Love Songs from a Shallow Grave dp-7

by Colin Cotterill

  Word had come back from teacher Oum at the Lycee Vientiane that the tests on victims one and two had proven negative for sedatives. Siri was now more certain than ever that both women knew and trusted their killer. He hadn't found it necessary to render them unconscious before impaling them with ninety centimetres of steel. But the contents of the vitamin bottle he'd found at the auditorium had been more difficult to analyse. The results showed a strong possibility, although not conclusive, that it had contained morphine elixir. If it was indeed connected to the case it added to the questions rather than answered them. What was it for? It had to be assumed that either the killer or the victim had consumed the elixir to deaden pain. As there was no evidence of previous injuries on Jim's body, and no indication of illness or disease, the likelihood was that the killer had been suffering in some way. Perhaps from an injury sustained in one of his attacks. Teacher Oum had only just got round to looking at the samples from the third victim and was in the process of testing them for morphine. There was a good deal to discuss.

  Phosy's Intelligence Section at Police HQ had, in its heyday, enjoyed a staff of five. Then, some genius at the Ministry of Interior had decided Vientiane was under control and three of Phosy's men had been dispatched to the provinces. Despite their own comparative inexperience, they had been sent to train ex-foot soldiers in the art of policing; a thankless and hopeless operation. So Phosy and Sihot were it as far as detecting was concerned. As they had three victims, and as Siri had done all he could in the morgue, Phosy recruited him unofficially to help out. He was given the task of looking into the life of Kiang, the second victim. For a closet detective like Siri, this was not unlike winning a Nobel prize. He took Nurse Dtui with him as back-up and left Geung to guard the morgue.

  Apart from Ministry of Education copies of Kiang's academic records obtained from Bulgaria, the only source of information they had for Kiang was her mother. So, that's where they began. The house was in That Luang district on a hill which was unlikely to experience the floods. Two ancient flamboyant trees stood guard outside the front fence which itself had taken root and sprouted leaves. A straw and bamboo gazebo sagged in front of the house. It stood beside an enormous grey water jar that spilled over with run-off from the roof. Dtui and the doctor climbed down from the Triumph wearing their huge blue plastic ponchos. They looked like giant morning glory. Siri was from the old 'wear little, get soaked, dry off' school of surviving the monsoons but Dtui had insisted he try one of the new Soviet ponchos. It kept off the rain sure enough, but in Laos whose humidity reached a factor of eighty-two, it merely acted like a portable steam room and rendered them both soaked beneath the plastic.

  "Who's there?" came a woman's voice from inside the house.

  "Dr Siri and Nurse Dtui from Mahosot hospital," Dtui called.

  A woman appeared in the open doorway wiping her hands on a cloth. She was tall with greasy cheeks and hair pulled back in a bun so severe her ears were almost behind her.

  "Mahosot?" she said, alarmed. "What's happened now?"

  "We're from the morgue," Siri told her. "We're very sorry about your loss."

  "The…? Oh, of course." Her sadness overwhelmed the visitors.

  "We're helping the police put together a file on the victims," Siri continued. "If it isn't too painful, I was hoping we…"

  The woman seemed to awaken with a start.

  "Oh, my. I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Come in, please."

  They drank tea and ate excellent homemade kanom krok sweet patties at the kitchen table. The inside of the house spoke of more affluent times. Happier days. Now it seemed to be draped in the same shroud as its owner. Kiang's mother told them of her husband's death to malaria in 1968. How he had been the dean of education in the liberated zone. How his eldest girl had trained with him and become a teacher, a brilliant, well-liked teacher. How she had been in love with a soldier who was killed in a battle in Xiang Khouang. How the mother's second child had contracted dengue and been taken from them two years earlier, now Kiang. How their youngest son, Ming, wanted to mourn for them but didn't know how because the schools didn't teach you how to pray any more.

