Cockroaches: The Second Inspector Harry Hole Novel by Jo Nesbø

I’m guessing you can pay a few baht in a brown envelope to avoid being bothered by that kind of thing. That’s why you’re not particularly afraid of us.”
    The motel owner repeated the head-shaking.
    “No money. Illegal.”
    Harry smiled. “Last time I looked, Thailand was third in the world corruption table. Please be nice and don’t treat me like an idiot.”
    Harry ensured his voice was lowered. Threats generally work best when delivered in a neutral key.
    “Your problem, and mine, however, is that the guy who was found in the motel room is a diplomat from my country. If I have to report back that we suspect he died in a brothel it suddenly becomes a political issue and your friends in the police cannot help you. The authorities will feel obliged to close this place and haul you off to prison. To show goodwill, to show they’re maintaining law and order, right?”
    It was impossible to see from the expressionless face whether he had hit the nail on the head or not.
    “On the other hand, if I report back that the woman had arranged to meet the man, and the motel was a random choice …”
    The man looked at Harry. He blinked, pinching his eyes as if he had a speck of dust in them. Then he turned, pulled aside a curtain that hid a door opening and waved for Harry to follow. Behind the curtain was a little room with a table and two chairs, and the man motioned Harry to sit down. He put a cup in front of Harry and poured from a teapot. There was such a strong aroma of peppermint that it made his eyes smart.
    “None of girls want to work so long as body’s there,” Wang said. “How quickly can you move it?”
    Businessmen are businessmen the world over, Harry thought, lighting a cigarette.
    “Depends how quickly we can get to the bottom of what went on here.”
    “The man came here about nine at night and said he wanted room. He flicked through menu and said he wanted Dim, he just needed rest first. Told me to say when she was here. I said he had to pay hourly rate anyway. He said fine and took key.”
    “The menu?”
    The man passed him something which did indeed resemble a menu. Harry leafed through. There were pictures of young Thai girls in nurse uniforms, in fishnet stockings, in tight leather corsets with a whip, in schoolgirl uniforms and plaits, and even in police uniforms. Beneath the pictures, under the heading VITAL STATISTICS was each girl’s age, price and background. Harry noticed that all of them claimed they were between eighteen and twenty-two. Prices ranged from one to three thousand baht and almost all the girls had apparently completed a language course and worked as nurses.
    “Was he alone?” Harry asked.
    “Yes.”
    “No one else in the car?”
    Wang shook his head.
    “How can you be so sure of that? The Mercedes has tinted windows and you were sitting in here.”
    “I usually go out and check. Perhaps he has friend with him. Then they have to pay for double room.”
    “I see. Double room, double price?”
    “Not double price.” Wang showed his teeth again. “Cheaper to share.”
    “What happened then?”
    “Don’t know. Man drove car to number 120, where he is now. It’s at back, so I can’t see it in darkness. I called Dim and she came and waited. After a while I sent her in to him.”
    “And how was Dim dressed? As a tram conductor?”
    “No, no, no.” Wang flipped through to the back page of the menu and proudly showed the photo of a young Thai girl wearing a short dress covered in silver sequins, white skates and a big smile. She was curtsying with her ankles crossed and her arms to the sides, as though she had just performed a successful free program. Her face was dotted with red freckles.
    “And that’s supposed to be …?” Harry said in disbelief, reading the name under the photo.
    “Yes, yes, right. Tonya Harding. The one who killed other American girl, pretty one.”
    “I don’t think she actually—”
    “Dim can be her too if you