The Ferrari driver who allegedly slammed into a motorcycle cop, dragged him along the road and then sped away from the mangled body took just hours to find, as investigators followed a drip, drip, drip trail of brake fluid up a street, down an alley, and into the gated estate of one of Thailand's richest families.
The prosecution of Red Bull heir Vorayuth "Boss" Yoovidhya, however, has been delayed for close to five years. The times when Vorayuth has been called in on charges, he hasn't shown up, claiming through his attorney that he was sick or out of the country on business. And while statutes of limitations run out on key charges this year, it's been widely assumed that he's hiding, possibly abroad, or living a quiet local life, only going out in disguise.
He isn't.
Within weeks of the accident, The Associated Press has found, Vorayuth, then 27, was back to enjoying his family's jet-set life, largely associated with the Red Bull brand, an energy drink company co-founded by his grandfather. He flies around the world on private Red Bull jets, cheers their Formula One racing team from Red Bull's VIP seats and keeps a black Porsche Carrera in London with custom license plates: B055 RBR. Boss Red Bull Racing.
Nor is he all that hard to find. Just last month, social media clues led AP reporters to Vorayuth and his family vacationing in the ancient, sacred city of Luang Prabang, Laos. The group stayed at a $1,000-a-night resort, dined in the finest restaurant, visited temples and lounged by the pool before flying home to Bangkok.
Critics say the inertia in the Red Bull heir's case is just another example of longstanding privilege for the wealthy class in Thailand, a politically tumultuous country that has struggled with rule of law for decades. The military general who came to power in a 2014 coup declared war on corruption, pledging to make Thailand an equal and fair society. But car accidents are frequently cited as an example that injustice persists, with "Bangkok's deadly rich kids," as one Thai newspaper described it, often receiving far more lenient sentences than ordinary Thais.
The Yoovidhya family attorney did not respond to AP's request to interview Vorayuth.
British historian Chris Baker, who with his Thai wife, Pasuk Phongpaichit, has written extensively about inequality, wealth and power in Thailand, said he wasn't surprised Vorayuth hasn't been prosecuted.
"There is most certainly a culture of impunity here that big people, which means roughly people with power and money, expect to be able to get away with a certain amount of wrongdoing," said Baker. "This happens so often, so constantly, it is very clearly part of the working culture."
Meanwhile, Vorayuth has been summoned again. He's due at the prosecutors' office Thursday.
Vorayuth and his siblings came of age in a private, extended family whose fortune expanded from millions to billions as they grew up. His brother is nicknamed Porsche, his sister Champagne.
Vorayuth received a British education at Bradfield College, a pastoral brick-and-stone boarding school in the Berkshire countryside. Boys wear suits and ties, and it costs $40,000 a year. Some of Thailand's wealthiest families send children there.
Back in rural Thailand, police Sgt. Maj. Wichean Glanprasert didn't have many opportunities, but he was ambitious and determined. The youngest of five, he was the first in the family to leave their coconut and palm farm for the city, the first to get a government job, to graduate from college. He paid for his parents' care as they died, and supported a sister through cancer. He had no children, but planned to put his brother's kids through college, and teased a favorite nephew he'd have to care for him in old age.
Their lives literally collided just before dawn on Sept. 3, 2012, when Vorayuth's Ferrari roared down Sukhumvit Road, one of Bangkok's main drags. The bloody accident scene made national headlines for days.
The dead policeman's brother, Pornanan Glanprasert, didn't so much hear the news as feel it. His beloved younger sibling Wichean was dead, said the caller. His crushed body was in the street.
Over the next few hours, police traced their way to the Red Bull compound. Initially investigators said a chauffeur had been behind the wheel of the car, windshield now shattered, bumper dangling. But after senior officers arrived, Vorayuth turned himself in, his cap pulled low, his father holding his arm. Later that day, the Yoovidhyas put up $15,000 bail at the police station and went home.
For Pornanan and his sisters, here was tragedy beyond belief. In the days after the death, they attended funeral rites at the temple, where Buddhist monks chanted and incense burned.
One day Vorayuth and his mother made a surprise, private visit. Dressed in black, they pressed their palms together and bowed to Sgt. Maj. Wichean's portrait.
The policeman's family painfully grieved, but they figured at least there would be justice. Wichean was a police officer. Certainly the criminal justice system would hold his killer responsible.
"At first I thought they'd follow a legal process," said Pornanan.
Now he's not so sure.
