Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

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 what 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.
    “What is it, Doctor?” Phosy asked with an almost irritated tone.
    “There doesn’t always need to be something, son,” Siri smiled. “With all the nastiness we’ve been dealing with, we sometimes forget to find a minute or two to pass the time of day, take an interest in each other.”
    Phosy stopped. “What do you want, Siri?”
    “Ah, well. If you insist. Are you having an affair behind Dtui’s back, Phosy?”
    Phosy’s smile was as drab as the day.
    “Anything else?” he asked.
    “That’s all.”
    “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Phosy turned and started to walk away.
    “Are you just going to leave me standing here in the rain without an answer?”
    Phosy ran up the wooden steps and into his office, swerving to avoid a jet of water arcing from the broken roof tiles.
    “It certainly would seem so,” Siri answered himself.
∗
    “So, what do you think it meant?” Madame Daeng asked later that evening. She and Siri were putting up shelves in the room they