Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

well in school, charmed the Americans, and ended up in a mission hospital in Nam Tha.”
    “And did she recall where this couple worked?” Siri asked.
    “As clear as day.” Civilai smiled and sipped his drink. “At the Jansen house. The house with the sauna.”
    This revelation led to a frenzy of questions and qualifications and hypotheses. But mainly it caused a single headache that throbbed in the temples of everyone present. What did it mean? The parents of victim number three, Jim, had worked at the house where victim number one was killed. Siri tipped onto the back legs of his chair and let the spirit beam arrest his fall. He’d imagined the case in more simple terms; the victims met a bad man who had clearance at K6 and he killed them. Now it seemed the crime had a history. It was like planning a red theme and having delivery after delivery of drastically yellow books.
    “Damn,” he said. “Phosy, are your findings going to make this any more complicated?”
    The inspector hadn’t accepted a drink. Recently he’d become Phosy the temperate. Siri wondered how he would ever elicit secrets from a sober man.
    “I looked down the list of bookshop patrons you gave me,” Phosy said. “All three victims had subscribed to receive journals in their respective fields, paid for by the embassies that sponsored them. I showed the clerk Polaroids of the victims and he was certain he’d seen all three utilising the reading room. He said that Saturday afternoon was the most popular as Saturday was a half-day for most workers. There might be seven or eight customers in there at a time. People even sitting on cushions on the ground. I doubt they were all engrossed in the malt yield of the Ukraine. It was a sort of informal reading club. Of course, there’s no guarantee our killer put his name down to subscribe to anything, but we’re working our way down the list. It’s the best lead so far.”
    After the meeting, Siri wasn’t of a mood to sit and drink with Civilai. He had a room full of books and a limited number of years to get through them. But Civilai had insisted in that belligerent way of men who are starting to lean too heavily on the bottle. He seemed more out of control than usual. He didn’t even know he was putting on old clothes to go visiting. Only a man living by himself would be allowed to make such a mistake.
    “Where’s Mrs Nong?” Siri asked.
    “Surely you mean, how’s Mrs Nong?” Civilai said. They were sitting at the gingham Formica tabletop. Madame Daeng had gone upstairs. Phosy had left, presumably to pursue his nefarious late-night habits. A large purple gecko hung boldly from the far wall like an ornament. It had interrupted the conversation several times with its rude burps.
    “No, I mean ‘where’,” Siri confirmed. “She wouldn’t have let you out in this state.”
    Civilai laughed.
    “Am I in a state, Siri?”
    The doctor remained silent and stared at his friend. Even the gecko held its breath.
    “She’s visiting her sister,” Civilai said at last.
    “Her sister lives in Khouvieng,” Siri reminded him. “That’s a twenty-minute trip from your house.”
    “I mean she’s staying there for a few days. She’s not well. The sister. The sister’s not well.”
    Siri continued to stare. Rain dripped and splashed from the rear window shutter.
    “She likes to stay there sometimes,” Civilai added.
    Stare.
    “Quite a lot of times lately, in fact. She’s been gone a couple of weeks now. I’m starting to wonder, you know, wonder if she’s planning to come back at all.”
    He delivered it like a joke but neither of them laughed.
    Stare.
    “I do wonder, since that little bit of political hoo-hah we went through last year, I mean, since the…since my retirement, I do wonder whether I’ve been even more difficult to live with than usual. All this baking. Goodness, she’s barely been able to get into her own kitchen. I’d snap at her if she tried. She probably goes to her sister’s just for the opportunity to cook something. I wonder if I’ve been awful about a lot of things.”
    Stare.
    “I’m planning to get my act together. And you don’t have to tell me this stuff doesn’t help.” He symbolically pushed the glass away. “Alcohol is an ally to the contented but a foe to those with heavy hearts. Not sure who said that. I probably made it up myself. Damned good, I think. I still have flashes of the old genius every now and then. Moments of lucid thought.