Everyone Burns by John Dolan Page A

strange fascination you and Wayan have with this charmless oik?”
    “He’s shy and kind of vulnerable.”
    “Vulnerable my arse.”
    “Admittedly he doesn’t have your sophisticated turn of phrase,” she smiles acidly, “but he doesn’t stand drooling over my breasts either.”
    Obviously Da and Wayan like him, and just as obviously I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t, but I just don’t.
    “Give me his number,” I say with bad grace.
    I press the numbers on her desk phone, take a deep breath, and slide into my concerned professional voice. After a few rings he picks up.
    “Mr. Sinclair? David Braddock here. I’m sorry I’ve not called back sooner.”
    To my surprise, he sounds happy to hear from me. I’d expected irritation, at the very least. I offer an appointment today, but he’s too busy. Da mouths be nice , so I make an effort.
    “Look, um, Mr . Sinclair,” I say, knowing I’ll regret the gesture I’m about to make, “tomorrow’s Saturday. I don’t normally meet clients at weekends, but I feel I’ve not given you much of a service so far. Would you like to come in tomorrow? Or I can come to you if it’s awkward for you to come here.”
    “Could you come to me?” he says. “I have to stay in tomorrow morning, I’ve got a bloke coming about my trees. Shall we say around eleven o’clock?”
    “Fine. Give me your address.”
    I jot it down and end the conversation. I replace the receiver and squint resentfully at Da. “Now I’m doing house calls. Happy?”
    “Very. And that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She thaws. “Go through and I’ll make you a coffee. You’ve got plenty of time before your appointment. You’re in much earlier than I expected.”
    “Well, I was missing you.”
    “No, you’re here because Wayan was making you feel guilty about Mr . Sinclair, and you couldn’t wait to get out of the house.”
    “Wayan rang you?” I say, appalled at this female conspiracy.
    She nods.
    “Unbelievable.”
    Da kisses my cheek fondly. “I’ll get your coffee,” she says.
    I plonk myself down in the East Office with the English language newspaper and look at the front page.
    Thoughts of Sinclair and the Monstrous Regiment of Women are banished from my mind as I read the headline Dutch Tourist Found Murdered in Lamai . While the content of the article is not so lurid as Charoenkul had feared, there is still more than enough to give the Chief apoplexy. The method of killing and the torching of the body are not mentioned, but the murder is described as ‘brutal’ and the coconut grove crime scene is identified. Worse for Papa Doc, there is a large flattering colour photograph of Katchai, who is named as the police officer heading up the investigation. His quoted words infer that the presence of his special team on the island is due to the investigation being beyond the expertise of the local boys. There is the usual puff that ‘the full resources of the Royal Thai Police will be deployed to bring the perpetrator to justice’, along with reassurances that Samui is a safe destination for tourists. It strikes me as naïve to imply that the murder is an isolated occurrence, even if it is good copy for the hotel trade. Katchai has already put himself in the same boat as the Chief: one with leaks in it. There is not the slightest hint about the first murder. Is the Royal Thai Police digging itself a deeper hole in which to bury some of its officers’ careers? As I read on, I see there is some studied outrage from the journalist that such an event could occur here, but (as yet) no criticism of the law enforcement body. The article concludes with the helpful advice to ‘be vigilant’, and an appeal from Katchai for anyone with information to come forward.
    I skim through the rest of the paper but there is no editorial on the incident.
    Da puts down my coffee and asks if I’ve seen the headline. She remarks on what sort of a world she is bringing her baby into, and I pat her bump