arrive before the teams departed. The weather report from the capital was that the smog had shrouded a fifty kilometer radius around Phonsavan and there was no wind forecast. They could be there for a very long time. Fires were still burning and to Siri it really looked as if a thick curtain of intrigue was being deliberately pulled around the hotel.
As the whiskey took hold, the full-table discussion crumbled into smaller groupings. Phosy had taken the opportunity to continue his discussion with Sergeant Johnson. Peach acted as their translator with Dtui making up the four. At one stage during their conversation Dtui was absolutely astounded when her husband reached across the plastic tablecloth and took hold of her hand. She thought he’d mistaken it for a napkin but he kept hold of it. It happened right there in public for everyone to see. Even Commander Lit noticed. She put it down as a small miracle right up there with his remembering her birthday-which he didn’t.
“I still don’t get it,” Phosy said. “The sergeant here learned to fly with his dad in their family business. He got his license when he was seventeen. He graduated from high school with A grades in all the sciences … and the marines wouldn’t let him be a pilot?”
“That’s pretty much it,” said Peach.
“Why not?” Dtui asked Johnson directly. He laughed.
“For the same reason they wouldn’t let me be a quarterback,” said the sergeant. “Some things are reserved for white boys.”
“He couldn’t be a pilot because he was black?” Dtui asked.
“I’ve applied to the marine air corps every six months and been knocked back each time,” Johnson told the interpreter. “I guess I should think myself lucky they let me be a chief mechanic. It took me eight years to work my way up to that lofty position. When the war ended and they weren’t desperate for mechanics any longer they had me in uniform guarding a half-empty consulate in Vientiane. But it could be worse. I could be dumb
“You must be angry,” Dtui said.
“Things are getting better,” said the marine. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if my son makes it to copilot by the time he’s fifty.”
“How old is he now?”
“Four.”
They were disturbed by the sound of Rhyme the journalist yahooing like a cowboy as he walked in the door of the restaurant. Under his arm he had a thick folder. He grabbed the first glass he came to and quaffed it. The owner didn’t seem to mind.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I bring you the magic of aerial photography. The wonder of journalism. The genius of man.”
He took out one large photographic print from the folder and held it up, walking around the table like the round-announcing girls at boxing matches, complete with the sexy walk and blown kisses. The Lao assumed he was drunk with whiskey but it turned out he was merely drunk with the glory of discovery. The buzz of Peach’s translation accompanied his announcement.
“It was the first day of the mission,” he said. “And our last period of visibility. As we floated over the picturesque landscape from Spook City to Ban Hoong, our fearless photojournalist leaned bravely out of the hatch behind Sergeant Johnson here and recorded our descent to the merciless terrain that had claimed our young pilot. We followed the crack carved through the thick jungle by the Ban Hoong stream. And there, no more than three miles from the village, was where the ghost of our pilot stopped to rest and clean the blood from his mouth.”
“How could you know that?” Yamaguchi asked.
“Because, respected sir, he had the foresight to tell us so.”
Rhyme dropped his first print onto the table in front of the doctor, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large magnifying glass. This he handed to Yamaguchi.
“Perhaps you could tell our audience tonight exactly what it is you see there at the bend in the river.”
Yamaguchi squinted through the glass and pumped it back and forth in search of a focus.
“A pile of rocks on a sand bank?” he said.
“A pile of rocks. Yes, sirree. A pile of rocks. But look what happens when you zoom in to that pile of rocks.”
Rhyme dropped a second print in front of the doctor. It was a blow-up of the rocks.
“My goodness,” said Yamaguchi.
“Your goodness indeed. What is it you see there now, sir?”
“The rocks have been arranged to spell out a word.”
“And that word is…?”
“BOWRY.”
“I thank you for your cooperation, sir.”
And the journalist took a bow. Everyone left their seats to get a look at the photograph. There was no doubt. Boyd Bowry had survived the crash. Sergeant Johnson shook Civilai by the hand. Mr. Geung bounced up and down. The elation of the hunt had control of them all … all but Commander Lit.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you keep those photographs,” said Lit via Peach.
“What are you talking about?” Rhyme asked. “They’re my pictures.”
“The close-ups you can keep,” Lit told him. “But I’ll have to take all the aerial photographs. You didn’t have clearance to photograph from the air and I’m afraid there are security issues I have to take responsibility for. If I’d been on your helicopter I would have stopped you taking them.”
“He’s serious, isn’t he?” Rhyme asked.
“Sure is,” said Peach.
“Geung, are you certain it was Dr. Siri you saw climb through the window last night?” asked Madame Daeng.
She and Dtui had taken the morgue assistant back to the doctor’s room and they were sitting either side of him on the bed. Siri was on the chair opposite. He’d spent much of the day considering what Mr. Geung had told him. His friend was incapable of telling a lie. If he said he’d seen the doctor climb into Major Potter’s room, then it was true. Geung clearly didn’t sense the gravity of the situation. In fact he thought it was a splendid game.
“There’s only wuh … wuh … one Dr. Siri,” he sang to a popular Thai radio jingle.
“When was this exactly?” Dtui asked. It was not the most sensible question to a man with an abstract grasp of time.
“You asked me to to to look for the doctor in the t-toilet,” he said.
“But when you came back you said you hadn’t seen him,” said Dtui.
“You you asked if he was in the t-t-toilet.”
“You’re right. I did.”
“And I said he wasn’t.”
“That’s true. Where else did you look?”
“Everywhere.”
“And you went out the back and saw him there?” Daeng asked.
“Yes. I said, ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ but you didn’t hhhhhear me. And you got in the window.”
“Did you look inside?” Dtui asked.
“Yes.”
“What did you see?”
“Dr. Siri sit sitting on the bed and talking.”
“Did you see who he was talking to?”
“No.”
“Did anyone answer?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone else in there?” Siri asked.
“No. Too dddark.”
“What did you do then?” Daeng asked.
“Come back.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d seen him?” asked Dtui.
