Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

13

There would perhaps come a day when the information on a sheet of paper on one desk would automatically be drawn like a lonesome thumb to information on a sheet of paper on a desk not two metres away. It would set off an alarm to say, "Has anybody seen this?" But at Vientiane police headquarters, three days had passed and nobody had noticed a very significant connection. Sergeant Sihot had been focusing on K6 and the Vietnamese security people and the odd coincidence of victim three's parents having worked at the murder scene of victim one. He'd been attempting to trace the couple through the lists of refugees their spies had sent from the Thai camps. He'd re-interviewed Miht, the groundsman, who admitted he vaguely recalled the couple but that he couldn't be expected to remember everyone as the staff changed so often. Like Civilai, Sihot had a feeling the man was holding something back.

After a long search, Sihot finally found someone with fencing experience. A young attache at the East German embassy called Hans had learned to fence in Gymnasium. He'd just arrived from Berlin. Through a translator, Sihot learned that the epees used in the three murders were far from normal and were totally unsuitable for competition. Fencing, the young man said, was a test of footwork and accuracy. Scoring was done electronically so there was no need for sharp edges or pointed tips on the weapons. The swords Sihot showed him had certainly been doctored to inflict the most damage.

Finally, Sihot had talked once more to Comrade Chanti at Electricite du Lao and asked why he'd failed to mention the fact he was working on a rewiring project at K6. The engineer had simply put Sihot in his place by saying, "You didn't ask." He had been very cool about the whole affair and told Sihot he was busy and, "would that be all?"

The list of Electricite du Lao employees involved in the project sat on the front right-hand corner of Sihot's desk held down by half a cluster-bomb casing. The third name on that list was Somdy Borachit.

Inspector Phosy had been focusing on the returnees who'd subscribed to magazines at the government bookshop. He was attempting to trace the names on the list. As they hadn't been obliged to provide their addresses, it was a laborious process. He had been sidetracked at one stage after interviewing one bookshop customer: a member of the Women's Association recently returned from Moscow. She had, she said, filed an official complaint against the bookshop clerk for making 'improper advances' towards her. Phosy's enquiries led to the discovery that the poor man had merely asked her if she'd be interested to attend a cultural event with him. That was as far as the advance went and Phosy hadn't seen anything improper about it. Unattached single man approaches unattractive single woman with hopes of romance. A flirtation. He wondered whether the complaint would have been made at all if the clerk had been better looking. He let it pass.

Phosy had been receiving responses too from his Eastern European contacts. The Czech embassy had discovered that Dung, the Vietnamese major, had taken a course in fencing in Prague as part of the physical education component of his course. In fact, his Czech instructor had given him an A and commented that the Vietnamese was a natural swordsman. The major had lied at the interview. As a result, his name was moved to the top of the list of suspects. Over the years, Phosy had come to believe that when all the arrows pointed to one person, that was invariably your man.

To Phosy's surprise, word came back from East Germany via the embassy's diplomatic pouch with regard to the third victim, Jim. Early reports were that she had been a friendly but studious woman who had impressed all her lecturers. She was the perfect student, doing extra research outside the curriculum, not wasting her time with nightlife or parties. Some of her classmates recalled that there had been a man interested in her but nobody remembers seeing him. They only knew from Jim that he was a student on a government scholarship. Jim had once commented with a smile how flattering it had been to have such an attractive man throwing pebbles at a girl's window.

As they'd approached the first round of pre-medical examinations, Jim's comments had begun to sound more desperate. On one occasion, she'd told a classmate, "I'm starting to get a little impatient. He doesn't take no for an answer." Some of the Lao had jokingly suggested she invite her 'boyfriend' to one of the weekend balls and she'd become very agitated. "Really, there's no relationship here. Just an annoyance." Then, even nearer to the exams a classmate had found Jim walking around outside at midnight in the snow. She'd been crying. She'd said, "He really won't leave me alone. He won't let me study."

The classmate had suggested she tell the student representative but Jim had refused. The Lao student said she became concerned for Jim's well-being after that night but Jim wouldn't let her get close. And it was around then that Jim's future came tumbling down. She failed her exams, but more than that it was as if she'd become an entirely different person. One girl commented, "She'd lost all her warmth. She didn't speak. Didn't answer any questions. Something terrible had happened to her. We thought it must have been him, whoever he was. We didn't know what he'd done to her but she was clearly terrified of him."

Phosy had gone through the translation two or three times, astonished at what a transformation had come over the woman. Something had happened in Berlin to change a bright, straight-A student with a brilliant future into a frightened failure. In Phosy's mind the killer had taken on a new, more sinister guise. What happened in Berlin might have been unrelated to the K6 murders but he didn't believe so. He immediately demanded a list of all foreign students studying in East Germany in 1977.

