The Merry Misogynist

contemplated on the long downward incline. If the lycee legend was true, if there really had been a similar murder, then how could they be sure there weren’t others? This wasn’t Europe. There was no network to cross-reference commonalities between crimes. In Laos, local police forces described their cases in two ledgers and when these were full, one would be placed on the shelf in the police station, and eventually the other would be sent to Vientiane and filed at police headquarters under the province from which it had come. If two similar crimes occurred in two different provinces, there would be no way of telling.
    His thoughts were disturbed by the aftermath of a small accident at the Victory Monument roundabout just in front of the bland court building. A black government limousine pulling out of the driveway had been hit by a motorcycle sidecar piled high with cartons of eggs on their way to an embassy reception. The front bonnet of the car was a giant omelette. Two young police officers were holding back onlookers brandishing spoons and plates. The chances of two motorized vehicles colliding in Vientiane were less than that of a bird of paradise defecating on your best hat. Poosu, the Hmong god of small accidents, must have been bored that evening.
    The limousine was empty and there was no motorcyclist apparent at the scene, so the police had obviously taken the suspects in for questioning. The Lao language had no shortage of bawdy egg jokes, so Siri was certain this story would be twice around the city before he got back home. His momentum had brought him this far, and he was about to switch on his engine when, among the legs of the crowd, he spied Saloop, his ex-dog. It was dark, and the onlookers were lit only by a single lamp at the front of the courthouse, but there was no mistaking the shape and piercing eyes of Saloop. He sat with his back to the accident staring directly at Siri. His head followed the doctor as he glided slowly past, and that same, hopeless, sands-of-time feeling came over Siri. It couldn’t be ignored. Somebody was going to die, and Saloop was there to make the announcement.
 
    Although it was after six the morgue door was open. Siri assumed Geung was still attempting to coax his lizard outside. But when he walked in he found Inspector Phosy sitting at his desk.
    “Dr Siri, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.
    Siri was getting sick of hearing this description.
    “It’s road dust,” he said. “It’ll wash off. How did you get back so soon? I just talked to you on the phone.”
    “The cadre representing Vang Vieng had a helicopter pick him up so he could make the cabinet meeting tomorrow. They’re starting work on the three-year development programme. I hitched a ride.”
    Siri sat at Dtui’s desk and wiped his face with a cotton skullcap.
    “Any news?” he asked.
    “Nothing in Vang Vieng. I thought I could do more good here. I left Sergeant Sihot up there showing the photo around.”
    “And the truck driver?”
    “That’s why I’m here. He’s based at the new Cooperative Development Works. He’s due in from Pak Lai tomorrow. I’ll catch him when he arrives.”
    “And the nurse in Luang Nam Tha?”
    “I’m taking the regular flight up there tomorrow afternoon, the Lord willing. I’ll talk to her and see if that leads anywhere.”
    “You can’t phone her?”
    “Doctor Siri, you surprise me. What happened to the man who just eighteen months ago didn’t know which end of a telephone to talk into?”
    “The Senior Citizens’ Union encourages us to embrace new technology.”
    “Then they should encourage Luang Nam Tha to get a few telephone lines put in. It’s like contacting Great-Uncle Lou at a seance, and that’s an insult to seances. Not even the governor’s got a phone yet. He has to drive down to the Chinese road project and use theirs.”
    “You realize Dtui will blame me for your going away again.”
    “Why should she?”
    “She blames me for everything. Everybody does.”
    “Doctor, you seem a little down.”
    “Oh, it’s nothing. Just an old man contemplating the impermanence of life.”
    “Has something happened?”
    “Seventy-three years have happened.”
    “Have you had a medical examination I don’t know about?”
    “No. It’s…ah, bo ben nyang .”
 
    Siri arrived at the shop at the end of the noodle rush hour. Daeng was dishing out supper as fast as the pot could boil. If the Thai secret service had trained