Read Cockroaches: The Second Inspector Harry Hole Novel for Free Online

collect you from the airport, but the traffic in Bangkok …” He indicated the window behind him. “It’s not far on the map, but …”
    “I know what you mean, sir,” Harry said. “The embassy said the same thing.”
    They faced each other in the ensuing silence. The Chief smiled. There was a knock at the door.
    “Come in!”
    A shaven head poked around the door.
    “Come in, Crumley. The Norwegian detective has arrived.”
    “Ah, the detective.”
    The head acquired a body, and Harry had to blink twiceto assure himself that he wasn’t seeing things. Crumley was broad-shouldered and almost as tall as Harry; the hairless skull had pronounced jaw muscles and two intensely blue eyes above a thin, straight mouth. The uniform was a pale blue shirt, a large pair of Nike trainers and a skirt.
    “Liz Crumley, an inspector in Homicide,” the Chief said.
    “They say you’re one hell of a homicide investigator, Harry,” she said in a broad American accent. She stood opposite him with her hands on her hips.
    “Well, I don’t know about that exactly …”
    “No? You must be pretty good if they sent you halfway around the globe, don’t you think?”
    “Suppose so.”
    Harry half closed his eyes. What he needed least of all now was an overassertive woman.
    “I’m here to help.
If
I can help.” He forced a smile.
    “Then it might be time to sober up, huh, Harry?”
    The Chief burst into loud, reedy laughter behind her.
    “They’re like that,” she said, loud and clear, as though the Chief wasn’t present. “They’ll do whatever they can to make sure no one loses face. Right now he’s trying to save your face. By pretending I’m joking. But I’m not joking. I’m in charge of Homicide here, and if I don’t like something I say so. It’s considered bad manners in this country, but I’ve been doing it for ten years.”
    Harry closed his eyes fully.
    “I can see from the color of your face that you think this is embarrassing, Harry, but I have no use for drunken investigators, as I’m sure you know. Come back tomorrow. I’ll find someone to take you to your apartment.”
    Harry shook his head and cleared his throat. “Fear of flying.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “I’m frightened of flying. G&Ts help. And my face is redbecause the booze is beginning to evaporate through the pores of my skin.”
    Liz Crumley regarded him at length. Then she scratched her shiny head.
    “Sorry to hear that, Detective. How’s the jet lag?”
    “Wide awake.”
    “Good. You’re just in time for a quick update from Forensics, and then we’ll drop by your apartment on the way to the crime scene.”
    “This is your office,” Crumley pointed on the way past.
    “Someone’s sitting there,” Harry said.
    “Not there. There.”
    “There?”
    He identified the chair pressed into a long table with people sitting side by side. On the table in front of the chair there was just enough room for a notepad and a phone.
    “I’ll see if I can sort something else out if your stay turns into a long one.”
    “I really hope it doesn’t,” Harry mumbled.
    The inspector summoned her troops to the meeting room. The “troops” were, to be more precise: Nho; Sunthorn, a baby-faced, serious-looking young man; and Rangsan, the oldest detective in the department.
    Rangsan sat apparently immersed in his newspaper, but interjected with occasional comments in Thai, which Crumley jotted down carefully in her little black book.
    “OK,” Crumley said, closing the book. “The five of us will try to crack this case. Since we have a Norwegian colleague with us all communication from now on will take place in English. Rangsan’s our contact with Forensics. Go ahead.”
    Rangsan painstakingly folded the newspaper and cleared his throat. He had thinning hair, a pair of glasses, which were attached to a cord, perched on the end of his nose, and he reminded Harry of a jaded teacher regarding his surroundings with a slightly condescending,