Murder on the Angkor Express

By Robin Tones

The Kingdom of Cambodia is struggling into the twenty-first century, following the Pol Pot “killing fields” which erased a third of the population in the late 1970s. The encroaching dragons of mighty China and vibrant Vietnam vie with the tiger of Thailand to squeeze the precious life from the Mekong River Basin.
Politics is still dominated by the enduring shadow of the Khmer Rouge whose tentacles pervade a corrupt oligarchy, which is fighting to keep out the popular opposition leader, Sam Rainsy.
With a backdrop of potential civil war, our hero Chief Inspector Suon has to solve the case of Leap Son. A body found at the end of the murderous six-hour bus journey from Battambang to Siem Reap. With a coachload of tourists, all with a tale to tell or a secret to keep. Will Chief Inspector Suon be able to solve a crime committed in full view of all yet seen by no-one? More importantly, will he be allowed to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398444720

Robin Tones

Robin is a hard-core traveller having visited over a hundred countries both for business and pleasure. He is fascinated by how different societies work politically, economically, and socially. Whilst his wife ensures that the relevant sights are seen and cultural tours are attended, he finds a comfortable spot, preferably with a magnificent vista, to read the local English language newspaper and discuss current affairs with anyone and everyone. He is passionate about innovation, history and development and the ways that these impact our changing world. He weaves these real life insights into his writing.

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About the Author

Robin is a hard-core traveller having visited over a hundred countries both for business and pleasure. He is fascinated by how different societies work politically, economically, and socially. Whilst his wife ensures that the relevant sights are seen and cultural tours are attended, he finds a comfortable spot, preferably with a magnificent vista, to read the local English language newspaper and discuss current affairs with anyone and everyone.

He is passionate about innovation, history and development and the ways that these impact our changing world. He weaves these real life insights into his writing.

Dedications

To Robert Emmerson Tones who would have so loved the opportunity to do this himself.

Copyright Information ©

Robin Tones 2022

The right of Robin Tones to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398444713 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398444720 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgements

To my wife Helen for putting up with my nonsense along with the friends and family who were my beta readers, and to the SWF creative writers Facebook group for all their support.

A Stabbing

I took the call just before lunch, a stabbing on a tourist bus, one dead, possibly murder. Usually, the foreigners were handled by the security police. I pick up my mobile and message my colleague Samnang, no need getting all worked up and missing lunch just to hand the case over later. In the past, I would have called his secretary, but everyone is on their mobiles nowadays, so no point using the internal phones. To get things done, you need to know everyone’s private number, that’s how we expedite matters in Cambodia, around corners.

Samnang texts me back immediately, he says he is too busy with the counter-revolution so I should handle this one. Criminal law is always the junior partner; no one cares about actual crime as there are so many far more interesting and lucrative jobs to be done. Picking up my gun and police hat I call over to Sergeant Munny to drive me to the Siem Reap Western Bus Terminal. I’ve never used my gun in anger in over twenty years in the police. My hat is my real tool; it demonstrates my power in our authoritarian Kingdom.

We take a moped, as I can do this without filling in any paperwork. It’s also quicker navigating the chaotic traffic at this time of the day. Everyone will be going somewhere. Cambodia works on the anthill principle, just keep moving.

A simple stabbing does not normally require the personal attendance of a chief inspector, even if the victim is a foreigner. There is something in my stomach, however, that tells me this isn’t going to be a run-of-the-mill case. On the upside, how hard can it be to find a killer on a bus? Hopefully, it is open and shut. I like the idea of a quick arrest and a boost to my personal conviction rate.

Munny efficiently manoeuvres us through the streets, missing potholes, food vendors and vacuous tourists confident that a mere Cambodian would not dare run them over. Our hospital bears testament to the fallacy of this supposition. We pull up at the unpaved, over-crammed yard which has been designated by the local tour companies as a bus terminal by the addition of a rusty blue sign. The official government Central Bus Terminal is closer to the centre but charges taxes. There are also clean working Western toilets here, the only thing tourists ever care about.

