Bangkok Haunts

never do it myself, but I understand enough to see how it might work: the disintegration of the cadaver was the liberation of his spirit. It’s a radical technique, though, frowned upon by orthodoxy these days, because the Sangha doesn’t want to be responsible for the cases that go wrong. No such qualms in Cambodia, apparently. How wrong did Phra Titanaka go?
    “Yeah, I know that theory. Love is all chemical reactions.”
    “Not only love. What the blind call life is virtual reality for those who see.”
    Another grunt. “You’re losing me. I’m a nuts-and-bolts
farang,
remember. Want to know what I found out?”
    “Of course.”
    “The masked man, the monster in the black gimp mask, we know who he is. His name is Stanislaus Kowlovski, Stan for short. Both parents were second-generation Polish immigrants.” She groans suddenly. “My god, I don’t know what organ that corresponded to, but a vivid clip of childhood memory just passed across my eyes. Where was I?”
    “So we have the killer?”
    “Not yet, but we have his Social Security number, fingerprints, everything. That isometric hardware you’ve got at the airport works fine. All I had to do was give the nerds the challenge of using the DVD to get a still of his irises. Took them less than five minutes.”
    “How did they react to the DVD?”
    A pause, then softly: “Same as me, Sonchai. Except maybe for a man it’s even worse, to see a beautiful young woman, full of life, do a thing like that. When I told them it wasn’t just a sick fantasy, she really died like that, they couldn’t take it. Hardened agents had to hold back the tears. Amazing.”
    “So you’re hunting for him?”
    “Sure. Everyone’s excited. International sex offenders are the flavor of the month all over the West. We’ll have him for sure in a few days, unless he has strong connections in another country, which I doubt. He might hail from Kansas, but he’s a California boy through and through.”
    “Any rap sheet?”
    “No form at all, but plenty of reputation. The LAPD know about him as a male porn star. There are dozens of low-rent movies with his dong in a supporting role.”
    “All heterosexual?”
    “Yes.”
    “All sadistic?”
    “No. Not a single one. He was a mainstream stud—you know, the obliging, smiling, baby-oiled, irresistible jock who fades into the background early in the flick while the camera homes in on the girl’s body. They showed me a few pix of him without the mask. A handsome male animal, strong jaw, toothpaste smile. If I didn’t know better, I would have categorized him as harmless beach-bum type—you know, the kind of Ivy League iron-pumper who makes a point of
not
kicking sand in other guys’ faces because it’s uncool and blue collar.”
    We both take a break from the investigation while the girls go deeper into the torture. Mostly these are country girls from Isaan who were tough enough even before they took up massage and are built like miniature brown tanks. I’m getting the elbow in the liver and trying to think of the next question.
    “So, it must have been money that made him do it?”
    “What else? It fits in a kind of way. Male porn stars fade as quickly as their female colleagues. He is forty-three, broke, technically bankrupt, and when that happens, you can bet loan sharks are making circles somewhere under the surface. We’re liaising with the LAPD. Ouch! Is it healthy to get an elbow in the gut like that?”
    “Helps with digestion. Did any childhood clip come up when she did that?”
    “Ten years of car sickness. We lived in Florida, but both sets of grandparents lived in New York. Reunions four times a year. We drove every time.”
    A pause while my feet are bent inward and pressed. “So, what we really want is a lead to the paymasters?”
    “I’m optimistic. Porn stars of either sex tend not to rate so high in IQ tests. A couple days of interrogation should give us everything.”
    We both fall silent under the power of the Wat Po massage technique. There comes a point where the masseuse must confront the sex organ if her client is male. Usually one is totally relaxed and the girl delicately shifts your dormant member from one side of your groin to the other. Often there is humor in the moment, especially if the client has been finding the massage stimulating and the girl gives a
why-are-you-so-big?
twist to her lips. This time, though, in my relaxed and vulnerable state, the sudden erotic connection