find you a place that fitted with the legend of a guy on the run who was in Pattaya for the first time, and this is the place. It was a toss-up between the Sandy Spring and the Dynasty next door but I’m in there so I said you’d be better here.’ He reached into the carrier-bag again and this time brought out a glossy brochure and a business card, which he gave to Shepherd. ‘This is an estate agency run by a guy who’s a friend of the Moores, Dominic Windsor. He’s totally legit but he has a few dodgy friends and acquaintances. I thought you could pay him a visit and get him to show you a few villas for rent. Find yourself a decent place, and he’ll be sure to mention you to the Moores.’
‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did he sell the Moores theirs?’
‘Nah, they bought the land through a Thai lawyer and had their villas built for them. I’m told there are secret rooms and basements and an escape tunnel, but a lot of what you hear is total bullshit.’
‘Charlie says they live in a compound, right?’
‘There are half a dozen villas surrounded by a high wall. There’s a hill that overlooks the compound, which is where I took the snaps. There are two gates in the wall and both are manned twenty-four hours a day by off-duty cops with guns.’
Shepherd’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘That’s how it works out here. Jewellery shops and VIPs pay cops to act as guards.’
‘Even though the Moores are armed robbers?’
‘Money talks,’ said Oswald. ‘There’s a lot of blind eyes turned in Pattaya. Counterfeit goods, hookers, drugs, child porn, it’s all out there, and they don’t even bother covering it up. It’s a dangerous place, believe me.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been told.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Oswald. ‘I’ve been in some pretty rough neighbourhoods over the years but nothing compares with Pattaya. If something went wrong in that compound, they could do whatever they want with you and there’d be no repercussions. None at all. The cops would probably help them get rid of the body.’
‘What goes on there?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Sex, drugs and rock and roll,’ said Oswald. ‘I’ve spoken to girls who’ve been to some wild parties and apparently anything goes. Cocaine, heroin, amphetamines, cannabis. Mark’s a bit of an animal, from what I hear. Likes to slap the girls around. Mickey’s more level-headed, but Mark’s his little brother so he gives him a lot of leeway. Mark’s got into a few fights and there’s a few locals gunning for him.’
‘What about around town?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Where do they hang out?’
‘They’re regulars around the strip,’ said Oswald. ‘It’s called Walking Street, down by the beach. At night they block it off to traffic and it’s the main bar area. There’s a go-go bar called Angelwitch that they like, and another called Living Dolls. Restaurant-wise, there’s a steak place on Second Road they go to several times a week.’
‘They’re a tight group, right?’
‘They go out as a posse, pretty much, but they’re fairly sociable. They’re well known around town.’
‘As criminals?’
‘It’s like the Costa here,’ said Oswald. ‘The bad guys get treated like rock stars. The bigger the crime, the more the glory. Every wannabe face you meet claims to be tied to one London criminal or another. If you believe half of what you hear then every man and his dog down here has done favours for Terry Adams or Frankie Fraser or got a piece of the Brink’s Mat gold.’
Shepherd sipped his lager. He could never understand the adulation that high-profile criminals prompted in supposedly intelligent people. It was a phenomenon he’d experienced countless times while working under cover. If he was playing the part of a villain he’d be patted on the back by nightclub bouncers, club managers would send over bottles of champagne, and girls would throw themselves at him as if he was a Hollywood movie star. But Shepherd had seen first hand
‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did he sell the Moores theirs?’
‘Nah, they bought the land through a Thai lawyer and had their villas built for them. I’m told there are secret rooms and basements and an escape tunnel, but a lot of what you hear is total bullshit.’
‘Charlie says they live in a compound, right?’
‘There are half a dozen villas surrounded by a high wall. There’s a hill that overlooks the compound, which is where I took the snaps. There are two gates in the wall and both are manned twenty-four hours a day by off-duty cops with guns.’
Shepherd’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘That’s how it works out here. Jewellery shops and VIPs pay cops to act as guards.’
‘Even though the Moores are armed robbers?’
‘Money talks,’ said Oswald. ‘There’s a lot of blind eyes turned in Pattaya. Counterfeit goods, hookers, drugs, child porn, it’s all out there, and they don’t even bother covering it up. It’s a dangerous place, believe me.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been told.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Oswald. ‘I’ve been in some pretty rough neighbourhoods over the years but nothing compares with Pattaya. If something went wrong in that compound, they could do whatever they want with you and there’d be no repercussions. None at all. The cops would probably help them get rid of the body.’
‘What goes on there?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Sex, drugs and rock and roll,’ said Oswald. ‘I’ve spoken to girls who’ve been to some wild parties and apparently anything goes. Cocaine, heroin, amphetamines, cannabis. Mark’s a bit of an animal, from what I hear. Likes to slap the girls around. Mickey’s more level-headed, but Mark’s his little brother so he gives him a lot of leeway. Mark’s got into a few fights and there’s a few locals gunning for him.’
‘What about around town?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Where do they hang out?’
‘They’re regulars around the strip,’ said Oswald. ‘It’s called Walking Street, down by the beach. At night they block it off to traffic and it’s the main bar area. There’s a go-go bar called Angelwitch that they like, and another called Living Dolls. Restaurant-wise, there’s a steak place on Second Road they go to several times a week.’
‘They’re a tight group, right?’
‘They go out as a posse, pretty much, but they’re fairly sociable. They’re well known around town.’
‘As criminals?’
‘It’s like the Costa here,’ said Oswald. ‘The bad guys get treated like rock stars. The bigger the crime, the more the glory. Every wannabe face you meet claims to be tied to one London criminal or another. If you believe half of what you hear then every man and his dog down here has done favours for Terry Adams or Frankie Fraser or got a piece of the Brink’s Mat gold.’
Shepherd sipped his lager. He could never understand the adulation that high-profile criminals prompted in supposedly intelligent people. It was a phenomenon he’d experienced countless times while working under cover. If he was playing the part of a villain he’d be patted on the back by nightclub bouncers, club managers would send over bottles of champagne, and girls would throw themselves at him as if he was a Hollywood movie star. But Shepherd had seen first hand
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