Apart from confirmation that victim two, Kiang, had taken no physical education classes and that victim one, Dew, had at one stage been selected to compete in a regional fencing tournament in a very small town in Bulgaria, no other information had arrived to bring him closer to his killer. His desk was a monument of paperwork; his own notes, interview transcripts, and telexes. But, on the front left-hand corner was the list of subscribers at the government bookshop. It was on the top of a pile, weighted down with a tiny plaster cast of Malee's left foot age one month. Eleventh down that list was the name Somdy Borachit.?

"Sh…sh…she didn't come back today."

"Who's that, Geung?"

Dtui was sitting on a stool facing the freezer controls with the Russian-Lao dictionary open on her lap. Mr Geung was using a long-handled broom to sweep cobwebs from the ceiling.

"The Down's Syndrome. She didn't come b…back."

"Must have been a mirage, hon."

"No…no…no. What's a marge?"

"A mirage is something you think you see but it isn't really there."

"I saw her."

"Ah, but did you? What if you wanted to see her so much that you made her up?"

"Eh?"

"You made magic and she came."

"I…I…I can't make magic."

"If you want something badly enough, you can."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Look at Malee. I really wanted Malee in my life and there she was."

"No. You had s…sex and you made a baby."

"OK, right. That helped too. But it all started with a dream. And then I wished."

"I wouldn't w…w…wish for a Down's Syndrome to come."

"Why not?"

He put on a deep voice.

"That lot are f…feeble minded."

"Yeah? Who said that?"

"Judge Haeng."

"Oh, yeah? Is that the same Judge Haeng who had you sent way up north?"

"Yes."

"And you found your way back to the morgue all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then, you tell me which one of you is feeble minded. Look, Geung, you've been giving this woman a hard time since she started here. And, as far as I can see, she hasn't done anything wrong. I'll tell you how to look at this. There are times when you feel…out of it, right? When people make you feel like an outsider."

"Yes. Lots."

"But you have me and Dr Siri, and Civilai and now you have Malee. And we all make you feel better at those times. Right?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe, this woman, if she exists, maybe she feels like you do sometimes. But she hasn't got a morgue full of family to make her feel better. People who love her. Maybe she'd appreciate just a friendly 'hello' sometimes and she wouldn't feel like an outsider."

"Just a hello."

"That's all. Then she'll start to feel like you do."

"That's all?"

"Right. But I still don't believe there is a Down's Syndrome girl. Nobody else has seen her. I think she's a joke you're playing on us."

"No. Sh…sh…she's real. Her name's Tukta."?

On the eve of Siri's departure for Phnom Penh via Peking, he had a bit of trouble getting home from the morgue. As was often the way, he'd sat around for most of the day fine-tuning his report on the epee murders, scratching about for something to keep himself busy, a case, a phone call, a body, a visit, some splattering of bureaucratic foolishness for him to complain about. But there had been nothing until four in the afternoon. Then everything happened. At one stage, Mr Geung came running into the office and spent several minutes catching his breath, attempting to filter out a word or two. Siri had rubbed his friend's shoulders and calmed him down, and finally he was able to say…

"She…she's back."

"Who's that, Geung?"

"The Down's Syndrome. Sh…she…she's a part-time staff in the can…the can…in the canteen."

He'd left again, this time realising by himself that he hadn't brought back the coffee he'd been sent for. Siri wondered whether the excitement was hostile territorialism or passion. He suspected the former. In fact, it occurred to him that even though he'd been acquainted with Geung for two years, he knew very little of the psychology that made him who he was. Did he have the same emotions as others? How many of his feelings were instincts? Where did his heart settle along the parameters between human and beast? Siri was disappointed that he could work alongside a man and not understand him. Perhaps his library could shed some light on what went on in Mr Geung's mind.

It occurred to Siri that he himself had recently emerged from a long hibernation of ignorance. Suddenly he'd become aware of the deep feelings of those around him. He'd always focused on physical well-being and danced lightly around emotions. He wondered whether this awakening might be just one more stop on his journey through the senses. Was the spirit world leading him on a guided tour through the various rooms of the other world, or had he arrived at the garden of love all by himself like some long-haired hippy ganja smoker? Was he closer to heaven? After all the years of war and killing he'd suffered, with his heart as heavy as mud, was this the natural conclusion? After so many years of hate, there could only be -

Hospital director Suk had interrupted his transcendental train of thought. Siri caught him out of the corner of his eye striding past the office door towards the cutting room. He had a tall foreigner beside him. Siri counted on his fingers, one…two…three…

"Siri, come here!" the director yelled.

Siri smiled, and put on his white coat. It always seemed easier to lie in a white coat for some reason. He strolled casually into the cutting room with his hands in his pockets.

"Siri, can you explain this?" said Suk, pointing at the single strip light overhead and the two vacant fittings. Dtui came out of the storeroom and looked at the doctor, hoping he had an excuse at hand.