  By the time the mother had finished the litany, Dtui and Siri would have gladly committed suicide right there at the kitchen table. But the woman hadn't cried or used her voice to elicit sympathy. She'd smiled as she recalled her loved ones. She seemed to enjoy the reminiscences. Yet she wore her sadness like a bright blouse and it was impossible not to notice it.

  "Did she tell you anything about her time in Bulgaria?" Dtui asked with a catch in her throat.

  "It was hard," she replied. "I know it was hard but she never complained. She sent me a small share of her per diem every month just to help out, and a letter. She always tried to be cheerful but I know it was a difficult time for her. The language. Heavens above. How did she ever learn it?"

  "Did she have any friends over there?" Siri asked. "Other Lao?"

  "There were five girls all selected by their district education offices. The Bulgarian embassy offered a scholarship to teachers but they insisted they study in different cities. So Kiang didn't have anyone close she could share her feelings with."

  "Did she have a boyfriend back here she could write to?"

  "No, nurse. She'd been so in love with Soop, her soldier, that nobody else could match up. She had more offers of marriage than I can count, suitors coming by the house all the time, but she turned them all down."

  "Do you know if she met anyone while she was away?"

  "In Bulgaria?" She let out a little laugh. "I have to confess my girl was a little afraid of western men. No, that's not true. I'd say it bordered on being petrified. She was scared to death of them."

  "Any reason why?" Siri asked.

  "The smell, Doctor," she said. "You know, that odour they have, as if they're a different species? Really, most of them are animals. Oversexed, loud. I feared for her safety every day. She was a beautiful girl, Doctor."

  "You must have been relieved when she came back," said Dtui.

  "She was so happy. She wasn't a racist but she was pleased to be back amongst her own kind. They put her to work straight away out at the library at Dong Dok. She was supposed to be cataloguing their books except they didn't have anything to catalogue. They'd thrown out all the American and French language materials and what little there was in Lao was Roneoed and poor quality. All the new books were Vietnamese, Russian and Chinese and she couldn't read any of them. You'd have thought they'd send her somewhere with a language that might be useful to learn, wouldn't you?"

  "How long had she been back?" Dtui asked.

  "She came back in January."

  "And since then, no new friendships? No boyfriends?"

  "Doctor, I know she was only thirty-two but I really think the idea of having a boyfriend didn't appeal to her any more. She loved being here at home. They don't pay very much at Dong Dok, sometimes they don't pay at all. But she got rice and tinned foods from the co-op and she was happy to know that she could provide for me and her brother, Ming."

  "It sounds like you two were close," Dtui said.

  "I know we were mother and daughter but in fact we were more like sisters. There were no secrets between us."

  The mother smiled that incongruous sweet and sour smile again that had the visitors reaching for the razor blades. She poured them all more tea. Siri didn't want to worm his way into any more bitter apples but the question had to be asked.

  "On the night she died," he began, "she told you she was going to exercise?"

  Kiang's mother nodded and her eyes became moist opals of despair. "Yes, I have to say I was a little surprised. Shocked, even. She'd found her old high school tracksuit somewhere deep in the closet and she marched in and announced she was going to get fit. She'd never shown any interest in sports at school. In fact, I think the tracksuit was still in its original plastic. She had a nice figure. She didn't eat sweet food. I don't know what had entered her mind."

  "Yo
u don't know who she went with?"

  "I forgot to ask. I was so surprised. I laughed. I asked her what had brought on this sudden urge to get fit. She said something that sounded very Party to me. Oh! Sorry."

  "No offence taken," Siri said.

  "She said, "The body's a machine and if you don't oil a machine it dries up and shuts down and it's no use to anyone." It didn't sound like the kind of thing she'd make up herself. And that was the last…"

  The opals cracked and tears rolled and the woman's greasy cheeks put up no resistance and sadness dripped into the teacup she held in her hand.?

  Siri and Dtui rode from the house on the hill with lumps in their throats. They weren't really in a mood to socialise but before returning to the morgue, they made a brief detour to the Lao Patriotic Women's Association. There, they met up with their old friend Dr Pornsawan. They were only in the office for half an hour but they made a deal that — if the spirits were feeling particularly benevolent — might change one or two lives for the better. Goodness knew, after a visit with Kiang's mother, they needed to spread some cheer.

