Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat

be followed by a climb up to the deck of a fifty-meter concrete battleship erected in his honor. Pak Nam’s most famous landmark, complete with concrete sailors and interlocking dolphins. What can I say?
    Chompu arrived on foot. I was surprised. Pak Nam police station was only six hundred meters away, but policemen rarely walked. It made them look too common. I’d been nervous, I confess, about what Granddad Jah’s reaction might have been to this flowery policeman. He was hardly in a position to complain, of course. He’d indirectly sired one grandson who was the 1992 Miss Pattaya World, and one more who’d refused point-blank to have sexual relations unless it was a sincere love match, ergo, a thirty-two-year-old virgin. With a record like that, a man would have to have serious doubts about his own gene pool.
    To my surprise, Granddad Jah stood and saluted when Chompu arrived. It didn’t feel sarcastic. The lieutenant generously returned the salute and removed his hat. We sat under the wooden canopy and Granddad and Chompu briefly exchanged professional backgrounds. I took the female role and ordered an assortment of Esarn Lao delicacies and cold beer and Coca-Cola for the lieutenant. Chompu was very respectful and I got the feeling my granddad had warmed to him early on. He told the policeman about the dirt track we’d found beside Wat Feuang Fa and I smiled at Granddad’s look of awe when the lieutenant immediately took out his cell phone and passed on the information to somebody at the station. He related the story exactly as it had been told to him. He even asked Granddad for his full name so he could be cited as a witness. With the detectives back in Bangkok with their suspect, the local stations were now responsible again for any ongoing developments in the case. When Chompu turned off his phone, both he and Granddad were grinning widely.
    “Well, that’s one happy major,” said Chompu. “If this comes to something, you’ll have a friend for life.”
    He raised his glass and we all clinked.
    “Any news from your end?” I asked.
    “Afraid there weren’t any prints on the cigarette lighter you gave us,” said Chompu. “But we’ve got word back on the camera. It wasn’t a make that can be bought.”
    “You have to steal it?”
    “Either that or you have to be a professional photographer. Canon has a policy of asking professionals to trial their prototypes. That brand number was a prototype. They make a hundred or so of each and ask the pros to test them.”
    “So it should be possible to get a list of the people asked to trial the camera,” I said.
    “Technically. But it involves contacting Canon offices overseas. That could take some time, given…”
    “Given all the foolishness going on in Bangkok,” I said. “Any news about the Merc driver?”
    “None of the mobile units spotted him on the highway heading in either direction,” he said. “And, as you both know, I’m not at liberty to divulge information on an ongoing investigation, et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, but, between you and me, the daughter of the 69 Resort owner remembered the license number of the car.”
    “Good for her,” I said.
    “Even more impressive if you consider she’s four.”
    “So we shouldn’t put too much faith in it.”
    “No. I’m told she’s quite a prodigy when it comes to license plates. Anyway, they’re running the number. There are also developments on the attack on Phoom that I’m not at liberty to tell you about. The person who phoned in the accident on his cell didn’t stick around once the ambulance arrived. That’s quite common. Folks wanting to help but not to get involved in reports and interviews.”
    “Better than not taking the trouble in the first place,” said Granddad Jah.
    “Couldn’t agree more,” said Chompu. “But there was something. We had the local radio station, 106.50, ask for witnesses and a lady called in saying she’d passed an accident on the road. There were two vehicles parked already so she hadn’t stopped. But she saw a man and a woman leaning over the victim.”
    “Two vehicles?” I said. “Really? Did she mention what types they were?”
    “One pick-up truck and one car was all she remembered. No make or color.”
    “Is there any way to trace the good Samaritan call to the hospital?” I asked.
    “It’s not easy. We’d need a warrant from a judge.”
    “But it can be done.”
    “I’m assuming the major has already started the