Dr Siri Paiboun 01; The Coroner’s Lunch

“Disgraceful.”

“Yell if you need me.” She waddled back up the bank.

They poured themselves drinks and were generous with the ice while it lasted.

“So. Mrs Nitnoy?”

“It’s been difficult. I couldn’t just stroll up and interview people. You can imagine. But from rumour and hearsay, and goodness knows there’s no shortage of that, everything pointed to your comrade having a minor wife.”

“H’mm. That’s very traditional of him.”

“It turns out she’s a hairdresser, Mai, at a salon up at Dongmieng. She’s from Xam Neua, didn’t come down here till early this year.”

“You suppose she followed him down?”

“It looks that way. She’s only a young thing, about twenty-one. But according to the girls at the salon, she – ”

“You went to the salon?”

“I needed a trim and a massage anyway. She was off the day I went. The girls think young Mai has very high ambitions. She doesn’t take this hairdressing training seriously at all. According to the others, she said she wouldn’t have to be a hairdresser for long.”

“Planning a step up.”

“Looks like it.”

“You think that’s enough reason for the comrade to bump off his wife?”

“Why not?”

“Why? He was getting the best of both worlds. He had his official wife for show and official engagements, and his hairdresser for – ”

“ – in-depth analysis of Das Kapital.”

“Exactly. He had nothing to gain from it. But she did.”

“Ah, you’re a devious man, Dr Siri. How would she get access to pills?”

Siri looked across the water, imagining himself with a pipe. “What if she wasn’t working on this by herself?”

“Meaning?”

“A boyfriend. I mean a real boyfriend. Or what if she’s a member of some anarchist movement? It would be to everyone’s advantage to get the minor wife into the comrade’s house. This is a small world. They just needed to get someone close enough to borrow her pills, slip in the cyanide.”

“Someone at the Women’s Union?”

“Or at a reception. She liked her beer.”

“It still doesn’t make sense. If Kham wasn’t involved, why…”

“You boys all right there?” the mama yelled from the bar. They signalled they were fine.

“Why would he go to so much trouble to cover up the murder? Why would he submit a false report?”

“He did?”

“I got into the files. Your report is the official autopsy document.”

“But it wasn’t finished. It wasn’t signed.”

“It is now.”

“Bastard. Well, can we get him for that? For forging an official document?”

“We don’t know it was him.”

“I do. He stole it from my office. Right under my nose.”

“Your word against his.”

Siri took a long swig of his rum and almost choked on an ice cube. Phosy slapped him on the back.

“Thanks. So what do we do now?”

“What we do is continue to keep quiet. I’ll see what I can get on the hairdresser, and make discreet inquiries about Kham. We still don’t have enough to make an official complaint, not even if we knew who to submit it to.”

“This stinks. I thought we’d taken over so we could clean up society. But all we’re doing is changing the variety of the corruption.”

“Don’t be so negative. This is just one isolated case. Things are better, you know that. The country the way it is now is a much healthier place to bring children into.”

“Is that re-education talking?”

“No. It’s me. I believe it. Laos is doing all right.”

They watched the sun land somewhere in Thailand and the pink sky turn to purple, then mauve. On a rock down by the water, a boy with regulation short hair and a girl with regulation long hair sat two feet apart. They weren’t allowed to hold hands.

The rum was gone and Phosy refused to let Siri walk him back to the hospital to get his bike. They shook hands in front of the hotel, comrades in crime prevention. Siri held on to the hand after it was shaken.

“Thanks for doing this. I know you’re taking a risk.”

“Me? No. I’m a born-again communist. Nobody’s watching me any more. But your friends need to be careful. Who else knows about this?”

“Only Teacher Oum at the lycee. She did all the tests.”

“Well, tell her to be careful. She should tell nobody else.”

“She knows.”

“Good. I’ll keep in touch.”

Siri walked back through the deserted streets. It was only 8 pm, but Sethathirat Road was as quiet as the grave. Only an unlit bicycle passed him on his way home. Small pyres of burned rubbish were smouldering on street corners. A rat emerged from a drain and chased a skinny cat through the portal of Ong Teu temple.

These were streets that used to ignore time. Clubs and bars that closed only when the last drunk fell out into the street. Whores and addicts had littered the footpaths. He’d heard about that other extremity, and here he was at this one. He couldn’t bring himself to believe there wasn’t something safe and joyful between the two.

Even before he reached his lane, the dog howls struck up. After the quiet of a Vientiane night, he felt responsible for disturbing the peace. The uneven surface of the unpaved road caused him to stagger once or twice. The rum had affected his balance. He wanted it under control before Miss Vong spotted him from her curtain observatory. He turned onto his front path, where Saloop crouched, growling, in front of him.

The curtain quivered.

“Good night, Miss Vong.”

There was no response. He looked down at the dog. Perhaps if he made an effort, perhaps if he could befriend this mangy critter, word would get around the neighbourhood that he wasn’t such a bad human after all.

Instead of walking around the animal as he usually did, he stepped towards it. He uttered soft sounds to calm the beast. For every step Siri took forward, the confused mongrel took one backward. It was scared, but it growled on. This tango continued until Saloop was backed right up against the front door.

Not wanting to lose a finger, Siri cupped his hand as if he were holding a treat and crouched down to offer it to Saloop. Instantly the dog barked, and there were two sharp cracks like the sound of a whip. Siri looked around, not sure where the sound had come from, and the dog used the diversion to scurry off into the vegetables.

Siri stood, looked back towards the pitch-black lane, then up at the house. The only light came from a gas lamp in an upstairs window. There was nothing to be seen but shadows. Something unnerved him about the sound. He walked inside and closed the door.

With his alarm clock set for four-thirty, Siri showered and went to bed. Even before the musty smell of the kapok pillow reached his nostrils, he was asleep.

Tran, Tran, and Hok were walking with him along a busy city street. It was the West: an English-speaking country. There were cars and throngs of impatient people. It was evening, and the neon lights all around flashed and glowed, spelling out words he couldn’t read.

The three Vietnamese were huddled about him like security guards around a corrupt president. Whenever