The police called to say that a man named Kevin had been found dead at the W guesthouse. He had no passport but they thought he was British. I went to the guesthouse and met two farang who confirmed his nationality. Apparently he had been planning to be married to a Thai girl in Goh Samui at the end of the month, but she had jilted him and disappeared with all his money. The police thought he had died from an accidental overdose of heroin - but then they had not bothered to read his suicide letter as it was written in English. This is what, in part, it said.

We left Kevin in our last letter faced with impending homelessness, estranged from his new wife, penniless, unable to work and with the perpetual fear of jail over his head. Now brace yourself for the final chapter. I am in Chiang Mai, not by chance, 70% of the world's heroin is produced in this area.

I'm going to eat 1/2 g. of white, stuff 1 g. in my veins and go to sleep. Now you know how the story ends so you can forget me now. Maybe we will meet in the next life. Maybe I'll be a better person, although I'll probably be a stray dog in Thailand (a step up).

So I'll finish off now, this letter and my life (story). Goodbye, thanks for everything. Chok dee. Sawadi krap. Kevin the Slime.

Later I collected his possessions from the police station. One pair torn jeans, two tee-shirts, a pair of sandals, a backpack, a copy of 'Fundamentals of the Thai language', one suicide note and a syringe complete with used needle.

His relatives did not want to know so I arranged a pauper's funeral - total cost B600. The Embassy instructed me to scatter the ashes on Doi Sutep. They were presented to me on a chipped enamel plate - chunks of bone, not ashes at all. End of story or so I thought.

Two months later I had a call from the Consul in Bangkok to say that they had heard from the mother who said she had received a letter stating that her son was still alive. Could I prove that I had burned the right person? How could I? I had not even seen his passport, which he had left in Goh Samui. I visualized myself going up the mountain, searching for his ashes and having them DNA tested. But by the mercy of providence the police had taken photographs of his body which was covered with easily identified tattoos.

R.I.P.