Slash and Burn

14

The autopsy was conducted in the old warehouse once used to store stacks of opium. There was still a vague scent of addiction there. The concrete godown had a corrugated roof and was open to the plain on one side. To the rear was a sink and a concrete tub full of old water. They’d lugged a large rectangular table to the center and covered it in plastic. Despite a lot of prodding and coaxing, Ugly insisted on lying beneath it, perhaps to catch scraps. As they didn’t bring scrubs, Siri and his team were wearing black plastic garbage bags slit down the back with head and arm holes cut out of them. They’d opted to spare Peach the unpleasantness of watching. She’d protested halfheartedly but seemed relieved to hand the translation duties over to Dtui. At least the nurse was in familiar territory. She may not have known the correct English for a polite dinner party but she could certainly describe the dissection of an inflamed bladder without blinking. There were two others in attendance. Secretary Gordon was there as an observer for legal purposes. And Auntie Bpoo had reminded the judge she was on holiday and had no intention of going out in the truck. She had to keep Siri in her sights.

“Is the major’s family OK with this?” Dr. Yamaguchi asked nobody in particular.

“He didn’t have anyone close,” Gordon told him. He looked up to see whether they were speaking slowly enough for Dtui to keep up. She smiled and raised her thumb. “He had a couple of kids with one of his wives,” he continued, “but they don’t keep in touch. The army was really the only family he had.”

They watched Mr. Geung removing the too-small underwear from the big major, respectfully flipping him this way and that as if he weighed nothing at all.

“Your man knows what he’s doing,” said Yamaguchi to Siri.

Dtui didn’t bother to translate.

“He’s number one on our team,” she said. “I’m number two.”

Yamaguchi laughed. He had an easy humor and a dazzling smile. If only they could turn his volume down.

“Nice of you to let Dr. Siri come along,” he said.

Siri was too nervous to notice they were talking about him. He’d never performed an autopsy in front of an expert before. He was the first to admit there were large gaps in his proficiency. He was a surgeon by choice and a coroner because nobody else wanted the job. He told Yamaguchi he could step in with comments whenever he wanted, and began with the external examination. He made observations about the general condition of the body, the ravages of alcoholism, odd bruising here and there, and, last but most certainly not least, attention turned to the penis-modest but at attention. Siri had noted the pathologist’s questioning look in that direction when they’d first encountered the body. As the American had experience in dealing with autoerotic accidents, Siri asked whether this was a normal phenomenon.

“I have seen post-mortem erections,” Yamaguchi said. He spoke slowly and Dtui enjoyed translating for him. “But only on two occasions were they the result of sexual stimulation,” he continued. “At one time we were called to a house where a rather large man had died while making love to his very slight wife. She hadn’t the strength to remove him and he was still erect so it was rather like uncoupling a train carriage.”

Auntie Bpoo, sitting on a recliner with her back to the autopsy, was able to help with the imagery whenever Dtui got lost.

“The other occasion was an autoerotic incident not unlike this,” Yamaguchi continued. “The only difference was that the cord had broken and the victim fell onto his face. So you would notice that in both cases the victims were face down. The erection was maintained because the blood followed the rules of gravity and then congealed. I was confused when I saw the major this morning because he’d died suspended in a sitting position. The blood should have drained away from his organ, not into it. I needed to check with my manual as to whether this was physically likely but the situation wasn’t covered. I’d need to consult with a urologist to be certain but I really don’t see how this was possible.”

Siri knew the Americans would very much like to learn that the death of their major was not the result of perversion. He respected Yamaguchi for his experience but he didn’t know the man personally. Siri lived in a world where doctors were constantly encouraged by the authorities to see things that did not exist or to overlook things that might be an embarrassment to the Party. He saw no reason why the imperialist West should be any different.

“So you’re saying you don’t think he died in the position we found him?” Dtui asked.

“I’m always learning new things,” Yamaguchi told her. “There will always be mysteries and anomalies.”

It was a diplomatic answer, given that this wasn’t his autopsy. But the response gave Siri more fodder for thought. He’d also been confused by one or two things. He lifted the major’s chins to get a better look at the ligature marks. The band of bruising formed an attractive macrame necklace high on his throat. The hands were clenched and there were no fingernail marks around the wound which might indicate the victim had fought to free himself. Mr. Geung and Yamaguchi helped him roll the body onto its stomach. There was surprisingly little hypostasis on the back of the thighs, perhaps because the major was suspended when he died. Or so it had appeared. So far, everything had been predictable. That was until Siri traced the ligature marks to the back of the neck. He leaned to one side to follow the bruising then stood back. Yamaguchi, seeing the look of surprise on Siri’s face, stepped up to the table. He tilted his head to one side, looked up at Siri and shook his head.

“What? What is it?” Dtui asked.

“Come and have a look,” Siri told her.