The dilapidated blue bus with Angkor Express Limousine Coach plastered along the side is parked on the edge of the yard. It is cordoned off by official police blue and white tape. I will compliment the local boys for this later; where they got the tape from, I have no idea. Sergeant Munny leaps off the bike to discover what is happening. I have more important duties to attend to, primarily to get an iced coffee with sweet milk, although this is hardly a substitute for lunch.

‘Well, Sergeant?’ I ask on his return.

‘Sir, the body is still on the bus untouched, and the passengers are currently confined in the waiting room.’

It is a cool day today, a smidge over thirty-two degrees with only eighty percent humidity.

‘How long have they been held?’ I know how impatient, and intolerant of delay visitors can be.

‘About an hour so far. They are asking for access to the toilets,’ he replies. Munny lacks empathy. I can imagine the desperation that the tourists will be suffering. The lack of relief that they must need after the bone-jarring six-hour ride from Battambang, down our somewhat imperfect highways. I had intended to keep myself at arm’s length, but it looks like I will need to be more personally involved. Decisive action is expected from leaders. Munny has rounded up the six local policemen who are managing the situation. When you only pay officers four dollars a day, you can afford plenty of feet on the street.

‘Well done men, good job,’ I address them in a shady spot outside the waiting room. ‘Now escort the passengers to the toilets and get some air-con into that room. I am going to see the body. Can I just confirm that no one has touched it?’ Their heads nod like feeding chickens as they mumble back. Generally, policemen don’t get to speak to their leaders directly. I like to think I cut a dashing figure for them, as I am six foot, which is tall for a Cambodian, and I am impeccably dressed in my uniform with a gamut of shiny medals.

A young man jumps forward. ‘Private Cheng, sir. Once we had checked that the man was dead, we left the body untouched. I managed to withdraw his wallet without moving anything else, here it is, sir!’

We don’t have the best police academies in Cambodia as high-quality trainers are hard to come by. All good policemen are needed on the streets, not on campus. We do, however, have a country that is addicted to American TV shows which are constantly aired on SingMeng, our leading provider. You will often hear our guys using USA police codes to each other on their mobiles. Watching these shows has dramatically improved our own police protocols.

Sergeant Munny looks miffed that he has not been given the wallet. The young Cheng has made sure he got the glory, and by using plastic gloves he was certainly to be credited as I doubt Munny would have been so meticulous.

‘Do we have a name?’

‘His ID card says he is Leap Son. He is from the Krachie province, a rice trader. The card is in this evidence bag, Chief Inspector.’ The bright young Cheng continues to impress.

‘Not a tourist, then?’ I ask them, expecting no answer.

Taking the wallet, I go to the bus. As the men trudge off to manage the passengers, I shout back, ‘Oh and get them some bottles of water, Sergeant Munny has some cash.’ Here I am giving Munny a small opportunity to make a margin, as the water costs will no doubt be more on the receipt than he pays to the trader. It is by little measures like these that the police force is covertly rewarded.

As I am just about to enter the bus, a well-heeled man accosts me. ‘When do I get my coach back, I am late for the return trip already?’ he fumes.

I look at him, he is intimating a move to his wallet, a universal signal that he will make my efforts worth it. Luckily, as a chief inspector, I am not only better paid than Sergeant Munny, I also have far more lucrative backhand arrangements.

‘I suggest you co-operate fully with my investigations or this bus could be in the station for a month! I am the Chief Inspector of the Criminal Police Force of Siem Reap.’ The man steps back, stunned. ‘Do you want my men to inspect your wretched bus for roadworthiness?’ When dealing with local entrepreneurs, it is often best to make sure they know who is in charge.

‘But, oh, sorry Chief Inspector,’ with eyes down and palms up in submission. I have his full, cowed attention.

‘Honestly, if this is