"Can you, Comrade?" Siri asked.

"Can I what?" Suk replied.

"Can you explain why those Chinese engineers came to take away our perfectly good lights?"

Dtui smiled and returned to the stores. All was in order.

"Chinese? What Chinese?" Suk asked.

"How should I know?" Siri replied. "They had a work order written in Chinese and the interpreter said something about the wattage of the lamps being inappropriate for the size of the room. She said you'd sent them."

Director Suk spent several minutes in stunted dialogue with the Russian engineer who was clearly upset. Siri stood there, indignant, with his arms folded. He knew the hospital administration had no idea who was donating what and which experts were due when. He was sure this small matter would be lost in the war of dominance between the superpowers. Suk and the Russian walked out of the morgue without another word to Siri.

The doctor thought that incident would be the grand total of excitement for the day. Geung returned again without the coffee and too grumpy to talk to anyone. Dtui left at five to pick up Malee from the creche. Siri did his rounds, closing the louvres in the cutting room and checking the water level in the ornamental flood overflow pond which now sported two attractive lotus flowers. He stacked the papers on his desk and began to write a list of duties to keep his morgue team occupied for the next four days. Halfway through the list he looked up and saw his angel mother in the doorway. He smiled, as was his habit. She chewed betel and frowned, as was hers.

"Hello, darling," he said. "Enough rain for you these days?" He wondered whether spirits felt rain. Did it just pass through them? He'd never seen one with an umbrella. He knew that, apart from mermaids, folk from the beyond couldn't travel on water. That probably explained why so many royalists had crossed the Mekhong, leaving their evil spirits behind on the Lao bank. Beginning a new life on the Thai side. Not realising there was an entire army of equally evil spirits waiting for them over there. Siri's mother didn't reply. She had never spoken. She was a vision without a soundtrack. Siri had become used to his one-sided conversations. He was concentrating on his list.

6. Make inventory of all the body parts we have in formaldehyde in the storeroom.

7. Write justification as to why they're there.

8. If you can't think of any, dig a hole behind the morgue and bury them deep away from dogs (with a few kind words of spiritual praise to the body parts).

9…

"Don't go, Siri."

"What?" Siri looked up, expecting to find a visitor in the doorway but there was nobody there but his mother. The voice had been clear. A woman's voice. An old woman, crackly but clear and loud. He stared at the old lady who sat cross-legged staring back at him, chewing her betel.

"Did you speak?" he asked.

If only she could. It was his dream to talk with them. Enough of these guessing games. Had she spoken? Had the words, 'Don't go, Siri' come from her?

"Don't go where, mother?" he asked.

But she sat and chewed and into her body stepped a large chocolate-skinned man in a nightshirt. He didn't seem aware of the mess he'd made of Siri's mother.

"Good evening, Dr Siri," said Bhiku. "I hope you are talking to yourself because, as you clearly see, I am not your mother."

Mr David Bhiku, the father of crazy Rajid, weighed some 100 kilograms. With his chocolaty gleam and gum-bubble of a nose it was evident he could never be a relative of the doctor, mother or otherwise. Siri rose from his seat to greet his friend but old habits died hard and the Indian buried his head deep into Siri's gut and pressed his palms together in greeting.

"Krishna save us, Bhiku," smiled Siri. "I look forward to the day when we can just shake hands and dispense with all this bowing and scraping. You outweigh me by several sacks of rice. It looks silly."

"Yes, sir. Worth is not decided by weight, Doctor. If that were so I should be kowtowing to every buffalo I meet."

"Come and sit…and not on the floor."

"I am an honoree."

Siri forced him onto the chair and glanced at the doorway to satisfy himself that his mother hadn't been crushed back to life by the big Indian. There was no trace of her.

"I have some tepid tea," said Siri, reaching for the thermos.

"I have already indulged, thank you."

"I haven't seen your son, Jogendranath, for several days. My wife and I are worried. With all this rain and nowhere to sleep…"

"Ah, yes. My son has found a dry place to sleep. Thank you. That's what I'have come to tell you."

"You've seen him?"

"I see him every night," Bhiku smiled. "He curls up like a civet cat beneath the canvas which covers my cooking area at the rear of the restaurant."

Siri raised his eyebrows.

"He sleeps at your restaurant? That's marvellous."

"Most nights, now. Yes. He is reminiscent of a small animal sheltering from the rain. Life to a street son like mine must be very unpleasant if there is no star-filled sky to pull over you when you go to bed. He has not yet built up the confidence to eat the food I leave out for him or to come inside out of the wind, but he's there often. I like to sit on the back step watching him sleep."

"Has he spoken?"

"Sadly, Doctor, my poor son is still mute. But in his dreams the spirits speak through him. I hear them sometimes. In his dreams there are words."

Siri smiled, delighted.

