-away gesture, flapping the backs of her hands toward him.
“Thanom told him to leave. And Thanom’s reaction,” Arthit says. “When he saw the face on the second tape, the face of the fat man, how did he look?”
Anna unfolds the creased card and writes on the blank side,
Like he went to the bathroom in his pants
.
Arthit surveys the restaurant again and sees no one to worry about. He has a
thousand
things to worry about, but none of them seems to be present. He says, “Do you want to take the food home?”
She nods, gathering up the blue cards and stacking them, evening their edges so she can put them into the compartment in the front cover of the pad, where she keeps the ones she’s written on, and he motions to the waiter and makes a box in the air with his hands, miming shoveling the food into it. Anna breaks into laughter. She writes,
Talking to me too much
, and he joins her, although the laugh has to push its way past something squatting in the center of his chest.
The killing of Thongchai, Arthit thinks, will be very bad for Thanom. Thanom barely dodged the hail of institutional bullets when Sawat’s murder-for-hire scandal broke, and several innocent men went down in his place. Thongchai was Sawat’s lieutenant and
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