The Merry Misogynist

census collector, yes.”
    “He’s up there someplace.” He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the range of hills behind the village.
    “Far?” Phosy asked.
    “Could be by now. He left at midday. Said there was some problem with forms or something. Somebody took the wrong ones, I believe. Same thing happened last time.”
    “He walked up?”
    “Took the truck. There’s a piddling little track goes up there.”
    Phosy considered this for a moment.
    “He took the census truck?”
    “No, he took mine.”
    Phosy looked at the poor surroundings. “You have a truck?”
    “Some Royalist coward abandoned it here when he was fleeing the PL. I don’t get to use it much, what with petrol being the price it is. It was just sitting growing weeds. When the boy was here last time he fixed it up. He gave us a few kip for petrol and said he’d have it back by tomorrow. He’s good with motors, that boy – wasted on paperwork. He could make a nice living as a mechanic, I reckon.”
 
    The conversation on the way up to Buaphan’s encampment was exclusively about Nouphet and his truck. Phosy had allowed Daeng into the discussion only to recap Siri’s comments about the boy.
    “The doctor said he was keen eyed, seemed to notice things,” she recalled. “He might have mentioned he was good-looking.”
    “Might have?”
    “I was cooking lunch at the time. But you do know what this means?”
    “You’ll probably enlighten me.”
    “I see we have not one but two suspects. Young Nouphet is good at fixing motors, and I’d guess every decent-sized village has at least one old truck lying around in need of repairs. He seems just as likely a suspect as Buaphan. I think you need to – ”
    “I know what my responsibilities are.”
    “Of course you do, I’m sorry.”
    “I’ll question Buaphan. If he’s our strangler, I’ll know.”
    “Policeman’s intuition?” Daeng smiled.
    “It’s a little like doctor’s intuition. I remind you we’re here following up on a guess by your husband.”
    “It’s certainly more than a guess, Inspector. And I remind you your policeman’s intuition hasn’t done you much good so far in this case. Siri has a sixth sense about these things.”
    “Then let’s hope his sixth sense hasn’t put him in a grave somewhere.”
    He sucked air through his teeth as if to vacuum the words back, but it was too late. A veil had dropped over his passenger’s face. Phosy hadn’t meant to say it. She’d goaded him. Her constant interference had forced him to it. Her smile had become pinched and her glazed eyes stared at the sky. In an attempt to right his mistake, Phosy tacked on, “Of course, we all know how indestructible Siri is.”
    But the damage was done. For the rest of the journey up the winding mountain road, Daeng had nothing to say.

17
THERE GOES THE BRIDE
    P han drove slowly along the main street, beeping his horn at people he recognized. They waved back or held up a thumb as he passed: the returning hero. He went directly to see the headman and his wife. The old woman came running out to meet him and opened the truck door so he could step down. She squeezed his hand and told him how handsome he looked. He asked if she and her husband were well. He told her he was excited but joked that he was marrying the second most beautiful girl in the village. The headman had married the prettiest. She giggled and punched his arm and led him inside .
    It was all so formulaic. People were boringly predictable. Once they’d worked themselves up into a lather of enthusiasm, they’d believe any shit you cared to toss their way. He handed a pile of papers to the headman, who didn’t even bother to read them. He just asked where he should sign. He said he’d invited the district political cadre from Natan and his wife, but it was far, and the wedding was late. The headman doubted they’d come. They’d done up the school very nicely for the reception, he was told. There should be a good turnout. They hoped he had a strong constitution because there was plenty of liquor. All the women had been cooking since sun-up .
    The children had learned a dance, et cetera…la-di-da…blah-de-blah .
    “ All right,” Phan thought, “just get on with it. The sooner it starts, the sooner it’ll all be over .”
    But nothing was due to begin until six so Phan asked if he could take a nap. He’d driven directly from Vientiane, he told them, and needed to rest. He lay shirtless on the