Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat

that got out of control.”
    “Stripped and handcuffed to a bench in the train station?”
    “Some of those bar girls can be vindictive, Nong Jimm. You dump one and move on to another…”
    “So, what about the words on his belly, sa som? ”
    “It means ‘deserved’.”
    “I know what it means, Granddad, but why would bar girls write it on him? Don’t you think it sounds like something a bit more sinister? And surely you don’t think the note to me was just a coincidence. There has to be a connection.”
    But I didn’t get a chance, then, to hear his response. We were interrupted by the breathless return of Lieutenant Chompu who jumped into the truck and showed us his small but perfect teeth.
    “I don’t need to tell you,” he gasped, “I’m not at liberty to tell you this, but…we’ve got good news and bad news and good news and bad news, and then good news. But it’s all better than no news at all. Where should I start?” We both glared at him. “All right. The good news it is. First, the girl child was indeed a genius because the Benz number checked out. They found the car. The bad news is that it’s a rental from a company in Phuket, and the fellow that stayed over at the resort was one of their hired drivers. His name’s Wirapon, nickname, Keeo.”
    “That shouldn’t rule him out,” I said. “Rental car drivers can be murderers, too.”
    “That’s true. But it appears he’s more than happy to help the police with their inquiries. They’re driving him over from Phuket along with the details of the customer who hired the car and the daily log.”
    “Doesn’t sound like a criminal to me,” said Granddad Jah.
    “Me neither. He’ll be here by three so we should have some answers then. So, where was I? All right. Good news number two is that the court gave us the go-ahead to trace the number of the person who called in the accident of – aka attack on – Sergeant Phoom. The cell number belongs to the owner of a wheelchair and crutch dealership in Lang Suan. The bad news is that the owner says he wasn’t the person who called in. He’d lent his phone to his brother who was visiting from Chonburi that day. He was doing some business down here and had forgotten to bring his phone charger with him. He said his brother was due back to his home the next day and didn’t want to hang around here making police reports. The hospital number was on speed dial on the phone.”
    “Well, if that’s true…” I said.
    “…and if the second witness was correct about seeing a man and woman at the accident scene,” Chompu added, “it means that the other car at the scene was driven by a woman. The police here can’t get hold of the brother. He presumably hasn’t yet worked out how to charge his cell phone. But the crutch dealer said his brother had mentioned the accident. He’d said something about a Chinese woman in an expensive car who couldn’t speak any Thai. She was all aflutter because she was the first at the scene. Once the brother arrived she drove off. He was by himself. He didn’t have any choice but to phone for help.”
    “This is all getting rather complicated,” I said.
    My head buzzed. There was a road team in there working on my narrow mind. Trying to broaden it. I had to go over all the events of the previous week, deleting a male perpetrator and replacing him with a female. How sexist was I? I hadn’t once asked the hotels and resorts about women. I hadn’t once considered the possibility of a female being capable of a series of violent acts. Even when they presented me with a female suspect, I balked at the possibility. I was a chauvinist of the worst kind.
    “She wasn’t necessarily Chinese at all,” said Granddad Jah in his annoying unexpressive tone. “She could very easily have been a Thai with a wig.”
    I laughed.
    “Why would she need a wig to convince anyone she was…? Oh.” I got it. “You’re still with the nun, aren’t you?”
    “It all fits,” he said. “She sets it up to look like someone from outside has done it, puts on a disguise. Car rental. Sneaks in and out of the temple without being seen. Motive. Opportunity. Plus, she’s a classic psychopath, following this monk around for two thirds of her life. She takes my bet.”
    I didn’t buy it. It wasn’t just because she was a nun who’d spent most of her life in pursuit of true love. It’s possible I might have empathized, but a good journalist is able to remove herself from a