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bar girls fairly well, like your friend, Lawan Songsiri. She’s mentioned her the few times we’ve talked here at the station. See, I’ll take responsibility for being unable to catch the killer.” Montri’s voice went low and flat, close to an apology but never quite making one. “The truth is our crime resources are just too limited here on the island. There’s no coroner, no crime lab, no DNA testing unless we ship to Bangkok, and it takes forever to get anything back.”
    Seabury said nothing. He knew the cop was being truthful, even though he was grossly incompetent for a young police officer trying to look competent in the eyes of his supervisors. The local
Koh Phangan Island Gazette
quoted Seabury as stating how deeply disturbed he was over the freakish deaths of five young women killed near the lagoon during the past two years. After the article came out, Seabury had received death threats over the telephone. Three nights ago, as he lay asleep in his bungalow, shots fired through his bedroom window and missed his head by inches. Now, he had to watch his back wherever he went.
    Switching topics, Seabury said, “I got off a cargo freighter a week ago in Bangkok. I own a condo there.” He leaned his big body over in the chair. His elbows pressed against his huge, rugby player thighs. He had a ruggedly handsome face, crowned by short, dark, curly hair and eyes the color of black oak. Montri noticed how unusually calm he was for a man in his predicament.
    â€œHere. Maybe, you want to see these.” Seabury took out his wallet and laid cards out on the desk. “I can give you the number of the shipping office in Bangkok. Better yet, here’s the number of the IBU Hiring Hall. We’re at 1711 West Nickerson Street, in the Puget Sound Region in Seattle. Ask for Biff Barnes. He sent me on a freighter hauling grain to Port Moresby, then onto Rotterdam. After five months at sea, I figured it was time for some rest and relaxation.”
    Montri scribbled in his notebook. He was thirty years old and a politically well-connected but somewhat tattered star, trying to work his way up the ladder of the Royal Thai Police Force.
    â€œI need to know one thing. That’s all I’m asking.” Seabury straightened back up. The big fingers of his rough, calloused hands rested on his knees. “How can I be charged with reckless endangerment? I’d never risk a girl’s life by being that careless.”
    Montri cleared his throat. “If your story checks out, you’ll be free to go. Though, let me remind you that a charge of reckless endangerment carries a two-year prison sentence and a 30,000 baht fine.”
    Seabury sat back and didn’t respond. He watched Montri watch him. “One more thing,” he finally said.
    â€œEnough questions…enough.” The lieutenant turned away just as his cell phone started ringing.
    With a serious expression, Montri listened to the caller. He nodded his head a few times, listened, and nodded again. Then, he hung up and clipped his cell phone shut. Two cops banged into the room and stood posted at the door. Turning back, Montri glanced at Seabury, his face dark and solemn. “I’m arresting you on a charge of reckless endangerment.”
    â€œWhat?” Seabury couldn’t believe his ears.
    â€œYou endangered a girl’s life last night.”
    â€œI took her up there. I didn’t shine light on the water.”
    Ignoring the response, Montri motioned to the cops posted at the door. They moved across the room toward Seabury. He was glad he was sitting down. If he had been standing up, Seabury would have fallen over on the floor.

Chapter Six
    They led Seabury down the hall to a holding cell at the back of the police station. They shoved him into a crowded cell with twenty other prisoners. Most were small-time Thai criminals, their jackets thick with data depicting a host of petty