Dtui focused all her skills of observation on the bruising but nothing came to her.

“Think of where he was found,” Siri said.

“He was behind the door hanging by the neck from the doorknob,” said Dtui, “so he … he was hanging. That’s it. If he died from hanging the bruise would climb up like an inverse Y,” she said.

“Whereas?”

“Whereas this goes flat around his neck like a necklace. But that means….”

“It means Yamaguchi was right. Major Potter didn’t die in this position and he didn’t die from the hanging. I’d say he was strangled, probably while he was lying on his stomach under the quilt. That’s why there are no fingernail marks as he tried to loosen the garrotte.”

Yamaguchi was explaining exactly the same hypothesis to Secretary Gordon who looked every bit as surprised as Dtui.

“What about the erotic … bit?” Dtui asked.

“The erection? I don’t know. He’d had a lot to drink so it might have even been the result of a full bladder. If he was face down it’s more likely that it occurred on the bed in his sleep.”

“So someone must have set this whole thing up.”

“It’s the only logical explanation. Drugged him, I wouldn’t wonder.”

“Why?”

“The first thought that comes to me is that if the US embassy believed their representative had died in extremely embarrassing circumstances they’d want it covered up. The Americans would be on the defensive and our people would be in a very strong negotiating position. If it was straightforward murder, we’d get the blame and the old brown sandal would be on the other foot.”

“Doc? The explosive.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“If he’d been blown up by his own dynamite they’d blame his drinking habit. It wouldn’t be quite as embarrassing as this but bad enough. Drunk in charge of explosives.”

“Someone wanted him dead and embarrassed. The first attempt didn’t work so he or she resorted to this.”

They looked up to see Yamaguchi and Gordon staring at them across the body. Dtui and Siri stared back. There was a long silence.

“What do we do?” Dtui asked.

“We either keep our suspicions to ourselves and mobilize our morgue squad to come up with a concrete plan,” said Siri, “or we share our suspicions now with the Americans.”

“Perhaps they haven’t worked it out.”

“Look at them, Dtui. How many years of education do you suppose they have between them? They’ve got it, all right, and if I was one of them I’d be certain we did it. Holding back makes us look more guilty.”

“It does all point to us,” Dtui agreed.

Ignoring the corpse, Siri, Dtui, Mr. Geung, Auntie Bpoo, Yamaguchi and Gordon sat on fold-up chairs overlooking the plain and went through the case step by step. Of course the Americans had come to the same conclusions. Together, they made two rather quick decisions. Firstly, not to perform a full autopsy on the major. He’d been victimized enough. His name was tainted and somehow they’d have to find a way to clear it. They decided to wrap the body, find a cool spot for it and hope that the smog cleared soon so they could send him home.

Secondly, and this was risky, they agreed not to tell anyone other than Inspector Phosy about their findings. They didn’t want to alert the killer that they’d seen through the deception. Siri would secretly tell Civilai and Daeng but that subclause didn’t need to be included in the oral contract. Someone had gone to a good deal of trouble to kill the major. It was somebody who would not draw attention by being seen around the hotel. As they were surrounded by exploding countryside, the only access was through the front of the Friendship and past the dining room. So the perpetrator was either one of the staff or a member of the teams. They drew up a list of suspects. The hotel had a permanent staff of four, including the manager and his wife, plus three day workers who walked up from the town to prepare the meals for the guests. The two old guards could barely lift their muskets but nobody was being left off the list. Not even the truck porters who were supposed to have gone home before dark. Any one of them could have hidden in the grounds. The major weighed over a hundred kilos and his body was dragged from the bed to the door and lifted off the ground. The murderer was either somebody extremely strong or this had been a team effort. If the latter was true, nobody could be excluded.

Siri drew up a mental list of anyone in the Lao team he couldn’t personally guarantee with total certainty. He came up with four. Reluctantly he had Commander Lit in fourth place. Siri had known him briefly and believed him to be hard working and intelligent. But he was a loyal cadre of the security division and a very serious party member who would not question Politburo orders. Auntie Bpoo would have been delighted to hear that he had her at number three on his list. He knew nothing about her background, especially why it was she spoke fluent English. At number two was Cousin Vinai who had come on the mission under false pretences. And in the top spot was Judge Haeng. Siri knew, of course, that the judge wouldn’t have the spunk to commit the crime himself but he would certainly have been able to recruit a killer. Haeng was a devious character with a number of agendas and he’d been acting suspiciously since they arrived. He’d insisted on searching the major’s room that morning and not told anyone why. There was also the added bonus that Siri just plain didn’t like him.

