Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

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.”
    “You 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
    T he 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