"With just a little more faith, friend, I wouldn't be surprised if you could reach in and pull out those words, bring him back his voice," he said.

"Would that it were so."

"One rung at a time, Bhiku. One rung at a time."

The Indian hadn't been gone more than five minutes. Siri had begun to pack his cloth shoulder bag. The words from his mother still hung at his neck. "Don't go, Siri." He was walking absently towards the door when a third unexpected visitor appeared there. Colonel Phat was tall and gaunt. He smiled warmly with the few teeth he had. He was the Vietnamese advisor at the Ministry of Justice. He and Siri had become close since his arrival in Vientiane. Their opinions of Judge Haeng's suitability for his position had dragged them together.

"Brother Siri," Phat said as he walked into the office.

"Phat, did you lose your way? I've never seen you near the morgue before."

"Just pacing out those final steps."

"And they lead you here? Are you expecting a violent death, brother?"

"A knife in the back. It's a feeling I've held since I first arrived at Justice."

Phat walked past Siri and sat on a chair, ignoring the fact that the doctor was clearly on his way home.

"I only have cold tea to offer," Siri said, returning to his desk.

"I come as a harbinger of doom," said Phat.

"That's a pity. I was planning on having a good-news-only day. Are you sure it can't wait till I come back from Cambodia?"

"That's the point, brother Siri. I am here to strongly recommend that you don't go there."

"I think the trip's all booked and paid for."

"Then, come down with something that makes it impossible for you to travel. And tell your friend Civilai to do the same."

"What on earth for?"

"Dr Siri, what exactly do you know about what's happening in the swamp they call Kampuchea?"

"Not much. The orientation only took half an hour. Most of it was read from some sort of travel brochure. Then they gave us an itinerary and a summary of the Red Khmer manifesto. It looked a lot like ours."

He didn't bother to mention the warning he and Civilai had been given that they might get some subtle pressure from the Vietnamese not to go. Hanoi had mentored the fledgling Khmer Rouge and encouraged its overthrow of the corrupt Khmer royalists. But its plan to have Laos and Cambodia sit at its feet like tame naga dragons had been thwarted by the new revolutionary leaders in Phnom Penh. It was no secret that the Khmer and the Vietnamese had long since separated on ideological grounds, but, since the beginning of the year, the war drums had been beating on both sides of the border. Once an ally, Cambodia, now Kampuchea, had become a threat. Phnom Penh was drifting closer to China, just as Vietnam drifted further away from the big Red mother ship.

"We are hearing terrible things from Khmer refugees at our borders," Phat said. "I am seriously concerned for your safety, Comrade."

"Refugees have a habit of saying what they think their saviours want to hear. I wouldn't worry about it."

Phat rose. He seemed to be offended by Siri's attitude.

"I came here on my own time and against the wishes of my embassy. I came out of friendship with a sincere warning."

Siri wondered whether Civilai was encountering his own delegation of Vietnamese friendship ambassadors.

"I appreciate it," Siri said. "But, I think it's too late to get out of it, Comrade." He stood and held out his hand to Phat. "But thank you for the warning. It was good to see you again."

Phat didn't return the handshake.

"It's far more than a warning, Siri. Putting a man with your character in Phnom Penh at this time is like dropping petroleum on a bush fire. If you go to Kampuchea you will burn, Siri Paiboun. Trust me."

He turned and walked out.

Siri had never seen him like this. It had been an impressive and — he had to admit — an unnerving visit. The Vietnamese certainly knew how to squeeze. The colonel's words were still on his mind as he put the welcome mat inside and locked the front door. And the old woman's voice telling him not to go. He liked his omens in threes. One more and he'd call in sick and let Civilai go by himself. All by himself to sample the fine wines and tasty Khmer food. The beautiful Khmer women. The charm of Phnom Penh. The memory of walking along Boulevard Noradom with Boua. The smiles of the locals. The music. What was a little prophecy of doom against all that?

A voice from across the flooded hospital grounds reached him through the drizzle.

"Feel like a drink?"

Cast in silhouette against the gaudy strip lights of oncology, Phosy stood astride his Vespa in a foot of water. Siri took off his sandals, rolled up his trouser legs, and waded to the inspector.

"I thought you'd given it up," Siri told him.

"Just saving myself for Lao new year and very special occasions," Phosy smiled. Siri hadn't seen him in such a good mood for a very long time.

"Well, new year came and went without anyone noticing," Siri said. "So what's the occasion?"

"Another solved case."

"You haven't…?"

"We have. Not only do we have our fencer, we have irrefutable connections to each of the victims and to the three crime scenes. It's all over." He shook the doctor's hand. "Congratulations."