  10

  THE DR SIRI MEMORIAL LIBRARY

  The announcement of the results from the three investigations was scheduled to take place at Police HQ. Dtui had found several excuses not to attend so Siri arrived by himself. There was no evidence that the departed officers had ever existed. Their typewriters and pens, even their desks and chairs had been pilfered by other departments. You couldn't leave belongings unattended for too long in a Lao police station. All that remained in the large airy room were the tables of Phosy and Sihot and ten metal filing cabinets. They pushed the tables together, ordered coffee from the food stall opposite and sat around the victim chart.

  "Who's first?" Siri asked.

  They deferred to age and Siri described in detail what he and Dtui had learned that afternoon. Despite Phosy's encouragement for Siri to take notes, he'd assured the young man that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his memory. This he proved by reciting verbatim all of the facts and figures from his visit to Kiang's house. He was followed by Sergeant Sihot whose memory existed between two thick bureau de poste rubber bands in an untidy wad of paper. This he thumbed through until he arrived at his interview with Mrs Bop, the mother of victim number one, Dew.

  "I have to begin by saying," he began by saying, "that Comrade Dew's mother was not all that helpful when it came to her daughter's activities in Russia. Nor did she have much to offer in regards to her daughter's actions since her return to Laos. Nor did she have any idea why her daughter was sitting naked in a steam room on the night of her death. One of the neighbours suggested to me the girl had just dumped the kids on her mother's lap and washed her hands of them four years earlier. The neighbour didn't see Dew or the husband come to visit that often. On the positive side, Dew's mother and her husband, aged sixty-three and sixty-five respectively, gave me the impression they had a genuine affection for their grandchildren. I couldn't say the same for their relationship with Comrade Dew."

  "Which begs the question," Siri said, "what were Dew and her husband doing together in the first place?"

  "My question exactly, Doctor," Sihot agreed. "They didn't appear to invest a lot of time and effort in their children's upbringing. The grandparents got some money every month from the father but that was all."

  The wooden shutters on either side of the large room were open and a sudden gust passed through taking two of Sihots sheets with it. He was about to run after them then realised what the wind had taken.

  "No problem," he said. "Old case. I still have Comrade Dew here."

  "We're relieved to hear it," Phosy grumbled.

  "I went to see the clerk who registered the marriage back in 1973 when the couple moved to Vientiane. I discovered that both husband and wife had been in the military at the time of their marriage. They came from Phongsali which is where the original certificate was issued. I have the name of the military witness who co-signed the certificate and I'm attempting to get in touch with him."

  "Good job, Sihot," said Siri.

  "Thank you, Comrade."

  "Any background information on our prowling wolf Vietnamese major?" Siri asked.

  "Getting military information from the Vietnamese is like getting blood from a crab," Phosy told him. "There are channels. But the wheels are in motion. We'll have to be patient."

  "Did anyone ask him at the interview…?"

  "If he was a fencer? Yes. He said no. He said no to most of the questions. But we found out he was in Czechoslovakia for eighteen months of military training. He forgot to mention that as well. We're chasing that up with the Czech embassy. They owe us a favour."

  "All right, Phosy," said Siri, leaning back on his chair. "That just leaves you."

  "And our real fencer, Jim," Phosy said. "All I got from the files was that her parents were 'casual staff'. It's the catchall phrase for everything from day labourers to hotel bellboys. The records didn't say where they'd worked. In the old days, everyone not in government service who could write, put 'casual staff' on their documents. Her mother was Vietnamese and probably didn't have any official status here, so I doubt there's anything on record anywhere. We only know she was Vietnamese because Jim wrote it on her application for the eastern bloc. No permanent address. No personal details about the parents.

