“Well, mine appears to have had a major trauma in his chest artery. Nguyen Hong’s seen it often in motorcycle victims: high-speed collisions.”
“And as he was the driver, we could surmise that their car had an accident.”
“Could be.”
“Did you get to see his Tran as well?”
“I’m sneaking in to the embassy this afternoon when all the dignitaries are at the reception. You people are never short of receptions, are you?”
Civilai rolled his eyes. He was obviously slated to meet the Cuban delegation too.
“That’s why it’s called the Communist ‘Party’, and not the Communist ‘sit down and get some work done’.”
Siri laughed.
“What about the rumours that these fellows had been tortured?”
“True as far as I can tell. Both of them.”
“How peculiar. Why would anyone want to torture a driver?”
“This case has more questions than answers, I’m afraid. According to Nguyen Hong, his man may have died from the torture.”
“No connection with a high-speed collision?”
“None he could tell.”
Rajid, the crazy Indian, was walking along the bank towards them. He wore his only sarong, a threadbare old thing. He was an unkempt but very handsome young man who was kept alive by the generosity of the shopkeepers who’d known him since he was a child. They’d never heard him speak.
He sat cross-legged a few feet from the old men and started to play with his penis. The log where they sat was just as much the Indian’s as theirs.
“Hello, Rajid.”
“Hi, Rajid.” But he had better things to do than respond.
For some unfathomable reason, Civilai lowered his voice to continue his interrogation of Siri. “Any indication from your friend as to why the Viets are accusing
“Right. But there are two reasons why they don’t think that happened. And I won’t charge you for all this free intelligence you’re extorting from me. One, they had an armed escort all the way to Paksan. From there, the road was well policed and considered secure. They were last seen at Namching, just sixty kilometres from Vientiane.
“Second, if they didn’t make it to the city, why would the kidnappers go to the trouble of driving them through all the roadblocks, through Vientiane and eighty kilometres north to dump them in the dam? There are plenty of bodies of water in the south, even the river.
“So the sceptics in Hanoi are suggesting that they did make it to Vientiane, but were picked up by our security units, arrested, or something.”
“For what?”
“They haven’t told me yet.”
“Who?”
“The spirits.”
As always, Civilai fell about laughing at the very mention of Siri’s spirits. The doctor’s ongoing burden was a long running joke to Ai. He was too much of a pragmatist to take any of it seriously. He sprang to his feet, put his arms straight in front of him, and began to hop up and down like a Hong Kong ghost. “Ooooh, Doctor Siri, help me. The Pathet Lao electrocuted my nipples because I didn’t stop at the traffic light.”
Siri laughed reluctantly at the sight of his friend prancing around like a ghoul. They never saw him like this at Politburo meetings.
The joke was, of course, topical in that the Vientiane administration was at that moment debating whether to invest in a seventh traffic light and who should operate it. The volume of traffic didn’t warrant such a major investment, but they were worried about the image a lack of lights might project overseas. The Department of Transport had acquired a report that showed that of all capital cities, only Bujumbura had fewer traffic lights. At the meeting, Civilai had brightened the ridiculous proceedings by suggesting the costs could be halved due to the fact there were so many red lights left over from the old regime. They’d only have to buy green ones.
“You old fool. Sit down and act your age. Forget I said anything.”
Civilai, laughing but winded, sat himself back on the log and swigged at the coffee Siri held out for him.
“You don’t waste any time, older brother.”
“What ‘any time’ don’t I waste, little brother?”
“You only got back yesterday. Your meeting with Haeng could only have been this morning.”
“What makes you think…? Aha, what a mind for one so old and feeble. You didn’t tell me about the electric nipples, did you? I wouldn’t make much of a criminal, would I?”
“You simply aren’t used to dealing with a supreme intellect.”
“Well, supremo, what’s the next stage in your investigations?”
“Nguyen Hong and I are taking the bus up to Nam Ngum.”
“Honeymoon?”
“Fishing trip.”
“The third body?”
“There’s a chance all three were planted there together. Maybe Hok just hasn’t had a chance to escape his rock yet. If he’s still under water, his body should be better preserved than the Trans. It could tell us more.”
“You taking your snorkel?”
“I can’t swim.”
“So
They finished the coffee and did their best to ignore Rajid making whoopee with himself along the bank.
? The Coroner’s Lunch ?
7
The Pathological Rebel
Dr Siri,
You are to go to Khamuan as soon as possible. Contact me for details.
Haeng.
“What?” Siri looked up at Geung, the harbinger of doom, who looked back at him blankly. “Where did you get this, Mr Geung?”
“A ma…ma…man on a motorcycle.”
“What’s happening to this job? For nine months we plod along nicely: a couple of old ladies, the odd electric shock and a bicycle fatality. No murders, mysteries, or mayhem. Then, all of a sudden, the body business explodes like an atomic bomb. I’ve got corpses coming out of my ears.”
Geung looked at Siri’s ears but didn’t see the corpses. The doctor briefly considered using the telephone, but opted instead to walk across the street to the Justice Department. He waited forty minutes till Haeng was free.
“Siri, come in. The army has…sit down, for goodness sake. The army has contacted us for urgent assistance in Khamuan. You’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“But I’m – ”
“It appears there has been a series of mysterious deaths amongst the upper ranks of military personnel working on an agricultural – ”
“I – ”
“ – an agricultural development project down there. Neither the army nor the police have been able to