There were fewer and fewer places to drink of a night in a city whose sense of muan — of innocent pleasure — had been slowly wrung from it by two and a half years of socialism. The logical hot spots were roofless snack and drink stalls along the riverbank and, as long as that one unstoppable April shower persisted, they would remain closed. There was the Russian club, a bustling, beery night-eatery populated by Eastern European experts. But that was beyond the budget of a Lao policeman and a Lao doctor. So Siri and Phosy took their drinks under an umbrella at Two Thumb's humble establishment behind the evening market. They drank rice whisky and worked through a plate of steamed peanuts in soft shells. Siri knew he should have been packing, spending the night with Madame Daeng, but she'd always understood the power of celebration, particularly when victory was the prize.

"If we'd only checked sooner," Phosy said. "Or if one of us had remembered the names on the lists. But, why would we? We were only interested in the team leader on the rewiring project. I doubt we gave the other names on the Electricite du Laos work roster more than a cursory glance. But I'd arrived at the name Somdy Borachit on the subscriptions list and I read it out loud. And Sihot had just worked out his schedule to interview all the electricians on his list and he asked me how it was spelt. And, sure enough, it was the same name. We had him: Somdy Borachit, who everyone knew by the nickname of Neung. We drove over to Electricite du Laos and he was there, calm as you like. Confident. And I asked him if he had an acquaintanceship with the three victims and he admitted he did. No pretence at all. He came straight out with it."

"That he'd killed them?"

"That he knew them all. I asked why he hadn't come forward when he heard about the killings and he said, "It's complicated." Complicated? You bet it's complicated. We took him to HQ and questioned him. And it was as if every answer he gave tied him tighter and tighter to the murders. It was as if he didn't understand the implication of what he was saying. Everything in this case points directly to him. Every damn thing."

"He didn't have an alibi?"

"Claims he was babysitting his son all weekend. His wife was off at a seminar. It's just one more story that doesn't work."

"Start at the beginning, Phosy."

"All right. You'll never guess who Neung's father is."

"Then, tell me."

"Miht, the groundsman at K6. And when the Americans were still there he used to go to help his father with the gardening work."

"So, he would have met young Jim there. Attractive girl. Got chatting…"

"He admits it. Said he knew her before he went off to study. And where do you suppose he takes his scholarship course in electrical engineering?"

"East Germany."

"Precisely where Jim was headed. And he studied not two blocks from her school. Amazing coincidence? I don't think so."

"So, he could have been the mystery man who hounded her there. Followed her to Berlin then stalked her."

"Forcing her to come home early," Phosy went on. "He returned at about the same time. Which brings us to victim number two, Kiang. It's easier to do this in reverse order. In the beginning he told us he'd met Kiang at the government bookshop and they'd chatted about being overseas and he said he'd never seen her outside the reading room. Never socialised with her. And it was so obvious he was lying even Sihot could read it. I was so certain we had our killer I decided I could push as hard as I liked at that stage. But Neung didn't take much pushing. As soon as the word 'murder' came up in the interview, he admitted that he and Kiang were…'dating', I think is what he called it. I asked him why he'd lied and he said he hadn't wanted word to get back to his wife. His wife? Can you believe it? He's got a wife and a child and he's dating. And it doesn't seem like killing the girl was nearly as important as his wife not finding out."

Phosy's reaction surprised Siri but he decided that matter could wait.

"And is the school connected? The scene of the murder?" Siri asked.

"Is it ever! It's where he went to school, Siri. It was his own classroom. He pinned his dead girlfriend to the blackboard he'd copied notes from for seven years. This is a very sick character, Siri."

"How's he taking it?"

"You know how they are. Denying this. Denying that. He had himself in tears at one point."

"So he hasn't actually confessed to anything?"

"He's denied killing them but there's no getting away from the fact he knew them all. He met the wife of his boss through work. I wouldn't be surprised if he was 'dating' her as well. And get this. The syrup on the shaved ice is that our comrade Neung was a fencing star. He was the champion on the university team while he was in Munich."

"No, wait. How long was he there? Two…three years? How do you get to be a champion in so short a time?"

"You don't. He was already an expert before he left Laos. He learned from childhood from his own father."

"Miht, the groundsman?"

"His father had grown up in a boys' orphanage in Vietnam run by French priests. They had an extensive programme of sports organised for the boys to keep them on the straight and narrow. One of the priests had been a fencing champion and he trained the most promising of his students in sword-play. It appears Miht was the star pupil. If the opportunity had come up he might have even been good enough to compete in Europe, but the war put paid to those plans. Miht came to Laos and put all of his efforts into teaching the skill to his son. Neung had the same natural flair as his father. The old man has a collection of swords at his home."

Siri thought back to his relaxed conversation with the groundsman. His confident air. He recalled how the fellow had observed the crime scenes so intently. Siri wondered whether he'd known something. Whether he suspected his son might have been involved. Surely, when he discovered that the weapon was an epee…

"It does all seem to fit together," Siri agreed, pouring the last of their half-bottle into the glasses.

