CHAPTER 46
After dinner we adjourned to Juntasa’s library, where he treated us to a verbal and visual tour of the things he loved most: his native Thailand and the story of his life.
We’d been warned to turn our phones off lest we offend our host, and by the time we were finally able to break loose from his nonstop hospitality, we each had a string of voice mails and texts.
“You’d think the man would be content running the prison system,” Kylie said as soon as we squeezed our tired bodies back into the cramped confines of the Toyota Yaris. “But no: on top of that, the son of a bitch likes to take prisoners at dinner. I was ready to go three rounds of Muay Thai with him just to buy us a few hours of freedom.”
Our first call was to Cates. We told her that Geraldo Segura had changed his name to Rom Ran Sura and had boxed thirty years off his fifty-year sentence.
“He’s out?” Cates said.
“Pardoned by the king of Thailand,” I said. “Odds are he’s in New York.”
“He’d need a passport to get back into the U.S.,” she said. “He can’t get one of those by royal decree. He’d have to go through the American Embassy.”
“We can check tomorrow,” I said, “but they operate with all the efficiency of the same federal government that runs Medicare, so don’t get your hopes up. Segura wasn’t on any watch list, and with two people dead, let’s just assume he managed to slip in. He’s well-known in Thailand, so I’m sure we can find a recent picture and email it to you. Have someone alert Homeland and get out a BOLO on him.”
“When will you be back?”
“We just got permission to interview the bomb maker tomorrow morning. As soon as we’re done, we’ll be jumping on our private jet and flying home.”
“What about Nathan Hirsch and Princeton Wells?”
“What about them?”
“Have you called them and told them Segura is on the loose?”
“They know somebody is after them, so hopefully they’re lying low. We’ll call them as soon as we finish talking with you.”
“That would be now,” she said, and hung up.
Kylie called Princeton Wells while I tried Nathan Hirsch. I caught him at his office. So much for lying low.
“Oh God,” he said once I’d filled him in. “Geraldo? Geraldo killed Del and Arnie?”
“We have no proof,” I said, “but he’s at the top of the suspect list.”
“And I’m at the top of his hit list.”
“You and Princeton Wells.”
“Now that you know who you’re looking for, can’t you just put a shitload of cops on it and hunt him down?” he said.
“We will,” I said, “but now that you know who we’re looking for, can you pack up your family and head for an undisclosed location until we find him?”
He snorted a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Do you know what I do for a living, Detective?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, you don’t. You’re thinking, He’s some kind of lawyer. I’m not some kind of anything. I’m first chair on an eight-hundred-million-dollar class action lawsuit. Three years’ worth of prep is coming to a head in the next few days. I can’t just drop everything and go.”
“Can you keep a low profile?”
“Detective, when there’s eight hundred million dollars on the line, there are no low profiles.”
“Do you want police protection?”
“You mean do I want to walk into the courtroom with a couple of cops and a bomb-sniffing dog? How do you think that little tableau will play with the jury? Besides, police protection is bullshit. Del was surrounded by cops. Arnie rattled NYPD’s cage from the commissioner on down. Fat lot of good that did either of them.”
“It’s your call, Mr. Hirsch. Just know that the department is ready to help in any way we can.”
“You want to help?” he said. “Find Geraldo Segura, and let me get back to my fucking life.”
He hung up.
Kylie’s phone call had gone much faster than mine. “How did Wells take the news?” I asked.
“First shock, followed by acceptance, and finally he uttered those same four little words he said when he found out about the murders of his two partners: ‘I need a drink.’”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at the hotel, and Kylie looked at her watch.
“Midnight,” she said.
“Good,” I said. “I’ve had enough assholes for one day.”
CHAPTER 47
Juntasa was a man of his word. Our interview with Flynn Samuels was set for 8:00 a.m. David Hinds picked us up at our hotel at seven thirty.
“Ah, the embassy Lincoln,” Kylie said as we got into the spacious back seat. “Glad to see she’s back on the road. I’ll bet your roommate’s happy about it, too.”
Hinds wisely decided not to take the bait. “I’m sure you’ve been to prisons in the States,” he said, pulling out onto Wireless Road. “Klong Prem is going to be a hell of a lot uglier.”
“None of them are pretty, David,” Kylie said.
“I know, but the Americans at least pretend that the inmates are there to be rehabilitated. In Thailand they’re there to suffer. They sleep sixty, seventy men to a room. No beds, no mattresses—just a thin sheet on the cold, hard floor. There’s one open toilet in the room, no medical, and not enough food. The State Department did a study that says every year spent in a Thai prison is equivalent to five years in a maximum security prison in the U.S.”
“It’s gratifying to hear that our government is finally spending our tax dollars on a study every American will want to read,” Kylie said. “Look, kid, we’re not here to judge the Thai justice system. All we want to do is talk with Flynn Samuels. What can you tell us about him?”
Hinds shrugged. “Never met him. I just know that he’s in building five, which is where they house the hard cases—murderers, rapists, drug offenders—all of them sentenced to fifty years or more. A lot of them go stark raving mad after seven. Samuels has been there for fifteen. All I’m saying is, brace yourselves.”
The prison itself turned out to be just what we’d expected: stone walls, barbed wire, steel doors, tight-lipped guards with sadistic eyes. Flynn Samuels, on the other hand, was nothing like what Hinds had prepared us for. He was neither undernourished nor crazy. He was a big outgoing bear of a man with a thick mop of graying reddish hair and a full gray beard. At about six foot eight and 350 pounds, he filled the doorway of the visitors’ room. And like every Aussie I’d ever met, he was likable from the get-go.
“G’day, mates,” he boomed, plopping down on a bench on the other side of a thick steel-mesh divider. “You’re the first visitors I ever had from New York.” He laughed. “Hell, you’re the first visitors I’ve had from anywhere.”
“Thanks for seeing us,” I said.
“Happy to take time out of my busy two-hundred-year schedule,” he said. “Besides, I’d do anything for my boy P.J.”
“P.J.?” I said.
“Pongrit Juntasa. He’s my man.”
“We had dinner with him last night. He certainly speaks highly of you.”
“He’s a big fan. Sends me special little gifts from time to time: food, booze, smokes, a hooker for Christmas. He made sure I have a private cell with a bed and a blanket. In this hellhole, it helps to have friends in high places.”
“You’re lucky,” I said. “He didn’t seem like the type to have favorites.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt that I helped him get his job. I blew his predecessor to kingdom come. So what can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Geraldo Segura, also known as Rom Ran Sura.”
His face lit up, and he let out another laugh. “And since you’re NYPD, I’m guessing that little bugger is blowing up people on your side of the pond. Hot damn, I’m proud of that boy. I taught him everything he knows.”
“How?” Kylie said. “How do you teach someone to build bombs in a place like this without getting caught?”
“Rolling paper.”