There was something about the sophistication of the crime that suggested this wasn’t some local killer with a grudge against Americans. Sinister groundwork had been laid and they agreed that motives beyond the political should be investigated. In order to do so, they needed to fill in some of the gaps that existed in their information about the mission. There were still questions as to what possessed the missing pilot to go to pieces on the night he disappeared, and then the matter of Potter’s comment to Civilai that this MIA venture wasn’t as clear-cut as it seemed. Secretary Gordon took one of the ponies back into Phonsavan. He had a close friend at the embassy who could copy the documentation they had concerning the mission. He promised they’d find a way of getting the information up-country if it was humanly possible.

The depleted MIA teams had already left for the crash site. General Suvan slept in his room and was hopefully not dead. Senator Vogal was going through papers on the veranda with Ethel Chin. The hotel staff members were attending to their duties. Dtui decided it would be a useful ploy for her to stroll into the kitchen and engage them in idle girl talk. There was a lot to be learned from gossip. Her departure and the mysterious absence of Auntie Bpoo left Siri and Yamaguchi with no means of communication other than the experience that comes from a joint hundred years of medicine. Bpoo never seemed to be around when there was physical labour to be done. Geung helped them carry the body to the rear of the complex where they laid it in a huge cluster-bomb casing lined with straw and natural tobacco leaves. The other half of the casing completed the sarcophagus. They cleaned up their impromptu morgue and shook hands.

Siri, Ugly and Mr. Geung took advantage of Auntie Bpoo’s disappearance and walked unchaperoned to Phonsavan. The sooty air had become even more solid. The exercise didn’t help Siri’s breathing but there was no available transportation. Geung wasn’t suited to the cold. His nose and eyes had been running from the moment he’d arrived. They were a sorry-looking pair. They passed the airfield, currently the second largest in Laos. Until two days before it had been home to a large fleet of Russian Antonovs and Migs. The logic of this placement was brought into question for three months every year when the fires began and the site was cleared.

The new town of Phonsavan was a ramshackle place of hurriedly erected wooden shops and slow-moving building sites where more permanent structures were being assembled, it seemed, one brick a day. Once the decision was made to abandon the old ruined town of Xiang Khouang and move the capital to the village of Phonsavan, a wait-and-see attitude had pervaded. Would people come to live here or would they, through nostalgia, return to what had once been a beautiful town? The reconstruction had begun in 1973 and was progressing apparently without planning. It was as if anyone turning up with a wheelbarrow of wood and roof tiles could erect himself a hut anywhere he fancied. There was variety but not colour. Like Vientiane, the dust had turned everything into a sepia photograph. It coated the walls and the strays who slept on the unpaved streets and powdered what humble plants grew in the gardens. Even the ramshackle market lacked the gay colours of blood and fruit and vegetables that should have been the art and craft of a village center. A modest collection of rare animals hung by their necks like criminals.

Siri and Geung were on the main street just approaching the little post office when it exploded. To be more accurate, there was a loud bang and the communication tower toppled onto the building, bringing down half the roof. Second Secretary Gordon had just walked into the car park and had been about to climb back onto the pony when it shied away and galloped off into the street. Gordon looked around in astonishment and immediately ran back through the door. Siri and Geung rushed in past the front gate, climbed the steps and hurried in after him. The side of the roof that had collapsed was opposite the counter where just the one postal worker stood looking dazed but unhurt.

“Anybody else in here?” Siri asked.

“Just me,” said the official.

Gordon stood staring at the telephone booth from which he’d just emerged. Another thirty seconds and he would now be as crumpled as the tall stool upon which he’d sat to make his calls. He looked up at Siri.

“Shit,” he said.

Some words just didn’t need translating.

Siri and Geung were walking back to the Friendship after helping with the cleanup at the post office. It was a miracle that nobody had been killed. There was usually a long queue for the single telephone line but the MIA team had been monopolizing the place so the locals kept away. Second Secretary Gordon had been counting his blessings as he rode the pony back.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to talk to your friend,” said Siri to Mr. Geung.

“Lucky I don’t wwwwalk so fast,” Geung smiled.

“Your legs saved our lives, Mr. Geung.”

Geung found that incredibly funny and laughed all the way to the intersection. Their shoes were gray-red from the dust and Siri wheezed as he spoke. The smoky horizon seemed to be closing in on them from all sides. Siri weighed up this latest attack in relation to everything else that had happened. He’d been using Geung as his sounding board.

“Do you suppose it’s all tied together?” Siri asked.

“I-”

“I mean the explosion yesterday and the one today?”

“I-”

“And Potter’s murder. Do you suppose it’s a deliberate attack on the Americans? If it isn’t coordinated it’s one hell of a coincidence.”

“I saw-”

“And what would the point of it be? To cause friction between us? To protest against the MIA mission? Did you want to say something?”

“I saw it.”

“Saw what, friend?”

“S … s … somebody climb in the window.”

He still had the giggles.

“The major’s window?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Siri stopped and turned to Geung.

“Llllast night,” Geung chuckled.

“Who? Who did you see?”

“Stop it. You’re making me laugh.”

“Geung. Tell me who you saw.”

“You.”