"Seem? It's a perfect fit, Siri. Your Judge Haeng is so pleased about it he's decided to make this his first open court murder trial."

"Wait! He's what? We don't even have a constitution. How the hell can he run a murder trial without laws?"

"Not sure, but he's got the go-ahead from the minister and a couple of the politburo. A lot of people have been upset about all the killing that's been going on lately. I get the feeling they want the country to know that justice is being done and criminals aren't going to get away with it."

"When's the trial?"

"Next Tuesday."

"That soon?"

"It is pretty open and shut, you have to agree."

"There's no physical evidence, Phosy."

"You mean, no fingerprints?" Phosy laughed.

"I mean no nothing. No eye witnesses, no blood matches, no connected murder weapon, no confessions — no nothing. But I suppose none of that matters if there's no law. That doesn't concern you?"

"Come on, Siri. There's so much circumstantial evidence you'd have to be a halfwit to think he was innocent."

"It's called circumstantial because circumstances happen to coincide. And it's almost as if he's gone to a lot of trouble to point every finger at himself, circumstantially. But it isn't proof. What was your impression of him, Phosy?"

"My what?" Phosy was getting frustrated.

"As a person. What did you feel? How did he affect you?"

"Siri, you're taking all this philosophical psychological bunkum a bit too far. This is a murderer."

"All right, forget psychology. What does your gut tell you? Your policeman's instincts. You've met enough killers in your life. What did your gut tell you after a day with Neung?"

"You really want to play this game?"

"Humour me."

"All right, I felt he's very cool. That he knew we had all this evidence against him and he was smart enough not to lie about any of it. He was convincing as an actor. But men with the ability to plan and execute cold-blooded murder would have the ability to convince others…"

"Did you like him?"

"Some of the worst villains are likeable, Siri."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Right. Is anyone representing him in this play trial?"

"I assume there's somebody."

"In a land without lawyers?"

"The military, probably."

"The military conduct court martials and executions. This is a completely different thing. This is no war trial. This is an affront to democratic principles. This is a chance for the public to see Marie Antoinette's head roll."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Siri, slow down. You sound as if you're on his side. What are you playing at?"

"Not playing at all, Phosy. Looking at all the facts, I'd probably agree that he's as guilty as the devil himself. Anybody would. Which is no doubt why Judge Haeng selected this as his opening number. Easy. No complaints. An evil killer gets what's coming to him. Accolades all round. The only loser here is justice. The rightful course of law. Without that we have nothing to believe in."

"What would you do, Siri? Lock him up till the constitution's finished? He could be an old man by then."

"Good point. Can I see him?"

"Who?"

"The accused."

"What for? Why? When? You have to be at the airport by six."

"How about now?"

Phosy laughed. Siri was staring at him with those emerald-green eyes. No smile. No bluff.?

At the doctor's insistence, Phosy let him walk back to the cells by himself. Neung sat on the wooden bench, his slumped frame diced by the shadows of the metal mesh of the prison bars. He was long-limbed, a strongly built young man, but his face was soft, the type a woman would find more attractive than a man. It was the face of a child that some would feel an urge to mother.

"Are you Somdy Borachit? Also known as Neung?" Siri asked.

The prisoner seemed stunned, even shell-shocked. It took him a while to acknowledge Siri was there outside the bars.

"Yes."

"Did you kill Hatavan Rattanasamay, Khantaly Sisamouth and Sunisa Simmarit?" Siri asked. No point in preliminaries.

Neung looked at Siri coldly.

"Who are you?"

"You answer my question and I'll think about answering yours."

Neung stood, walked to the bars and glared. Siri resisted the temptation to take a step back.

"Why would I want to kill three people I hardly knew?"

Siri nodded.

It was a bad response. A murderer's answer.

"But, it isn't true, is it?" Siri said. "That you didn't know them, I mean. One you were having an affair with. Another you'd known since she was a child. You travelled to Germany with her."

"What's the matter with you people? Don't you listen? We didn't travel anywhere together." Neung had raised his voice. "And I'm not answering any more of your questions until you tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

"You aren't exactly in a position to call the shots. But I have no objection. I'm Dr Siri Paiboun. I'm the man who conducted autopsies on the three women you killed."

With a speed and ferocity Siri couldn't have expected, Neung smashed the heel of his right hand into the concrete wall of the cell. Siri took that step back after all. He was certain the prisoner had broken several small bones in his hand. But there was no pain on the man's face, only anger.

"That's quite a temper. Are you prone to violent outbursts like this?" Siri asked.

"Of course, I'm a violent maniac. Even more evidence for you. Shoot me before I lose control, why don't you?"

He slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He massaged his wrist and looked up at the ceiling.

"Anger and sarcasm aren't going to help you in here," Siri reminded him.

"And what is going to help me, Comrade?"

"The truth might be a good place to start."

"I've tried. Believe me, I have. But your police friends have their own truth and they've been backing me into it all day."

