Read Online Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson by Stephen Leather, Warren Olson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Leather, Warren Olson
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and the gold gift. That wouldn’t be enough for Knight, he’d want concrete proof. I was going to need a photograph of the two girls in action to convince Knight that Ying had a lover. And I only had two more nights before my client returned from Hong Kong.
First I had to find out which number the girlfriend’s apartment was, and that was a job for a Thai. There were few farangs in that part of the city and I stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. I told one of the motorcycle taxi drivers, Daeng, to lose his orange vest and pick up a carrier bag of food from a supermarket. All he had to do was to stick close to the girls when they left the gold shop and follow them inside the building. If challenged, all he had to do was to claim that he was making a delivery, but I doubted that it would come to that. By the look of it, the building didn’t even have a security guard.
I told Daeng to phone me on my mobile when he had the room number, then I drove back to the office to the get the equipment I needed. Nothing spectacular, just a mini video camera hooked up to a transmitter, one of a dozen designs they sell in Pantip Plaza, and a digital camera with a telephoto lens. I picked up a meatball sandwich from my local Subway, a foot-long because I was going to be up late and wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to eat again. I’d just finished the sandwich when my mobile rang. The girls were back in the room. Number 506. I told Daeng to call me if they left the apartment, then I showered and changed. I packed up the equipment in my gym bag, then drove over. It was just after seven when I got there.
Daeng was standing on the pavement and I told him to get into the car with me. We waited with the aircon running and an hour or so later the two girls walked out of the block arm in arm and over to where Ying had parked the BMW. I took a few photographs and waved at the motorcycle guys to follow them.
When they were out of sight Daeng and I walked over to the apartment block. An old lady with snow white hair and skin the colour of polished oak was fumbling with her key card and Daeng helped her, then we slipped inside after her. Room 506 was on the fifth floor and we took the stairs. Daeng stood watch while I went to work on the locks. The door to the apartment had a metal grill across it with a large padlock that took me all of five minutes to pick. The door had an even simpler lock in the handle and I was soon inside the room. Daeng went back downstairs, ready to phone my mobile if the girls came unexpectedly.
The room was about four paces wide and seven paces long with a small bathroom at the far end and a window that had been curtained off. There was a double bed covered with a sheet with a teddy bear pattern and matching pillows and in one corner there was a rice cooker and a sack of Thai rice. On the walls were posters of Thai pop stars and a framed picture of the king of Thailand above the door.
There was a brand new television set and next to it a stereo CD player. Probably gifts from Ying. I used the screwdriver to pry the grill off the left speaker and fitted the camera so that it had a good view of the bed. The battery was good for forty-eight hours and would transmit pictures up to 200 metres. That was fine because I’d be parked across the road. I wouldn’t have sound but that wasn’t a problem either.
I gave the room a quick once-over on the off chance that there might have been something incriminating, but other than a few snapshots of the girls hugging and kissing, there was nothing to set the pulse racing.
I went back outside and told Daeng to call me when the girls got back, then phoned one of the other motorcycle taxi drivers for an update on her progress. Ying was clearly a creature of habit; she was back at the restaurant where I’d followed her to the first night. I drove over to the restaurant and parked in front of the office building I’d visited the previous night. Another bag of extra-salty
First I had to find out which number the girlfriend’s apartment was, and that was a job for a Thai. There were few farangs in that part of the city and I stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. I told one of the motorcycle taxi drivers, Daeng, to lose his orange vest and pick up a carrier bag of food from a supermarket. All he had to do was to stick close to the girls when they left the gold shop and follow them inside the building. If challenged, all he had to do was to claim that he was making a delivery, but I doubted that it would come to that. By the look of it, the building didn’t even have a security guard.
I told Daeng to phone me on my mobile when he had the room number, then I drove back to the office to the get the equipment I needed. Nothing spectacular, just a mini video camera hooked up to a transmitter, one of a dozen designs they sell in Pantip Plaza, and a digital camera with a telephoto lens. I picked up a meatball sandwich from my local Subway, a foot-long because I was going to be up late and wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to eat again. I’d just finished the sandwich when my mobile rang. The girls were back in the room. Number 506. I told Daeng to call me if they left the apartment, then I showered and changed. I packed up the equipment in my gym bag, then drove over. It was just after seven when I got there.
Daeng was standing on the pavement and I told him to get into the car with me. We waited with the aircon running and an hour or so later the two girls walked out of the block arm in arm and over to where Ying had parked the BMW. I took a few photographs and waved at the motorcycle guys to follow them.
When they were out of sight Daeng and I walked over to the apartment block. An old lady with snow white hair and skin the colour of polished oak was fumbling with her key card and Daeng helped her, then we slipped inside after her. Room 506 was on the fifth floor and we took the stairs. Daeng stood watch while I went to work on the locks. The door to the apartment had a metal grill across it with a large padlock that took me all of five minutes to pick. The door had an even simpler lock in the handle and I was soon inside the room. Daeng went back downstairs, ready to phone my mobile if the girls came unexpectedly.
The room was about four paces wide and seven paces long with a small bathroom at the far end and a window that had been curtained off. There was a double bed covered with a sheet with a teddy bear pattern and matching pillows and in one corner there was a rice cooker and a sack of Thai rice. On the walls were posters of Thai pop stars and a framed picture of the king of Thailand above the door.
There was a brand new television set and next to it a stereo CD player. Probably gifts from Ying. I used the screwdriver to pry the grill off the left speaker and fitted the camera so that it had a good view of the bed. The battery was good for forty-eight hours and would transmit pictures up to 200 metres. That was fine because I’d be parked across the road. I wouldn’t have sound but that wasn’t a problem either.
I gave the room a quick once-over on the off chance that there might have been something incriminating, but other than a few snapshots of the girls hugging and kissing, there was nothing to set the pulse racing.
I went back outside and told Daeng to call me when the girls got back, then phoned one of the other motorcycle taxi drivers for an update on her progress. Ying was clearly a creature of habit; she was back at the restaurant where I’d followed her to the first night. I drove over to the restaurant and parked in front of the office building I’d visited the previous night. Another bag of extra-salty
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