  "We do know Jim enrolled aged sixteen as a trainee medic with the American refugee hospital in Nam Tha. She was one of the star pupils by all accounts. When the Yanks fled, our people found Jim running one of the clinics without any supervision. They all called her 'doctor' up there. Our own medical officials were so impressed with her skills and her dedication that they overlooked the fact she'd been selected and trained by Americans and made a scholarship available to her in the Soviet Union. They wanted her to qualify as a real doctor. There was an awful shortage. But she refused that and two other scholarship placements. Cited pressure of work. Not ready to leave. But then a scholarship post came up in East Germany and she finally agreed. She spent a year studying German, picked it up without effort, then launched on the first year of pre-med. It was one of those accelerated courses the Europeans put on for third-world countries. They assume we don't have the brains to attend regular medical schools and that our people don't get as sick as theirs so we don't need seven years of study."

  Phosy looked up from his notes to find both Siri and Sihot smiling at him.

  "What? It's true. It is. Anyway, Jim sailed through her language classes and the first two semesters of medicine. Top of her class in everything. Then something went wrong. She failed her first year final exams. Not just failed but bombed completely. They let her do a supplementary exam and she failed that as well. Under the terms of her scholarship they had no choice but to send her home."

  "That's weird," said Siri. "And nobody knows what happened?"

  "No."

  "Anything from her classmates?"

  "There might be, but don't forget they're all still over there studying. I've written to the Lao student union representative in Berlin. But even with express delivery it could be two or three weeks before we hear back from them. I don't have an international telephone budget."

  "Any chance of finding her parents, Inspector?" Sihot asked.

  "I'm on it, Sergeant. But I get the feeling they're old regime. Just the fact their daughter got work on a US medical mission makes me think they had some American connections."

  "And that could bring us back to K6," Siri said. "I think the locations of the killings are important. It can't be a coincidence that two of the girls were murdered right there under the noses of the Vietnamese and Lao security services. The killing at Sisangvone primary school doesn't fit in any respect so I think we should put that on the back shelf and focus on K6. I'm wondering whether Jim's parents might have been on the staff there before seventy-five."

  "And jumped ship with all the others," Sihot agreed. "It might explain why Jim didn't want to go into too much detail about wh
at her parents did. It might have affected her application to study."

  "I met a fellow who tends the grounds out there," Siri recalled. "His name's Miht. He's one of the overlappers. He'd probably remember a Vietnamese?Lao couple with a smart daughter from the American days. In fact, you might want to check him out as a suspect as well. I can't give you a good reason why. It's just a feeling I have in my gut that he's connected in some way. He seemed to be…observing. I know observing's a Lao hobby but he was making an art out of it."

  "I'll look into it, Doctor," said Sihot.

  "Let's not forget, whoever killed the two women at K6 had a right to be there," Phosy added. "We should consider all the staff suspects. With the cabinet members living out there, it isn't the easiest place to get in to. How many people are we talking about, Sihot?"

  A stony-faced girl in a faded uniform came trotting in dripping water all over the place from her umbrella. She handed Phosy a sheet of paper, giving Sihot time to reshuffle his pack.

  "Including domestic staff," Sihot read, "labourers, soldiers, security personnel, and all the politicians and their families…just over five hundred, Inspector."

  "Better odds than having the entire country to search through," Siri reminded them.

  "And the odds might have improved even more," Phosy said, reading the sheet.

  "What's that?" Siri asked.

  "It's the Electricite du Lao work roster for rewiring the east side of the compound. The names of the workers with security clearance. And whose name do we see right here at the top?"

  "I only know one person who works for Electricite du Lao," Siri said. "The husband of Dew."

  "No?" said Sihot. "Comrade Chanti? I don't believe it. Twice we talked to him and not once did he mention he was working out at K6."

  "Perhaps we didn't ask the right questions," Phosy growled.?

  Once the meeting was over and the next round of interviews scheduled, Siri asked Phosy if he could walk him to his motorcycle. The rain hadn't stopped. There were those beginning to believe it never would. It was falling wheezily now, catching its breath before the next major expectoration.