Siri sat cross-legged on the floor and looked at him. He took a few seconds to consider the consequences of what he was about to do.

"Has anyone told you what the evidence is against you?" he asked.

The prisoner looked up.

"I've picked up bits and pieces from their questioning. But not everything. No."

So, for the next ten minutes, Siri laid it all out for him. He told him about all the circumstantial evidence that was ganged up against him. And, as he spoke, Siri watched the man's reactions. He watched for nonchalance and feigned surprise but Neung listened intently and asked questions at the right times. He was like an acolyte listening to the teachings of a monk. Siri tried to see inside him. The doctor had made mistakes before. He'd seen guilt when it didn't exist. He'd failed to notice evil when it was right in front of him.

The danger was that a man with the temperament to put detailed planning into three murders had to have a special type of mind. And Siri wondered whether he had the ability to see beyond that deceit.

Once all the evidence was mapped out, Neung fell back against the wall and bumped his head several times on the concrete. It was as if he suddenly understood how bad the situation was.

"Everybody thinks you're guilty," Siri said.

"You too?"

"Yes."

"I see," Neung sighed. "Then I'm on my way to hell on an ox cart." He stared deep into Siri's golf-green eyes. "Are the police aware you're here telling me all the details of their case against me?"

"I didn't even know myself when I came back here."

"So, why?"

"You're just about to go up against the whole injustice system. They'll give you some token representation but ultimately, it's you against them. And I don't think those odds are fair."

"Even though you believe I'm guilty?"

"Irrespective of my thoughts as to your guilt, you still have the right to defend yourself."

"Thank you."

"It isn't much."

"Will you be attending their kangaroo court?"

"I'm off on a junket in Cambodia, me and the only qualified lawyer in the country. That's why I'm here at midnight. We leave tomorrow morning."

Neung sighed and thought for a moment. A toad was practising its baritone beyond the window.

"OK. Can I tell you my story?"

Siri was surprised. He was afraid he was about to hear a confession and he didn't know how to handle things. He wondered if he should call Phosy.

"I don't — " he began.

"I want to tell you everything I know," Neung said. "I want at least one person to have my side of it."

"If you're going to give me that 'I hardly knew them' routine, I don't think I want to hear it."

"I'm sorry about that. I did. I knew all three of them. And somebody's obviously aware of that."

"Yes? What somebody might that be?"

"If we knew that, we'd know why I'm here."

"So, you'll be going with the 'I was framed' defence? Good choice."

"Do I have any other hope?"

"No."

"So…?"

"So, I'm listening."

"All right." Neung shimmied across the concrete floor till his nose was no more than a few centimetres from the bars, his hands within grasping distance of Siri's neck.

"Dew," he began. "She was the wife of my section head, Comrade Chanti. I met her once at the company's New Year children's party before I went off to Germany. It was about five years ago. Chanti and his family had just arrived from the north-east after the ceasefire in seventy-three. My boss introduced his wife to everyone. She wasn't particularly friendly. She seemed reluctant to be there. She had one baby in arms and one toddler. I don't recall seeing her talk to her husband at all that afternoon. Then I met her once more at the government bookshop in the reading room when I got back from overseas. She was more friendly then. I had to remind her who I was, told her our kids had played together at the party. She said she'd just come back from Moscow. Then she was off somewhere in a hurry."

"That's it?"

"The sum total. Two meetings, a dozen or so words. She was more polite the second time but we didn't actually hit it off."

"But there was somebody from the reading room you did hit it off with."

Neung blushed.

"That was my one guilty secret in all this," the man confessed, "and it doesn't surprise me I've been found out. I deserve it. I don't know how my wife will ever find it in her heart to forgive me."

"I get the impression your wife's a very understanding woman. I passed her in the entry. She's been sitting out front of the prison since she found out you'd been arrested. She and your father. They've both refused to leave."

"Do you think…do you suppose the police have told her about Kiang?"

"Of course. They have to mention details like that to the family to see whether they register any surprise. To see whether the suspect is a serial philanderer."

"It'll break her heart."

"You should have thought of that before you started fooling around."

"I had no intention of being unfaithful."

Siri's eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

"Really. Before Kiang came into my life I was perfectly content. And it was she who approached me. I was in the reading room at the bookshop and she got my attention by telling me I reminded her of somebody. She didn't ever give me any details but I got the impression it was someone she'd known when she was younger. Someone who'd left or died."

Siri considered that point. It fitted into the mother's account of Kiang's soldier-lover killed in the north.

"Of course I'd noticed her before at the shop," Neung continued. "She was a striking-looking young lady. And it was as if she was attracted to me. I could sense it. But I kept things polite and I didn't encourage her."

"Why not?"

"I'm a married man. And, I don't know, I suppose I thought she wasn't interested in me exactly. Just my similarity to that other man."

