Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat by Colin Cotterill Read Free Book Online Page B

soap operas and game shows. Deprived of those rich satellite helpings of crime scene investigations. These people didn’t realize you could tell a man’s age, nationality, religion, belt size and sexual orientation from the bar of soap he washed with that morning. We had two complete skeletons and we couldn’t tell squat. Where was Kathy Reichs when you needed her?
    “There was a label found among the surviving shreds of clothing,” said Yai, hopefully. “It said, ‘Made in India’.”
    I remembered a suicide case in Chiang Rai a couple of years earlier when a foreigner was identified as Italian because he had his name in his shirt: Signore Armani.
    “Labels can be misleading,” I said.
    “Of course, you’re right,” said the lieutenant. “Has any of this been any help to you at all?”
    “No.”
    “Would you like to come and see the van now it’s uncovered?” he asked. “I could drive you.”
    I had follow-ups to do for three newspapers and I had nothing to tell them. I held little hope that the fully excavated VW would offer up anywhere near enough insights to fill a column. Newspapers recognized fluff when they saw it and, as a country reporter, my offerings would be scrutinized very closely by the evil editors. I’d barely make it off the inside back page. I was dead again.
    Lieutenant Chompu stopped off in the little officer’s room to freshen up and I was just about to walk out into the car park when I heard the booming voice of Major Mana. I ducked back behind a pillar.
    “I wasn’t expecting you back today, sir,” said Sergeant Phoom in his usual jolly tone.
    “Here is the last place I want to be, given what’s just happened,” said the major.
    “Something serious, sir?”
    From my nook between the pillars with a cardboard SAFE DRIVING accident cut-out blocking most of me, I was able to see the major walk to the desk, lean close to the sergeant, and whisper something. I couldn’t hear what he said but I noticed the sergeant reel backward as if he’d been slapped. This was a secret I wanted to know. I waited for the major to race up the stairs three at a time and I strolled over to the desk.
    “Have you heard?” I asked.
    “Heard what?” asked Sergeant Phoom, still pale from receiving the news.
    “Oh, sorry. I thought the major would have told you by now.”
    “Well…that depends.”
    “Look, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’m allowed to share it with you if Major Mana hasn’t said anything.”
    I turned and headed for the car park but I could hear his mind ticking over behind me.
    “This wouldn’t have anything to do with” – and he lowered his voice – “the abbot?”
    “See? You do know.” I smiled. “You’re just playing with me.” I walked back to his desk.
    “Terrible thing, isn’t it?” he said.
    “I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you.”
    “We go three years with barely a punch on the nose and then, bang, two cases in the one day.”
    My heart turned a little but I had to be careful now. I didn’t want to alienate one of my new friends at my local station but I had some fishing to do.
    “What do you think happened?” I asked, leaning across his desk.
    “Now, wait,” he said. “How do you know about it?”
    “Sergeant Phoom,” I said, with my most sincere face attached, “I’m a reporter for national newspapers.”
    “But there’s supposed to be a news blackout.”
    “Never underestimate the power of the press. Come on, what’s your theory?”
    I could hear Chompu speaking upstairs. My time was running out.
    “Well, I don’t have many facts,” he confessed.
    “But?”
    I seemed to hover there for an inordinately long time before:
    “But the stabbing to death of an abbot suggests a personal conflict to me.”
    An abbot got stabbed? Holy mackerel. I was suddenly in the crime capital of the Eastern Seaboard. I was so excited I wanted to pee. Look out Pulitzer prize. I made a mental wai to the abbot for my disrespect. One last cast of