"But the flesh was weak."

"Doctor! A beautiful woman begging to make love to you? What would you have done?"

"Strange as it may seem, the opportunity doesn't arise that often. But I get your point."

"And it was all so wonderful. Kiang was sweet and loving. She had a passion. It was as if she were saving it up for someone. It got to the point that I didn't care who she thought I was. Of course I fell in love with her. In fact, it was more like an addiction. I couldn't get enough of her. We got together when we could, made love, talked about our times in Europe. But she didn't ever introduce me to anyone. I never met her family or friends."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Midday Saturday. We met for lunch. We had this place by the river where we'd meet up. An old guesthouse. We'd found the key under a pot of dead plants once when we were sheltering from the rain. It became our rendezvous spot."

"Saturday was when she died."

Neung nodded and his eyes glazed over.

"She didn't show up for our lunch date on Monday."

"You weren't curious why not?"

"Of course."

"Did you make any effort to find out why she didn't turn up?"

"We had an agreement. I wasn't to contact her. I couldn't go to her house or the library. I didn't even have her phone number. All the contact came from her. It's the way she wanted it."

"And that arrangement was all right with you?"

"I had a wife. I wasn't really in a position to insist on visitation rights. And I was crazy about her. She could have done and said anything and it would have been fine with me. I was just glad to be around her. I loved her."

"And your wife?"

Neung nodded.

"You're a generous man," Siri told him. "So much love to share with so many women. Which brings us to victim number three, Jim."

Neung sighed with frustration.

"There isn't much to tell," he said. "I vaguely remember her pottering around K6 when she was a kid. She was podgy then. One of those keen young things who follow you around asking questions. I heard they'd taken her on as a trainee at a clinic up north. I didn't see her at all after that until Germany. I was on the fencing team at my college. There were local and regional competitions every weekend. And who should show up at one of them but Jim. I was totally surprised. I didn't recognise her at first. She'd lost a lot of weight. In fact she was looking very fit. She told me she'd come to Berlin to study medicine. That didn't surprise me. I knew she was smart. But what did surprise me was that she could fence. And she was good. Really good, and strong as an ox. She'd obviously put a lot of time into it."

"Where did she learn?"

"I asked her, of course. But her answers were always vague. Things like, 'I can't tell you all my secrets so soon'. I assumed the Americans…but I never really found out for certain. She asked if I had time to tutor her, work on her techniques. I told her I'd be happy to."

"I bet you were. One on one, was it?"

Neung glared. "No. She attended a class I helped out at. It was a fencing school for local teenagers. I was a volunteer. The instructor and I agreed that Jim had potential. In fact, the instructor had a friend from one of the big clubs come to look at her. It was one of those serious places, the type that gear you up for the Olympics. They agreed that with the right coaching she could have a future in fencing. They made her an offer. They said they could arrange for a permanent visa, perhaps even citizenship if she made the grade."

"But she didn't go for it."

"She was good but I could tell her mind wasn't in the sport. The difference between competence and greatness is in the heart. She didn't have a heart for fencing."

"Odd, considering she'd obviously put a lot of effort into it."

"That's what I thought."

"Do you recall her talking about another man? A boyfriend. Someone who might have been showing an unhealthy interest in her?"

Neung put his fingers against his face as if he were raking for a memory or two.

"I don't remember anything specific," he said. "But I did get the feeling there was something troubling her. She'd lose concentration now and then as if she were on another planet. It was a little bit worrying when you're playing around with swords. It might have been because of a boyfriend but I don't know. It wasn't the type of thing I talked about with my students. We really weren't that close."

"Did you see her again after Berlin?"

"Once. Recently, in fact. I was surprised to see her back in Laos so soon. I thought she'd be in Germany for another four years. She was outside the bookshop when I came out one Saturday. I asked her what was wrong and she told me she'd failed her exams and they'd sent her home. She didn't seem that upset about it. In fact, I got the impression she was happier than I remembered seeing her in Berlin. Being back in Laos seemed to have freed her soul somehow. She said there was some matter she needed to discuss with me, urgently. She was always asking this or that question, usually about things that weren't really important, so I didn't take it too seriously. She gave me her number at Settha Hospital. I meant to call, but with all the work out at K6 and family life…"

"And Kiang."

"And Kiang, yes. I forgot all about calling Jim."

Neung's brow arched as a realisation seemed to drop over him. "I wonder, if I'd phoned…" he said. "If she'd wanted to talk about her problem. I wonder if I could have prevented her death."

"I wonder."

Siri sat silent. It was a great line. Convincing. The doctor wasn't about to be sucked wholly into Neung's version of events, but he'd earned himself a second hearing.

On his way out of the station, Siri woke up Phosy at his desk and told him, "Tomorrow, when you're feeling fresh, I'd like you to go and listen to that boy's story one more time. Just listen."